Mostyn Thomas and the Big Rave

Richard Williams

Description

When Mostyn, an ageing Pembrokeshire farmer on the brink of bankruptcy, runs into young Jethro, his fortunes appear to take a positive turn. The pair secretly mobilise the locals of the village pub to help put on the greatest money-spinning event in the history of Little Emlyn: Lewistock. But things do not go to plan.Moneylenders, drug dealers, the county council and the bank all set a collision course with Mostyn and Jethro. As the clock ticks down to the August Bank Holiday event and the young revellers begin to pour in from all corners of the county, the tension heats up. It's not clear who exactly will get out alive.Mostyn Thomas and the Big Rave pits a struggling Welsh farming community steeped in centuries of religion and tradition against the unstoppable youth movement of early 1990s rave culture with often poignant and riotous consequences.

Informations

• Publié par: Graffeg
• Date de parution: 21 juillet 2020
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781913634674
• Langue: English

Extrait

To Luc and Leo


Mostyn Thomas and the Big Rave Published in Great Britain in 2018 by Graffeg Limited
Written by Richard Williams copyright © 2018. Designed and produced by Graffeg Limited copyright © 2018.
Graffeg Limited, 24 Stradey Park Business Centre, Mwrwg Road, Llangennech, Llanelli, Carmarthenshire SA14 8YP Wales UK Tel [phone] www.graffeg.com
Richard Williams is hereby identified as the author of this work in accordance with section 77 of the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
A CIP Catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Jon Pleased Wimmin and Danny Slade have both given their permission to be used in the book.
ISBN 9781912654161 eBook ISBN 9781913634674
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Richard Williams
Mostyn Thomas and the Big Rave











Contents
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Part II
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Part III
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part IV
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Richard Williams
Graffeg Fiction


Prologue


Every morning, suspended in his harness, Trevor would pan across the ancient estuary of the Cleddau to the heads and out to the ocean. On a calm, clear day, the rising sun would beam through the clouds of mist that hung over the water like sleeping ghosts, then explode into the thousands of fibres and textures that existed on the shores.
On rough days, thundering swells smashed over the headland, the torrents of spray shimmering in the bright morning sun. To be a lone spectator peering down on this unforgiving natural arena made him tingle with life like nothing else.
It was early April, a Tuesday. Trevor always knew to expect a perilous day in the harness when scores of surfers with their boards bound tightly to their roofs went soldiering across the bridge just after first light.
Trevor sometimes wondered, from his position a hundred feet above the open estuary, what surfing must be like. He’d often go down to Newgale Sands with Janice after work in the summer for a picnic and watch the surfers. He envied the flow of tanned girls and boys coming and going in their camper vans, parking up, flirting, touching, care-free. They’d skip over the pebbles with their boards and paddle out into the corduroy ocean as the sun slowly descended over St Brides Bay.
To be out there, away from the safety of the shore, those fluid silhouettes bold against the fiery skies around them, seemed to Trevor to be the ultimate expression of freedom.
If he had his time again, Trevor thought he would be a surfer. It was too late to start now, though. Despite decades of physical strain, at sixty-two he was sailing into his twilight years quite painlessly, so he felt no regrets.
Lowering himself into position, Trevor felt the rear harness clips digging into his back and carefully placed his painting gun up on the underside ledge of the bridge. He reached around and fumbled blindly, untwisting the clips to relieve the pressure, then reclaimed the painting gun and began to rub the obstructed barrel with his puffed, leathery fingers.
A strong gust of wind rattled through the underside of the bridge, blowing Trevor into a sway. He tried to settle himself, but felt a rapid loosening in the harness. One of his clips had come undone. Within seconds he was slipping out of the seat.
He grabbed for the safety rope and missed. His left knee tried to buckle onto the seat fibres as his body was forced out of the harness. He grappled to cling on. The unsettled water a hundred feet below drew the realisation that in a few seconds he would hit its surface.
He began to scream, but the swirling wind, thrashing rain and rumbling traffic on the bridge above smothered his cries. He spun around, scissor-kicking in desperation.
Finally, his hands left the rope.
The fall mangled Trevor, his body driven down into the cold water, the oxygen sucked from his lungs. He surfaced, flailing to stay afloat until a trickle of air could flow into him. His tool belt began to sink him like an anchor as he shook and contorted and managed to free himself.
A small sand bar was visible in the distance and he slashed towards it. He thought of Janice, of his two boys, Jethro and Jac, repeated the last words he’d said to Jethro that morning. ‘I’m so sorry, boy. I didn’t mean it.’ He replayed the image of his son leaving the house with his head bowed, without saying goodbye.
Within a minute, he rapidly lost power. The muscles in his upper arms burned trying to keep momentum. Sodden layers of clothing were pulling him down. He stopped and turned onto his back to catch his breath. Cast around him was his bridge, majestic with its new coat of paint. He rolled back onto his front. He had to keep moving.
Every stroke was crucial. Dark thoughts flooded his mind. Would he sink and disappear, leaving Janice and the boys eternally searching? Or would he float, bloat and wash up stinking on the beach of the Jolly Sailor to a vigil of seagulls?
He felt his body tingling. There was a warmth now. He became more at ease in the water, kept moving toward the shore. Just a couple hundred yards. His will grew. Trevor stabbed down with his feet, searching for ground. He found it. The last fifty yards would be a wade in the deep salty mud to the bank of the estuary.
Trevor fell forward, face down in the shallows and crawled the final distance onto the sand. He’d made it.
He gazed across the small beach, regaining his breath, and saw a fat tabby cat staring at him from the top of a wall. The water began to dissipate from his body and the cold stabilised. He felt dead and alive in equal measures.
In the moments afterward, Trevor convinced himself that today was a divine rattling for him to change his ways. He would never be afraid again. Fear had buried most of his aspirations, all through his life. But now everything was clear. From this moment forward would be a new beginning. He couldn’t wait to get home to give Janice the good news.
A pain shot up Trevor’s arm and his chest tightened. His eyes burst open. He looked up at the bridge, now blurred, his world darkening. He felt coarse sand in the corner of his lips and moved instinctively to swipe it, but his heart stopped and he swiftly passed away.
The tabby cat wandered over and sat on Trevor’s warm back and cleansed itself until the old man’s body went cold.


Part I


Chapter 1


‘Good afternoon, Mr Thomas. How are you today?’
‘Aye, not so bad thanks, Jane. Just bloody overdressed again. Dew, dew, look at me sweating here.’ Mostyn pinched the collar of his shirt and wafted the damp heat out of his chest.
‘Yes, it’s close, isn’t it?’
‘Aye, almost touching, girl. So what’s the Kaiser’s mood like today?’
Jane laughed. ‘Oh, the usual.’
‘Shit.’
‘Come on.’ Jane winked and waved him forward affectionately. ‘He’s just going through your file now.’
Mostyn took off his cap as he followed Jane down the silent corridor and into Mr Price’s office.
The room had faint scents of cold cigarette and lavender, and the metal blinds had a sickly off-yellow tint. Mostyn noticed the undernourished cheese plant in the far corner of the room and wondered how Mr Price could fail to maintain it.
‘Hello there, Mostyn,’ said Mr Price as he breezed into the office, arm extended for his customary strong and uncomfortably long handshake. Mostyn always considered this to solidify rather than break the ice between them. ‘Take a seat, please. Can Jane fix you a glass of water now?’
‘Aye, please, that would be lovely,’ said Mostyn.
Mr Price settled in his chair and fumbled for a pen. He grabbed each side of the desk, rolled himself up close, then jolted his arms up and forward in mid-air, like he’d just received a shock of electric current, only to settle his sleeves. He aligned his notepad, slid his glasses back up his nose with his right index finger, placed both elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his clenched fists, and finally grinned as he locked eyes with Mostyn, who was mesmerised by the entire performance.
Jane put the glass of water on the desk, smiled at Mostyn and left the room, closing the door behind her. Mostyn picked up the glass and took a long swallow.
‘So, how’s it going, Mostyn?’
‘Aye, not so bad, Mr Price.’
‘Good. Good. I hope you’re giving yourself a bit of time off now the cattle are out. Have you started the second cut of silage yet? The grass seems lovely out Clarbeston way with all these long periods of sun and rain.’
‘Well, I’ve been trying, Mr Price, but there’s always a gate to mend or feet to do. The lanes were full of stones this spring after all that ice we had, so a lot of the animals are hobbling around in need of a trim. But the weather has been good, considering, so the silage and barley are looking healthy, that’s a big relief. Let’s just hope this weather holds up now till after the County Show.’
Mr Price smiled and studied Mostyn’s face for a short moment. His cleft lip had become less noticeable with age and his thick grey hair remained perfectly side-parted, with boyish