Bad Moon Rising

Although old, the cottage had been well modernised to my requirements. The largest room was the sitting-room, the focal point being a huge open fireplace with side alcoves filled with firewood. When I'd taken possession, the place was badly in need of updating. The ground floor comprised two poky little rooms plus the kitchen so I had the dividing wall knocked through to make one large room. The original floor was of flagstones, too cold in winter, so now it was polished wood with a number of large rugs here and there. Surrounding the fireplace was a comfortable old sofa with a pair of matching easy chairs. To one side was a small dining table with two chairs and a door that led into the kitchen. The back of the room had been turned into my office area with computer -desk and an array of packed bookcases, and there was sufficient room for Amber to work there as well if she wished. Overhead were the original wooden beams and the mantelpiece was decorated with a number of antique horse-brasses. The dogs' beds had been placed under the tiny windows and their food and water bowls had been filled by Gwen. They dived straight into their dinner.

Amber exclaimed with delight over the room and its layout. "So you like it?" I asked.

"I love it."

Still a little doubtful, I asked: "Are you sure about this, Amber? It can't match your house in Newcombe."

She took my hands in hers, expression earnest. "Will you please stop worrying, Cerys. I remember nothing of the big house and my life in it save those weeks with you. I was told it was mine, I was shown the Land Registry deeds and copies of my parents' wills proving it was mine. But that's all I know of it—as far as I'm concerned it might as well be a great big fantasy. I love your cottage and what more do the two of us need?"

"Well, it's your home for as long as you want," I told her.

She put her arms around me and rested her head against my shoulder. "That should be for always, then."

"The bathroom and bedrooms are upstairs. The third bedroom is tiny so I had it converted to a shower room. You can pick whichever of the other two you want."

"I'd like to share whichever one you'll be in, Cerys."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Amber touched my face and kissed my lips. "Cerys, will you take me upstairs now and make love to me please?"

"I was hoping you'd say that, too..."

* * * * *

In a fairly small community such as ours, I suppose it was inevitable that Amber should encounter Uncle Nye sooner or later. Sooner was better, get the ordeal over with. We'd gone into Pen-y-Dyffryn to build up our stock of foodstuffs and produce and were outside a greengrocer's deciding what vegetables and fruit to buy when a familiar harsh voice behind us greeted me in Welsh.

"Cerys Morgan!" The greeting made my name sound like an accusation or a filthy word. "Back here to spread your doctrine of perversion, is it?"

I turned. "Why, it's Uncle Nye. Hello, Uncle Nye, how are you? How nice to see you, Uncle Nye. I'm very well, thank you for asking, Uncle Nye."

Uncle Nye was pale, tall and gaunt, almost skeletal, and habitually dressed in black. He looked more like a vampire moonlighting as a funeral director than a member of the clergy. It was surprising that sunlight didn't turn him into a pile of dust. I think he detected a slightly caustic note in my greeting for at each repetition of his name, angry red spots on his prominent cheekbones flushed an even deeper colour. "Don't you 'Hello, Uncle Nye' me with all your mocking ways, young woman, I have your measure, indeed I have. A libidinous disgrace to the family, you are!" He raised one arm theatrically, bony index finger pointing upwards, as if calling down God's wrath upon me and every word he uttered was pure amateur dramatics, Elmer Gantry personified. "I will be naming and shaming you from the pulpit this coming Sunday. From the pulpit!"

Tirade finished for the moment, he turned to face Amber, addressing her in English. "So..." I wondered what farrago of nonsense he was about to come out with. "So... you'll be the poor miserable creature who has been snared by this shameless and depraved hussy whom I'm ashamed to acknowledge as a relative. Be warned, young woman! There is a special bench in Hell's depths reserved for fornicators, sodomites and other sexual deviants!"

I needn't have worried about Amber. She held her own all right. "Thank you for the good advice," she said. She smiled sweetly and added: "Would that bench be next to the one reserved for bigoted and intolerant clergymen?"

There were those in the town still living mentally in the early twentieth century and Uncle Nye was among them. He was taken aback at being spoken to like this, especially by a mere woman and an Englishwoman at that, and his eyes bulged with fury. It didn't help that the shopkeeper, a well-known local atheist, overheard the exchange and burst out laughing. Uncle Nye made a disgusted noise and stalked off, for all the world like an angry vulture hoping to find a dead goat and failing.

Amber and I looked at each other and grinned. "No need to tell me who that is," she said, "Is he always like that?"

I winked. "You've just seen him at his best."

"Well then, guess I'll be with you on that special bench in about fifty years time."

"It's a date," I said, "and at least we'll be sitting down and in the warm." We both joined in with the shopkeeper's laughter.

* * * * *

Epilogue - Harvest Moon

After several months we were well settled in my—or perhaps now I should say our—cottage. Autumn was upon us and the evenings were growing darker and more chilly. I was half way through my next book to the relief of my agent and publisher while Amber had a part-time job teaching IT in a local secondary school. Strange, although her pre-accident memory was unlikely ever to return, she had total recall when it came to computers and security systems. So not only did the school gain a first-class IT tutor but also someone who could ensure that their systems were never hacked or compromised. The school's salary couldn't compare with Amber's previous earnings but she was content with our life.

She proved very popular with her teenage students, mostly, I think, because of a wholly unfounded rumour that she was a former intelligence operative who'd received her facial injuries and amnesia while on an operation in Afghanistan or Iraq or some place like that. Amber tried to deny the stories but of course the kids nodded wisely and told each other: "Well, she would have to say that, wouldn't she? Very secretive they are in intelligence." I half suspected Uncle Huw of starting the tales in the pub—he had a great sense of mischief when he'd had a couple of pints—but he denied it and my thoughts echoed the youngsters: Well, he would have to say that, wouldn't he? Very devious is my Uncle Huw.

I ran Amber to and from the school on her workdays and the other staff were made aware that she might suffer from epilepsy and knew how to get hold of me in an emergency. As for Amber herself, there was never any sign of the old and malicious Amber returning. In fact there had been the odd occasion when I was the one to turn nasty in her defence, usually against some bigot who sneered at her for being saesneg, that is 'foreigner' or English. Amber was trying to learn some Welsh although it's not an easy language and her memory problems made it more difficult. She persevered though. She had regular neurological tests and we were advised that any further improvement to her memory was doubtful. Although she didn't comment, I think Amber was secretly relieved. She didn't want the pain of recalling what she'd once been like.

As for Amber's appearance, there was some small improvement. The scars were fading although they'd always be there and once you were used to the broken nose it became almost invisible. Her hair had grown out into a delightful pixie style, brown with streaks of grey, which suited her and she decided to keep it that way.

And financially we were comfortable. Amber's house and contents had sold for what seemed to me like a small fortune and Auntie Meryl's house had eventually gone for a very very much lower non-fortune, half of which I gave to Huw and Gwen. As to Amber's settlement from Alibert's, it was more than generous. I think this had a lot to do with Mary Tallis's solicitor, Jacobi & Son, who had hinted at possible legal action for unfair dismissal. To relieve my anxiety that I might be thought a gold-digger, Amber donated a huge chunk of her wealth to various charities. She did set up a trust fund for me in case her injuries led to an early death—that was a possibility I tried not to think about because it upset me so much.

One evening we'd had our supper, a substantial vegetable soup with thick slices of homemade bread, and were flopped out on the sofa. Bess and Mandy had vied for the best position before the fire and were now curled up in doggy contentment. I was getting drowsy so tried to kick-start myself into some sort of action before I fell asleep where I sat. "Just going to take the dogs out for their last run," I told Amber, "You want to come?"

"Good idea." She went over to the rack and grabbed our coats.

It was a clear, crisp night and when we'd been walking for about fifteen minutes—the dogs trying to herd us when not doing dog things; that's what border collies are bred for and their instinct is to herd anything that moves—Amber said: "I'll never get used to seeing all these stars or breathing all this nice clean air. Love it. Don't think I'll ever want to go back to town living." She squeezed my hand and said: "Thank you for bringing me to this lovely place, Cerys." Suddenly she pointed towards the horizon. "Look, the moon's coming up."

"Yes," I said, "and it's a harvest moon tonight."

"What does that mean?"

"It's the nearest full moon to the autumnal equinox," I told her. I wasn't really a smartarse, I'd learned that when researching something.

Amber put an arm around my waist and kissed my cheek. "Any superstitions attached to a harvest moon?" she asked, "Like good- or ill-omens."

I shrugged. "Not to my knowledge. I was told it was a full moon the night that drunk smashed into you but that wasn't a harvest moon. Guess you could say the rising moon that night was a bad omen for you."

"Perhaps not, seeing how it helped change me into a better person. And maybe this harvest moon could be our lucky moon."

"Say if we believe hard enough, it might well be." I had a sudden flashback, Mary Tallis reminding me I was taking a big chance with Amber. Perhaps I still was and yet I remained optimistic, confident that in the long run everything was going to be just fine for the two of us. The old Amber wouldn't be back. This harvest moon was our lucky moon.

As if she had read my mind, Amber almost whispered: "Do you ever have any doubts about me, Cerys?"

"No. Others did but not me."

Amber stopped and turned to face me. "I love you, Cerys Morgan."

I reached out and hugged her. "Ac rwy'n caru chi," I said, "That means I love you too."

"Fancy coming to bed with me? Right now?"

"Yes my lovely, I fancy coming to bed with you at any time ."

We called the dogs and turned back towards the cottage. Hand-in-hand we went home.

The End