The Distant Roar

The sounds of happiness are drifting down the sea front promenade as we pull up outside the Saint Brides Bay Inn. Somewhere inside, a strident bell clatters twice and through the open doors, I can see a young barman gathering empty glasses. He chats with his remaining customers before returning to the cash register to check the night’s takings.

“Listen, Jill,” I say, nudging my wife, “I’ll grab the keys and a couple of beers.”

“Drinks? Where are…?” She looks around. “We’re here already?”

“So much for sharing the wheel.” I chuckle and kiss her cheek.

“Sorry, Gerry, I must have---” 

“Shelley left them in an envelope with Gareth, right?”

“Yeah,” Jill says, yawning, “She leaves them with him all the time.”

#

“We’ve just driven from London,” I say. “Any chance of---” 

“Sorry we’ve had last orders, sir,” the barman says, “We’re closing up and---”

“You’re joking?” I sigh and reach inside my jacket. “We’ve had an endless night---”

“Tell me about it, sir.” He says, wiping down the bar’s varnished wooden surface.

“We’re picking up keys.” I say, opening my wallet. “Gareth is expecting us.”

“It’s a Friday, sir.” He says and searches below the bar. “­Gareth always leaves early.”

I pull out a twenty-pound note. “We’re staying next door tonight---” 

“Keys you say?” He lifts up a glass jar full of oddments. “Well, what d’ya know?” 

He extracts two jangling keys between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re in luck.” 

The gentle tinkle of cold steel is a relief; at least we’ll have a bed for the night.

“My other half’s just woken up,” I say, nodding my head towards our car.

Jill waves at us from the vehicle and her radiant grin catches his eye. 

“I see,” he says, smiling as he turns to face me. “How about two bottles of beer, sir?”

“What a star,” I say, motioning for Jill to come in. “You’re a life saver.”

“On the house, sir,” he says, waving away my money. “Gareth won’t miss them.”

#

The barman finishes his duties, turns off the music system and invites us to finish our drinks at one of the wooden picnic tables. Outside the Saint Brides Bay Inn, all we can hear is the sea’s distant roar on the shoreline below. The waves tumbling onto the shingle beach dissolve into an undulating stream of white noise; it’s both calming and other worldly. 

Our new best friend locks up the Inn’s outer doors, wishes us a peaceful night and heads down the coastal road to the hamlet we passed earlier. His bicycle’s knobbly tyres grind their way into the darkness, leaving us to savour a moment of tranquility. It’s the solitude that you can only find on the South-West coast of Wales beneath a sky that’s bible black and twinkling with the light from countless stars. 

#

The pub and adjoining building are set apart from the nearby village of Newgale; it’s as if it were an outpost on the frontier of a new world. All is still and there’s no local nightlife that we can detect; we could be galactic travellers resting on an abandoned rock in some far off solar system. A slight breeze catches Jill’s shoulder length hair and she nestles further into the warmth of her cosy knitwear. 

“I wonder how long it will take for all those pebbles on the beach to turn to sand.”

“Not a clue, love,” I say as we bask in the moon’s gentle glow. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason, Gerry,” she says, shivering. “Let’s get inside.”

#

“So you’re sure the brass Mortice key is for the front door?” I ask, straining to unlock it.

“That’s what she told me this morning.”

The tired old lock resists my initial efforts but then yields under pressure with a sharp metallic clunk. 

“One down and one to go, right?”

“And the Yale’s for the night latch?”

“But which one?”

Inside the building, there are three doors in an enclosed vestibule area.

The second door we try opens with little effort and there is a poorly lit staircase.

“I thought she said it was a ground floor flat?”

#

The floorboards leading upwards are warped and creak as though they are complaining about being disturbed. The banister rail is twisted like the fragile root of a plant seeking a drop of precious fluid in a desert; it’s smooth to the touch but I wouldn’t count on it if we needed its support. When we reach the first floor landing we hear a bleeping noise from somewhere inside the apartment. 

“That’s going to drive me insane if it goes on all night.”

“I’ll sort it out,” I say, searching for a light switch. “It’ll be fine.”

“Oh, my God, Gerry…”

Piles of boxes and sheets covering items of furniture greet us. It’s the same in every room we enter. It looks as though Shelley’s having the place refurbished.

The master bedroom is generously proportioned and features a four poster bed. It’s also covered in cardboard packing boxes and piles of coats, suits and dresses. We shift Shelley’s possessions to one side and discover a deep winter duvet covered in pristine white cotton covers. By the time we’ve created an inviting space to sleep in, we’re both tired enough to flop down and crash out.

“I’m kind of surprised your friend didn’t mention all this---”

“Shelley’s not been here long, but yeah.” Jill says, cuddling up next to me. “A heads up would’ve been handy.”

“We could always post the keys and find a hotel somewhere, love if…”

“Nah,” Jill says, “I’m tired and it’s only one night.”

“I’ve got to say the air here is refreshing.”

“’Guaranteed good night’s sleep,’ she told me.”

“It’s so clean I can’t even smell it.”

Jill closes her eyes, nuzzles into my neck and rests her hand on my chest.

#

It’s wonderful to lie down on that welcoming mattress, despite our lengthy motorway journey, and fill my lungs without feeling my bronchioles straining to filter out diesel car fumes. Our flat in West Kensington is in a congested part of town that’s bustling all night. There are taxis chugging about and dropping people off at all hours of the night. We moved there for the night-life and there are always parties happening somewhere; it’s full of life and we love it, but we didn’t expect the continuous noise and dirt that went with it. It’s over crowded where we live and local parking is a nightmare. With up to six apartments per town house and streets that were designed for horse drawn vehicles, it can be a challenge to park within couple of blocks of our address. Some mornings we need a Sat-Nav and tracking system just to locate our car. 

#

“Listen,” Jill whispers, “Gerry, wake up, Gerry.”

The End