Roadrage
Page 25
Gil reconciled himself to a late start and surreptitiously widened his eyes in the direction of Spike, who didn't get the transmitted signal and responded by angling his head at Gil with enquiring confusion.
2
It was shortly after 11 am when Sally returned. Gil, trying to be philosophical about it all, was strolling in the garden with Spike. He only realised she'd arrived back when he happened to glance up at Megan's window and saw the two women framed there. Megan had her arms around Sally and appeared to be offering the younger woman words of comfort. Despite his own emotional absence of late, Gil had noticed the bond that had grown between these two. Sally had sought out the companionship of the older woman many times during those miserably dark days, when he'd sometimes been too downhearted to speak. He suddenly felt ashamed of himself; it might be easy to justify his mood swings, but it could only have been dreadful to live with. He wondered if Sally was experiencing misgivings about their relationship, apprehension perhaps at being alone with him in an isolated setting if his depressive state returned. The thought of upsetting Sally, perhaps losing her, made him feel quite desolate.
He returned to the kitchen and began to make some coffee. When the two women appeared a few minutes later he didn't draw attention to either the time or the redness around Sally's eyes.
"Sorry I was so long."
"No problem," he reassured.
"But now we won't get there till after dark!" she exclaimed, aware Gil had meant to reach the cottage early enough to deal with any unforeseen problems.
"It'll be fine. The Pritchards keep an eye on the place. Anyway, if the roof's blown away or something we can always find a hotel for the night."
Megan took one each of their hands in hers, "Just enjoy. And relax. It's been an awful time. Things can only change for the better."
3
It was long after dark by the time they arrived at the cottage, some eight and a half hours later. Gil had driven all the way, despite Sally's offers to relieve him. They had taken frequent breaks, for lunch, afternoon tea and an evening meal, so neither felt too frazzled by the journey.
The cottage was roughly midway between New Quay to the north and Llangrannog to the south. They had opted, after long hours on the M4, to take their evening meal at a place east of Carmarthen. It was listed in the restaurant guide Gil kept in the glove compartment. Spike had no objections to being left in the car, as this afforded him an opportunity to guard his personal property. In fact, Spike behaved in an exemplary fashion throughout the journey and had even accepted relegation to the back seat with good grace; most probably this was because he liked standing on top of the mound of new bedding they were taking to the cottage.
They chatted intermittently. Sally took several naps, as did Spike whenever he judged it safe to abandon his vigil at the window. They talked for a time about the happiest things they recalled from their respective childhoods. It was a safe place to inhabit, and there was a positive sense of moving away from the pain of recent weeks. It felt as if they were creating a bubble in time, an opportunity to step away from the grieving, hurt and sense of loss that had become their life.
After Carmarthen they left the main carriageway and took an A road to the small town of Llandysul.
"I used to love it here," said Gil as they drove through its quiet streets, "This is where my grandparents lived. I came here every summer holidays. I felt free … an adventurer."
"Shame it's dark," said Sally. "My fault, taking so much time this morning."
"It would be dark anyway. It's a long drive."
"Perhaps we could come back in the daytime?"
"Not much to see, just a little house."
"But it was important to you once … that makes it important to me," said Sally, reaching out her hand and stroking the side of Gil's face.
Gil smiled. Perhaps everything might be okay again. He hoped so.
Once they had left Llandysul they continued north for a while along a B road. After a lot of ups and downs, very bad for Spike's balance, they joined a major road again. However, they only pursued this road for a brief time, before veering off to proceed along some very narrow lanes for the last few miles. The road twisted constantly and was just wide enough to take a single vehicle, but they met no other traffic. After what was probably only two or three country miles but seemed more like ten, Gil pulled up before a metal gate.
"I wasn't sure I'd actually remember," he said. Sally heard the excitement in his voice.
Gil got out and opened the gate. With the car door open Sally could smell ozone, and perhaps after so much talk of earlier times, it rekindled in her the thrill of arriving at the seaside and its drawing power over children.
Gil returned, drove the car onto the track then pulled up again.
"Let me," said Sally.
"No, it's okay, the path can be a bit of a cowpat obstacle-course."
He closed the gate, got behind the wheel again, and proceeded to drive slowly, bumping along the rough track for the final quarter of a mile.
The meandering road, definitely not the handiwork of ancient Romans, ran beside a high stone wall.
"This is great," exclaimed Sally, opening her window to feel the sea breeze on her skin and riffling through her hair.
"It can get pretty fierce along this coast," laughed Gil, taking pleasure from her excitement. From the back seat he could hear Spike as he sniffed and whiffled, "Sounds like Spikey might recognise the local smells from his puppy days."
Along the driver's side there was hedging and a few gnarled trees, stunted and disfigured by the unceasing winds blowing across the Irish Sea.
Sally pointed over to the right, at the silhouette of a building that stood dark and solitary on the brow of a hill. "Is that it?" she asked uncertainly. The house looked too big, rather unwelcoming and didn't seem to fit the description Gil had given her.
"No," he replied, "that's a ruin. My place is further down the hill."
After a couple more minutes of slow progress they came to a stop. It was as far as it was possible to go. Ahead there stood a fence of wire stretched across posts and a wooden stile that met and adjoined the stone wall. The lane itself quadrupled in width at this point to allow for turning and parking. But Sally still hadn't seen any sign of the cottage yet.
"Where is it?" she asked.
"Just over here," Gil said, indicating right.
They left their bags in the car and Gil, who had come prepared with a torch, lit the way ahead, already being pioneered by Spike. An opening between a row of weather-beaten rowans led up six irregularly-spaced steps to a path that swiftly brought them to the front of a farm-labourer's cottage. The small early nineteenth-century building was silhouetted against the most stunning backdrop of stars Sally could ever recall witnessing. Despite the mildness of the night, the air was redolent with the might of the Atlantic, its sounds and saltiness filling Sally's head, energising her whole being.
Gil fumbled in a pocket for his key, opened the front door, and groped with a hand for the light-switch.
The cottage was warmer inside than anticipated, soon explained by the coal fire lit in the living-room fireplace.
"The Pritchards!" exclaimed Gil with an appreciative smile.
There was a note on the little dining table, which Gil read aloud, "Dear Mr Harper … They always call me 'Mr' … I've given up telling them to call me Gil … Siriol has replaced the empty gas canister for you. I've had a fire going the last few days, since I knew for certain you were coming, to get the place nice and aired. I've also left you an old fan-heater from our attic up in the bedroom. You said you'd be bringing bedding but you didn't mention towels, so I've left two bath and a bar of soap. Hope the journey wasn't too tiring, Gwyneth P ... Then a P.S. ... Pint of milk, loaf of bread, quarter of tea and pack of butter in kitchen."
"That's so thoughtful," said Sally, "Do you pay them to look after the place?"
"I've tried, but they won't take anything. I suppose they consider it fair because I let
them use the cottage whenever they want to put up relatives or friends."
"So the cottage hasn't been totally empty all this time?"
"No, the Pritchards would have had the odd relation staying."
Sally insisted on a guided tour of the property. Because of its size this didn't take long; it was a very simple two-up, two-down. An entrance porch had been tacked on at the front, to lessen the impact of the sea which had previously blasted the living-room every time the front door opened. Directly opposite the entrance to this sole reception room there was a flight of stairs to the floor above. On this upper storey there was one bedroom and a bathroom. Back on the ground floor there was also a kitchen, small but perfectly versatile behind the living-room, and beyond this there was a small utility room that Gil and Jules had added when they'd done away with the outside toilet.
"This is utterly brilliant," said Sally some time later after a cup of tea. They had arrived upstairs again and she was perched on the edge of the unmade bed, "Perfect!"
"I love it here," said Gil, "Thanks again for agreeing to join me." An expression of some sadness suddenly crossed his face.
"It must hold a lot of memories," said Sally.
He shook his head from side to side, "I just wasn't able to come near the place … even after all this time. I thought about selling … been on the verge of doing so on several occasions." He sat beside Sally and took her hands in his, "You're the only person I've ever wanted to bring here since Jules."
"Did Jules love it too?"
Gil's eyes misted slightly, then much to Sally's surprise, he let out what was for him an unusually big laugh, "She always insisted that she did … I think she liked the idea of it more than the reality ... probably felt she had to, because she knew I absolutely loved it here."
"Why was that, then? Just not her thing?"
"All Jules' energy was geared up for the world of problem-solving. She thrived on difficult meetings, enjoyed nothing better than making awkward people come round to her point of view. I've never met anyone who just loved negotiating deals so much. A weekend at the cottage and Jules would claim to feel so happy she never wanted to leave ever again. After about five days though, her eyes had started to glaze!" Gil smiled in recalling his late wife's foibles, "Once it got to about ten days, it became really tricky … it was like being holed-up with a sad wild creature that had lost the will to live."
Sally laughed, "Poor Jules having to suffer rural bliss for the man she loved."
"I guess we were attracted like opposites are."
"I don't think I'll be fed up after ten days. I'm afraid you'll have to call in the bailiffs to evict me. When I see a nest I want to curl up and forget all the problematic stuff."
"Me too," said Gil. He stroked her hair then gently kissed her mouth. Her face had an almost luminous glow about it.
He felt powerfully drawn to ask her to marry him there and then, but he knew it wasn't right; not there, not after talking about Jules. Anyway, his instincts told him there was something bothering Sally, perhaps it was to do with their relationship. Whatever it was, it would have been wrong to pressurise her. "I'd better fetch the rest of the bags and stuff," he said.
"I'll help."
For the next half an hour they busied themselves with what needed to be done. They made up the bed with new bed-linen, and while Sally put their clothes away in the bedroom, Gil went outside to fetch some coal to bank up the fire for the night. The ordering of fuel was another thing the Pritchards had done, at Gil's request.
The coal bunker was just outside the back door, and as he bent to pick up the scuttle to return inside again, out of the corner of his eye Gil thought he glimpsed a light in one of the upstairs windows of the derelict building above on the horizon.
He froze. The hairs on the back of his neck immediately sprang to attention.
He stood transfixed, staring up at the deserted house.
Nothing … just darkness, exactly as it should be.
Then, away in the distance, he heard the vague hum of a car engine as it travelled the road beyond the old house and illuminated the horizon for a split second with the glow of its lights.
Gil sighed with relief.
He was still a bit jumpy. It was perfectly understandable after everything that had happened. There was nothing to worry about.
He felt an involuntary shiver run through him. The night was turning cold.
He picked up the scuttle and went back inside to the warm.
4
When he woke next morning, Gil was surprised to discover he was alone in bed. He suspected this meant it was quite late. The quality of the light streaming in through his bedroom window confirmed this. Without seeking out his watch, he guessed with astonishing accuracy, about ten-thirty. He lay quite still for a moment, listening for sounds from inside the cottage; turn of a tap, clink of a spoon on a cereal bowl, a match being struck. This required him to block out the cacophony beyond its walls; the breaking of waves, the caw, screech and squawk of gulls and the unceasing flight of the wind about the eaves and chimney-pots. All was silent.
The absence of domestic noise provided the impetus to rouse him from bed. He paused a moment to yawn, then got up, stretched, and shuffled over to the window. The curtains had been left open during the night and as he gazed out on the day he was struck by the brilliant vastness of sea and sky.
Sally was leaning against the stile at the far end of the lane, close to where the car was parked. She had wrapped a long cardigan around herself and was gazing thoughtfully out at the sea. Spike was sitting happily by her side taking in the day. Not conscious of being watched, she occasionally took a sip from the mug in her hand. Gil thought how beautiful she looked on that fine spring morning.
He quickly drew on a sweater and a pair of jeans, attached a long-forgotten pair of moccasin-style slippers to his feet, and padded off downstairs. As he left the cottage and entered the magnificent day, the need to pause, take in a deep breath and smile, was irresistible. As ever, there were the incessant calls of sea birds, soaring high in a cloudless sky above shimmering waves. It was one of those mornings when sea and sky blended seamlessly, and plotting the line of the horizon became guesswork.
Not visible to Gil from his current vantage point, down the steeply sloping grassy bank, about thirty feet below the cottage, was the Ceredigion coastal path. The route, popular with walkers, pursued the course of the dark grey cliffs that rose a hundred feet above the jagged rocks and boiling sea at their feet.
Gil took the steps down to the lane. Spike, tail wagging a little sheepishly, came across to greet him. Sally was still unaware he'd arrived and appeared to be deep in thought.
"Enjoying the view?" he called out.
Sally nearly leapt out of her skin.
"I … I … I was just looking at the sea," she explained, quite flustered, face reddening with embarrassment.
"That's okay. No charge for it!" he joked.
She laughed and said, "I wasn't expecting you … you gave me a shock!"
"Sorry."
From her reaction, Gil suspected he'd interrupted a thought process that involved him in some way. He also recognised that whatever the problem was, she wasn't ready yet to voice it.
"I left you lying in bed, dead to the world you were! See, should've let me share the driving yesterday … silly old thing!"
"Easy with the old," he scowled. "I'm just fine and dandy," he said coming up beside her to steal a kiss and then the mug from her hand. Without examining its contents, Gil took a large slurp, only to immediately grimace and exclaim, "Urgh!" He didn't mind an occasional herb tea, if he knew what was coming, but he'd been expecting coffee.
Sally laughed.
"You might've warned me!" he said, making an exaggerated face.
"You shouldn't go round pinching other people's drinks!"
"But you drink coffee in the morning!" he protested.
"I bought some herb teas when I went shopping yesterday."
&
nbsp; "What is it?" He asked the question like he meant to file it away for future reference.
"Ginger and ginseng."
"Mmm … should carry a health warning."
Sally wrapped her arms about him and kissed his cheek. For a few moments they stared out across the cliffs, absorbed into the great seascape before them. As they shared the moment, they felt some of their tensions dissipate. It had been a good choice, to come here for renewal.
Gil sighed with satisfaction and leant his free arm on the wooden fence-post in front of him, only to find, much to his surprise, that it immediately gave way. However, the post, wired to a series of other posts, remained upright despite breaking at its base.
"Blimey! Completely rotten!" he exclaimed, pointing a foot at the place where the wood had decayed. This prompted him to check out the other posts, only to discover they were in a similar state of deterioration. "The Pritchards will know someone who can fix them. Not even the stile looks like it's got much life left in it."
Beyond the stile the path descended steeply before it joined the route below.
"Is it a public right of way?" asked Sally.
Gil nodded, "Joins the coastal path," he replied, pointing down at its seaward edge.
"Does it get busy?"
"Not really. There's a bit of extra footfall in summer. The Pritchards rent out a small field for camping."
"Ooh, hello sailor!" said Sally, responding in time-honoured theatrical tradition to the word 'camp'.
Gil playfully swiped a hand across her hair, "Just a few tents and half a dozen touring caravans."
"Is that a nuisance?" she asked.
"Never," replied Gil. "People who drop litter and let their children go insane aren't interested in remote spots and long coastal walks. Almost everyone who goes by is nice and polite … usually serious walkers, some families, mostly husbands and wives out for a trek."
"Ah, yes!" exclaimed Sally, "The noble British walker and his mate … chirpy and gregarious."
Gil smiled and took up the idea, "A plain, though not wholly uninteresting species," he went on, emulating the style of a guide book, "Homo brittanicus pedestrianus, can be spotted in many parts of the world …"