Long Mynd
“Now that,” Daniel proclaims to the small circle gathered around him, “was a party to remember!” and he gulps a lungful of night air. It carries a hint of cordite. Someone somewhere has chosen to celebrate with fireworks. It’s an autumnal smell, minus the bitter-sweet of bonfires, recalled to herald the turning of the year. The sky is clear, already a degree or two below zero, but its stars are lost to so many street lamps, late buses and taxis, pubs and houses still ablaze with festive light.
“The best New Year’s Eves are the ones you don’t remember,” comes a quip from somewhere in the group. Everyone laughs.
What a night! Vinny’s in town running special offers on all cocktails and sparkling wines and laying on a free ‘all-you-can-eat’ buffet with live jazz (tickets at twenty pounds per head). Time enough to pig out and get well oiled before grabbing the last bus to the Millwrights for the big Twelve-O, a theme this year (actually every year) of vicars and tarts, with beers at half price after ten and an extension till two, all the gang there in fancy dress: Threadbare, Bladder and Debs, Sami and Trish, Mick and Sonia, and best of all, Gorgeous Gail off duty. Gorgeous Gail in fishnets and a low-cut blouse! Then again, Threadbare with dog-collar and woolly jumper – what was he, the vicar of bloody Dibley? A complete riot. No, really it was a riot – they had to call out the police with dogs and ambulances. One drugs overdose, four cases of heat exhaustion and two bottlings, half a dozen arrests, several thousand pounds worth of damage and the pub closed for twenty-four hours.
All of which Daniel knows nothing of for now. He’s chalked up some pretty outrageous New Year’s Eves over the years, well on a par with such lunacy at the Millwrights, but tonight’s must surely rank as one of the most extraordinary. To his surprise, even the most ancient of the residents were an absolute hoot. He helped find seats for everyone’s guests, made sure their coats were safe, took it upon himself to pour the drinks and play at waitering with the trays of sandwiches. To everyone’s delight he even organised the background music and led the Karaoke. It left Gulnaz free to make sure everybody was warm enough, had their medication, could be helped with their feeding and had easy access to the toilets.
He lost count of the number of times he was told he must come again, or that he reminded someone of their grandson. ‘Who’s this handsome young fellow of yours then, Miss Gulnaz?’ one of them had teased. As 2006 tipped over into 2007, as poppers popped, glasses of squash or cups of tea were raised or spilt, as hands came together joining the seated, the standing and the lying down, and as New Year kisses were exchanged between those with teeth and those without, Daniel felt he’d been awarded a new lease of life, with Gulnaz to thank for it all. Of course she was too professional to repeat the intimacy she had shared with him earlier. Even so, their entirely innocent kiss – a respectable ten minutes after the chimes and singing – induced a chorus of aahs and oohs and a clearly heard, ‘Told you so,’ from somewhere at the back. It didn’t bother Daniel one iota.
While the other volunteers and care home staff say their goodbyes and go their various ways, he and Gulnaz slink back into the shadows to wait for the car park to clear. When she kisses him again it’s a kiss he is reassured to discover that retains all the intensity and melting power of before. This time he is careful to keep thoughts of sex under wraps. The thick fur-lined Parka she wears puts another safety layer between them.
At the end of their kiss he feels again the separation of lips, finds her eyes once more searching his, but sees no trace now of anxiety in her face.
“You were really great tonight,” she whispers. “Everyone said so. I’m so grateful to you for helping out.”
He tidies the hood of her Parka around her ears.
“Ah well, it was fun. I wanted you to see I’m not just some boozy waster.”
She pouts theatrically. “You mean it was all just to impress me?”
“Well, yes, to be honest: to start with. God, why else volunteer to spend New Year with a crowd of geriatrics? Though I knew you could do with the extra help. But it wasn’t the way I’d expected at all. I mean they’re actually a really fun bunch.”
Her face lifts again. “You flirted all night with Mrs Shenton-Stevens.”
He tuts. “Other way around! Other way around! She reminded me of my gran. Same moustache.”
“Don’t be horrible.” She smacks his chest and laughs.
Daniel shushes her. “Guli, I’ve been thinking a lot about things. Things from when I was a kid. I want to go back there – with you. Can you take some time off?”
“Back to Devon, you mean?”
They’re walking now, across the car park to the bicycle racks and Gulnaz is fishing for the key to her bike chain. He can already tell she is going to say no, but the disappointment when she does is no less painful. There’s the care home to think of, she explains, the possibility that she might be required again at the hospital. And a few days from now she’ll be going on a short training course. Plus, to be honest, it’s too soon. “When I get back,” she suggests. “Let’s take it from there.” The padlock clicks and she smiles, but to him the smile looks contrived. His is also a real effort. He clearly has more to do to prove himself. Tonight wasn’t enough.
“Okay, tomorrow then. Just the two of us, while we still can, out into the country somewhere. Malvern Hills or Shropshire. Anywhere but this shit-hole of a town.”
She has her cycle clips on and is wheeling the bike out of its rack. They walk together to his car; she mounts the saddle and balances on one toe. There is something about cyclists that never ceases to baffle him – why anyone in their right mind would ever choose such a mode of transport.
“That’s a lovely idea. I’ll do us a packed lunch with hot tea. Will you pick me up? Name a time.”
They agree midday – it’s already well after one and they’re both shattered. They kiss fleetingly. She pushes herself off and pedals into the sodium lights as he sinks wearily into marginally warmer upholstery, watching her go. Nice the way she moves her hips. Cycling may be daft, but what a spectator sport. He turns on the radio and starts the engine. Today has been a good day. When was it that he’d last said that to himself?