A quick glance at the clock: three forty-five. Fifteen minutes.
I passed through Aberaeron, as the woman had directed. The multi-coloured houses sitting alongside the harbour ordinarily looked so bright in the sunshine but, now, even they appeared melancholic. Boats skipped up and down on the rough water. One sole fisherman bravely readied his nets for the trip out to sea and the local grocer’s shop was open for business but, otherwise, there was little sign of life.
Once out the other side, I came to a fork in the road and headed right, as I had been told. The lane was narrow, almost impassable and my headlights bounced off the hedgerow and stonewalling. I had no memory of the route; even as I followed what I presumed was the same road as the taxi twenty years previously. In fact, the further I drove into the Welsh countryside, the more unsure I became.
I thought about the techniques Darren had taught me and I knew I had to force a memory to surface. I needed to know I was heading in the right direction and that’s when I saw it: the lighthouse out at sea. That night, just as today, I recalled the light as it bounced off the inky sky, over the choppy water and across the cliff face. Hitting a ridge in the road, the car jolted me upward and I focused my attention, once again, on the lane in front of me.
A light flashed on the petrol gauge: I was almost running on empty.
‘Shit.’ I hit the steering wheel, my mouth like sandpaper. ‘Not now.’
I shifted gear. Three forty-eight. I had twelve minutes. Twelve minutes. My throat closed up and I pressed down hard on the accelerator: pushing the Honda to its max.
I hit a bend and overcompensated with my steering, sending the car violently veering across the road. The rain was coming down harder still and I could barely see a few feet in front of me. The light on the gauge flashed twice.
I was climbing higher, the car struggling to cope with the Welsh hills, and the lighthouse caught the car in its lamp’s compass. The car started to slow and I could hear a strange thudding sound coming from the rear of the car. Moments later, the Honda spluttered to a standstill.
‘No, goddamn it.’ I punched the wheel repeatedly with my fists and cried out in frustration.
With no time to lose, I leapt out and started running instead, moving along the road at a pitiful speed, rain in my eyes. Tearing my coat off, I chucked it on the ground. The rain soaked right through my T-shirt and thin cashmere sweater in seconds, my jeans were sodden. A streak of lightning flashed across the purple-grey sky.
My legs couldn’t go any faster; with no sleep and food I was working on pure adrenaline. After a few yards, my shoe caught on a rock and I stumbled forward, landing heavily on my hands and knees; gravel embedded in my palms. I lifted myself off the ground and I had nearly given up all hope as I reached the top of the hill.
That was when I saw it. The house where it all began.