MORNING SERIAL
IN the lit-up window, bright against the houses and the hill, there’s the girl. Bare except for her underwear, she stands in her room beside the bed. A selection of clothing lies across the bedcover. She places each trouser and shoe combination together, stands back, considers. Pacing over to the radio, she turns ‘Atlantic 252’ up a notch. Through the window it blares, Wet Wet Wet again.
Skipping back to the clothes, she holds the tops up against herself in the mirror, puts her head to one side, smiles at herself, then adjusts her lips so that her teeth don’t show so much. Half the decision made, she picks up a little make-up compact, kneels on the floor at the foot of the tall mirror and lifts the eyeliner to the rim of her eye, to carefully, shakily, trace all around it. She layers her lashes with black mascara. She lifts the pad of the eyeshadow and dabs it over her eyelid. A love song comes on the radio and she begins to sway dreamily.
Make-up assembled, she stands up again, still in full view of the window, the faint trace of her ribs showing above her fragile waist, a small bra covering her almost breasts. She pulls the body-top over her, buttons it at the crotch, and stands to survey.
She does a pirouette, one leg bending as she spins and the tip of its toe finding the hollow in the side of the other knee.
In the overgrown garden, stood between the old, ivied sculptures, a big bag slung over one shoulder, Pigeon watches the dark house. He almost laughs, and watches again, eyes held by the spotlighted room as Iola pulls on her jeans and stands critically, looking at herself in the mirror.
There’s the sound of feet on the gravel, and, through the darkness Pigeon peers, to see someone else there, in the garden, watching. He’s stood behind the tree. A man. Tall, strong-looking shoulders. The man’s too old to be watching Iola. Much too old. Pigeon goes up behind him.
“Hey!” he says, and when the guy turns round, Pigeon kicks him in the balls.
> Pigeon is the winner of the Wales Book of the Year and the Rhys Davies Fiction Prize. Published by Parthian
CONTINUES TOMORROW