As I put the receiver down, I can still hear him going on. I can just guess what he is saying. Sometimes, I think he is more invested in Aunt Grace and Marek’s story than anyone else. I am saddened that Uncle Harry bullied him in school though. There is never an excuse for bullying. I try to remember how Aunt Grace was around my uncle, but I was probably too busy being a teenager to notice him being nasty to anyone. I mean, he died in the early Nineties. That was ages ago. Although now Dewi has said that, I do remember Uncle Harry berating her in front of all the family on a few occasions. We all just thought he had a bit of a temper and seemed to accept it.
I head back upstairs to get my coat before leaving the hotel for another day on the tourist trail and notice Tomas’ letter on the bedside table. I read over it once again. His uncle has something he should have told me, hey? I can’t begin to guess what it is. Is it some love child somewhere? What if Tomas is a secret relation of mine? No, that couldn’t possibly be true. We can’t be far off the same age, and Aunt Grace didn’t meet Marek until after both of us were born.
Does it really matter if I never know what the secret is? I really don’t care to know. This story is from the past. It is all history now. I grab my coat and ignore the letter as I walk out of the room.
As I follow Dewi’s itinerary, I head to the Town Hall as instructed. This time I am not in front of the clock but at the back of the frame inside with all its workings.
The apostles spin around inside, and, once again, I am face to face with St Peter and his key. The patron saint of fisherman brings Marek to the forefront of my mind again. What if Marek deserves this truth to come out? Am I letting everyone down? Nobody could save Marek, but what if he has some sort of legacy I should know about? Or honour in some way? I look at my mobile phone with the number stored for Tomas. Then I put it back in my pocket. Anything could happen if I contact him. I could open the biggest can of worms.
My next stop is a cosy cafe near the Town Hall. I order a hot chocolate and then remove the phone from my pocket. As I sit here alone, the temptation to call Tomas starts to peak, and I find myself dialling his number. I want to stop myself and can’t explain why I am doing such a thing. Boredom, I suppose. As soon as it rings, I want to put it down. What am I thinking? But before I can change my mind, I hear Tomas on the other end.
I stutter for a moment, unsure how to start the conversation; then I tell him that I received his letter.
‘I was hoping you would call. Where are you now?’ he asks.
‘I’m in the Old Town, having a hot chocolate.’
‘Can we meet?’
‘Yes, sure. When?’
‘Now? I can be in the Old Town in, say, twenty minutes. Do you know the name of the place you’re at?’
I pick up a napkin with the name of the cafe and try my best to pronounce it.
‘I know it. How about I meet you there and take you to my uncle’s? I think you need to come to the apartment to hear what he has to say.’
‘Okay, as you wish.’
I nervously finish my hot chocolate. Oh, what have I done now? Something tells me I should never have phoned Tomas. This is what happens when you don’t keep yourself to yourself. You end up finding out things that you might not want to know.
It doesn’t matter how lovely this place is, my nerves are on edge. I can’t focus on anything apart from what Tomas and Albert might have to say.
By the time Tomas arrives, I am relieved to see him. I just want this over with so I can get on with sightseeing and the countdown to going home. Tomas leads me to his car, which is parked quite a bit away. As we walk through cobbled streets dotted with vintage gas lamps, Tomas tells me how difficult the parking is around town. Eventually, we jump in his car, which is pristine, unlike my car, which has all sorts of rubbish in the back. Although, I notice he has a book on the back seat that looks very familiar.
‘Chekhov?’ I ask.
‘Um, yeah. I’m a big fan.’
‘No way! I don’t ever admit this to anyone, but he’s one of my favourites. People would think I’m far too intellectual if I came clean.’
Tomas laughs, looks at me and winks.
‘Ah. Yes, you don’t want to appear too intellectual, hey? How funny. You might read Chekhov, but I bet you’ve gone drinking in the Angel in Cardiff.’
‘I have! I mean, I’m not from Cardiff. I’m further away, but when I was younger, me and the girls used to sometimes go out drinking in the Angel.’
‘You see, I knew it,’ says Tomas.
When my all-time favourite song comes on the radio, I ask Tomas if I can turn it up.
‘You like this song?’ asks Tomas.
Will he tease me if I tell him how much I love this? What if he isn’t a fan? I hesitate for a moment.
‘Yeah. I do.’
‘And me. Don’t tell me Phil Collins is your favourite too?’ says Tomas.
