absolutely truthful, you never gave me the chance.’ She gave a quick grunt. ‘Not that I ever did have eyes for anyone else, once I met Gareth.’ She stirred the cappuccino viciously. ‘Love, eh? It all seems so simple, when you’re that age.’
There was a moment’s silence. No one, it appeared, was about to disagree.
‘Well, it’s outrageous.’ Carys looked up at the indignant cry from the far end of the room. Conversation in the Boadicea died to a murmur. The cyclists tucking into bacon butties with gusto paused and turned in faint alarm at the direction of this outburst. The natives, it seemed, were growing restless.
‘So it is, Nesta,’ came a reply from Edna Williams, once Headmistress of Pont-ar-Eden primary and leader (self-elected) of the matriarchs. ‘But what is there to be done about it?’
‘Well something should be,’ retorted Nesta Pugh, chairwoman of the local Women’s Institute, and close rival for Edna’s coveted leadership position. ‘My mam was right: it was my ancestors who made the bricks that built Plas Eden. Look, see. There are bills showing my great-grandfather was still doing the repairs. The Merediths have no right to sell Plas Eden. Private land: that’s what it’ll be, you mark my words. And we’ll all be shut out like a load of peasants, as if we’d never had anything to do with the place at all.’
‘Plas Eden is being sold?’ said Carys, putting down her cup with a jolt.
‘Maybe,’ said Buddug. ‘If Huw gets his way.’
‘You don’t know that we’ll be shut out if someone else takes it over,’ Nesta’s sister Haf was protesting gently, as the outrage in the far corner threatened to spill over into the rest of the cafe. But, all the same, she sighed. ‘We used to have such fun in Eden woods, when we were kids, remember?’
‘Remember the swing over the lake?’ put in one of the older men.
‘ Duw , yes.’ Edna’s white head nodded, sharp grey eyes softening. ‘I’d forgotten about that. It was a log on a piece of rope, if I remember rightly. Old Mrs Meredith put it there for the boys’ father, when he was only a boy himself. He was a friendly sort, was Paul. We’d spend half our summers playing with him. You’d swing out, with that swing, right over the lake, and go down with a splash.’
‘Remember the tree house?’ called a stout, rosy-cheeked matriarch sitting next to her. ‘The one old Mr Meredith made like a ship? It even had sails. We used to spend hours and hours in there.’ Nods and murmurs showed that the tree house still had the power to stir fond memories.
‘I had my first kiss in Blodeuwedd’s Garden,’ remarked Haf, wistfully.
‘You never told me that,’ snapped her sister. ‘Who was it?’
‘Next to King Arthur,’ said Haf, with just a twitch of mischief in her wrinkled little face. ‘It was so romantic.’
Nesta scowled.
‘It’s our memories they’re taking away,’ said Edna, frowning severely at this straying from the subject at hand. ‘That’s what they’re destroying. It’s not right.’
‘Something ought to be done,’ added Nesta, not to be outdone in the leadership stakes.
The cowbell chimed once more, letting in a group of walkers, complete with walking poles and a small posse of two black Labradors and a terrier noisily lapping up the water in an old ice cream carton just outside the Boadicea’s door. The walkers made their way purposefully to the counter, while outside a second wave could be seen finding tables and settling dogs in the shade.
Buddug rose, gathering empty cups on the way back to relieve her beleaguered assistant at the counter. ‘You could always go and talk to them. I’m sure, given the option, David would prefer to see the place remain as part of the village. And I’m certain Rhiannon wouldn’t object at all.’
A wave of mutterings rose amongst the tables of the Boadicea as Buddug resumed her place and began taking orders with her usual calm efficiency.
Carys
There was a moment’s silence. No one, it appeared, was about to disagree.
‘Well, it’s outrageous.’ Carys looked up at the indignant cry from the far end of the room. Conversation in the Boadicea died to a murmur. The cyclists tucking into bacon butties with gusto paused and turned in faint alarm at the direction of this outburst. The natives, it seemed, were growing restless.
‘So it is, Nesta,’ came a reply from Edna Williams, once Headmistress of Pont-ar-Eden primary and leader (self-elected) of the matriarchs. ‘But what is there to be done about it?’
‘Well something should be,’ retorted Nesta Pugh, chairwoman of the local Women’s Institute, and close rival for Edna’s coveted leadership position. ‘My mam was right: it was my ancestors who made the bricks that built Plas Eden. Look, see. There are bills showing my great-grandfather was still doing the repairs. The Merediths have no right to sell Plas Eden. Private land: that’s what it’ll be, you mark my words. And we’ll all be shut out like a load of peasants, as if we’d never had anything to do with the place at all.’
‘Plas Eden is being sold?’ said Carys, putting down her cup with a jolt.
‘Maybe,’ said Buddug. ‘If Huw gets his way.’
‘You don’t know that we’ll be shut out if someone else takes it over,’ Nesta’s sister Haf was protesting gently, as the outrage in the far corner threatened to spill over into the rest of the cafe. But, all the same, she sighed. ‘We used to have such fun in Eden woods, when we were kids, remember?’
‘Remember the swing over the lake?’ put in one of the older men.
‘ Duw , yes.’ Edna’s white head nodded, sharp grey eyes softening. ‘I’d forgotten about that. It was a log on a piece of rope, if I remember rightly. Old Mrs Meredith put it there for the boys’ father, when he was only a boy himself. He was a friendly sort, was Paul. We’d spend half our summers playing with him. You’d swing out, with that swing, right over the lake, and go down with a splash.’
‘Remember the tree house?’ called a stout, rosy-cheeked matriarch sitting next to her. ‘The one old Mr Meredith made like a ship? It even had sails. We used to spend hours and hours in there.’ Nods and murmurs showed that the tree house still had the power to stir fond memories.
‘I had my first kiss in Blodeuwedd’s Garden,’ remarked Haf, wistfully.
‘You never told me that,’ snapped her sister. ‘Who was it?’
‘Next to King Arthur,’ said Haf, with just a twitch of mischief in her wrinkled little face. ‘It was so romantic.’
Nesta scowled.
‘It’s our memories they’re taking away,’ said Edna, frowning severely at this straying from the subject at hand. ‘That’s what they’re destroying. It’s not right.’
‘Something ought to be done,’ added Nesta, not to be outdone in the leadership stakes.
The cowbell chimed once more, letting in a group of walkers, complete with walking poles and a small posse of two black Labradors and a terrier noisily lapping up the water in an old ice cream carton just outside the Boadicea’s door. The walkers made their way purposefully to the counter, while outside a second wave could be seen finding tables and settling dogs in the shade.
Buddug rose, gathering empty cups on the way back to relieve her beleaguered assistant at the counter. ‘You could always go and talk to them. I’m sure, given the option, David would prefer to see the place remain as part of the village. And I’m certain Rhiannon wouldn’t object at all.’
A wave of mutterings rose amongst the tables of the Boadicea as Buddug resumed her place and began taking orders with her usual calm efficiency.
Carys
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