The seaside town appeared desolate as I drove through the centre toward the seafront. The odd person hovered in a shop entrance, cowering from the rain as it pelted the crumbling houses and shops. The weather kept shoppers at bay and I easily parked along the seafront. The waves crashed against the wooden pier; its thin stalk-like legs quivering as it fought the elements. The flashing lights of the arcades twinkled brightly through the deep-set fog hovering above the promenade.
I cast my eye over the length of the seafront. The buildings looked so familiar and, yet, not. In many ways, I could envision the younger me running along the seafront and laughing with friends on the beach as we barbecued. Yet, in so many other ways, this place had been as much a ghost to me then as it was today. In the last week, I had become less certain of what I knew or what I thought I had known. As if the past and present had become almost elusive, intangible: almost as one.
I needed to find the house. The house where it all began.
I used all my force to open the car door as I fought the thrashing wind. The sea air hit me smack in the face; I could taste salt on my lips, smell the seaweed. Drawing the collar of my coat up further, I bent my head against the driving rain and headed into town.
The nearest place open was a fish and chip shop. I pushed the door and paddled in, water dripping all over the floor.
‘You win bravest customer award.’
I looked up, pushing wet strands of hair from my face and mouth and smiled half-heartedly. I was sodden right through, my wool coat water-logged.
‘We’ve had no one in here so far,’ he continued, in his sing-songy Welsh accent. ‘Not that I blame them, mind. Who’d want fish in this weather? When you could probably catch one in your own backyard?’ He chuckled heartily at his own joke.
‘I was wondering if you could help me, actually.’ I wiped the drop of rain hanging off the end of my nose with my sleeve. ‘I’m looking for a house, maybe a former hotel, near the cliffs. I know it’s not much to go on.’
He was busying himself with something, his back to me.
I tried again. ‘Um …’
‘Here you go, free.’ He handed me a polystyrene cup. ‘Tea. I presumed you take sugar.’
‘Thanks.’ I smiled and held the warm cup appreciatively. ‘Just what I needed.’
‘House you say?’ His thick, bushy eyebrows furrowed. ‘I don’t know of no house like that. Well, I mean, can’t you tell me anything else? Why you need the house, is it a National Trust property?’
‘I went there once for an enormous party. A kind of secret party for the wealthy.’ I knew how far-fetched it appeared. ‘Oh. Never mind. I’ll just have to drive around.’
‘Are you that woman?’
‘Which one?’ I asked, pulling my damp hair around my face.
‘The one with the child missing?’ He smiled. ‘You were in the newspaper again yesterday. Says you used to go to this university.’ Beaming, he patted the countertop. ‘I’d show you but I wrapped one of our customer’s chips with it.’
I nodded. ‘Right.’ I sighed deeply. ‘I really need to find this house.’
The man looked perplexed. ‘OK, tell me again. A house that was once a hotel nearby?’
I nodded.
‘In Aberystwyth?’
‘No, on the outskirts somewhere.’
He tapped his chin thoughtfully. ‘Just a second.’ He left the room through a metal chain curtain at the back and returned with a plethoric-looking woman, a potato in hand. ‘My wife, Morwen.’
‘Yes?’
I explained again.
She smiled and looked at the man. ‘Pete, you do know what she means, the manor house, ten miles or so outside of Aberaeron. It was on that programme a few years ago. Does that sound right?’ She glanced at me now.
I shrugged. ‘Possibly.’
‘There’s nothing for you in that place. It’s derelict now,’ she said. ‘In fact, rumour has it some girl was murdered there but no one ever could confirm that.’ She prodded her finger at me. ‘You don’t want to be going to a place like that by yourself.’
‘The lady just needs to know where it is,’ her husband said. ‘Come on, Morwen.’
‘OK.’ She put down the potato, wiped her hands with a tea towel and pointed to a map on the wall. ‘Let me show you.’
A few minutes later, after I had made her repeat the directions to me a good few times, I left the warmth of the shop and headed back out into the wind and the rain. The clouds were darker now and hung lower in the sky; the castle on the hill silhouetted against the stormy backdrop.
I climbed in the car, grateful for the shelter and cranked up the heater. Seconds later, condensation ran off the windows and I was forced to let some outside air in. The wind whistled past and the distant sound of thunder out at sea reverberated through the town. Gripping the wheel with clammy hands, my knuckles white, I turned the key, waited for the light and pulled out. The rain hammered the roof of the car making it almost impossible to hear anything. Anything: except for the sound of my pounding heart echoing in my ears.