My First Colouring Book (18 page)

Perfect for any stag night or novelty event,
it said on the box,
an inflatable wife, the only woman a man needs. True, our product doesn't cook, can't read a map and won't satisfy you in bed, so what will you be missing? Comes complete with user manual which covers Romance, Dining, Biology, Exercise and Finance.

As I told you, no dirty business – I put a pair of
Wendy's elasticated knickers on her, I never looked down there. Strictly for company. Spilled my heart out to her I did, her plastic breasts got quite sticky with all the sobbing I did on them, had to clean them with a J-cloth. When one of the boys in blue found her he laughed, said she'd be easier to get rid of than Wendy.

One problem though, she didn't have a name I could use when we was snuggling up. Couldn't call her Wendy, could I? Then I saw the white light of divine intervention again, that's what they call it down the evangelical church. Me and Wendy had started going to pray for a kiddie, I went with her because she said I'd never touch her again if I didn't. But no matter how much we prayed, no kiddie came along.

This white light of divine intervention happened again when I was standing in Oxfam's, looking for some trousers – I came across a book called
The Penguin Book of Chinese Verse
and it said
With all my love, Sigrid xxx
on the flyleaf and that was it, I took it home and read it to my new plastic wife every night in bed. I called her Sigrid from that day on. Lovely name, Sigrid. Romantic, makes me think of snow and fir trees and rally cars and saunas. Them Scandinavians treat sex different from us, don't they? No big deal, they just gets on with it or they go on a suicidal bender and watch depressing films – if you're lucky you get an eyeful of tit now and then. Life was pretty good with just Sigrid and me, I used to call out to her when I got home from work every night, I'd shout
Hia Siggy love, I'm home!
at the bottom of the stairs and I'd run up and have a few words with her before tea, tell her about my day and all that, what me and the boys had got up to.

Then, messing around on the computer one night, trying to stay off the porn sites, I came across an old story about this Sigrid from way back in the past. She was tall and blonde and beautiful and she used to live in a cave by a fjord – every night she'd prowl along the edge of the water in the moonlight, waiting for her bloke to come home, some hero who'd gone off to war and never come back, same old stuff in every country isn't it? This Sigrid had a long red mantle and a crow on her shoulder, and then another crow when that one died, she taught them all to say her lover's name, Haraldsson or something like that. One day when she was in her cave her boyfriend comes back from the wars covered in scars, and he finds her by following the crow saying his name. You can imagine, they had a bit of catching up to do that night inside the cave and they got so fired up and emotional the mountain shook, there was a landslide, and all three of them got trapped inside for ever. You can still hear them laughing and talking to each other behind the rocks, that's what it said on the computer. Or sometimes they sing like they're in a Wagner opera. Bullshit, usual tourist guff. Got me thinking though, that crow did. Used to keep pigeons, runs in the family, but I got bored and gave them away. One of them kept coming back for years, I got so pissed off with it I caught it and pulled its head off. But if the Sigrid in the story had a crow, it only made sense for my Sigrid to have a bird as well. Budgie, I thought straight away, that's what she needs for company, I could teach it to say my name instead of Haraldsson. Went round to the pet shop and bought one, last one there, bog standard blue and green, put it in the bedroom with Sigrid so we could listen to it. Taught it to say my name, Iestyn, over and over again, all day long. Lovely like, much nicer than a crow. Every night me and Siggy would have a chat, I'd read some poetry and we'd have a laugh listening to the budgie, then we'd go to sleep after a bit of a cwtch. By now Siggy was wearing one of
Wendy's winceyette nighties, the one with pink flowers all over it. She looked lovely my Siggy, with her blonde hair spread all over the pillow, much nicer than Wendy's hair, like a Brillo pad it was, permed so tight it nearly took my eye out when I tried to kiss her. I was much happier with Siggy, we held hands under the duvet. Sweet it was. Tidy. But one thing was missing, I needn't tell you what. Just now and again the urge got too strong – but I wasn't going to touch Siggy, no way Jose. Siggy was pure, she was untouchable. I went down to the evangelicals one Sunday to ask for divine intervention because I was shaking every time I went on the computer, tempted by the Devil. The pastor seemed to know all about the porn sites. He said he'd pray for the white light of divine intervention – and sure enough I was alright within a week. It was thanks to Wendy, in a way, because she hadn't come home and the police were still nosing around. Every Wednesday night they sent a lady copper round when I got home from work to hold my hand and coo-chi-coo with me, just in case they'd got it all wrong. They'd had a look under the floorboards and found nothing. Bloody fools, as if I'd put her there anyway. This copper who came to visit me was a real peach, about five years younger than me and smallish with blonde hair in a bun and nice blue eyes, bit like Sigrid's, sort of innocent and pure. After a few weeks of talking about Wendy she was really sorry for me and she'd cry, she'd let me put my head on her shoulder and she'd stroke it like my mam used to, all gentle, and she smelt nice too, warm and womanly with some perfume on her skin, all soft and white. She told me to get rid of Sigrid, it was unnatural and anyway I was still a young man and decent looking, plenty of fish in the sea. I got very upset at the thought of Sigrid going the same way as Wendy so I had a good weep. Tell you what, says the lady copper, put her in the wardrobe for a bit, then the spare room, then take her downstairs and after a bit she can go in the garden shed – put a bit of distance between you gradual like, till you can do without her. Seemed sensible to me. Could I keep the winceyette nightie in the bed with me? I asked, just to ease the pain, even though there was nobody in it. To cut a long story short I put Siggy in the wardrobe and the policewoman put the nightie on for a while to ease my pain. It was outside the line of duty but she lay in bed with me every time she came, until I was ready for the big break. One thing led to another and soon we were living as man and wife, me and the policewoman, and the budgie of course, with S
iggy in the shed by now. What with moaning Sigrid in the policewoman's ear more than once when we were having sex (what would Wendy say!) the name sort of stuck and soon I was calling her Sigrid, even when we were in public, or when she was in uniform and I had to pretend we hardly knew each other. This went on for some time, me and Siggy Copper stopped pretending I was still being counselled and she moved in, lock stock and barrel. I took Wendy's clothes down to Oxfam after checking there was nothing in the pockets, though why I bothered I don't know because they'd already been to forensic. The budgie got to be a bit of a nuisance saying Iestyn all the time when we were making love so I moved him to the garden shed with the plastic Sigrid. I co
uld still hear him though, even with the windows shut. Once or twice he came close to going the same way as the pigeon. Siggy also called out my name when we were in the throes of passion and sometimes I could hear a strange echo as my lovely new girl and the budgie called out at the same time. This state of affairs might have gone on for ever if Sigrid's brother hadn't turned up in a right old state one Saturday night after a big rugby international. Pissed as a fart he was and swaying all over the place, sick in the garden too. Turned out he was a copper like his sister, he'd been turfed out by his missus because he'd gone home drunk, massive lovebite on his neck. He was innocent as it happens, or so he said, he'd got it doing a scrum-down with his mates in the pub at half-time. He slept in the spare room that night and the night after that too, his missus wouldn't have him back and I couldn't put him out on the street in case Siggy my lovely copper got upset, so he stayed. It was like having Wendy back again, we couldn't have sex in case her brother heard us through the wall. We lay there in bed every night and I could hear the budgie chirping away in the shed and Siggy's brother snoring in the spare room – it was back to square one, hell on earth again. Bugger me if Sigrid didn't play a prank on her brother one day and put the plastic Sigrid in his bed stark naked, they laughed themselves silly but plastic Sigrid never made it back to the shed, I noticed that when I went to feed the budgie.

Enough's enough I said to myself one day. Something's got to give, so I goes down the road and has a word with Doris Doom. Seems to know what to do in an emergency, she fought for Franco's Fascists in the Spanish Civil War just to prove she was more of a rebel than her six brothers on the other side. She was standing by the gate smoking her pipe as usual when I got to her house, and I loitered for a while until she said:

– What yew want then Iestyn

and spat a big yellow gob on the path, big as a hubcap.

– I'm needing some sound advice but my mammy died so I come to you I answered truthfully.

– You did right there see, Iestyn

she replied, and we enjoyed pleasant small talk for another hour or two, until eventually I told her the exact nature of my plight, except the bit about going on porn sites.

– Iestyn, yew got to wrest the plot from society and make the story your own

she said to me, leaning on the gate and puffing vigorously on her briar, as she always does when she's making a dialectical point.

– Iestyn, it seems to me you've three basic choices

she continued, her dark eyes either fixed meditatively on the slopes of the Black Mountain or scanning my face for a response.

– Yew can take the typical
Welsh route, give up without a fight, sign your house away, go and live in the shed with the budgie and drink yourself to death,

she mulled fatalistically,

– Or perhaps yew want to take the American route, put everyone under the patio, including the blow-up doll and the budgie, but that's not really you either, is it?

she continued, her white-hot pipe sending a shower of sparks into the encroaching gloom.

– My preferred option is this Iestyn. Go down to the Miners' Arms tonight with a pocketful of money, get Psycho and his mates hanging drunk and then take them home to sort it out for you, send Sigrid packing and her sponging brother too. By the way, he's not her brother really – look at his eyes, they're just like the milkman's.

Soon as she spoke I knew she'd uttered words of pure wisdom. By closing time I had Psycho and his mates, plus a carry-out and a good quarter of skunk, staggering up the garden path behind me and in no time at all Sigrid, her brother and all their possessions were out in the garden. There was a nasty and unforeseen twist which had me and Doris worried for a while. Psycho and his mates proved hard to dislodge – they stayed for ten days in all and left the place wrecked. The only reason they went was because one of them wanted to buy a horse at Llanybydder Fair.

When I popped up to tell Doris, I took her a kilo of Kosovan Shag for her pipe – she was overjoyed, hadn't smoked anything that strong since the Civil War, looted it from a body she had. We was buddies by now.

– Get rid of the budgie too, take it back to the shop

she advised, bathing me in a warm smile.

– Show your compassionate side, spare the bird or they'll think you killed your wife

she said and I did as she asked. He's been bought by Mrs Prytherch at Number 37 now, I can hear him calling my name from her living room when I go to work in the morning. Iestyn! he says through the window, and I feel a wave of
hiraeth
sweeping through me as I think about Sigrid, and being in bed with her by my side in Wendy's winceyette nightie, reading Chinese poetry. What was I to do with my beloved Sigrid the plastic doll, I asked Doris. I couldn't put her in the bin, the binmen always rifled it for valuables. She said

– Iestyn my lover, there are some things a man has to decide for himself, and Sigrid you'll have to sort out on your own, then peel some potatoes for tea will yew…

Was it the little green-eyed monster I saw in her eyes that day? After a lot of thought I decided to bury Sigrid under the patio – if anyone asked me where the missus was I'd say

– Under the patio!

And I wouldn't be telling a lie. But I made sure her eyes were directly under a crack so she could see me if I ever had a barbecue – never had one despite all the cost, I used it to park my sidecar after the suspension went. I sold the house to the Chief Inspector – he said he'd fallen in love with it when he came to interview me. And that was that. I took lodgings with Doris and it worked out fine, we went on holiday to Spain. She got to visit her old battle haunts and I had a lovely tan coming home. I never saw Wendy again. Nobody did. But I wake in the night and my mind is troubled. Worry has furrowed my brow – the doctor says I've an ulcer and Doris says I scream in the night, it reminds her of the wounded in their death throes at Guernica.

I think about her lying there under the patio, so cold and lifeless. The only woman who gave me real pleasure, even if she couldn't cook, or read a map, or satisfy me in bed.