P for Prejudice – Azure Spark. Part 16
[Music treat at the end. This story will be posted in full after the Challenge for those of us that like to read everything in one complete telling,]
PREJUDICE – Sunday Early Morning
Police protection is deemed too pricey for our pay grade. Detective Inspectors might justify paying. Someone’s counting the police pennies again. And we’re not police for this practice day. We’re on our own as Sioned Wilkins and Rashmi Sharma – divers.
No bikes. A nondescript rental Vauxhall Astra parked outside
a cheap B&B in Penrhos.
When I reported to Ffion that my investigation into the
arson-robbery would have to wait, she agreed, “The assaults are our
priority. Progress that case first and prove our strategy best.”
“Finding the right clothes is a challenge. Black or
black.” We laugh. “I’m not dressing in pink.”
“Pink is pretty. But maybe not you. Just add a few spots
of acceptable colour. A perfect performance requires sacrifices – all round.
From disgruntled gift shop owner to officers undercover.”
Words we are acting on.
The padlocked path to Port Meudwy is open. We drive down to
where fishermen are unloading their catches of lobsters and crabs. They pack
the crustaceans into containers on pallets to be delivered by vans around the
region.
Guto approaches us and points to a freshly painted clinker-built
boat on a trailer.
“Your practice starts with pushing that trailer into
the sea – if you know how.”
“By tractor.” Kama gestures at an ancient salt
encrusted machine. “I’ll drive and Sioned will hitch us up.”
Guto nods then turns to the watching fishermen.
“Told you guys these genethod were smart. Now to see if they can handle an Aberdaron
boat.”
The genethod –
lasses – is said with praise. Relax.
“My uncle Pugh could never abide women in boats,”
says one man who resembles my uncle, Ivor Pugh. “But he’s dead now.”
My uncle, Ivor Pugh, is alive and runs the family farm. Is this a distant Pugh relation? Is my cover blown? Or have we disguised ourselves enough? At least, Pugh politics have kept us apart from most of my family.
My attention shifts to my allotted task.
With the boat afloat, I secure her with the painter as ‘Rashmi’
parks the tractor and trailer under Guto’s direction.
My Pugh relation and Guto board another boat. He shouts
across as Rashmi and I push off.
“Padrig is the man to prove yourself to. I build while
he perfects the handling. Partners like you two.”
Like us. Unlikely. Guto only knows parts of our secret – the
professional aspect.
Guto and Padrig row out some yards then hoist their sails.
We do likewise and head south following the coastline of the Llŷn Peninsula.
Choppy waves and an erratic breeze test us. Gusts and becalming
lulls to prove our worth. I probe Rashmi’s face as our teamwork makes up for
lack of sailing time. This is a new phase – a giant leap from playing in
dinghies for fun.
“You need to learn how to right one of our Aberdaron
boats,” says Padrig. “Not hard but different. Do I need to show you
how to capsize?”
We demonstrate that skill. Sit on the same side and let the
boom out too far.
The water is our second home. Even when we are told to swim under the capsized craft before following the correct procedure to recover our previous position.
“Glad we wore our wetsuits underneath now.” I grin
at Rashmi.
“Your colourful top and slacks will never dry in this
weather.”
Weak sun and cold air. Discomfort is acceptable. Would Sioned worry about appearance as a pro-athlete?
“We need to polish up if photographers appear.”
She smiles in agreement as Guto points north and mouths,
“Aberdaron“.
The wind picks up – but a headwind. We tack and tack until
the manoeuvre becomes routine. Precision.
“Impressive, but racing is never so precise,” says
Padrig. “Beware other boats performing moves to fool you. Weather and sea
factors Will keep you alert.”
“Like diving,” says Rashmi. “We’ve learned to
prepare. Performance ploys.”
Even more so as police. Alert keeps us ahead of the
offenders – if we can only identify them.
We approach Aberdaron beach. Guto indicates where the water is
shallowest and sandier.
“Pull her ashore over there. Then we can wander up to
the pub. Final pointers over a pint – if you genethod drink.”
“We do. Always.”
Even on-duty – where necessary. But this time I’ll resist
ordering my unusual favourite.
We pull the two boats ashore and wander at a purposeful pace
up to the same pub where I began my investigation.
My stomach sinks when I see the same barman. Will he
recognize me despite the garish outfit and streak-dyed hair?
Guto steps forward. “These are our new arrivals – Sioned
Wilkins and Rashmi Sharma. They’re competing in the regatta, tomorrow. A round
of your best Llŷn pale ale – four pints of Houdini.”
The barman studies me.
My heart flips. Recognition.
A wink and a nod.
“On the house, Guto.” He smiles. “Sioned, Rashmi,
how far have you come? Not many visitors race here. Except the rare brave ones.
Most tourists just watch.”
Glance around. Check the watching faces – holidaymakers.
Locals. Listening. Gossip spreads fast.
“South America,” I reply, praying my Welsh lilt is
buried under my pseudo-Spanish accent. “Patagonia. But we were born on the
Llŷn near Pwllheli.”
“That makes you locals almost,” says Padrig.
“Learn any Welsh before you left?” “
Breathe. Was our preparation too hasty? Does he suspect?
“If they went to Chubut Province in Argentina, they
must know some,” says another voice. “Patagonia has a large Welsh
community and the main colony is there.”
Recognising the voice, I say, “That’s why our families went
there. Swimming took us to Puerto Madryn on the Golfo Nuevo, which is formed by
the Península Valdés and the Punta Ninfas.” I pause my tourist talk to add for
the Welsh speakers, “Mae’n wych bod yn
gartref.”
The locals all raise their pints.
Our tame journalist, Kristina picks up on the tourist confusion. “These ladies say it’s wonderful to be home. But Puerto Madryn has strong ties to here. It is twinned with Nefyn, just 13 miles away on the north coast of the Llŷn Peninsula. Excuse me as I need to interview these professional athletes. Make sure that you are here tomorrow, when they are competing on the first day of the Aberdaron Regatta.”
As people drift away, Kristina shakes hands with us.
“I’m Kristina Yoxall. We spoke on the phone. Please can
we talk more – I’ll write a great story.” She holds up a camera. “And
get a photo. Love those patterned tops. They must be traditional.”
She chats and helps us develop our personas further as our
party finds a table outside overlooking the beach and sea.
Holidaymakers are gathering in the village. Not crowds like
Llandudno or Porthmadog but those drawn by the simpler pastimes like sand
castles, playing in the sea, and the regatta.
The interview probes and provides colour to our profiles –
culminating in key questions.
“Can our wanderers challenge tomorrow?” asks Kristina.
“Are they contenders?”
Guto and Padrig shrug.
But my relative says, “Perhaps. As I’ve said there are factors – including local advantage. They have skills and guts. Maybe one day.”
“And you are a favourite, Padrig. As in past years,”
says Guto.
We all laugh, and I slap Padrig on the back.
Recognition. My heart beats faster.
The Swedish woman is watching us. Pretending to peer out to
sea.
Precisely as planned. Bait taken.
Kristina follows my gaze. Takes out her mobile. Glances at
the screen.
“Pric pwdin. Idiot
colleague. I need to hurry. Can we do the photo by the boats, then I must leave
you.”
We stride down to the beach and pose with our boats. Group
photo, then us the two pretenders.
We part, Kristina to her pretend assignment, Guto and Padrig
to Porth Meudwy.
“ Genethod,
Padrig and I will go ahead. We have work to do – boats to paint. Follow when
you’re ready. Practice as much as you need to along the coast. And master that
boat – with skills not force. She’s another geneth.“
Our builder is as quick as our journalist. Our secret is
safe.
We prepare to launch, but I play for time.
“Do we need provisions, Rashmi? Or will our B&B in
Penrhos provide everything?”
“Only basics. Anyway, I need a better face cleanser for
this climate. And we need diving supplies – but they can wait. We’ve no
competitions for a fortnight.”
“Maybe we can help each other.”
We turn. The Swedish couple smile at us.
“That would be kind,” I say. “You’re
local?”
The woman laughs. Potent, poisonous, and the trigger for my
tattoos.
L for Lies and L for Lure.
“Not exactly. But we know the Llŷn Peninsula. We’ve
been here awhile. And our yacht is moored at Llandudno.”
The man steps forward. 6’3″. Blond sun-scored hair.
Tanned. Athletic and muscular. Like a panther.
“We have a small job for divers that pays well –
especially the way you to handle that boat.”
Curb enthusiasm. But reel them in.
I let Rashmi continue as planned. “Interesting. We’re open to
persuasion. But we have questions –”
“– As do we.” He hands us both GEE business cards
– Peder & Pia Pilkvist. “Can we meet for a quiet meal? Pick you up at
6 p.m at your place. Our treat.”
Presumptive means desperate. Time must be tightening. What
is the cargo?
My tattoos twist in pain. But only D for Drugs and that
feels wrong.
“If there’s money on offer,” says Rashmi. “Sioned and I have
expenses. So, yes – if you’re buying.”
“Always,” replies Pia. “One initial question.
Wales or Argentina? Where are your loyalties?”
Where is this going? My heart, pounds nerves jangle. A test of what? Not rugby.
“We dive for ourselves – for the country that rewards us best. Patagonia yesterday. Maybe Wales tomorrow. I have only one loyalty – my dive partner. Rashmi.”
The Swedes study us, then whisper to each other in Swedish –
something about ‘älskande‘. Lovers.
Us or them? What do they know about us? Has the office prejudice seeped out
from a jealous colleague?
U for Unwary and Unexpected. Q for Queer and Questions. E
for Evasion and Evaluation.
QUELL. The fire for my lover? Or the fear building?
[image error]
Puerto Madryn, Chubut, Argentina –
Banfield
For
further details on this theme visit my Blogging from A to Z Theme Reveal, and on
the evolution of Sparkle Anwyl visit Snowdon Shadows.
Other A
to Z Bloggers can be found via the Blogging from A to Z website’s Master List –
http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/2019/03/link-to-view-master-list-and.html
^*^
And now
for something completely different.
“Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.” William Congreve – The Mourning Bride
