When I reached Sospan’s stall there was a sign saying, ‘No specials until further notice’. Uncle Vanya was there, looking worried. Sospan wore the face of a man whose hour has come.
‘What’s wrong?’ I said.
‘Something’s happened,’ said Vanya.
‘Something?’
‘Oh, Mr Knight,’ cried Sospan. ‘Something terrible, something awful, the worst, the absolute worst thing that can befall an ice-cream man has befallen me. I may have to leave town under an assumed identity.’
‘Oh dear. And no specials today either?’
‘No specials. It may be that there will never again be specials.’
‘Not even a Fish Milt Sundae?’
‘Yes, mock me in my hour of need,’ said Sospan. ‘The Fish Milt Sundae was the cause of my downfall. As you know, it was not exactly popular; possibly the most despised flavour I have ever served. But there was one customer who liked it. A very devout and religious woman of advancing years, not normally given to levity, who came every afternoon for three weeks to eat my special Fish Milt Sundae.’ The ice man paused and exhaled in despair. ‘Today I have received news that she is pregnant.’
I said, ‘You can’t get pregnant like that . . . can you?’
‘Mr Knight, I will be frank with you. I assumed that you couldn’t. But, as you know, biology is not my strong suit.’
‘There must be another explanation,’ I said.
‘She is not the sort who would be mistaken about such a thing. She used to work for the St John Ambulance Brigade.’
‘Maybe she got pregnant by the conventional route.’
‘Impossible.’
‘Who is it?’
‘That I cannot tell you.’ He put a plain vanilla cornet on the stands in front of me. ‘On the house. I might as well use up the stock before I leave town.’
‘Are things really that bad?’
‘What can I do?’ he replied. ‘What would you do?’
‘If it was me,’ I said, ‘before I made such a drastic move I would first demand a paternity test. And then, if it was established that I was the father—’
‘I’ve spoken to her doctor, there is no doubt about it.’
‘I’m not doubting her condition,’ I said. ‘Just the cause. Sospan, sometimes in situations like this even respectable ladies do not always tell the truth. It is not unknown, for example, for a lady of good reputation to fall victim to the sugary lies of some passing Don Juan and later when her belly gets big she seeks out a decent and unworldly man such as you, in the hope of deceiving him into believing it is his.’
‘You mean,’ said Sospan, ‘like Mary and Joseph?’
‘That is an extreme example of the phenomenon. Far more humdrum examples are to be found in the Cambrian News every week. Although the Fish Milt Sundae routine is new. You definitely ought to check if it is yours.’
Sospan stared out at the sea, surrounded by the shattered fragments of his world. ‘And if I do that and it turns out to be mine?’
‘Then you should do the honourable thing,’ I said.
Vanya and I took our ice creams to the seaside railings and watched the slow drift of people packing up on the beach. At some point, once the heat loses its edge, a chill breeze can arise that throws a soft shadow over our joy.
‘Things are far worse than I expected,’ said Vanya gloomily. ‘I saw Calamity in Great Darkgate Street, she has told me everything.’
‘What has she told you?’
‘About the troll brides.’
‘I wouldn’t pay any attention to that, it’s not serious.’
‘Do you think my worries can be so easily dismissed?’
‘You can worry about anything you like but I wouldn’t waste time on troll brides.’
‘This is a bitter blow. Of all the fates that I imagined might have befallen the child whose spirit possessed my daughter this is one I did not consider.’
‘I’m sure the ones you did consider are far more likely.’
‘My grief is not so easily assuaged. To become the bride of a troll is a fearsome fate, especially for a child. The Portuguese have a word for this heaviness in my heart, saudade. In Hughesovka we call it hiraeth, a Welsh word, I believe, which denotes a form of spiritual homesickness.’ He pushed himself up and away from the railings. ‘Come, we must drink. There is no other remedy.’
The sky in the west had turned the colour of geraniums and Aberystwyth began to unfold like a rosebud in time-lapse photography; a sick rose whose innards have been eaten by a worm. The air turned sultry and the breeze of the summer night wafted over the Prom heavily laden and moist. A rich assortment of smells were intricately intertwined in the sensual tapestry: vanilla, dead mollusc, seaweed, aftershave, suntan lotion, spilled ice cream, soiled nappy, stale sweat, the electric ozone smell of the machines in the amusement arcades, take-away curry, fried onions, chips, hot dogs, testosterone, salty breeze, fish milt and, of course, prowl car, handcuff grease and the unmistakable sour fumes of police sarcasm.
Vanya produced a bottle of vodka from a bag, took my arm in his and we ambled along the Prom. The shift changed, the decent folk began to scurry away to their chalets and caravans, and the dance began; the giddy jig. The hustlers and the hoods and fixers, the druids in their sharp Swansea suits, the girls in the stovepipe hats and dreams of making it sparking in their eyes, the drunken brawling sailors, the morose fishermen and melancholic tradesmen, the lonely and the damned, the haunted and the hunted and the exiles all converged on the electric-blue Prom to sweat away the night.
Vanya breathed in deeply and exhaled with appreciation. ‘Bignoniaceous,’ he said. ‘The word is bignoniaceous.’
I gave him a puzzled look.
‘Yes, my dear friend Louie, bignoniaceous. There is a word for everything and for this experience too, there is a word.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘It describes a type of plant with trumpet-shaped flowers adapted for pollination by bats. Did you know that? I have great respect for this mammal. Few animals are quite so unfairly slandered as the harmless and affable bat. Their sonar is so good they can use it to catch fish; their sense of smell is far superior to that of the bee. All that the rose needs to do to attract the noble bee is give off its hot vapour to the summer breeze, and yet what is the scent but that of the rose? The rose smells of its own essence, which is a feat we all manage, and counts as no great achievement. But the bignoniaceous plant, faced with the challenge of attracting the attention of the far more discerning, though unloved, bat has to try harder. Bignoniaceous plants smell of cabbage and mice. Did you know this?’
I confessed that I did not.
‘I have come to the conclusion this is the same trick repeated every spring by the old courtesan Aberystwyth. She cakes on the all-concealing foundation, and stands at the back of the chorus line, where the shadows are deeper, hoping that her faded charms will last another season, while the leg-kicking strumpets at the front twirl petticoats that flash and blaze like fireworks in the hot footlights. Is it not so, dear Louie?’
‘I’ve never heard Aberystwyth described like that before but it captures her perfectly.’
He examined my face to see if I were in earnest and finding that I was said, ‘The vodka is good.’