She was just thinking that was where the bus will probably stop and was about to look to see if the pathway up through the fields to it was clear when she saw something that surprised her. She had to place the cup of tea back onto the saucer so she could rub the sleep from her eyes just to make sure she was seeing clearly. But yes, she was right. That little blue vehicle passing down the road was in fact the very bus she’d planned on catching. But it was only just past seven! How could it already be on its way?
She walked around to where Nana’s grandfather clock proudly stood in the hallway so she could check the time. It was seven twenty-five. Seven twenty-seven if you were going to be picky.
Well, that was frustrating. Nana must have got her wires crossed – and after all of her repeated affirmations that the bus came at eight thirty. She sighed and went back to collect her tea. She guessed she would have to get up earlier tomorrow! What a shame that she’d miss the car boot sale though. She’d so been looking forward to it,
She reached out her hand to grab the tea – she may as well settle down now there was no urgency to her morning plans – when her hand met something entirely different, something furry... What the hell could that be? Instinctively she recoiled, her heart rate suddenly jumping to almost double its pace.
But looking down, she saw a very cheeky – and very chubby – ginger cat. He was sniffing at the contents of the cup, his facial expression a mixture of curiosity and disdain. He was obviously expecting it to be milk.
‘Well, who are you then, little fella?’ she cooed, reaching back to stroke his soft fur, presuming it was a him and not a her. She’d always loved animals and always lamented the fact that her landlord in London wouldn’t let her have a pet. But she couldn’t remember Nana ever mentioning that she had a cat of her own, despite the many feline-related artworks and cushions adorning her house.
She wondered whether Nana kept any cat treats – whether this was her cat or not, Nana had always been a feeder – and went to the larder to check out the situation. As she stepped into the cold room, which was more of an outhouse on the side of the kitchen, she shuddered and wrapped her arms around her for warmth. And of course, the first thing she set her eyes on was a box of cat biscuits sitting directly on top of the washing machine, almost as if it was something Nana frequently came in here to grab. She should have known!
The second thing her eyes rested on were her Hunter wellies: pristine, unmarked and ashamedly unused. She’d been so proud of this purchase – she’d opted for a dark plum colour so she could match it with the many purple neckties and hairbands she owned. Just because she was in the country, it didn’t mean she had to dress like a farmer, she’d thought.
She gazed at the wellies and remembered how excited she had been to eventually wear them. Today seemed a day better than any other. And just because she’d missed the bus, did it mean she’d miss the whole day because of it? It was only four miles to the town and that meant the car boot would be even closer. She could totally do that. In London, she and Michael had walked the capital ring many Sundays in a row and they’d average at least ten miles on those days, granted with a Sunday roast perfectly scheduled midway.
Yes, she would do this. She reached down to grab the wellies and swallowed down the lump in her throat at the unexpected thought of Michael. She’d been doing her best not to let him cross her mind and, until this point, she thought she’d done a pretty good job. She knew he wouldn’t be thinking of her at this moment, or any moment for that matter, so she took a slow breath and told herself the mantra she often did at times like this: ‘you are whole, you are complete, you are enough by just being yourself’. This calmed her immensely – it was a wonder what positive thinking could do.
Now she just needed to think positively about the trek – no, leisurely country walk! – that she was about to embark upon. All she needed to do was find a map, figure out the route and then put on the many, many layers so she wouldn’t freeze to death!
Chapter Three
Half an hour later, after having found an old map in Nana’s bookcase and, using the letter-headed notepaper she always carried in her bag, written a note to say where she was going, Heather was heading out the door. She had chosen a purple beret to match her new wellies and some elegant leather gloves that stopped just before her wrist. She was feeling great and, as she felt the crunch beneath her feet as she strolled down the garden path, she felt herself smiling. Just to think that two days prior to this she was running around London trying to force herself onto an already-packed bus on her way to the gallery.
The air was crisp and as she began to walk she quickly warmed up. The only sound that she could hear was the soft thud thud thud of her feet hitting the stony walkway that led to the first footpath which wound through the maze of fields. According to the map, she would follow the stream as far as the road where the bus stopped, at which point she would transfer to the other side of the fields where there should be a path that led into the village. It was a long walk but it looked fairly straightforward; once she was on that path she should just walk forwards and would be connected onto the next path from field to field, and so on.
Heather wasn’t one for over-reliance on technology and so didn’t have any music to listen to – as she was sure most people would on a long walk like this. And without the company of Michael as she had had on their walk around the city ring, she was slightly startled to be at one with her thoughts. My my, she thought, it had been so long since she could have a proper moment to stop and think. How delightful!
Her thoughts strayed to her work in London: the small freelancing business she ran, creating bespoke metalwork which she sold to local businesses and trade fairs. She’d completed a degree in fine art. As a child she’d always dreamed of travelling around the globe, visiting art galleries and sipping glamorous coffees in boutique cafes watching the world go by. But as she’d grown older she had found that, while her love for art was something she very much retained, the thought of travelling made her so anxious the thought of being on her own in an airport gave her palpitations. There’d been the trip to Thailand with Michael, but she was a different person now. That was a previous version of herself that she’d prefer to forget.
It was her curiosity for creating small pieces that helped her find her true calling, starting out with crafty projects her Mum had given her in her Christmas stocking, and then moving on to making her own clothes and finally graduating to experimenting with forging different materials such as iron and glass. She’d rented a small studio, which was more like a garage to look at, just outside of Angel where she had her own furnace and glass making tools. She loved nothing more than to spend a Sunday down there seeing what new shapes she could make by trying different techniques.
Of course, she wouldn’t be able to do any of that work in Wales, not having any of her tools around her, but – as most freelancers discover – it was the simpler jobs that were the more frequent and earned her the most money. She created and painted wooden trinkets with motivational quotes which she sold to many a gift store, and she had a monthly commission from her friend Melissa in London to restore vintage tiles for the boutique furniture shop she owned.
She passed over a gravelly road that had two smooth lines down the middle from where all the cars had driven. She spied the bench further down where the bus would stop. She climbed over a wonky stile – oh, she did love the country! – and found the path she needed to follow to the village. It was a lot narrower than she’d expected and was overwhelmingly speckled with gorse. She had to kick it back at some points, pushing back stray branches from the neighbouring trees so she could pass. But there was something about the physicality of her journey that she enjoyed. Being out in nature really suited her, she thought.
And being out here, away from what could only be described as a trend bubble, where everyone was cynical and eager to out-do everyone else, Heather wondered whether she could get back to the type of crafts she loved. She had always loved fin
ding small items that stood out, be it a type of fabric or a cute tea cup, and finding new ways to decorate them, or turn them into something beautiful. As a teenager she had made a small business in her local high school painting lyrics from their favourite songs onto candles and covering them with glitter. The girls at her school loved them and it gave her enough money to pay for her Saturday art classes at the college up the road.
When she found this car boot sale, she would keep an eye out for any old pieces of china on sale. There were usually lots of quick ways to upcycle them. That would be her first project.
She remembered the first flat that she and Michael had lived in in London. It was right in the middle of her china phase. She’d wanted to experiment with gluing different pieces together which resulted in pretty much every surface being covered in some kind of assembly line that was propped up with toothpicks and string while it set. Michael had always been so exasperated with it all. He was the type of person who liked to rest his feet on any surface from wherever he happened to be sitting, not only getting muddy bootprints in the most unlikely of places but also knocking over whatever happened to be nearby too.
She sighed. Why she ever thought they’d be right together she’d never know. It had been clear from the start they were completely different people. Her friends saw it, but she’d been doggedly determined that opposites attracted, despite how their break-up came to prove her friends’ point.
But she stopped herself. It didn’t do good to look back on the past. She internally wished him the best of luck and tried to cast him from her thoughts. She didn’t want him back and she was certainly over it, as she had told her Nana the night before.
It was just such a strange thought for her to be out here and him not have any idea at all that she’d left the country... (Well, England to Wales – but she permitted herself a little grandiosity here.)
It was at this point that the footpath she was following came to an abrupt end in the corner of a field. She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn’t been looking ahead and had been comfortable watching the way her wellies crushed the mud beneath her feet as she walked.
Hmmm, she thought. Well, the map had said to keep going in that same westerly direction, so she guessed she would keep going forward. She must pick up the path at some point.
At the end of the field there didn’t seem to be a natural place to cross over the short wooden fence that segregated the two lengths of grassland, so she climbed over – somewhat inelegantly – and continued on in what felt the right direction.
But after a few more fields like this, Heather began to worry. There was a nagging sense that she wasn’t in the right place, but she had no idea how to get back on the right track. If she were to head back a bit and try again, how far back should she go? Or should she stick to her guns and keep moving forward?
She chose the latter, but when she eventually met with a stream across her path she knew she’d chosen the wrong option. According to the map, the only stream was the one she had followed right back by Nana’s and after she parted ways with it, it would flow in the completely opposite direction to the one she needed.
She couldn’t hear the road anymore and she must have been at the bottom of a hill as she couldn’t really see that far in any direction.
She pulled back her leather gloves, which annoyingly weren’t keeping her warm as much as they were making her hands sticky and clammy, and checked the time on her watch. She’d been walking for nearly two hours by now. How had the time passed this quickly? Maybe she should give Nana a call and admit she’d got lost?
But lo and behold, on taking her little Nokia (yes, it was a very outdated model) there was no signal.
Heather placed her hands on her hips and tried to think, but an overriding sense of panic was taking hold of her instead. What was she to do? If she kept walking she might find herself even deeper in the middle of nowhere and take up even more time. Her stomach grumbled and she imagined how nice a bacon butty would be right about now.
Angry, she picked up a stick from the ground and hurled it into a nearby set of trees, letting out a very loud ‘ARGH’ as she did so. It felt good, but before she could fully realise the sense of relief from that release of tension, she heard an accompanying ‘OUCH’ sound come from the trees where she’d thrown the stick.
Was someone there?
Someone was there! She wasn’t lost after all!
Heather ran over to where she thought the noise had come from at the exact time a young man emerged from the same place. He wore a green puffer jacket over a thick woollen jumper and an equally woolly beanie hat.
Heather’s joy at finding someone while she was in such unfortunate circumstances waned when she saw his face. He was angry. I mean, wouldn’t you be too if someone had just lobbed a great big stick at you?
‘I’m so sorry, I ... Well ... You have no idea how happy I am to see you!’ she stuttered as she hopped on over, trying to avoid the patches of wet mud around her.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ his large voice boomed.
Heather immediately felt ashamed. Perhaps she had hurt him? ‘I’m sorry—’ she began, but was quickly cut off.
‘Do you have any idea how close that came to hitting me in the eye?’ Yep, he was pissed off. ‘And why in God’s name would anyone be throwing sharp sticks about? Let alone, into bushes where anyone could be??’ He continued to mutter to himself angrily and Heather could swear she heard him mumble, ‘Nearly had my eye out...’ at least a couple of times.
‘I’m sorry,’ she tried again. ‘I had no idea you were there, and ... actually ... I am so glad that you were. Not that I was trying to hurt you, understand. But, I’ve been wandering around here for so long and I ... you have no idea... I’d got myself so los—’ At this she stopped herself, as she realised just how foolish she sounded. Typical city girl, can’t even navigate a simple map, that’s what he must be thinking. And she immediately felt stupid. The map was so simple. How had she managed to balls it up so spectacularly??
The man stopped and appraised her, looking her up and down. She couldn’t tell if he was still angry, but of this she was certain: he was judging her.
Well, I would too, she thought and she reached up to straighten her beret, which had slipped down her face in her energetic hopping over to him.
He let out a long, drawn-out sigh. ‘Where are you headed to?’
‘The village,’ she said quickly. ‘Or the car boot. There’s one on the way to the village. I passed a sign for it on my way down here, but I don’t remember the name of the road... or the field... Do you know it, by any chance? I just need a—’
‘COACH?’ the man boomed, taking her by surprise.
‘Coach Field, do you mean? Or Coach Road? Thank you, that’s really helpf—’
But the man was paying her no attention at all and had actually turned his back on her. Well, how rude! she thought. He called out again, ‘COACH’ and just as she was about to reply again, it all clicked into place. A scraggy dog appeared from the bushes, racing towards what she now realised was its owner and – quite mortifyingly – it was carrying between his teeth the offending stick she had not so long ago thrown at the man. Evidently, she had caught them mid dog-walk.
The dog circled round its owner a couple of times and then bounded over to her. He dropped the stick at her feet (Oh, please don’t! she thought, embarrassed and not wanting a reminder of what she’d just done) and then began to jump up at her.
He was very cute and even though she knew he’d be getting mud all over her riding trousers, she let him greet her with a lick to the face.
‘Down boy,’ the man said, calmer now.
The dog obeyed.
There was a silence as the man said no more and Heather was aware she’d been yabbering on so she thought it best to wait for him to say something. But he didn’t.
She offered a quick, ‘That’s a nice dog, you’ve got there.’
She
thought she heard him grunt, but if there was more to his reply than that it was clearly lost in the wind.
‘Look, I’m err... sorry, for nearly hitting you. But I could really do with some help. You see, I’m not from around here, and I was trying to get to the village. Just point me in the right direction and I’ll be out of your way.’
‘If you’re heading for the village you’re not going the right way about it.’ He laughed. It didn’t sound like a friendly laugh. ‘The exact opposite, I’d say.’ And at this he bellowed.
What an awful man, she thought to herself.
He pointed in the direction behind her to the corner of the field. She swivelled around and saw a small opening between the fields. ‘That’s the direction you want.’
‘Oh, I see. The map didn’t suggest there was more than one path,’ she said, slightly annoyed at herself, but even more annoyed that he’d just pointed out a very clear footpath that she should have noticed long before this point.
‘What? There are footpaths all around this place. It’s a walkers paradise around here – for those that can hack it, that is.’
She chose not to respond to the jibe and instead pulled the tattered map from her pocket. ‘No, I distinctly remember checking. I’ve been lost for so long now I must know the details of this thing off by heart.’ She tried to inject a little light-heartedness to the conversation to dissipate the friction, but the man’s face showed no crack of a smile. She looked him in the eye, took in the slight wrinkles in the corners, the tan leathery skin despite it being the middle of winter and the spattering of stubble just showing around his chin. He was younger than she’d initially thought him to be. And if he smiled – though she doubted he would – he might actually be quite good looking...
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