My car headlights picked out the glint of the wet road but, either side, the verges were dark, impenetrable shadows and my petrol gauge, always a bit temperamental, had suddenly started reading ‘empty’.
‘Five miles from Llangarth.’ My cousin Mark’s directions had said, but I’d gone already gone that far surely? Why had I set off so late, I wondered?
The traffic on the M4 was solid with families heading out of London for the Christmas break; cards piled high with presents. I didn’t envy the parents jammed in with kids, presents, luggage, dogs – even the odd Christmas tree,
at least not while I was on the well signed, brightly lit motorway.
Now, hours later and deep in rural Wales, alone on an apparently deserted road, I would have been thankful for company, any company would have been better than this feeling of solitary isolation.
Another mile and panic began to replace irritation. The hills loomed higher against a temporary break in the clouds. I thought of my mobile phone. I could see it quite clearly sitting next to the kitchen radio where I’d left it charging.
I imagined myself sleeping in the car and being found frozen in the morning by a farmer bringing feed to his sheep.
Suddenly, up a track, a little way from the road, I saw the lights of a house.
Thank heavens! I was not alone in this dark, cold December landscape. I would stop and ask directions to Gorse Cottage. Surely everyone knew everyone else in this bleak empty countryside?
I drove up the short track, parked, and suddenly shy, stood hesitating outside the door of what appeared to be a farmhouse.. suddenly an oblong of light appeared as the door of a nearby barn was pushed open. The sound and smell of cattle drifted out and a man was silhouetted against the light of a storm lantern. I could see a shapeless hat and a coat, or rug, flung over his shoulders but his face was deep in shadow.
“Er, sorry to trouble you”, I stammered, hoping he wouldn’t refuse to speak English to me.
“Could you please direct me to Gorse Farm Cottage, I think I may have missed the turning in the dark. I’m staying with my cousins, the Walters, for Christmas.”
I stopped suddenly, realising that I was gabbling. For the measure of several heartbeats he said nothing. Then he spoke quietly, his voice whipped away by the icy wind. I made to move closer but the dog at his heels gave a low growl and I stepped back.
“Back half a mile, right by the milk stand – sign’s probably come off in the wind.”
His soft Welsh voice was reassuring. I thanked him and climbed wearily back into my car.
In less than ten minutes I was in my cousin’s warm kitchen and soon I was being hugged to bits, divested of my coat and boots and asked a dozen questions all at once.
With my toes toasting in front of their woodstove and a brandy-laced coffee in my grateful hands, I watched Emma stirring a wonderful-smelling stew.
While Mark cut hunks of home-made bread I told them about getting lost.
“Oh, God!” said Mark “I’m so sorry. I must get that sign nailed up properly. ........Where did you say you got directions?”
I explained again and caught a strange look passing between Mark and Emma.
“What?” I said, suddenly shivering as I wondered if their neighbour was some kind of weirdo.
“Well!” Emma came and sat on the arm of my chair – still looking at Mark.
“The only farm between here and Llangarth burned down with farmer in the barn and all his family inside, fifty years ago and was never rebuilt!”