Aria Graice - 25. Chapter 25

It had been way too long since Drew had last been home and he wasn’t looking forward to it. It wasn’t his family, he loved them dearly, it was just that since he’d left, returning to the rain-soaked valleys with their rows of stone cottages clinging like misery to the side of the mountain, was something to dread rather than look forward to. It had taken him such a long time to leave them behind, the last thing he wanted was to go back. But he wasn’t going back for good. He’d escaped when many of his boyhood friends were stuck there, still walking the same streets, working in the same dead-end jobs. He was lucky. He had a choice.

As usual, getting out of London was a nightmare. He should have left earlier. Not that it was rush hour, or anywhere close, but once the day started it was always busy. It was easier once he got off the M25, but the M4 was no picnic on Saturdays at any time of the year, and there was something about summer that brought people out and made them do crazy things—like driving. Oh, and of course it was the school holidays so there were holidaymakers in their overstuffed cars, and caravans everywhere.

The services were unbearable. He bought coffee to go, a box of noodles and a newspaper, then retreated to the far side of the car park to eat lunch and read his paper in peace. The newspaper was a bit of an impulse buy. He usually watched and read news on his phone, but there was something about a newspaper that reminded him of home—of his father sitting in his chair in the corner with his pipe and his slippers, reading the same page over and over to avoid talking, of eating chips out of the paper for supper on a Saturday night, of all kinds of messy activities carried out on a kitchen table covered with newspaper. There was nothing like going home to make a man nostalgic. He inhaled deeply, the smell of the ink bringing forth even more memories, then something on the page caught his eye.

Opening the paper, Drew’s heart sank. Of course, the lead story would be the kidnapping. What had he expected? When the son of two of the biggest stars in Hollywood heaven is snatched from his own birthday party, and the other is almost killed by the car that was carrying him away, the whole world takes a breath and sits on the edge of their seats.

The wise thing would be to fold the paper and toss it in the rubbish bin next to which he’d strategically parked, but Drew wasn’t in a mood to be wise. He started to read and his heart clenched with anger and sadness. Of course, Julianna was making this all about her, and the media were eating it up. What better story than a heartbroken mother? Oh yeah, a heartbroken pregnant mother who had apparently been dumped at the party and was being kept away from her babies by their cruel father who cared less about what was good for them than about hurting her. Then, of course, there was a response from Henley, who said almost the exact opposite. The pair of them were like children and Drew felt desperately sorry for the twins caught in the middle.

Hardly any of the story, which covered the front page and a full five-page spread—with photographs and a full colour pull-out of the happy family—was about the boys, choosing instead to focus on the childish antics of their parents. There were some photographs, mainly of Amara performing, but none that showed the twins as they really were. The story portrayed them as typical spoiled rich kids, which brought Drew up sharply. Huh. Maybe he really should stop believing anything he read in the news.

The only part of the story that interested Drew at all was a few paragraphs at the end that said Amara had been officially discharged from the hospital but was refusing to leave Aria who was being detained due to “emotional trauma” he’d suffered at the hands of his captors. Drew could only imagine it had come from his confinement in the car boot since Jeff had told him the kidnappers had been caught before they even took him out of the vehicle. How bad could it be? God knows he wasn’t a stranger to fear, and he’d seen plenty of men buckle under deep-rooted phobias, but as far as he was aware no one had died from it, unless it took them away from what was happening. Freaking out about a snake when there’s a gun pointing at you can often be fatal. Aria hadn’t been in the car for very long, at least Drew assumed he hadn’t although Jeff had said something about a stake-out. He wished he’d asked more questions. Could Aria really have freaked out to the point where it actually caused him harm? Trauma was a strong word, but newspapers were notorious for blowing things out of proportion.

Drew sighed and laid the newspaper to one side. It didn’t matter. What happened to Aria was none of his business anymore. It was best if he didn’t even think about him. He laughed aloud at that. Who was he trying to kid? He’d not been able to think of anything but the twins since the moment Aria had run from the party.

Having lost his appetite, Drew threw the newspaper, along with his sandwiches and empty coffee cup into the bin. He then hit the drive through Starbucks for an Americano with an extra shot of espresso and got back on the road.

It was a long drive, and despite everything, he couldn’t help the little thrill of excitement when the Severn Bridge first came into view. Stretching across the River Severn, the bridge took the road from England into Wales, and thence home. Crossing the border always touched something deep inside that he managed to keep hidden most of the time. The Welsh call in hiraeth and there is no precise translation. The closest is homesickness, but it’s much more than that. It’s a love for your country, a nostalgia for times past, a longing for something that can only be described as a bond with the land itself. It’s an itch that can’t be scratched no matter how much you try to convince yourself it isn’t there in the first place.

Of course, the excitement lost its shine a bit when he had to pay the toll. He always grumbled under his breath at having to pay for the privilege of going back into his own country. Obviously, it wasn’t that simple, because he could simply have detoured around Gloucester and not paid a penny. What he was paying for was the convenience of following the M4 along the most direct, and fastest, route. He was paying for speed and time, which at five-pounds-sixty was cheap at half the price.

There was still a good hour-and-a-half to go, not counting the usual hold-up at the Brynglas tunnels, but somehow once the bridge was behind him the journey didn’t seem so long anymore.

By the time he reached Cardiff it was raining, of course. It was only a light, summer rain, and he didn’t even have to turn on the heater, but nevertheless it brought down a curtain of mist that quickly made him feel cut off from the world. It was a strange, disconnected feeling that he always got when he came home, as if more than a bridge separated him from everything he’d left on the other side.

He stopped at Cardiff Gate services for a pee and another Starbucks coffee, and called his mother.

“Hello, lovely. Where you at?”

“Cardiff Gate. Just stopped for a coffee.”

“Not too tired to drive, are you? It’s dangerous, you know. There’s no rush. I’ve got dinner ready when you get here. Have a kip there if you like.”

“I’m not tired Mam. I’ll press on, shall I? I’ll be there soon, and you can feed me as much as you want.”

“Oh trust me, cariad, you’ll never let me feed you as much as I want or you’d never have your mouth empty.”

“As long as you don’t to like Gran used to—stuff me full of welshcakes then tell me I look like I’m putting on weight.”

“Well you were a bit chubby back then.”

“Oh thank you.”

Drew was still chuckling when he pulled out of the services. Whatever he might feel about going home, that’s where his mother was, and his mother was the center of his universe and always had been. Without her, he’d never have got out and gone on to achieve all he had. She’d had dreams of him going to university, the first person in the family to do so, but when he’d announced at sixteen he wanted to join the army she’d supported him in every way, even though she could never quite hide the sadness in her eyes. It was that sadness that spurred him on in those early days when he was lost and frightened and homesick. All he had to do was remember her disappointment and it would give him the spur he needed to get out there and do it, to make her proud. And he had. He had made her proud, but he’d also torn the heart out of her. When he’d woken in hospital after the last mission went wrong and saw the expression on her face he’d vowed there and then that no matter what he was leaving the military and would never look back. She’d been beside him every step of his long, painful recovery and he’d repaid her by running away and ignoring her for months at a time. She’d never pulled him up on it though. No matter how much it must have hurt, she knew he needed his space and independence, and she’d let him have it with a smile.

Drew couldn’t help making comparisons. Megan Chance couldn’t have been more different to Julianna Graice, and Drew was thankful for it. Megan was a proper Welsh mam. She’d fight to the death for her kids, with her bare hands if she had to. There were so many times when she’d come to his rescue with no thought of consequence other than that her child needed her and she was going to be there for him come hell or high water. It couldn’t have been easy for her since his father died. When they were all at home, she’d worked three jobs, but when Sioned and Cerrian left home within a year of each other, she was able to give up two and focus on her real love, nursing.

Drew didn’t remember much from that time. He’d been only five when Sioned moved out, and six when Cerrian moved in with the demon spawn, which was how the family referred to her first girlfriend. He’d had their mother pretty much to himself for the next ten years.

Sioned was settled now, married to her girlfriend of twenty years and disgustingly happy. They had three children, not that they were children anymore. The oldest was at university studying medicine, and the middle one would be starting a degree in physics in September. Cerrian, on the other hand, had never settled down. She loved to travel and had a tendency to head off for a week in Spain, then send them a postcard from Tibet where she’d travelled with someone she met in a youth hostel to spend a month on retreat in a monastery. Their mother spent half her time waiting for a call that she’d wound up either in hospital or prison in some remote part of the world. The last time she was home, their mother had asked her if it wasn’t time she settled down now as she wasn’t getting any younger. Cerrian had laughed her sweet, carefree laugh and said that age was just a number and she’d settle down once she was tired of doing everything else which wouldn’t be for a very long time yet.

The closer he got to home, the thicker and faster the memories came until they pushed away the rain and suddenly the valleys were bright again. The mountains began to close in and what was dark and forbidding in memory became fresh and green, majestic not depressing.

He stopped for petrol at Sainsbury in Pontypridd and bought his mother one of the desserts she loved. They sometimes called in there just for a cuppa and a sticky, strawberry and cream meringue confection that was way too sweet for him but made his mother’s eyes light up.

After Pontypridd the valleys started in earnest. The roads narrowed and were lined with rows of squat terraced houses. Lush green turned to dingy grey. Every now and again someone tried to put on a brave face by painting their house in bright colours, but they all faded soon enough. Strange, but somehow the dullness didn’t affect him as much as usual. He was too glad to be home.

Traffic was heavy and time dragged as the last few miles disappeared under his wheels. By the time he pulled up in front of a nondescript mid-terrace house in Ystrad, the rain had stopped but he was hot, tired and thirsty. He grabbed the Sainsburys bag, hoping the dessert hadn’t been squashed and hopped out of the car.

Although he had a key, he didn’t think it would be right, after all this time to simply open the door and walk in, so he knocked and waited impatiently.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Drew Chance. I thought you were dead.”

Drew groaned inwardly as his mother’s next-door neighbour stepped out. Terrible timing? Or had she been waiting for the car. He wouldn’t put it past her.

“No, Mrs. Pugh, I’m still around to annoy you.”

“Get away with you,” she said, smiling. The smile turned a little introspective. “How are you feeling? Your mam said you’re back to work. Bodyguard or something, isn’t it? Army not dangerous enough for you, then? I would have thought after what happened you’d have gone for something a bit quieter.”

“You know me, Mrs. Pugh, I’m not one for a quiet life.”

“No, no you’re not, but think of your poor mother once in a while.”

“What do you mean?” He narrowed his eyes and frowned at her.

Mrs. Pugh, a good foot shorter and quite a few decades older, frowned back. “She worries. Beside herself, she was when she heard you were hurt. Of course, it was always in the back of her mind, wasn’t it? It is when one of your kids is doing dangerous things.”

“I wasn’t exactly doing dangerous things just for the sake of it. I was in the army.”

“Aye, that you were. Don’t get any time off in the army, do you? Don’t get access to the phone? And bodyguarding? Guarding important people, no doubt. People who matter. People who get phone calls from their children now and again.”

Drew sighed. She had a point. She’d lived next-door since Drew was a child and she was a good friend to his mother, watched out for her. He could imagine that his mother had done a fair amount of crying on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say. “I’ll try to do better but it all depends on what kind of job I’m on.”

“Not a job that will bring you home then?” Her tone was wistful, and Drew knew it was all for his mother. Shame punched him in the gut, but it wasn’t hard. At the end of the day his mother had her life to lead, and he had his and neither should live theirs for the other. Easier said than done when you’re a mother, he guessed, but it was what it was.

“Not any time soon, Mrs. Pugh. But I’m here now.”

“Yes, yes you are. So, what are you waiting for. Get off in there now and tell your mother Jack will be around later to finish mending the kerb in the back. He had to wait for the cement to harden,” she added as if afraid Drew would think Jack had a tendency to leave jobs unfinished.

“I can—” he started but snapped his mouth shut at the expression. Jack had started, so Jack will finish. “I’ll tell her, Mrs. Pugh.”

“How long are you staying, then?”

“A few days.”

“I’ll be seeing you around then.”

“Oh yes, you will.”

Nodding, Mrs. Pugh trotted off down the street and Drew thought sod it and used the key.

An hour later the nostalgia had well and truly dissipated and Drew remembered why he’d been so keen to leave in the first place. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his mother, or that she didn’t make him feel welcome, it was more that she managed to fit in years of gossip about just about everyone in the village, and tried to arrange a blind date with that lovely new boy behind the bar in The Lion who was apparently Just your type, whatever that might be.

“What are you not telling me?”

“What?” Drew jumped. He’d not been paying attention.

“There’s sadness in you. More than before. This is different. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you here?” She peered at him over her tea with that damned expression he could never resist.

“Isn’t it enough that I just want to see my mother?”

“It would be if that were all. Oh don’t get me wrong, bach, I’m not having a go at you, but I know you, and I know there’s more to this trip than missing my welshcakes.”

“It’s nothing. It’s just—” Drew was interrupted by his phone, and glad of the distraction, he checked it to find an unknown number. He cancelled it.

“Waiting for a call, are you?”

“No.”

“Andrew David Chance, I know you and I know when you’re trying to hide something from me. I’m going to make another coffee and when I sit down you’re going to tell me what’s going on, so you have five minutes to get your story straight—and you know I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Drew had no chance to think about what exactly to tell his mother because his thoughts were scattered by two more aborted calls. Drew turned off the phone and sank his head onto his hands, massaging his temples.

“Come on now, cariad.” His mother squeezed his shoulder. “It can’t be that bad. Let’s figure it out.”

A wave of love washed over him as he accepted the mug and gazed into his mother’s face. She had her determined expression on and it made him smile. He took a breath intending to give her a brief rundown, but it was all so safe and familiar he found himself spilling his guts on it all.

“Oh, my darling,” she said and moved to put her arms around him. “You’ve got yourself into a right pickle this time, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“So,” she said, sitting down again. “Tell me about these boys.”

Drew sighed, centring himself, and thought about it. How the hell could he describe Aria and Amara?

“How can I describe them? They’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before. I thought they were going to be spoiled brats but they’re a world away. I mean, they’re never going fit in around here. They’re friends with princesses and Amara in particular earns more in an hour than I do in a year, but they’re… Aria’s sweet and gentle. He’s a bit naïve but he has such a fresh view on life and he can be fierce. And his smile, oh God, his smile lights up a room. People fall over themselves for it, but he doesn’t even see.

“Amara on the other hand sees everything. He puts on this show all the time, like he’s a sex starved rock diva. He flirts with everyone but he’s just as naïve as Aria in some ways and he just needs care and attention, just like everyone else. He doesn’t give off the same kind of…need to be protected as Aria but he’s vulnerable too and that’s why I could never—”

“Bullshit.”

Drew blinked, stopped short by shock. “What?”

“Everyone’s vulnerable, darling, you know that.”

“But they’ve been through so much lately. So much emotional trauma in such a short time, and they’ve never had anyone in their lives who actually gives a damn about them. Not them. They’ve had no one they can trust, not even their own mother. Of course they’re going to cling to the first person who shows them…”

“Shows them what?”

Drew shrugged.

“Sympathy? Love?”

“No, not that. Don’t be daft. I’ve known them for a couple of weeks.”

“Doesn’t matter. I knew I was in love with your father two hours after I met him. Of course, I didn’t tell him because he’d have made a run for it, but I took my time, let him think he was in control and eventually he came around to the idea by himself.”

“That’s different, Mam. These are kids.”

“Do you think your father was all grown up when I met him? We were both kids.”

“Yes, that’s the difference. You were both kids.”

“Oh my love, you’ve had to grow up so fast, but you’re nothing but a baby yourself.”

“I’m twenty-four.”

“That’s nothing. You’ve been through such a lot but you’re barely more than a child.”

“It’s got nothing to do with chronological age, and you know it.”

“No, it doesn’t.” She cocked her head and he sighed, regretting he’d told her anything.

“It’s not that simple, and you know it.”

“Nothing ever is.”

“Well, even if you’re right about that, what about…” He shifted uneasily and automatically rubbed his thigh. “They haven’t seen.”

“If they care about you, they won’t care about that.”

“Mam, they’re kids, teenage boy who’ve grown up in privilege, surrounded by beauty. They don’t need to see something like that.”

“Maybe they do. All kids grow up and if they’ve got any kind of head on their shoulders they’ll won’t care.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that it would be okay for me to pursue a relationship with two eighteen-year-olds who are emotionally damaged and vulnerable?”

“No,” she said, getting up to kiss him on the head, “I’m telling you that the heart wants what the heart wants and it’s usually a good idea to listen, especially when the other hearts are calling back.” She patted his shoulder and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving him feeling…off.

It had been so simple—hard, almost unbearable, but simple. Now… It was impossible, of course. There was no way it could happen, but it was so much more difficult when something in the back of his head was whispering but what if…

They didn’t talk about it again, but Drew could think of little else as he went through the motions of unpacking the few belongings he’d brought and having a shower to wash off the dust of the journey. It was still on is mind when he reluctantly followed his mother to the local where he just happened to meet up with some of his old friends and when he sat staring morosely into his pint after his mother had abandoned him and his friends had made him wish he’d never come home in the first place. He’d never been a ‘lad’ and drinking for the sake of getting drunk had never been his way.

“Oh, sod this.” He pushed away what was left of his pint and slipped out without a word. As far as he was aware, none of his friends noticed him go.

Half way home he remembered he’d shut his phone off and turned it one again. He was taken by surprise by the number of pings that assailed him—texts, missed calls and voicemails all from the same number and a couple from Jeff.

His stomach turned as a suspicion gnawed at his gut. The first text he opened said Where are you? Come to the hospital. There then followed a series of texts growing more and more confused, then angry, then desperate. By the end, Drew had no doubt who they were from.

Balking at the voicemails, he checked the texts from Jeff which were, frankly, similar in tone. Jeff seemed to have changed his tune, asking, then demanding he grow a pair and return to face the boys. Aria, he said, was suffering from what the doctors thought was PTSD, and wasn’t doing well. Another text said Amara wasn’t doing well either, but it wasn’t clear why.

By the time he got home he was so tied in knots he couldn’t even go into the house. He had to keep walking, so walk he did until he found himself on the top of the mountain, a place he’d often gone to as a child when things got too much for him. Here, he finally listened to the voicemails which were, as he’d suspected, from Amara.