Torchwood: First Born by Goss James

Author:Goss, James [Goss, James]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781446417096
Publisher: Ebury Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Rhys

I remember taking the baby to meet Gwen’s folks.

We meet in a service station car park. That’s how we roll these days. In the distance a motorway roars past. To the left are some truckers. To the right a load of shops that smell of farts.

In the middle, parked behind a camper van, Gwen introduces Anwen to her grandparents.

Gwen’s mum Mary’s dressed up for the occasion, even stuck on a new hat. She’s crying a lot, and Gwen’s dad is holding her shoulder, gripping it. He’s wearing driving gloves (who wears driving gloves?) and we’re not really saying that much. There is some talk about B-roads.

The traffic goes past, making that neow-neow-neow noise that traffic makes when you’re playing at cars as a kid.

Mary’s face has lit up, but she’s crying so much as she holds that kid. Holds Anwen like she’s something wonderful. Which she is. Gwen’s leaning, just a little, back against the car. She’s not quite steady on her feet, but she doesn’t want to show it. She wants to seem so normal. She wants to say that everything is OK.

Which it is definitely not.

Geraint lets go of Mary. His hand eases off her shoulder gently. I imagine he changes gear like that. Ever so soft. He’s a quiet man. I suspect the Cooper men all are. His glance is shifty, he wants to confide in me, and we step just slightly away from the three generations of Cooper Women.

We are standing next to someone else’s mobile home.

‘The mileage on these things always worried me,’ he says.

I agree with him. There’s little you can do other than agree with Geraint. He’s never really held an awkward opinion in his life. He’s never really disapproved of me, but then he’s never really approved of me, either. He just gives me that little, nearly shy smile, like we’re two people with the same problem, or the same brilliant secret. Gwen Cooper.

‘How was it?’ he asks. I’m guessing he means the birth.

‘Bloody horrible,’ I say. I don’t go into detail.

‘Right enough,’ he grins.

We both pull a face. He sucks his teeth in. Like we’re talking about a plumbing bill and not the miracle of childbirth.

‘How is she?’

‘Tired. Brilliant.’

‘Good,’ he says. He casts a drifting eye over at Anwen. ‘Bit tiny, isn’t she?’

‘She’ll grow up quick,’ I say.

‘Right,’ Geraint nods. ‘Gwen was a big baby.’

‘Oh.’

‘They do grow up. Takes you by surprise.’

We talk like that for a bit. Baby chit-chat. I’m standing there, trying not to cast an eye around too obviously, making sure the camper van shields us from any CCTV, watching out for any big black cars gliding silently along the slip road. Anything really.

At any minute, they’re coming for us. I know this. But maybe not now. Not in a service station. Not behind a camper van with an amusing bumper sticker.

‘Proud?’ asks Geraint suddenly.

Startled, I say nothing, and he studies me closely. Guardedly. For an instant, I think he’s going to say something wise. But he just nods.

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