Chapter Text
So, there we were, Gwen and I, tied up on chairs, back-to-back, like that bit in Indiana Jones, in the vault of the Cardiff Queen Street HSBC, which was nothing like how I imagined a bank vault would look from all the movies I’ve seen featuring bank vaults. But even if the vault didn’t look like how I’d imagined it would, the ticking timer attached to the bomb underneath us definitely did.
Red numbers counted steadily downwards, getting just a bit too close to zero for comfort.
“Just…move your hand to the right…” Gwen’s telling me.
“I’m trying,” I reply through gritted teeth. As if I wouldn’t be trying my bloomin’ hardest to get us out of this situation.
“Come on Rhys!” she snaps.
“It’s hard to do this under pressure!” I point out. And it’s true – I don’t work well under pressure. The timer’s still ticking down and Gwen’s still offering critique in much the same way she does when she’s hovering over my shoulder when I’m doing DIY, making suggestions she thinks are helpful. I move my hand a little to the right and…
No, wait. Hang on. Actually, I think there’s a better place to start. More gripping.
So, here I come, bursting through the door of a different bank vault (that part’s important to note).
“Yippee-kay-ay mother-cluckers,” I yell, and then fire the machine gun I’m holding into the air.
A good chunk of plaster falls out of the ceiling and onto my head and the recoil nearly knocks me on my arse, but I manage to stay upright to make my point. I’ve done paintballing and laser tag, but I’ve never shot a machine gun before. Me! Rhys Williams – saving the world with a machine gun. Can you believe it?!
I fire again wildly into the air…
*
You know, I only started there to get you hooked. First rule of storytelling, isn’t it? Not that I’d really know. The last time I wrote a story, I was still in school, and these days most books I read have very few words and tend to be more about the rhymes than the action.
Anyway, the real start of the story was much more boring. This particular story really started with Gwen and I sharing an airbed on the living room floor of our flat, back in Cardiff.
It’s never that comfortable sleeping on an airbed and it’s even worse when you’re sharing one on laminate flooring. It had just gone midnight and we were both still very much awake. I turned over, trying to get more comfortable, only for the airbed to squeak unpleasantly against the floor. Beside me, Gwen sighed irritably.
“It’s not my fault,” I reminded her, tetchily. She wasn’t the only one missing out on her beauty sleep.
“Stop moving,” she hissed.
“I can’t get comfy,” I explained.
“Try,” she muttered.
I didn’t think it was the right moment to point out that if we’d gone to Swansea for Christmas, my parents wouldn’t have wanted to come and stay, and we wouldn’t need to be sleeping on an airbed. You have to pick your battles with Gwen.
We fell into silence again. However, it transpired that I should probably have stayed where I was, because this new position was even worse. Tentatively, I turned over again and the airbed gave another horrible squeak.
“Oh my god, Rhys!” Gwen exploded, probably loud enough for my parents to hear in the bedroom.
“Well, if we’d…” I started to reply.
But my response was cut off, as it so often was, by Gwen’s phone ringing. She groped around on the floor and finally found it.
“Hello?”
As she rolled away to answer the call, I was unceremoniously flipped off the airbed and onto the floor with a thump. I lay sprawled on the cold floor, too tired to fully process what was going on.
“Ok. Ok. I’m on my way,” I heard her say. She hung up. “I’m sorry Rhys.”
She shuffled awkwardly off the airbed. Feeling a bit like a stranded whale, I attempted to haul myself back onto it, as Gwen scrabbled around in the dark, trying to find her clothes.
“I’ve got to go to work,” she explained.
“What? Now?” Bloomin’ Torchwood. I shouldn’t have been surprised. She was always running out at the worst moments. Saving the world and all that.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. Thing is, Gwen was always sorry, and usually I sort of believed her. But on this occasion? With my mam and dad staying? I wasn’t so sure.
“What am I supposed to tell my parents?” I asked.
“They’ll understand – they still think I’m in the police. Tell them there’s been a murder or something.” She leant down and kissed me. “I’m sorry.”
She let herself out of the flat quietly. I lay there for a minute or so, before I moved into the middle of the airbed and fell fast asleep.
Yeah, I went to sleep. Thing is, if I let worrying about Gwen and her job keep me awake at night, I wouldn’t have had a wink of sleep in years. So, yeah – I went to sleep. But when I woke up the next morning – that’s when things got really interesting.