CHAPTER 45
We all ended up in the Smugglers, of course, for various values of ‘all’, as the family members were still sitting gossiping as we brighter, younger things shared taxis into town. Amina was by my side, but we kept our distance through unspoken agreement. I still didn’t know what to do about her, for while she was, well, my boxes of desire were very fully ticked, there was still the matter of Ange, and always would be.

I avoided Amina for a couple of weeks, my shift pattern helping, and then bit the bullet, sending Rae an e-mail.

Hi
Don’t know if it’s right to bother you, but I need some advice. I find it awkward to write this, so I’ll make it short. I loved Ange with everything I have. I now have someone else trying to start a relationship with me, someone I do really like, but I feel it would be betrayal. I have no idea what to do.

Jen

I sent it off immediately, before I could double-, over-, or second-think it, then closed my laptop before I could do anything else silly and went to make a pot of tea. I’d managed to cut right back on the booze, but evenings were still a trial. Thank god so many of my shifts were lates or nights, as they ate up the days to leave no room for maudling. Two days after I had sent my plaintive message, I got a reply.

Hi Jen
I spoke to Mum about this, and she just laughed. ‘Said our girl had found The One, didn’t I?’. Yeah, we understand, and we know my daughter would also understand. She will always be in you, you know, daughter-woman; her spirit is bound to yours, whatever happens in life, and we have seen those you choose as friends, and all that does is confirm how right you were as a choice for Angela.

I am going out on a limb here, but we are guessing that the woman you are now worrying about is Amina, the dark girl with the strong mother. People move on, my beloved daughter, and that is how life should be. You carry Angela Hinemoa with you, and that means that she still has a place, a mark of her life, in this world.

Wishing you all the love you may need
Rae
Tania
Tihani

Shit; I was in tears from the first word, but once I had them under control, the idea that had been simmering in my mind became as clear as could be, and I sent a quick reply outlining it. Their reply was almost instantaneous.

This is Tihani, Jen. Mum and Nan are in tears, and say yes, yes, yes

I left it for a while as I did the necessary research, and as the weather warmed, my typical working day also heated up, especially when the fair-weather bikers started to come out, those who only ever rode in warm weather. They come in two types, one of them all expensive leathers and state-of-the-art helmets, the others in T-shirt, jeans and trainers, sometimes, god knows why, flip-flops. The effect of the road surface on their skin is not pleasant to deal with.

I grew to hate bloody e-bikes with a passion.

The other result of warmer weather, of course, was the return of the Gammon Inna Vest to pub gardens, as opposed to desperate smokers in full waterproofs, and so we ended up back at choice venues such as the Moon and various pubs within stumbling distance of the football ground. It was all so bloody male, and I couldn’t help remembering the old ‘Yobs strip by Tony Husband, where a thug accuses a man of ‘looking at his girlfriend’. The hapless man apologises profusely, saying that he wasn’t, certainly not, no, and the thug asks ‘Why not? What’s wrong with her?’

It was in dealing with the aftermath of yet another fight at the Moon that Elf grinned at me, said, “They redecorated those flats yet?”, winked, and walked off. I got back to patching up another victim, this time of a punch, who had apparently picked up the wrong glass from the bar. Easy mistake to make, when you’re drinking lager and Mister Punchy is on Guinness,

It was a simple fact of life that in those pubs there were men who wanted fights, and how they got them was unimportant. It was just the after-effects, though, that bothered us, as we were the ones tasked with the bloody clear-up, often literally bloody, especially where glass was involved. And as the weather continued to improve, we also got more of the just-popping-to-the-pub RTCs, mostly single casualty stuff. Rock up to the bent car, a quick look over the driver while the police waited with a little plastic tube attached to a little yellow device, and then leave the casualty to their free ride to an overnight at the taxpayers’ expense and a chat with the magistrates in the morning.

I got to know several of the Traffic cops rather well, but only once did I spot trade for Debbie. At about four one morning, we were over by Ninian Park when Tom pulled up.

“Someone back there looks wrong, Jen”

We locked up and walked back down the road, where we found someone sitting in a doorway, skirt, trainers and a fleece jacket, and what looked like a spit and a jump from hypothermia. Tom busied himself with space blanket and what was left in his flask, before handing me his phone before leading me away from the casualty.

“A number Dai gave me, Jen. Worth a punt. I’m going to keep chatting with, well, her. See what the score is, but so far… she’s been thrown out by her family”

He took a breath.

“Sorry, but it’s another like that Maisie. You haven’t got that Deb’s number, have you?”

“No, sorry”

“Then it’s see if Dai’s contact can sort, and pass him or Paul a heads-up when it’s daylight again”

He was back to our new friend, and I pressed the call button on his preset number.

A yawning voice answered.

“This better be important”

“That Mercys?”

“Who wants to know, and why?”

“Ambulance crew; homeless kid busy freezing here, my mate said you’re a shelter”

“Where are you?”

“Corner of Ninian Park Road and Littleton Street”

“I know it. I’ll be there in ten. How will I recognise---”

There was a loud burst of laughter, then, “Sorry, but can I guess you’ll be in the large, bright vehicle with ‘ambulance written on it?”

I was grinning by then, suddenly happier by far than I had been. These were good folk.

We got the casualty out of the doorway and into our wagon, where it was clear of the drizzle and a lot of the cold, and in fifteen minutes a car was pulling up behind us, a dumpy black woman heading for us with a smile bright enough to read by.

“Hiya. I’m Mercy”

Tom shook her hand.

“Tom, and this is Jen. Casualty’s called Gemma”

Mercy hesitated slightly, but brought her smile back.

“Hiya, Gemma. My name’s Mercy Adebayo. I manage a shelter for street kids, but we’re full. What I’m offering is some warmth. I’ll take you back there, and you can have my bed for a few hours”

“I don’t want to put you out”

“It’s almost my normal getting up time anyway, love. Now, I can’t keep you with us, like I said: no room. What I do have is a contact with the Social, and I know full well they have a place for… Well, one way or another, you’re off the streets. When did you last eat?”

“Yesterday morning, Miss”

“Instant porridge do you?”

“That would be lovely. Thank you”

“Off we go, then. Jen, Tom: thanks. I know how we’ll sort this, and she’s safe now. I’ll get her settled then the ball’s in Heidi’s court”

That was a bit of a stab to the heart, but I knew it was just a coincidence. Whoever this ‘Heidi’ might be, she was almost certainly not running a German-themed bar just off Hayes. I watched the little car drive away, then looked at Tom, who shrugged.

“Yeah, I know. One for that Debbie. We had a bit of a talk, Gemma and me, while you were on the phone. She’s not even from Cardiff, and I think I know her Dad, at least by reputation. Lives near Connie’s old place, over in Newport. Sort of arsehole who’d drink in the Man in the Moon, and leave us a passenger for the wagon. If that’s his child, they’re well out of it”

He took a few breaths.

“Should be saying ‘she’, Jen, and she is, but she’s bloody unlucky with her genes”

There I was, bloody PCOS and all, so all I could do was agree.

I took the big step Friday morning, taking the bus into the City Centre and walking in the door of a solicitor I had picked off the internet, my choice based entirely on its proximity to the bus stop. I handed over the forms I had printed, along with the prescribed five pound note, and we said the words, Miss solicitor and commissioner for oaths and I, and we both signed, and Jennifer Medi Hinemoa Bradley walked back out to meet the Spring.