Rhiwbina Living

Magpie
Over a cup of tea in his garden, Thomas Llewellyn rues a life full of mistakes as he
faces his own mortality. Is he too late to put things right?
How can you make up for a lifetime
of wrongs when you've got so little
time left to put things right?
Tom Llewellyn pondered this
problem as he sat in the small
garden at the back of his house.
Summer had arrived early this year.
It was just as well as it would be his
last and he knew it.
He reached for the cup of tea
that his daughter Louise had put
next to him five minutes previously.
The sun was strong but the
parasol protected Tom from its
overbearing heat. Tom liked the
shade, especially when there was a
cooling breeze. It reminded him of
the holidays he took to Spain with
the family in the mid-80s. When life
was good.
Tom sipped his tea. And thought
some more.
His life, up until this point, and on
the surface of things, had been
pretty routine. He'd left school
back in the late 70s and started a
mechanic apprenticeship at the
local bus station at the age of 14.
By the age of 21, he was driving
the buses on the local route. And
it was there, driving the 63, that he
first met his wife Kath, who boarded
his bus at the Monico cinema one
Wednesday night; she was all jet
black hair and white dress.
Tom and Kath spent the early
part of their lives doing what
was expected of them. They got
married at St Mary's Church on a
sunny Saturday in May 1981. It was
a modest affair. Thomas borrowed
his Dad's suit as his wages didn't
stretch far enough for one of his
own. The reception included jam
sandwiches and cakes baked by
Kath's mum. The guests spoke
42
about the cakes for weeks after.
The newly-wed couple bought
their first house, a bungalow, which
they named The Nest, with money
given to them by Kath's parents.
Tom often felt indebted to them for
giving them the money. He had no
choice but to take it. He had none of
his own.
The bungalow had three
bedrooms and a modern kitchen.
Kath was sold on the idea that she
could do the washing in the new
washing machine in the kitchen.
Tom was proud of his new shed,
where he started collecting garden
tools.
Their first child came along in 1983.
Another followed two years later. It
wasn't long after that that Thomas
started putting a few bob on the
gee-gees.
At first, it was a small flutter on the
horses down at the local bookies.
His friend Jim worked there and on
one sunny June afternoon, Tom won
£100 on a horse called Pica Pica.
Feeling flush, he bought his wife
some new Tupperware. She was
thrilled. He'd finally come good.
"They gave us a pay rise in work,"
he'd said. It was the first lie of many.
Still on the high from his win, Tom
took the remainder of his money
and went back to see Jim.
"Any tips?" he'd asked Jim at the
desk.
Jim wrote a name on a small piece
of paper, turned it around, and slid it
to Thomas.
With a stubby pencil, he'd written
down the word 'Magpie'; an outside
shot on the 3.40 at Doncaster.
Thomas walked out of the betting
shop half an hour later with £300 in
cash. He treated himself to a few
pints in the Three Bells on the way
home. Kath had his tea ready but
all Thomas could do when he got
home was slump drunkenly into his
favourite armchair.
Kath brought his food in on a
tray. But Tom was already asleep.
Without hesitation, Kath tipped the
cooked dinner all over his head.
He jolted upright as he was rudely
woken.
"How do you like that?" Kath had
snapped. Tom curled his tongue
around the side of his mouth to
lick off some of the gravy that was
slowly sliding down his cheek. He
smacked his lips together to get a
good taste of it and looked up at
her.
"Thank you, petal. Could do with a
bit more salt and pepper though,"
he replied.
It was in that moment that Kath
realised that Thomas William
Llewellyn wasn't the caring, doting
man she'd exchanged rings with on
a sunny Saturday afternoon in May
1981. She retired to the kitchen, lit a
cigarette and sat at the table.
Over the next half hour, she
wondered what had become of
him. The new Tupperware pots that
sat on the table were just a token
gesture. A pathetic attempt to make
it look like he cared.
Kath chewed her thumbnail. She
couldn't go on living like this. Things
were getting worse. Within a few
years, the kids would have fledged
and everything would be stripped
bare, she thought. It would just be
the two of them again, without the
distraction of bringing up children
to cover over the cracks.
Six long empty years later, a month
after their second child left home,