Page 11 of Full Service

“Long story.” Daniel grinned at me again. “But short answer, I fell in love. And a certain Welsh hotel owner was very good at convincing me to stay.”

A door to the right swung open to reveal a familiar face. “I’m pretty sure you begged me to take you back to Wales,” said Tudor with a smile. It wasn’t quite as dazzling as Daniel’s but it was equally genuine and warm. “Long time no see,” he said to me with something like accusation in his eyes.

“Yeah. Been a while.” I didn’t know what to say. Had I really come back so naively not expecting to see so many ghosts of my past? I might have left Hiraeth long ago but so many had stayed.

“Sorry to tell you but we’ve no room at the inn.BloodConis going to have us crazy busy this week.”

“Well, thanks anyway. Catch up soon, yeah?” I said. Tudor nodded. He wasn’t exactly unfriendly, but I’d done my best to leave him and most of this town behind years ago. It was going to be difficult if I wanted any friends for the remainder of my stay.

Prentis was waiting outside in the car. I thought I heard him listening to Nelly Furtado through the windows of the car but when he saw me he reached forward to change over to Radio 4.

“Do you see now?” he asked.

“See what?”

“That this town still has life in it yet. That there’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Prentis pulled out of his space and drove back down the hill slowly. From so far up in the winter sunlight I could see how busy the place was. The high street bustled with activity. There were families playing on the beach, dogs chasing frisbees.

“I was never ashamed of this place,” I said. An uncomfortable feeling twisted in my gut. I’d tried so hard in my early Uni years to stamp out my Welsh country accent.

“Well, it’s getting along just fine right now. It’s good to have you back, but don’t think the Parish Council won’t havesomething to say once they find out you might sell up to bigger companies.”

I groaned. “They’re still around? Surely almost all the old crew are dead now.”

Prentis took one hand off the wheel and slapped the side of my head. “They’re all my age, thank you very much.”

“Is there anything I can do to get them on side?” I asked.

“Get a meeting with Alun and Alaw. They have big plans for this place and they’ve got the backing of the Parish Council.”

“Thanks, Uncle Prentis.”

Prentis drove the car back into the high street and slowed down. “Where would you like to go now?” he asked.

I thought for a second. If I couldn’t stay with him and there were no cheaply available spaces at the hotel…then I really didn’t know. “Drop me off at the garage,” I said. “I’ll get my stuff from there and commute from Aberystwyth when I need to.”

He didn’t need to know that I’d fallen so far that I couldn’t even afford that. There was only one way that I could make this work and the thought didn’t fill me with joy. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Prentis drove the rest of the way in silence. I wondered if he was proud of me. He and Uncle Llywelyn had said so when I passed my GCSEs after Mum died. They’d been ecstatic when I passed my A Levels and got into my university of choice. I hadn’t heard it much since, even when I got them fancy hotels to come and see me in London in the early days of my career.

The garage came into view. I could describe it as ugly but really it was quaint, with its squat red brick construction and corrugated metal roof. Macsen was out front in his navy overalls polishing off what looked like a very old and expensive bike.

“Thanks Uncle Prentis,” I said as I got out of the car. I patted down my pockets to make sure that I had my phone and wallet.

“No worries, son. You sure you don’t want a lift to Aberystwyth now?”

“No, I’m all good.” I gave my best attempt at a reassuring smile.

“Are you staying for Christmas? I might not have a bedroom, but you know there’s always a space at the table.”

I hesitated. “…sure. I’ll be there.” Uncle Prentis gave me his widest smile before winding the window back up and peeling out of the yard and back towards Hiraeth.

Macsen gave me a long look before going back to polishing off the bike. It was a similar burgundy sheen to my car, with a big headlamp and handlebars that had a soft aluminium glow about them.

“What’s that?” I asked, trying my best to strike up a halfway decent conversation before I hit him with my request.

“It’s a bike,” he replied. I said nothing in response though I really wanted to bite. I just waited a minute. Finally, with a sigh, he relented. “It’s a 1936 Harley Davidson EL. It’s very rare and precious, and the owner will be coming to pick it up within the next twenty minutes so I really want it to look good.”

“Can I help in any way?” I asked.

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