Edward Chapman is a recently retired London financier, living near Oxford. He takes an unplanned holiday to South Wales, after discovering his younger, glamorous wife is having an affair with a work colleague. For Edward it is both a means of escape and an opportunity to spend time in the city of his former university, Swansea, where he met his first wife, Angela.

During his stay, as he confronts the ghosts of his past and present, Edward slowly comes to terms with the fact he's been living a sheltered life. He begins to appreciate he is now living in a changing world, of among other things increased diversity, veganism, and greater freedom of sexual expression, one he slowly learns to embrace.

As Edward forms new bonds and friendships and rediscover the city's attractions he remembers from his youth, he begins to wonder if he truly wants to go back at all.

A friendship he forms with a lonely, female bookshop owner only intensifies his dilemma and proves to be the deciding factor in determining his future.

21 Days in Swansea is a novel of reflection and memories in changing times. It is a love story, but most of all it is a love letter to the Welsh coastal city of Swansea.

About the Author

Andy Botterill was born in Newent, Gloucestershire, and attended Exmouth Community College. He graduated with a history degree from Swansea University, before studying journalism at Cardiff Metropolitan University. He worked as a journalist for a number of years, before moving into venue management, where he has worked variously at an arts centre, arthouse cinema and theatre. His poetry and short stories have appeared widely in the small presses in this country and abroad, and he has published a number of collections of poetry. Eleven of his novels and a play are available on Kindle. As a musician he has recorded twelve solo studio albums, available on iTunes, plus many more with bands, as well as running the independent record label, Pastime Records. His writing is often semi-autobiographical, reflecting musical and literary themes. Andy has frequently appeared on local radio, notably BBC Radio Devon, on Rrts related programmes. Andy Botterill is married to Harriet, with two daughters, Emily and Daisy.

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Sample Chapter

Day One (Monday)

Edward Chapman was on his way to Swansea, by train. He'd picked up his connection from London at Didcot Parkway, having made the short journey from Oxford where he lived. In fact, he lived in a small village just outside Oxford, but you don't need to know the name of that. It isn't especially relevant at this point, if indeed it's relevant at all. What is perhaps relevant is he owned a big house with his wife and was quite well-known in the village where they lived. He was a man of some substance, recently retired and financially comfortably placed. He'd done very well for himself. He wasn't short of money. They didn't go without. But now unusually he was on a train to Swansea. It wasn't unusual for him to travel by train, but generally in the opposite direction, into London, where he'd worked in the City as a financial trader and speculator or investment banker as he called it. He'd played the markets, invested cleverly, and been rewarded amply in return. He'd promised himself he'd retire at sixty and he'd done exactly that. He'd retired shortly after his sixtieth birthday just a month or two earlier, even though the money was still coming in, both during the good times and the bad ones. He'd earned enough never to be short for the rest of his life. He'd live out his days in relative wealth. There was no point being greedy, however. It was time to kick back a little, to put his feet up and relax. That at least had been the idea just a month or so before when he'd left his place of work for the last time. Now on a kind of whim he was travelling west, towards South Wales. But more of that in a bit.

Edward had done all the usual things that he would have done when travelling to London. He'd got himself a coffee and a newspaper at Didcot Parkway station. He'd sipped his coffee whilst he sat waiting on the platform. Only this time he carried a small travel bag with him. The train had been on time, at least within a minute or two. He'd waited patiently to get on. He wore a white shirt, brown trousers, black shoes and a lightweight raincoat. He wasn't so very differently attired as when formerly going to work, except he had no tie, and his sports jacket was folded neatly away in his bag. Edward was of medium height and medium build. He was slightly overweight like most middle-aged men and kept his hair cut short, as he'd noticed it begin to slowly recede and thin once he'd hit his fifties. It had been thick and strong once as a young man and he'd worn it long accordingly, but those days were well and truly gone.

Edward found himself a seat by the window. He sat down and let out a barely audible sigh of relief. The train wasn't especially busy. Why would it be? It was the middle of the day. He laid out his coffee and newspaper on the table in front of him, and placed a book beside them, which he might read at some point if he got bored on the journey. It would be good to get away, he thought. He needed it. It had been a while, too long in truth. He was still thinking about that once in a lifetime, post-retirement trip somewhere hot and exotic, but hadn't got round to planning it yet. He'd intended to take such a break with his wife in the coming summer. It might never happen now. Instead, he was taking an impromptu trip to Swansea, the city of his old university, where he'd been an undergraduate some forty years or so years earlier. Now he was going back for the first time since he couldn't remember when. He'd gone back from time to time after first graduating, but the visits had gradually become less frequent until eventually they'd stopped altogether. How long it had been now he wasn't quite sure. It must have been around thirty years and perhaps longer.

Edward wondered what Swansea would be like. He wondered whether he would recognise it, even though it had once been his home, for three years. It was bound to have changed in the years since. How could it not have done? Just as he'd changed too. He was a very different person to the confident, some might say arrogant, young man who'd graduated at the age of twenty-one. Even then he'd somehow known he would get on. He couldn't wait to get back to the Home Counties, where he'd come from, and make his way to London. He'd gone into investment banking. It wasn't necessarily his chosen path. It was a career that chose him. In part he was bowing to parental pressure to have a lucrative job, and everything that came with it, including the security, material possessions and home comforts it provided. Edward had a flair for investment from the very start. He was an Economics graduate after all. What else was he going to do? He was very successful at what he did. Still part of him, an unfulfilled part, had always yearned to be something else, perhaps an academic, a museum curator, a writer or an artist, perhaps a gallery owner. He'd just never had the chance. He couldn't complain, however. Life had been very good to him. It had treated him well, better than most. In short, his job had made him quite rich. Now he had the leisure time to enjoy it if he so wished to do so.

The train sped along the tracks. It was a fine spring day outside. The sky was blue with barely a cloud to spoil it. Edward knew that was likely to change as they neared Wales, where the weather was prone to change quickly from sunshine to rain. As they reached the outskirts of Bristol it grew a little darker overhead. Edward was unconcerned. The weather didn't really matter to him. He had other, more pressing things on his mind. At the Severn Tunnel the train slowed momentarily almost to a halt to let another train ahead of it pass through first. It took around five minutes to travel the four and a half miles under the waters of the River Severn. It was part of the journey Edward remembered well from his many trips back and forth along the same line as a student. When the train emerged on the other side Edward was finally in Wales.

The countryside was just as he remembered it. To his surprise he could even remember the Welsh names of the cities and towns the train passed through, Newport, Cardiff, Bridgend, Port Talbot, Neath and finally Swansea. It all came flooding back to him, with an unerring familiarity, as if he'd never been away. He was particularly familiar with the section of the line from Cardiff to Swansea. Cardiff had been the destination for many a Saturday afternoon shopping visit in his student days. He'd taken great pleasure in the boutique shops of the legendary, historic arcades there. Even that was history to him now. It had been a while since he'd been to that great city either.

You might wonder why Edward was going to Swansea. He'd left in a relative hurry earlier that morning, not long after his younger wife, Alice, had headed for work at her Oxford publisher's office where she was a PA, just as she always did. Edward hadn't told her he was going. He'd actually decided on a whim after she'd gone. He'd just left a note on the kitchen table, which she'd read no doubt when she got home. The note had simply said not to worry and that he'd be in touch in due course. Afterwards Edward had quickly packed a few belongings together and calmly walked out the front door. He'd got a taxi to the station and now he was on a train. His fellow passengers were entirely oblivious to his concerns and his reasons for being there, just as he was to theirs.

Alice was actually Edward's second wife. He'd been married before. His first wife had died of cancer. Her name had been Angela. She'd only been forty-five. They'd had two children together, Victoria and Henry, now both grown up. Angela's death had been hard to take. It had affected him deeply. They'd been very much in love. After that Edward had retreated into himself in quiet, dignified mourning. He'd gone into his shell and had found it difficult to come out again. He'd been on his own for five years being a father to Victoria and Henry, as they slowly evolved from young teenagers to adults. Eventually he'd met Alice. They'd been introduced by friends at a dinner party and had been together ever since. They hadn't had more children. Edward wouldn't have minded, but Alice didn't want them. She was too career-minded for that, she said. Besides, he had two already. Wasn't that enough? She was too busy for kids of her own, she claimed. Too selfish might have been more accurate, Edward thought.

He realised Alice had married him for his money and his standing in society not his looks. She was ten years younger than him. He could give her everything she'd ever wanted, a big house, expensive new cars, luxury clothes and jewellery, holidays abroad whenever they liked. Oh, it was a fine lifestyle indeed. Why wouldn't she grab it with both hands when she had the chance? She'd done exactly that of course, and who could blame her? Edward was a highly respected pillar of the local community. He and his wife were guests of honour at just about everything going. The freebies were just too good to turn down. Alice loved them. Now sadly in the blink of an eye it had all turned sour.

The weekend had started well enough and as it usually did. The couple had enjoyed a gentle game of doubles at their local tennis club in the morning. They'd been playing another pair who were not only fellow members but friends as well. After the game they'd all gone for a pub lunch and taken a leisurely river walk before retiring to their respective houses for a quiet evening of television. Edward had got up late on the Sunday morning, mowed the lawn, before heading to watch a local, early season cricket match on his own. It was afterwards that things had started to unravel and go wrong. Edward had been travelling back from the ground. He'd taken a different route to the one he normally did. That was when he spotted them, hand in hand. He'd done a double-take at first. He'd even had to stop the car to look back just to make sure. There was no doubt. It was Alice, with a young, handsome work colleague he knew to be called Paul. They were emerging from a restaurant. They didn't notice Edward driving past. They were too immersed in each other. They looked like they didn't have a care in the world.

Edward was in a state of shock. He felt like his whole life and everything in it had fallen apart in an instant. It had crumbled before his very eyes. He considered following the couple and having it out with them, but his thoughts were too jumbled and confused. Besides, what good would it do? Instead, he drove home slowly in silence. He'd long since forgotten the score of the match he'd just seen. In fact, his team had won for once. He no longer cared. It no longer seemed important. It seemed trivial by comparison. In the comparative safety of his study, he poured himself a large whisky. He would have lit a cigarette if he had one, but he'd given up smoking years ago. There was nothing for it but just to sit and await Alice's return. He confronted her of course. The worst thing was she didn't even deny it once he started pressing her for the sordid details.

"You're late," he commented curtly when she finally walked through the door.

"Yes, I was a bit held up," she replied, walking straight past him.

"What were you doing?" he asked.

"Nothing special, just a bit of shopping," she said.

"Look, I saw you Alice, with Paul from your office," Edward said, accusingly.

"Indeed," Alice responded, deciding perhaps it was time to pour herself a drink too. "Well, you were bound to find out eventually, I suppose," she added, with a resigned tone in her voice.

"I suppose I was," Edward agreed.

"It can hardly come as a complete surprise," she continued. "What did you expect? You were away at work a lot," she pointed out.

It was true. It wasn't a total shock to him, yet it was a shock to him at the same time. How could he have been so imperceptive? How could he have been so naïve and stupid? It all made perfect sense now. It was so obvious in retrospect, her working late in the office, the occasional weekends away for book launches and promotions, the unexplained absences and other things he'd chosen to overlook. He guessed he hadn't wanted to know the truth. He'd turned a blind eye to the small hints and clues that could have led to suspicion and further interrogation.

"Then there's the age gap, Edward. It's become more apparent of late. I'm still a comparatively young woman. You've not been well. Yet I still have needs you've been ignoring," Alice said.

Edward nodded. That was also true. He'd had minor health niggles that had hastened his retirement or at least confirmed to him he was doing the right thing in stopping at sixty. An excessive fondness for a scotch and soda after work or a large red wine with an over-indulgent lunch had led to mild heart arrythmia. It wasn't fatal, more an inconvenience and irritation in truth. Besides, he was feeling rather better now, since receiving treatment and giving up work. He'd been able to return to exercise and gentle sport, but he perhaps hadn't shown Alice as much attention as he should have. He was regretting that now. Why wouldn't younger men like Paul be interested in her? She was an attractive woman. And it wasn't hard to see what Alice saw in him. He was young and handsome and was gaining a growing reputation as a creative designer in the art department where Alice worked.

"Are you planning to leave me for him?" Edward asked, with more composure than he actually felt.

"I really don't know what's going to happen," Alice said. "Perhaps I'll have to move out now you've found out about Paul."

"Hadn't you better decide which one of us you want?" Edward suggested.

"It isn't as easy as that," Alice said. "Besides, let's not have a scene, darling. We're both too tired tonight."

With that she'd retired to their bedroom and Edward to his study, where he'd continued to sip whisky, alone in his thoughts and in quiet contemplation, trying to make some sense of the sudden revelation that had quite simply overwhelmed him. He'd slept in the spare room that night. In the morning Alice had got up and gone to work as if nothing had happened. She'd said very little at breakfast. She hadn't even mentioned it. That was when Edward had formulated his plan. He needed to get out. He needed to escape. He needed to get away to sort his thoughts out and decide what to do next. What better then than a short break in the city of his former university for some time to reflect.

As soon as she'd gone, he'd phoned a little guesthouse he remembered on the Oystermouth Road overlooking the bay and beach. He'd walked past it many times walking from the university campus to the city shopping centre. It was out of season, and they had no trouble accommodating him. He could stay more or less as long as he liked. Of course, he could have booked himself into a five-star hotel. He could have afforded it, but he didn't want that experience. He wanted something more rustic and authentic. This was only forty pounds a night, including breakfast. It could hardly have been cheaper. Some of the hotels he stayed at in London cost hundreds a night. This would be very different. It was exactly what he needed.

As the train approached Swansea, the stops became more frequent. From his carriage window, he'd observed the ruins of Newport Castle standing on the muddy banks of the River Usk, with the shopping precinct behind. As the train left Cardiff Central Station, his eye had been drawn to the imposing landmarks of the Principality Stadium on one side of the track and the Cardiff City Stadium on the other. On either side of Bridgend were some miles of lush, green, Welsh, rolling countryside, which the train tore through at an impressive speed. Edward knew they had reached Port Talbot when he caught sight of the Port Talbot Steelworks and its myriad of chimneys pumping a thick cloud of industrial pollution into the atmosphere. Yet to his left the town was overlooked by a succession of steep, unblemished hills that could have formed part of the Brecon Beacons and wouldn't have been out of place there. On glimpsing the outline of Neath Castle, Edward knew he was nearing his final destination. He was only minutes away now.

Whilst distinct, separate geographical entities in legality and tradition, Neath and Swansea effectively ran into each other, to form one sprawling urban conurbation, inhabited by thousands of small, terraced houses that had filled the valley of the River Tawe since the days of coal mining and copper smelting, providing homes for the workers of the industrial revolution to live in. What struck Edward most was that the signs of that industrialisation still so evident in his day had largely vanished. The scarred landscape had predominantly been healed. The trees planted to cover Swansea's industrial past had now grown to maturity into a forest of green vegetation. There was no sign of the brown colour of copper that had continued to stain the earth long after the smelting had ceased. The waters of the River Tawe looked clear and clean and were running freely. That was a miracle in itself.

The train drew to a halt and Edward and his fellow passengers alighted on the platform. It was the final stop for this particular service, though no doubt some would be continuing their journeys west or inland. As Edward emerged from Swansea Station, light rain was falling. He was neither surprised nor particularly concerned, despite the fact he'd left in glorious sunshine. He was used to it raining in Swansea and he was glad he'd worn his raincoat as a natural precaution. Wet was how he remembered Swansea best, usually during the days of autumn and winter, when the days were darker and shorter. It was no different now, even though it was spring. Edward had checked the forecast before he left. The rain was meant to clear later, and brighter weather was expected over the coming days. He didn't really care. It made no great difference to him. In some ways rain reflected his grey mood.

Edward wandered down the High Street towards the city centre, once considered one of the most rundown High Streets in the United Kingdom. Edward was pleased to observe the much-needed renovation had finally begun, and some of the derelict, empty buildings had been replaced by independent cafés and interesting-looking, boutique businesses. It was a definite improvement from the last occasion he'd walked down the same street. Edward reached the ruins of Swansea Castle, a notable historic monument in the city centre. He was glad to see it was still standing, although a nearby shop specialising in the sale of Welsh gifts to tourists he noticed had now gone. Edward paused for a moment to take a photograph on his phone of the castle's silhouette against the grey skyline. Duly satisfied, he moved on.

Edward continued by foot down Oxford Street towards Swansea Indoor Market. He was glad to find they hadn't redeveloped that, and it was much as it had been some forty years earlier. It was still busy and the veteran sellers of cockles, laver bread and Welsh cakes, mainly ladies. were still much in evidence and doing brisk business. Edward looked at his watch. It was afternoon and he realised he still hadn't eaten. He found a small coffee house just outside the market, where he sat down and ordered a pot of tea, a pasty and a cake. It was just what he needed. He decided he'd return another day. It would be a good place to start each day, with a relaxing coffee and an opportunity to read his book and collect his thoughts without being bothered by anyone else.

Edward felt reinvigorated by his simple meal. He passed Swansea Grand Theatre before turning left and heading towards the beach and Oystermouth Road, where he was staying. The Civic Centre was on one side of him, Swansea Prison on the other. He took the more attractive beach path. Once he passed the municipal buildings, he was treated to the view he'd been half waiting for. Despite it still being overcast, he could see the entire length of Swansea Bay stretching out ahead of him, from Port Talbot and further to the east to The Mumbles and Gower Peninsula to the west. It was a view he'd seen many times on his daily trek from his digs on the edge of Sandfields, where he'd lived in his final year, to the university campus.

It was about a fifteen-minute walk along the Oystermouth Road to the guesthouse where he was staying. He'd deliberately chosen one parallel and almost directly behind the road in which he'd once lived. At the guesthouse, he was greeted by the owners, an Alan and Gwen Evans. He remembered their names from his telephone conversation with them. They were a middle-aged couple, probably only a year or two younger than he was himself. Edward completed the formalities of signing himself in. He'd paid for several days in advance and would pay for more as required. Mr Evans gave him the key to his room and showed him where it was located. As he climbed the stairs, Edward noticed there was a small bar in the adjacent breakfast room with basic spirit optics and a few bottles of wine and beer neatly lined up waiting to be opened. He might well make good use of that in the coming days, he thought to himself.

Once inside his room with the door closed, Edward collapsed on the bed. The room was only small, but it suited his needs perfectly. He had a bed, a bedside table, a chair, a chest of drawers, a mini wardrobe, a television set, a sink, a shower, and a toilet. What else did he need? What was more, from his bedroom window he had a perfect view of the whole of Swansea Bay. Perched above the main road, he could see the sand extending out all the way to the water's edge. Edward closed his eyes and went to sleep. For a minute he wanted to forget all about Alice. He wondered if she was home yet and had read his note. Probably not, he decided. He'd text her later to say he'd arrived safely and would then switch his phone off for the next day or two at least, until he had actual need of it. He wanted minimum contact. So far, he'd received no messages from her. She obviously felt no great guilt over her affair with Paul. He'd expected an apology at least. He hadn't even really had that the previous night. He doubted he'd get one now in truth.

When Edward woke up, he made himself a coffee. He was pleased to see the rain had stopped. It was still grey outside, but the skies had lightened. There was even a touch of blue in the distance over Mumbles Pier. The weather changed quickly in these parts, as the sea breeze blew rain and cloud in, only to blow them over again. Edward sipped his coffee and opened his book. He'd brought several with him. This was a short one – Notes from The Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Edward had read it many years ago as a student but had largely forgotten its contents. It would be good to reread it. He recalled it was about a loner and an outcast, how appropriate considering the rather strange circumstances of his visit. Edward read a few pages and then stopped. He could see from his window the weather had continued to improve. Perhaps it was time to take another walk and get a little more much-needed fresh air in his lungs.

Edward stepped outside and could feel the sea breeze on his face. Fine particles of sand were blown against his ageing skin. He didn't mind. It reminded him he was no longer in Oxford or London. He was in Wales, and he was by the seaside. Edward walked further down the Oystermouth Road before turning inland at Victoria Park and walking past the distinguished Brangwyn Hall. The second-hand shops on St Helen's Road, where he used to search for rare vinyl records, had mainly been replaced by a countless array of late-night eateries, he observed. The city centre itself had changed less, although most of the famous, old department stores had now closed their doors for good, including David Evans.

Edward made his way to Wind Street. It had once been home to Swansea's banks and commerce. Now it was celebrated for its pubs, café-bars, and nightlife. Edward hoped to find somewhere to eat there. It was only early evening, and the shops were still just closing. A few young men and women were heading for their nights out. Judging by the short skirts most of the women wore, Edward realised this road or Wine Street as it was known locally, wasn't really for him. It made him feel old and oddly out of place. He continued hurriedly along, until he came to a little wine bar that was more to his liking. It was a quiet and he could enjoy a glass of wine and a pleasant meal there in his own company.

Edward walked back along the refurbished Swansea Marina, that had still been docklands and decaying industry in his day. He passed the old premises of the South Wales Evening Post, which appeared to have been converted into a hotel. The striking, stone building that housed the Dylan Thomas Centre, opened since his graduation, stood before him and he made a mental note to visit it. None of this had existed during his time in the city, not the yachts and pleasure craft that filled the waters of the marina or the luxury apartments and cafes that adorned the sides of the manmade harbour that now made up the Maritime Quarter, home of the National Maritime Museum. No doubt Edward would return to this area, to enjoy all it had to offer, over the coming days. For now, he was content to wander slowly back to the guesthouse where he was staying. Once inside he made another cup of coffee, read his book for a bit, watched a little television, before slipping into bed.

It was only then he remembered he still hadn't contacted Alice or indeed heard from her. He'd expected a string of worried messages and phone calls by now. None had been forthcoming. It was good of her to be so concerned about his welfare, he reflected dryly. That in itself said as much as any words could. Neither he nor the years they'd spent together meant very much to her, it appeared. Edward started composing a text to her. It was almost the same as he'd written in his note before setting out. There wasn't very much more to be said. Have arrived safely. No need to worry. I'll be in touch when I'm ready. Just need time to think, it read simply. With that he pressed send, turned over and fell asleep.