Chapter 2

I didn't see Sian for a few days, and then I ran into her at the Asian supermarket, while I was buying a net of onions, a jar of curry powder, and two big packs of sun-dried poppadums tied up with dirty string.

"Hi Sian, nice to see you. How are you getting on?"

"Not bad, thanks, Jon. Are you going to eat those all yourself?"

"No, it's just my turn to do the shopping. My flat mate Chris has a great curry recipe; though we have to watch out when he fries the poppadums, because he caught the pan on fire the first time! He didn't realise how much they expand when they hit the oil."

"You live a dangerous life - exploding chemical labs and arsonist flatmates!"

"Exciting, not dangerous. Dangerous would be letting Rhodri cook. He is from very deepest Welsh Wales, and his mother doesn't believe in men cooking anything. He didn't speak a word of English until he went to primary school!"

"Bryony is cooking tonight. She's a pretty good cook, but she doesn't like spicy food. It will be something sensible with two vegetables, and I don't mean both baked beans and tinned tomatoes on the same plate!"

"Posh food, then. No wonder the nurse said you'd been eating your greens!"

"We've even got four matching plates to eat off!"

"That is posh! Must dash, got to get the milk before the shop closes! Good to see you again, Sian!"

"Bye, then!"

Damn, damn, damn. Should have asked her if she'd like to meet up for a drink.

Funnily enough, Lady Luck smiled on my shyness and gave me another chance. I saw Sian outside the Union the next evening on my way back home.

"Hi, Jon, how's it going?"

"Not good. I dropped a flask this morning and messed up the whole experiment. Malcolm was very good about it, but I was mad at myself for letting him down. Fancy a beer to help me drown my sorrows?"

"Yes, but it's my round this time. You bought the last one."

"Okay, where do you want to go?"

"Is the Woodville okay?"

"Yes, fine by me."

Sian was very good company. We had a couple of pints and a bag of pork scratchings each, and then I walked her home.

She shared some top floor rooms in a nice Victorian three-storey terrace house with two other girls. It was definitely a cut above the house I shared!

She gave me a peck on the cheek as we said goodbye at her door.

"Thanks, I enjoyed that. I hope it made your day better?"

"It most certainly did. Thanks for listening; I'd love to do that again."

"So would I. See you soon. Night night!"

I walked home happily. Sian was a nice girl. It would be good to see her again. If I'm honest, I'd also enjoyed a leisurely drink, taking my time with the beer.

Whenever I went out with my housemates, Rhodri insisted that we were waiting outside the pub at six when it opened, and that one of us bought a round every fifteen minutes, and to me that was far too little time to drink a pint of over-cold, over-gassy beer.

I'm an Englishman. I much prefer my beer warm and flat. I don't like having a ball of ice-cold liquid in my stomach, nor do I like burping half the evening and farting the rest of the night!

I started walking through the Union every time I went to and from my classes. A few days later, on a Monday, I successfully bumped into Sian again.

"Hi, Sian!"

"Hi, Jon! Things going okay today?"

"Much better, thanks. I'd offer you a pint, but they're not open yet."

"The café on Salisbury Road does a decent cup of tea; it's just round the corner. My treat!"

"Yes please, that would be nice."

So we had a cup of tea together, and talked some more. She wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but she was great fun to be around, and we just clicked. I decided that I just liked being in her company. I steeled myself.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow night, Sian?"

We arranged to meet up for a couple of beers the next night, and I said I'd pick her up from her place.

"Please make sure you ring the top bell - the girls in the bottom flat are getting a bit stroppy about answering the door for other people's visitors."

I went home after lectures and had a quick bath and a shave, and put on clean clothes. This was my first ever pre-arranged "date", and like all young men, I was ever hopeful. Mind you, being as shy as I was, there was very little chance of anything actually happening - it was more a habit of making an extra effort on special occasions!

Sian was waiting at the door when I arrived. She too was wearing clothes a cut above the usual student daily attire. She gave me a beaming smile and a peck on the cheek.

"I just knew you would be spot on for the time we arranged! It's so lovely to find someone punctual and reliable."

I omitted to mention to her that I had in fact been standing waiting just down the road for ten minutes, in order to be exactly on time...

"Have you eaten yet, Sian?"

"No, I assumed that you wouldn't have had time to eat, and that we'd pick something up later. I've got strict instructions from my flatmate Vee to make sure you come up for a cup of tea, so she that can give you the third degree! I think she mothers me a little bit."

I had had a little more teasing than mothering from my house-mates, when I announced that I was going out for a drink, and it wasn't with them. It was nice to know that Sian had a good friend as a flatmate, who was looking out for her.

We strolled down towards the city centre, which was comparatively quiet on a Tuesday evening. We found a pub at the bottom of High Street called "The Borough Arms", of the type that we call a 'free house' in Britain, which means it is not owned by a brewery, and is therefore free to sell any brand of beer.

It had the magical words "Felinfoel Ales" on a board in the window, and I asked Sian if she had tried Felinfoel.

"Felinfoel's one of the oldest breweries in Wales, and the beer's not cold and gassy like Allbright, nor cold and frothy like Brains, and I think you'll like it."

We went all the way through to the lounge bar side, which was much quieter than the public bar, and well worth the extra penny on a pint.

I remembered to pronounce it "Vellinvole", so didn't upset the landlord when I ordered two pints. Today we'd call it a 'real ale', but in those days, shortly after the big breweries had started to introduce beer coolers and gas cylinders to pump dead beers that took very little looking after, we did not realise what we were losing as the small breweries were taken over or closed down.

Sian did like Felinfoel. We had three pints each, and we talked incessantly. I opened up to her more than I ever had to a girl, and I suspect she told me things that very few others knew. At nine o'clock, we realised we were hungry, so we headed out for something to eat. The choice was very limited that time of night, so we avoided the Wimpey hamburger bar, and agreed on picking up a pie and chips on the way home.

Sian let us in to her house, and I followed her, carrying our two newspaper-wrapped meals. She pressed a light switch and went forward. The light revealed an odd layout; the ground floor flat had been given a modern partition with an ugly white-painted plywood front door next to the bottom of the stairs, so there was only a small hallway which was dominated by the three gas and electricity meter cupboards, leading only to a fine Victorian dark wooden staircase.