A Bump in the Night
Chapter Five
"This is the life," sighed Jack, stretching out his long legs. "Now, let's see what this is like." He sipped his pint of Purple Moose beer cautiously. "Umm, not bad."
Ianto, sitting opposite, agreed. "That's good stuff."
"Let's take some back for the troops. Bit of a change to sweets." He drank some more.
"Only if you carry it."
Ianto looked around. They were sitting in the beer garden of the Miner's Arms set on the hillside looking down on the old slate mine and the Victorian village buildings. The day was sunny and bright but this high up there was a brisk wind that meant they needed their jackets on. Other tables about them were occupied and more couples were arriving. It was lunchtime and everyone was drawn to the place to sit, drink and eat.
"Are you going to tell me about this place, then?" asked Jack. He was used to being fed information by Ianto about all the places they visited - whether or not he wanted to know - and he was rather surprised at his companion's continuing silence.
"Not much to tell. It's an old slate quarry turned into a tourist attraction."
"And? No history lesson today? No Jones ancestor who worked in the quarries?" teased Jack.
"Here, you read about it if you're so interested." Ianto dug out the leaflet that had come with the tickets and held it out.
Jack refused to take it. "Nope. That's what you do. I come along and make rude remarks and you read out the information. Them's the rules." He spoke in a stupid accent and wagged a finger at Ianto. "No changing the rules."
"Idiot," laughed Ianto. "You never listen to what I tell you so I don't know why I bother," he went on, opening out the leaflet. "Okay, the quarry was started in 1849 by a Mr J W Greaves who almost ran of money but found the slate just in time. A rich vein with five slate beds."
"Beds?" queried Jack with a twinkle in his eye.
Ianto ignored him, another of the rules. "They'd dress the slate and send it down to Blaenau and onto the train for Porthmadog and shipping round the world. Still do apparently but on a much lesser scale." Ianto continued to read for a moment then added, "It went everywhere, especially in Europe."
"Until it was cheaper to get it from somewhere else, no doubt."
"Probably. Oh, here comes lunch."
The waitress, a short plump girl with goth makeup and face piercings, bustled up to them and placed the tray on the table. "Two lobsqows and bread." She unloaded the tray efficiently and put the cutlery down last. "Enjoy your meal."
"Thanks." Jack smiled up at her and was rewarded with a nod before she bustled off back to the kitchen.
"This smells good." The large bowl of meat, vegetables and potatoes gave off an enticing aroma. He took a spoonful and, after blowing to cool it, put it in his mouth and chewed. "Delicious."
"What was it called again?" asked Jack who had also tasted his. "Looks like stew or meaty soup to me."
"It's called lobsgows," he pronounced it 'lobscouse'. "My granny made this sometimes."
"Bet this isn't as good." Jack was well aware that in this century food from one's childhood was always said to taste better than that encountered later in life.
"Better, actually. My granny was a lousy cook." He went into an involved tale about his granny Hoskiss who overcooked everything – meat, fish and vegetables – but never realised it herself. Her family, not wanting to upset her, just ate what they were given as best they could. "My Uncle Harry said she burnt salad once."
Jack was laughing so much he choked and spluttered for a moment until he could breathe properly again. "What a family!"
"It was all right. Pretty standard stuff. What about yours?" Ianto did not like talking about his family and decided to turn the tables. "Could your granny cook?"
"Never knew my grandparents, they died before I was born, and food was cooked communally so I never really knew who'd cooked what." He tore off a piece of bread and dipped it in his bowl. "Wasn't as tasty as this."
"What was it like?"
"A mixture. Lots of fish, with spices when we could get them. Most of the time it was pretty bland but nutritious."
Ianto chewed his mouthful while watching Jack demolish the last of his food. He wondered when he'd accepted that Jack came from the future, it seemed to creep up on him unnoticed. There had never been a moment when Jack had laid out his past for Ianto or, as far as he knew, for the others. It had emerged in dribs and drabs, as humorous asides and strange tales. But Ianto believed it as there was no other way to account for Jack's uniqueness. He was one of a kind and not just because he couldn't die. Even without that he was special for all the places he had been, all the people he had met and all the things he had seen.
"Hey, you listening to me?" demanded Jack, waving a hand in front of Ianto's face.
"Get off!" Ianto batted the hand away and returned to his meal. There were only a couple of spoonfuls left.
"I asked why you were staring at me. Other than the obvious, of course," preened Jack, "I am pretty amazing to look at."
"And modesty is your middle name."
"No, don't have one." Jack smiled at Ianto over the rim of his beer glass and took a drink. "Do you?"
"You know everything about me, Jack. It's all in my file, which I know you've read." He placed the spoon in the bowl and sat back. "There's not much in yours."
"I wrote most of it myself." Jack's smile became a grin.
"That accounts for the spelling mistakes."
"Oy!"
They grinned at one another, happy to tease and be teased. Their relationship was unusual to say the least and had encountered many ups and downs but it was the stronger for that. Both men were wary of commitment and yet in one another they had found a sympathetic partner – physically and emotionally – and enjoyed spending time together. Neither would admit how much they depended on the other, afraid it might blight what they had; both had enough hurt to carry around without adding more.
Half an hour later, they were walking round the village. Their first stop was the Banc Greenway and Greaves Bank, its interior fitted out with a solid wooden counter and tellers' windows. Ianto stood looking at the fittings, all made of polished oak, and wished his own chrome and glass bank had some of the character of this place. Jack was interested in the transaction going on with an group of three elderly ladies and shamelessly eavesdropped. When they moved on, he took his turn with the 'manager', in reality an employee made to dress up.
"So you change money?" Jack asked with a delighted grin.
"That's right, sir. These ha'pennies and farthings are specially minted here on site," the bewhiskered and frockcoated man ran his hands through the drawer of copper and silver coins, "and are accepted in all the shops on site."
"What's the exchange rate?"
The two men went into a detailed discussion and Ianto couldn't believe that Jack was seriously trying to get a better deal than the one advertised. He was becoming paranoid about money! Eventually Jack was satisfied and accepted his special coinage which the 'manager' placed in a small plastic bag.
"Do we have to change our money?" asked Ianto.
"No, sir. It's just a bit of fun." Ianto decided to pass.
Outside again, they walked along a little further looking into workshops arranged around a small courtyard. There was a smithy for a blacksmith, a cobbler's shop and a printer's, mainly for handbills. Each was set up with the tools of the trade, some of which were very strange indeed and Ianto enjoyed guessing what they were until Jack's imagination got a bit fanciful – and rude.
Their next stop was a chemist's shop filled with patent medicines and lots of packaged goods from the time. The same ladies that had been in the bank were in here, reminiscing about the old brands displayed on the shelves. Jack joined in leaving Ianto, the youngest by a good fifty years, at a loss. He had never heard of half of the goods and when he learnt what they could do was quite pleased he hadn't! A little bored, Ianto left the shop and went outside to wait, sitting on a bench and enjoying watching the people pass by. He was there ten minutes before Jack came to find him.
"Hey, what are you doing out here?"
"Thought I'd leave you with your girlfriends." Ianto nodded towards the trio of ladies walking away.
"They're nice people," smiled Jack, understanding that Ianto was not cross, just feeling a bit left out. "Come on, next shop." He hauled Ianto to his feet and they walked on, arm in arm.
This shop happened to be Ffestin Morgan's Sweet Shop and Jack descended on it like someone who hadn't a meal in a week. He exclaimed over all the old favourite sweets arrayed in jars around the small shop and anxiously awaited his turn to be served. His final haul was: two tins of Uncle Joe's mint balls; four ounces each of aniseed balls, lemon sherbets, pear drops, bull's eyes, treacle toffee and Pontefract cakes; and half a dozen gobstoppers. He would have bought more but Ianto put his foot down. Jack got out the special coins and paid, getting the lot for just a few pence. With the purchases packed in the rucksack, they continued their amble around the village.
David Francis's House was next, the oldest house on site and home to a blind harpist from 1865 to 1929. Inside, the tiny whitewashed cottage was exactly as it would have been then, with simple furnishings and few luxuries. To Jack's annoyance, Ianto got an audio-guide to find out more and chose a Welsh one for good measure. Unable to talk to Ianto, Jack walked round on his own and finished well before the other man. Leaving the cottage, he leant against the wall and helped himself to a bull's eye, sucking noisily on the red and white peppermint sweet while he waited. He was on his second sweet when Ianto emerged.
"Try one," said Jack, holding out the small bag.
"Thanks. That was interesting," he said, nodding to the cottage.
"You love all that, don't you? Seeing how other people lived." Jack pushed off the wall, stuffed the bag of sweets in his pocket, and began walking away.
"Yeah, I do. Makes me realise how pampered I am. Running water, indoor sanitation, electricity. I never want to take them for granted."
"You're a funny guy." He might have said more but his mobile rang and he had to dig around in his pocket to find it. "Harkness."
Ianto listened to the conversation and realised pretty quickly that it was the hotel. His heart resumed its normal rhythm after momentarily racing when he thought it might be the team back in Cardiff. Which reminded him that neither he nor Jack had spoken to them since the morning.
"That was Geraint. The parcel's arrived at the hotel," said Jack as he closed the phone.
"Good. As you've got your phone out, give Gwen a call and check they're okay." Ianto took Jack by the arm and steered him to one side out of the way of other visitors.
"You worried about them?" Jack was dialling as he spoke.
"A bit. They were busy this morning."
"Okay. I'll see what they say. Hi, Gwen," he said into the mobile, "how's tricks?" Standing close, Ianto angled Jack's hand holding the mobile so he could hear too.
"Quieter, thank goodness. Doing some paperwork at the moment."
"Good, good. There's a few files on my desk that need looking at if you're at a loose end."
Gwen's laughter was loud and long. "No way, Harkness, that lot's all yours. Where are you now?"
"Ianto'll tell you."
"Why me?" protested Ianto.
"Because you can pronounce it," said Jack pointedly. "She'll only laugh at me."
"Hello, Gwen. Seems Jack is tired of tangling with our glorious language. We're at an old slate mine, Llechwedd, above Blaenau Ffestiniog." He paused and then went into a conversation entirely in Welsh. Jack rolled his eyes and handed Ianto the mobile helping himself to another bull's eye.
Ianto continued to talk to Gwen for another ten minutes, confirming that all was well in Cardiff. "Here," he held out the mobile to Jack, "and stop eating those." Jack put the almost empty bag of sweets into his pocket with a theatrical sigh.
The two continued to amble round the village, stopping to look in Agharad Ellis' shop which sold pickles and preserves. There were jars full of many good things arrayed in pleasing displays and on the shelves behind a low wooden counter. Ianto poked around and decided to buy a jar of onion chutney and one of blackcurrant jam for the Hub. Jack paid with the last of his special coins.
"Time for the tour, I think," said Ianto checking his watch. It was 1.47 and the tours started on the hour and half hour. "This way."
After queuing for a short time, they were given hard hats to wear and led into part of the upper cavern system formed by mining the slate. It was damp and dark inside but the platform where the small tram awaited them was well lit. The passengers, mostly adults but with one or two children, were allowed on to the tram which, while modern, had the feel of old rail trucks. It was painted bright yellow and had open carriages with four seats – two each side facing one another - with metal grillwork roofs and sides. As the tram was not full Jack and Ianto had a carriage to themselves which was just as well; they were too broad shouldered to be comfortable sitting side by side though Jack did suggest Ianto sat on his knee.
Jack smiled across at Ianto who was fiddling with his hard hat; he had adjusted it to fit and yet it still seemed to fall down over his eyes. Reaching into the rucksack on the seat beside him, Jack took out the camera. "Say cheese."
"What?" Ianto looked up and Jack snapped a picture of his puzzled expression. "Oh, Jack!" he complained.
"You look lovely." Jack was checking the image on the display. "Now, let's take one together." He leant in beside Ianto and held the camera at arm's length. "Cheese," he called, grinning broadly and taking the snap.
"You are a pain. Let me see those," demanded Ianto.
"Nope." Jack returned to his own seat, bare centimetres away. Ianto made a lunge for the camera but Jack was too quick for him and held it out of reach. "Oh, driver's coming."
Ianto sat back, still scowling. He would get at the camera later and delete the photographs if he didn't like them. With his hard hat finally sitting right on his head and his jacket pulled round him – it was cold underground - he waited for the ride to start. Ianto was facing the engine and, over the heads of the people in the four carriages in front, he saw the driver, an older man dressed in overalls, getting into the little cab. The driver gave a short safety speech over the speakers in each carriage and the tram set off with a little jerk into the darkness strategically lit with floodlights in the roof and set at intervals along the side.
"We are currently in the Cathedral Chambers," said the driver, "where the slate was first discovered and mined. Later, when the slate had all be removed from here, work moved down to the lower caverns. But we will be staying at this level. The lighting is kept low to give an idea of what it was like working in here with just candles for illumination."
The commentary continued as the tram progressed slowly along its route. It stopped in a tunnel not much wider than the tram where a floodlight clearly showed the marks of the miners' pickaxes. A little further on, the figures of two miners were posed as if working at the rock face.
"Boys began working in the mines at age twelve," said the driver, "when life expectancy was just fifty two years. That's forty years, working six days a week, twelve hours a day, by the light of a candle - if you could afford one. The tools you see here are the actual ones they used and are heavy and awkward. Some miners worked thirty, forty or even fifty feet above a sheer drop with only a chain wound around one leg to prevent them from falling."
The tram moved on again with more facts about the miners' lives, above and below ground, until they reached another stopping point. Posed high above the tram was the figure of a man on a very long ladder reaching up to the roof. "This is the roof inspector. That ladder is eighty six feet tall and he climbed it every day to inspect the roofs of all the vast network of caverns. And he did that while holding a candle in one hand."
"You'd have been good at that job," said Ianto as the tram moved on again, creeping past the ladder and the motionless figure above them. "You like heights."
"Wouldn't mind it." Jack was craning his neck to see the top of the ladder.
The tour continued for another ten minutes before ending at the Slate Mill. With their hard hats returned, the two men looked round the small museum and large shop. The shop contained many familiar souvenirs – some were in Torchwood's Tourist Office – as well as products made of slate. Ianto treated himself to a set of slate coasters with the red Welsh dragon on them while Jack bought five bottles of the Purple Moose beer. With some difficulty, this all went into the rucksack which Jack ended up carrying as Ianto refused.
At 15.10 they were in the shuttle bus back to Blaenau Ffestiniog and the train.
-ooOoo-
"No, Jack, it's too late. The place will be closed."
"But you wanted to visit." Jack pulled Ianto to a stop and looked him in the eye. "Ianto, why didn't you say! We could have come back earlier."
"It's all right. Really." He shook his arm free from Jack's hold and smiled. "I can go anytime." He walked on across the car park.
Jack stayed immobile for several minutes before following him slowly. They had just returned to Porthmadog on the train. It had been a great ride down, with more spectacular views and a cup of coffee and a bun to keep them going. Now Ianto had told him it was too late to go to Portmeirion. The Welshman may act as if he wasn't bothered but Jack knew he was from the chats they'd had about the place; Ianto had been looking forward to seeing the village. By the time Jack got to the car he had a plan. He dumped the heavy rucksack on the back seat with his jacket and settled into the front seat.
"We'll go tomorrow," he announced, reaching for the seat belt.
"We're going back to Cardiff tomorrow. And we'll have the ghost with us. If we can catch it."
"Of course we'll catch it! You doubting me?" Jack look scandalised.
"So we'll have to take it back with us," pointed out Ianto patiently.
"It can stay in the car."
"As long as the containment box holds. We really have no idea what we're dealing with here. And anyway," he went on before Jack could respond, "it's busy in Cardiff and we need to get back."
"A couple of hours, Ianto. They can manage a bit longer. And the containment box will hold." He turned further in his seat so he was facing Ianto who was staring out of the windscreen. "Please? I want you to see this place." He felt Ianto was weakening. "Pretty please? Pretty please with knobs on? It'll make me very happy."
"How will me visiting Portmeirion make you happy?" demanded Ianto, trying not to be swayed by Jack's pleading look and the hand high up on his thigh.
"Making you happy, makes me happy." Jack's hand squeezed a little harder and edged a little closer to Ianto's crotch.
"We'll see."
"Great!" Jack knew that this meant he would have his way and they'd stop off on the way back south. He leant forward and kissed Ianto. "Want to stop somewhere and eat out tonight? It's still early."
With a sigh, Ianto considered the suggestion. He was pleased at Jack's concern for his happiness but he was also worried about the others back in Cardiff. Unlike Jack, he couldn't forget the three of them battling goodness knows what. They were expecting Jack and Ianto back by midday tomorrow and it was unreasonable not to be there. But on the other hand, he would like to visit Portmeirion. He decided to check in with Toshiko later. She would give him an honest assessment of how they were coping and whether another couple of hours would make a difference. Only then would he decide what to do, after all he was the driver and he didn't have to stop no matter what Jack wanted.
"I don't mind. How soon do we have to tackle the ghost?"
"Anytime tonight will be fine."
"Okay. Why don't we go back the long way and stop if there's somewhere that looks interesting. I need to get some petrol too."
"I'll keep my eyes peeled. Forward!"
It was 17.10 when they left Porthmadog and headed along the main road towards Caernarfon. Jack fiddled with the radio and found a local station that was mostly music. They listened to this as they dawdled along, in no hurry to get anywhere special. On the outskirts of the town, Ianto drew into a petrol station and filled the tank then they continued along the relatively quiet road. With the mountains on the right and the sea in the distance on the left it was a pleasant ride in afternoon sunshine. They passed a few villages, looking sleepy and deserted, before turning off on the B4418 which ran through a valley by a river. To either side of them were ranges of wooded mountains all around 700 feet high and in front of them lay Snowdon outlined against the mostly blue sky, higher than everything around it.
"We climbed up there," said Jack with satisfaction and pride.
"I know, I was there."
"Look." Jack pointed to the left of the road where a mountain lake had formed in a hollow. "Stop here and let's have a walk."
"All right." Ianto pulled onto the wide grass verge and stopped the car.
Stuffing everything they didn't need in the boot, they took off on foot, hand in hand, across the compacted turf to the side of the small lake. The water was crystal clear and reflected the blue of the sky. It was also very cold as Ianto found when he bent to test it with a hand. Continuing on, they climbed up a little way until they reached a natural seat and sat down to admire the view. Surrounded by the mountains, with rivers and lakes at their foot, there was no sign of habitation or cars except their own. High above them a hawk circled and they clearly heard its cry. Leaning into Jack, Ianto rested his head on the older man's shoulder.
"Who needs foreign holidays when we have this on our doorstep?" he murmured.
Jack's arm tightened round Ianto's shoulders but he didn't say anything. Even for him, the moment was too perfect to spoil with speech. He rested his head against Ianto's and just drank in the peace of the place. They sat there for half an hour, talking occasionally but mostly content to be quiet and watch the play of sunlight and shadow before them. It was very like the occasional nights they spent on the roofs of Cardiff but with a very different view.