Free Last Train to Gloryhole by Keith Price Page B

because I got to hear all about it. Do you know she told everyone on Facebook that you two went all the way? What? You didn’t know? I thought not.’ Rhiannon picked specks of grit from the netted fabric as she pulled the blue hose up around her hips and waist. ‘Only I didn’t know she meant all the bloody way down here. God! It’s no wonder she’s your ex now, is it?’
    ‘It wasn’t like that,’ retorted Chris, sharply. ‘It was the other way round, completely. In fact, let’s not even talk about her, Rhiannon. She was - she was just to o easy if you want to know the truth. She was, I’m telling you. Pippa Jenkins, pah!’ He shook his head at the memory and pointed at the bricked-up wall of the tunnel. ‘You know, we didn’t even have to go inside there. And, if I remember, it wasn’t even properly dark. Christ! I could tell she didn’t care where it happened. Just that it -’ Chris suddenly tossed a stone at the steel door and it clanged loudly, reverberating starkly throughout the surrounding, now deathly silent, valley. ‘You know, I thought that maybe I would . But I guess it’s different when it’s your first time, isn’t it?’
    ‘Is it?’ replied Rhiannon bitterly. ‘Chris, will you promise me you won’t make me next time?’
    ‘But I thought you liked it, Rhi?’ he asked her, now disgruntled somewhat by her comment.
    ‘Make me come down the tunnel again, I mean….not the other thing,’ she replied, crossly. ‘God, we had to walk for ages just to get here.
    ‘But it’s not really that far, babe,’ Chris announced. ‘And it was still light when we first arrived. Anyway, nobody could ever bother us inside the tunnel, could they?’
    ‘Oh, really? Except the ghost, perhaps,’ Rhiannon told him, throwing on her scarf, doing up every button of her school-blazer, and turning up its narrow collar against the stiff, cold breeze that now swept up at them round the curve of the wide river vale. ‘After all, the tunnel runs under the cemetery, doesn’t it?’
    ‘What ghost?’ Chris asked her. ‘Whose ghost do you mean, babe? Aw, don’t tell me you actually believe that old wives’ tale, Rhiannon? Nobody else does, so why should you?’
    ‘Well, he was my uncle, for a start, wasn’t he?’ she told him, biting into her lip.
    ‘Yes, but you never even met the man,’ Chris retorted scornfully. ‘Your Uncle Sam is about as relevant to us now as - as, say, J-F-K, or John-the-Baptist, if you want my opinion.’
    ‘Look, I can’t say I do, as it goes, Chris,’ she retorted. ‘I don’t happen to want your opinion at all. Really, please don’t talk about my Uncle Sam like that,’ she pleaded, taking both his hands in hers. ‘He was my dad’s only brother, after all, you know. And everyone says he saved my dad’s life when they were just young boys, back in that school that got destroyed, down in Aberfan.’
    ‘O.K, O.K., but my Mam went there too, remember,’ put in Chris, by way of balancing things, but he could easily tell that Rhiannon wasn’t really listening to him any longer.
    ‘And anyway,’ she continued, ‘his body only got re-buried again the other day. And I was there, remember. We all were. Listen - I know you didn’t go, Chris, but did I tell you I saw your mother, rambling about over in the cemetery some time later that evening? Creeping away like some vagabond between the grave-stones, she was, I swear. Like a - like some criminal. Why on earth was she doing that, Chris? Do you know?’
    ‘What the hell are you talking about, Rhiannon?’ the boy retorted sharply. ‘That couldn’t have been my Mam. She said she went to work as usual that day, so I guess you must be mistaken.’
    ‘Really?’ said Rhiannon, suddenly dropping his hand, and walking on ahead of him onto the rough, stony, cycle-way that comprised their route back towards the Gloryhole-viaduct. Not many seconds later she had turned the corner and was gone.
    ‘You know, it’s not just