Day Two (Tuesday)
Edward woke early. He’d deliberately left his curtains slightly ajar, so the morning light of outside would act as a kind of natural alarm clock. He woke to a perfect view of Swansea Bay, bathed in glorious sunshine. Clear, blue skies were overhead, and the clouds of the previous day had vanished from sight. To Edward it looked simply perfect. It gave him a feeling of renewed encouragement and optimism, after the weekend’s shock to his system. He switched on the television at the end of his bed, so he could listen to the news. He liked to keep abreast of current affairs and the financial markets, even when he was away. It was a habit from his working days. Old habits were hard to break, he found. He checked his phone, to see he had indeed turned it off as he intended. There would be no messages from Alice, as least none that he’d open or acknowledge, if he could help it. He’d maintain radio silence for a while. He’d let her stew in the mess of her own making. Although perhaps he too was to blame in part. He should have seen in coming. He was too focussed on making plans for his impending retirement. He’d been keen to tie up all the loose ends and leave nothing unattended. Perhaps he’d neglected Alice a little as a result. Perhaps he’d unwittingly encouraged her into Paul’s eager arms. It was too late to change that now.
Edward had done all the usual things that he would have done when travelling to London. He’d got himself a coffee and a newspaper at Didcot Parkway station. He’d sipped his coffee whilst he sat waiting on the platform. Only this time he carried a small travel bag with him. The train had been on time, at least within a minute or two. He’d waited patiently to get on. He wore a white shirt, brown trousers, black shoes and a lightweight raincoat. He wasn’t so very differently attired as when formerly going to work, except he had no tie, and his sports jacket was folded neatly away in his bag. Edward was of medium height and medium build. He was slightly overweight like most middle-aged men and kept his hair cut short, as he’d noticed it begin to slowly recede and thin once he’d hit his fifties. It had been thick and strong once as a young man and he’d worn it long accordingly, but those days were well and truly gone.
Edward took a leisurely shower. The water was warm but not quite as hot as he’d have liked. Still, what could he expect for forty pounds a night? It was pleasant but it wasn’t The Waldorf or The Savoy or The Dorchester. He didn’t want it to be, although he had stayed at all those places in the past. Not lately, however. He no longer felt the need for pretension and to be something he wasn’t. He preferred simplicity and to keep things basic. He’d left his old extravagant lifestyle behind him. He had no great wish to return to it. He’d leave that to others, to a new generation of investors and bankers. In his pomp, showing off had been part of the game and the path to success. Now he saw through all that for what it was. It was superficial and fake. It didn’t really matter how many new cars and luxury holidays he had. It hadn’t stopped his first wife dying or his second wife leaving him.
Edward looked at his watch. It was ten to eight. Breakfast was served between eight and nine. He put his clothes on and brushed his teeth. He guessed he’d be one of the first ones down. He descended the stairs carefully. He was starting to feel every one of his sixty years, although he hoped the holiday would breathe new life into him. Mr and Mrs Evans stood at the bottom of the stairs, ready to greet him with a friendly smile.
‘Good morning, I hope you slept well,’ Mr Evans said.
‘Yes, very well, thank you,’ Edward replied.
He had indeed slept well. He hadn’t even had to get up for his customary pee in the middle of the night. That in itself was highly unusual and proof that he’d been spark out to the world. Mr Evans showed him to a seat by the window. He was indeed the first down, as he’d half expected to be.
‘This is the breakfast menu,’ Mr Evans said, handing him a laminated copy of what was on offer to staying guests. ‘Can I get you a fruit juice? Orange or apple?’ Mr Evans asked.
‘Orange would be lovely,’ Edward said.
‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea, I think,’ Edward said.
‘Would you like cereal?’ Mr Evans continued.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Edward answered, as he casually perused the menu. ‘I just think I’ll have the full, cooked breakfast and some toast,’ he said.
There were other choices on offer – hot porridge, scrambled eggs, poached eggs, beans on toast. Perhaps he’d try some of these on future days, but he was content to be filled by a full, cooked breakfast on this, his first day.
‘Sausage, bacon, beans, mushrooms, tomatoes. Anything you don’t want?’ Mr Evans enquired.
‘A little bit of everything will be fine,’ Edward confirmed.
Mr Evans left the room, presumably to take the order to his wife, who Edward imagined was given the full reins of the kitchen. That was her domain. A few minutes later, Mr Evans emerged with a pot of steaming tea and a small jug of milk.
‘Do you take sugar?’ Mr Evans asked.
‘No, thanks,’ Edward said.
He’d tried to give it up in his unsuccessful attempts to lose weight. Too many business lunches and dinners had caused him to put weight on, which he’d found difficulty shifting, even when he’d ceased to attend so many. Once the weight was on, it was on. That was the problem. Edward poured himself a cup of tea and took a sip. It felt warm and refreshing on his lips and tongue. Meanwhile another guest, a young woman, possibly an international student, had come in and was shown to a table. Edward didn’t have long to wait before his cooked breakfast and toast were brought out and placed in front of him.
‘Is there anything else I can get you?’ Mr Evans wondered.
‘No, this will be plenty for me,’ Edward said.
‘So, what brings you here? Business or pleasure?’ Mr Evans asked, deciding the formalities were over and it was time to engage Edward in real conversation.
‘A bit of both,’ Edward replied, rather cryptically. ‘But mainly pleasure, I suppose,’ he added.
‘Have you been here before?’ Mr Evans enquired.
‘In the very distant past. I was a student here more years ago than I care to remember,’ Edward explained.
‘Oh,’ Mr Evans said, suddenly looking up as if Edward had now captured his interest. ‘Where did you live? Were you nearby?’
‘I lived in various places,’ Edward said. ‘I was on campus in halls of residence in my first year, then in Brynmill and the Uplands. In my final year, I was very nearby, in Sandfields, in a road just behind here. In fact, that was why I chose this guesthouse. I used to walk past it, when I walked this way to the shopping centre, though I doubt you were the owners then.’
‘Oh no, we didn’t have the guesthouse then. We were cockle pickers in those days. I collected them and Gwen sold them in Swansea Market. It wasn’t a bad living, but I’d had enough by the time I was fifty, so the last few years we’ve been doing this instead.’ Mr Evans said.
‘I saw the cockle and laver bread sellers are still in the market,’ Edward commented.
‘They’ll always be there, whilst there is a market,’ Mr Evans said. ‘Mind, I wasn’t that keen on the laver bread myself. Gwen likes it though.’
It was an acquired taste for sure. Edward had taken some home for his family once. Only his dad, who had Cardiff connections, had claimed to like it, probably out of loyalty for his home country more than anything. Edward had found it distasteful in the extreme, although he could eat a cockle or two if he was forced to. He just didn’t like the gritty taste of sand that came with them. He’d never make a proper Welshman, he reflected to himself.
‘Maybe if I stay long enough, I’ll get to like it too,’ Edward said, diplomatically.
‘Any special plans for the day?’ Mr Evans asked.
‘I thought I might visit a couple of museums,’ Edward replied.
That was indeed his intention. He wanted to visit the old city museum he knew well from his student days, as well as the more recently opened National Maritime Museum. After finishing his breakfast, Edward returned to his room. He spent a little longer getting ready and then headed out. The museums didn’t open until 10am, so he had a little time to kill. He made straight for the small coffee house by the market, where he’d had his lunch the previous day. He thought he could enjoy a coffee and read his book for a little while, whilst he waited for the museums to open. When he walked in, the lady serving at the counter looked up.
‘Weren’t you in yesterday?’ she enquired.
‘Indeed, I was,’ Edward said, feeling slightly embarrassed.
He was surprised she remembered him. He wasn’t an especially noticeable person, not these days at least. Perhaps once in his youth, but those times had long since vanished.
‘What can I get you?’ she asked.
‘Just a coffee and one of your delicious cakes,’ Edward replied, holding out his bank card to pay.
‘Take a seat and I’ll bring them across,’ he was told.
Edward made himself comfortable and got out his book. It wasn’t long before his coffee and cake were brought to him.
‘Good book, is it?’ the lady enquired.
‘Well, yes, I suppose it is,’ Edward answered, slightly taken back by her enquiry. ‘It’s considered a classic of European literature if you like that kind of thing. It’s not for everyone though.’
‘Me, I like a good thriller or detective story,’ the lady said.
‘Dostoevsky did write about crime too, in a way at least,’ Edward said.
‘I should have said, I’m Meredith by the way. What’s your name?’ the lady asked.
‘I’m Edward.’
‘Well, enjoy your coffee and cake, Edward,’ Meredith said.
‘I’m sure I will,’ Edward said.
With that she left him in peace to his book. When he’d finished, he quietly got up.
‘Perhaps we’ll see you again tomorrow?’ Meredith said, as Edward moved towards the door.
‘More than likely,’ he replied, cheerfully.
He could already see how quickly he could slip into a routine here. In many ways it really was like coming home. Edward wandered up towards the ruins of Swansea Castle and back down Wind Street, in the direction of the Maritime Quarter, where the city’s two main museums were located. He stood outside Swansea Museum. It looked exactly the same as it had forty years before. It had hardly changed at all. He went inside. That had hardly changed either. There were three rooms and a short corridor of exhibits downstairs and two rooms of exhibits upstairs, as well as a small garden outside. Three of the rooms were exactly as he remembered them. The room dedicated to natural history had always caught his imagination as a student. He was less enamoured with the ceramics and pottery room. He never had been as a young man. There were also rooms featuring both costume and Neolithic artefacts. The centrepiece of the collection remained the room dedicated to Welsh social and industrial history, notably the rural, Welsh, cottage kitchen, with its elderly resident resplendent in traditional red and black Welsh dress. For some reason that single image had remained in Edward’s head through all the years since. Another, a painting of a storm in Swansea Bay, he could no longer find. Perhaps it had been carefully put away for posterity since his last visit.
Edward had been a regular visitor to the museum as a student. His fairly relaxed economics timetable had usually allowed him to go to the shopping centre several times a week. On at least one of those occasions, he normally made the additional walk to the museum. It was generally quiet. He welcomed the peace. It provided a much-needed break from the hectic nature of the campus and student life. His fellow undergraduates thought him a little odd. He didn’t care. He’d do what he wanted, whatever anyone else thought. He’d always been his own man, pretty much anyway, although perhaps not in his choice of job. There, he’d bowed to parental pressure to an extent. He wondered what life might have been like of he’d followed his heart and a different course. Part of him had been in broad agreement with his parents. Like them, he’d thought money and security important at the time. They seemed less so now, although that was easy to say, as he finally had as much money as he could ever possibly want or need.
Edward had met his first wife, Angela, at Swansea. She’d been a mathematics undergraduate. They’d met at a dance at a pub and dancehall by the Clyne Halls of Residence on the Mumbles Road, that he could no longer recall the name of. It had probably long since closed anyway. It had been unusual for Edward to go the Clyne Halls site. He generally resided on campus, in town, or in the student pubs in the Brynmill and Uplands area of the city. Quite often they ventured all the way into The Mumbles, but rarely stopped halfway. He was glad he did. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have met Angela. She’d come from Hampshire. Edward had dated a couple of girls casually earlier in his first year but nothing serious. He knew straight away Angela was the one. Pretty soon they became inseparable. Edward lost his virginity to her. Indeed, she’d remained the only woman he’d slept with until her tragic, premature death. Even afterwards, there was only Alice.
After graduating Edward and Angela had moved to Oxford, where they’d remained within a few miles ever since. She’d become a successful accountant, counting Oxford University among her notable clients, whilst he’d commuted to his financial job in London. Eventually they’d got married and had children. They’d never considered staying in Swansea, despite both enjoying their time there. They’d both been in an almighty hurry to get back to England and get on with their lives. They imagined there weren’t the same opportunities for them in South Wales. Perhaps they’d been wrong. Perhaps in retrospect they could have both become academics at the university. They could have got a little house in Blackpill or West Cross, overlooking the bay. It might have been a less stressful life for Angela. It might have enabled her to live longer.
Leaving the old museum behind him, Edward headed towards the marina and the National Maritime Museum. The short walk only took him a few minutes. The National Maritime Museum was a large and imposing building from the outside. It stood on the northern side of the marina. An impressive display of historic vessels were moored in the waters on the quayside immediately in front of it. Despite noting the changes and developments the day before, Edward remained giddily in awe of the major transformation since the days he’d known it. The mouth of the River Tawe had largely been an area to be avoided. That was no longer the case. Now it was a haven for visitors and a desirable place to live for the affluent middle-class like himself.
Edward paused at the entrance, where his eye was caught by a selection of stunning vintage vehicles, lovingly restored to their original, gleaming factory condition. The natural route around the museum took him upstairs first. The main gallery there was a celebration of Swansea’s maritime past, including small displays to the side on Welsh social history. It struck Edward that the Welsh celebrated their history and culture so much better than the English did and in a way the English struggled to match. The English on the whole weren’t all that interested in how their ancestors had lived. The Welsh by comparison were very much interested. They were proud of coming from humble and hard-working roots. The difference was palpable.
The main gallery downstairs was dedicated to the industrial heritage of Wales, including the coal, steel and copper industries. Most of that was gone but the memories lived on in the artefacts and records on display. Edward was blown away that such a museum should exist that wasn’t even there in his day. At the end of his tour, he decided to stop in the museum’s café for a late lunch. He looked at his watch. It was nearer two o’clock than one. How time had flown. He checked his phone. It was still off, as he intended. He wondered if Alice had tried to call or text. Probably not, he reflected. She was glad no doubt that he was gone, and she was temporarily rid of him at least. She of course was happy with Paul. She didn’t need him, Edward, in her life, not anymore. He was surprised too how little he was thinking of her. It was as he’d already accepted it was over and he wasn’t willing to fight for her anymore. Instead, he thought of Angela, his deceased, first wife.
Finishing at the museum, Edward began to slowly meander his way back along the Oystermouth Road in the direction of the guesthouse where he was staying. Once he reached the sandy beaches of the bay, he could see the Mumbles headland clearly in the distance. He paused around halfway back to sit on a bench and get his book out. It was still warm and sunny. No rain so far today, although light rain showers were forecast for the evening. It wouldn’t matter then. Edward sat back with a feeling of relaxation and contentment. He should have felt more anxious than he did. Alice was about to leave him for a younger man. He’d circumvented that by leaving himself and taking himself out of the equation. Already all that unseemly bother seemed far away, almost as if it had never happened. It was true everything remained unresolved and up in the air, but it could wait. Edward was certain it would all work itself out one way or another in due course. He didn’t really want to think about it too much. It didn’t really bear thinking about. It had come as too much of a shock at first. Now he’d started to come to terms with it. Instead, he was content to reflect on the past and his days as a student, in Swansea, with Angela all those years ago. Years that had long since passed and he could never have back. He was trying, however, to relive them as best as he could. In some ways they seemed much more relevant than the present.
Back at the guesthouse Edward took a much-needed nap. He didn’t have the stamina he’d once had in his prime and at the height of his working powers. The mild heart arrythmia, whilst under control, sapped his energies a little. He was slowly learning to live more healthily. He no longer drank as he once had. Normally a glass or two of wine or beer was enough. Of course, Alice’s revelation had driven him to drink a bit more whisky than he normally did. Now he was away from her, he didn’t feel quite the same need. He could continue the good habits he’d tried to instal since retirement. He wanted to be healthier. He wanted to be more active. Hence the gradual return to tennis and walking further.
After his nap Edward found a quiet pub on Brynmor Road, where he enjoyed a pint with his evening meal. It was a pub he’d frequented as a student. Edward took the scenic route back, down King Edward’s Road towards the St Helen’s Rugby and Cricket Ground, where Edward had watched many a first-class rugby match back in the day, when Swansea had entertained the likes of Neath, Llanelli, Pontypool and Cardiff, just as he’d been a frequent visitor to the Vetch Field, to watch Swansea City. That ground had since made way for a proposed housing development, as both the city’s main football and rugby teams, Swansea City and the Ospreys, now played in a new purpose-built stadium out of town at Landore. St Helen’s remained open but only for Swansea’s cricketers and amateur rugby team. That wasn’t the only thing that had changed, Edward observed. Most of the pubs that had served visitors to the ground had also vanished. Pubs where he’d misspent many hours when he should have been attending lectures or revising. It had simply been too tempting and too easy not to. That was the life of the student after all.
It was about seven when Edward returned to the guesthouse. He found Alan and Gwen Evans sitting alone in the breakfast room, which doubled as a guest lounge in the evening, watching the television. The small bar in the corner of the room remained ominously unused. If no other guest wanted to take advantage of it, Edward might as well do, he decided.
‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked.
‘Not at all, be our guest. Indeed, you are our guest,’ Alan said.
‘That’s a clever pun,’ Edward noted, with a flicker of mild amusement.
‘So, how are you getting on? Have you settled in all right?’ Gwen enquired.
‘Very well, thanks,’ Edward replied.
‘Is your room to your satisfaction? Have you got everything you need?’ Gwen continued.
‘It’s very nice. No complaints at all,’ Edward assured her.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ Alan asked.
‘A whisky and soda would be perfect,’ Edward said. ‘Do you want me to pay for it now?’
‘No, we can just add it to your bill when you leave, and any more you have,’ Alan said, getting up to pour Edward his drink.
‘So, how long do you plan to stay with us, Mr Chapman?’ Gwen asked.
There was something about Edward’s dignified demeanour that he always tended to be addressed in that manner and not by his Christian name.
‘Please call me Edward. No need to be formal. I’m on holiday,’ he said.
‘Then call us Gwen and Alan,’ Gwen said.
‘I’ll certainly do that,’ Edward agreed. ‘In answer to your question, I don’t really know how long I’ll be staying. Maybe a few days, maybe a week, maybe longer. I have a few things to sort out. I’ll just see how it goes, but I’ll keep you informed.’
‘Well, you can stay as long as you like, as far as we’re concerned,’ Alan reiterated.
‘Alan says you were at university here,’ Gwen commented.
‘I was, a very long time ago,’ Edward confirmed. ‘You could say this is a nostalgia trip for me, a bit of revisiting my past, if you like.’
‘I notice you’re travelling alone,’ Gwen remarked, trying not to be too prying, but nonetheless providing Edward with a convenient opportunity to provide further explanation if he wished to.
‘Indeed I am. My wife, Alice, has work to attend. We live near Oxford. She works for a publisher there. I, on the other hand, am recently retired and time is largely my own,’ Edward explained, taking a lingering sip of his whisky.
‘Do you have any children, Edward?’ Gwen asked.
‘Yes, two, Victoria and Henry. They’re both grown up. Victoria works for an advertising agency. Henry is more of a free spirit. He travels a lot, through Europe, Asia and Australia, picking up work where he can find it. Sometimes I’m quite envious of him and wish I’d been more like that. He’s younger than Victoria. Hopefully one day his wanderings will cease, and he’ll settle down somewhere. I’m not too concerned if he doesn’t. He’s living his own life at least.’
‘Like you, we have two children too, a boy and a girl also, as it happens. Like yours, they’ve both flown the nest now,’ Alan said. ‘One is local, the other lives in Cardiff. They’re near enough that we still see quite a lot of them. There’s always a bed here for them if they need it. They know that which is good.’
‘Alice is actually my second wife,’ Edward resumed, suddenly deciding to reveal a little bit more about himself.
Alan and Gwen seemed like nice people. Why shouldn’t he open up to them? What did he have to lose? Why should his life be a closely guarded secret? In the past, he might have been reticent. There was no need for that, he realised. It didn’t really matter who knew what. He wasn’t yet ready to tell them about Alice’s affair, however. That still struck too much of a nerve within him, for the time being, to tell anyone else, even if he was slowly coming to terms with it himself. He was still too proud to admit such a thing had happened to him, a person of his standing and position. It was positively shameful to lose his wife to another man if nothing else.
‘Victoria and Henry are the children of my first wife, Angela. We met in Swansea. That’s part of my reason for being here,’ Edward continued, at last.
‘How lovely,’ Gwen commented.
‘Well, not entirely. Angela died,’ Edward said, almost having to choke back a tear he hadn’t expected.
Instead, he took another generous gulp of his drink, to hide his momentary emotional discomfort.
‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ Gwen said, trying to console him, even though she barely knew him.
‘It’s OK. It’s been a while now. It was breast cancer. She was only forty-five. But I still have the children and the memories of her, particularly here. I’ll never lose them,’ Edward said.
‘That’s something, I suppose,’ Gwen said.
‘Indeed, it is,’ Edward agreed,’ suddenly composing himself and forcing himself to be jolly and cheerful again.
He was here to reflect, but not to be sad. He preferred to remember the good times he and Angela had shared.
‘Can I get you another drink?’ Alan asked, noticing Edward had finished his drink.
‘No, I think I’m all right. It’s time for me to head to bed,’ Edward said.
With that he took himself off towards the stairs and up to his room.
‘Goodnight,’ he said, as he departed.
‘Goodnight,’ Alan and Gwen said in unison.
