CHANGES IN A LANDSCAPE

Dai frowned at his beer, long fingers wiping delicately at the moisture on his glass. His hands were finely shaped, dainty even, though they’d held him in good stead in many an “unsubtle dispute” during his formative years. “Maybe it is if you don’t see me around at the studio, you’ll know I’ve listened to certain impulses and done something about it. It could be I’ll be kicking everything into touch and you won’t be seeing me at all.” Steve nodded, accepting the possibility but thinking, he talks me into taking the studio and now he’s leaving before we’ve even started. He focused on the scar running across the bridge of Dai’s nose, a remnant of a difference of opinion on the field in the days when he’d played rugby in the Valleys. The nose was prominent, forming almost a straight line from the bridge to the tip, giving him a noble profile like that of a Red Indian chieftain. He resisted asking questions, knowing there’d be no ready answers. Dai liked to keep things close to the chest, reluctant as always to allow anyone too close. The first pint was hardly allowed to wet the glass. Dai gulped his off with a complimentary rejoinder to shift the emphasis of his mood. “Going down well, think we made the right choice, coming here.” He stood waiting for Steve to finish his then went to the bar. “Our life is like a road,” he declared on his return with two more pints. “Sometimes we reach certain bends where we see other roads branching off. Some we follow but only so far, others we follow until we reach other bends and see other roads branching off. It’s the ones we follow that shape the rest of our lives and we never know what might have been if we’d followed any of the other roads.” “And you’ve reached one of those bends?” Dai thought for a moment. “You could say I’ve arrived at an incline where I can look back and see the many roads I could’ve followed.” He held both his palms in front of him as if for winding wool. “It’s this space between here, see, this little bit in the middle you have to worry about. You have to make the best of it, not get bogged down in all the tedium and crap like you have and like I have. Sometimes you have to go where the wind takes you, because I tell you, Steve, it’s passing by and if you don’t do anything about it, one morning you’ll likely wake up and find old Father Time ain’t hung around.” Steve reached for his fresh pint. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” he drawled, but Dai was too much in earnest to appreciate the “wild west” cliché. He sat forward with a sudden movement. “I’ll tell you straight, I’m ready for the knacker’s yard.” “Only ready?” Steve gave a joyless laugh. “I reckon I’m signed, sealed and delivered.” Dai glared at him. “Yeah well, I’ll be honest with you, I feel worn, I’ll admit that, but you definitely are. You should’ve cleared out of that mess you’re in ages ago. Marie was only saying the other day how worn she thinks you’re looking. She’s noticed that about you over these past few months.” “She’s probably right,” Steve sighed, feeling even more worn. The fact that Dai’s wife had observed it made him all the more aware. “Of course she’s right,” Dai insisted, blunt, resolute, taking care to expose Steve’s defeat as well as his own. “You know Marie never says things unless she means them. When you first came to work with me and Colin at the Centre you looked as fresh as a teenager. How long ago is that? Four years? Huh, hard to believe! Remember when we met up in Piazza San Marco with you and Colin? That’s only two years since. You were suntanned then and your hair all sun-bleached. Now look at yer!” “Is it as bad as that?” Steve asked, thinking it must be as bad as that. He thought back to the summer he and Colin had headed off together on a two-week holiday in Florence and Venice. He recalled that golden Venetian Sunday evening, the colourful crowds, the busy waters, and there had been Dai and Marie with their two daughters, Andrea and Susan, waiting at the prearranged spot below the column, all of them smiling and feeling almost like strangers with the novelty of meeting in a foreign land. Here in the smoky taproom of a raw January afternoon, the event was flung to the furthest corners of memory. It was as if none of it had ever happened. Reality faced him and reality was full of all the tedious, boring upheavals that must show in his face. Dai gave a single waft of his hand, like swatting a fly. “Blow the gaff, man, how many more times do you need to be told?” “But I have,” Steve said, feeling an unavoidable lack of conviction when he sensed Dai’s steady gaze on him. “Ah, you’ll be back tonight,” Dai muttered dismissively. “If not tonight then tomorrow night.” Steve shook his head. “Not this time. If I thought I was destined to carry on the way I have been doing, let’s say I’d be rather disappointed.” “Disappointed? Huh, a single bloke tethered as if you’re married and shagging your fist, that’s you, boyo. Here, let’s feel the thickness.” Dai reached over to grab one of Steve’s wrists. “Just as I thought, twice as thick as the other, like bloody Popeye’s, it is.” He cast it roughly aside. “Now, I’m telling you and Christ knows how many times Colin’s kept telling you, she’s leaning on you is Rebecca and you’re letting her.” “But I’ve moved out, that’s what I keep trying to tell you.” “Then keep away and make sure you keep away, cos everything that might seem important and serious now will have no bearing on what you might be doing, or where you might be in the future. I tell you, it was the best move you ever made, taking the studio.” He sighed wearily as if his aggressive need to convince Steve stemmed from whatever problems he was suffering himself.