Chapter 1: Home

Mid-September 2012

I adjusted the time on my father’s watch back to British Summer Time—rolling it forward five hours—and then stared out of the window. I still thought of it as my father’s watch, even though it had been mine for nearly two years.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said the elderly lady in the seat to my right, her melodic Welsh twang adding emphasis to the word.

Her name was Gladys and she was returning home from an extended stay in New York, where she’d been visiting her daughter and grandchildren. They’d moved to The Big Apple a few years ago, at the start of the global financial crisis, after Gladys’ son-in-law was offered a position on Wall Street.

I’d found out all this and more during our seven-hour flight—despite both of us being asleep for most of it.

At the time, we were high above the English countryside. Or at least, we were according to the map on the screen in the headrest of the seat in front of me. I had the window seat, Gladys had the aisle seat, and I’d been looking out of the window as she spoke. There were no clouds, so the rich tapestry of fields, hedges, roads, woodland and villages lay before us in all its glory.

“Yes,” I replied, quietly, my gaze still focused out of the window. “It is.”

“I remember the first time I saw England from the air. It was many years ago now, of course. We’d been on a package holiday to Spain and coming back it took my breath away when I saw it, it really did. Oh, it was beautiful. But do you know what I noticed the most?”

I looked at her. “No. What?”

“How green it all is.” She grinned. “It’s the climate, see. Lends itself to lush green plants. I knows, ‘cause I gardens, see. All this grass, these trees and hedges. They need the rain, you see. Not every country is that lucky. No, it is beautiful. Not as beautiful as Wales, mind.” Her grin widened.

She’d told me just after take-off that although she’d enjoyed her time with her family, she was looking forward to going home to the small village in the Swansea Valley, or Cwm Tawe as she called it, that had been her home all her life. All seventy-plus years of it.

I couldn’t say I was looking forward to going home that much. Not at all in fact.

I’d been away for almost a year, and everything that forced me to leave would be waiting for me when I got back. The time away was supposed to help me heal, help me cope with what was to come, but I wasn’t sure it had. I guess only time would tell.

We touched down at Heathrow a little after nine in the morning, London time, having left New York in the late evening. After clearing passport control and collecting my bags, I headed for the arrivals lounge, looking up at the signs to find my way to the train station. I planned to catch the shuttle service into central London, get a train to Westmouth and then a bus to Micester. Vicky knew I was due to arrive, but she’d apparently pulled the breakfast shift and couldn’t come and pick me up.

I was still scanning around for the train station sign when a familiar voice called, “Paul!”

I looked in the direction of the voice but didn’t immediately recognise anyone. Then she started waving.

“Paul! Over here.”

Emily looked very, very happy to see me. Her grin was as wide as I’ve ever seen. I hurried over and she wrapped me up in a bear hug, despite the backpack slung over my shoulder.

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” she said, hugging me tightly.

I patted her back. “Missed you too, Ems.”

She pulled away and with a cheeky smirk said, “Liar. I bet you’ve had plenty of company on your travels.” She even made air quotes with her fingers.

I shrugged. “Not as much as you think. It’s hard to make friends when you’re constantly on the move.”

“I guess.” She suddenly looked embarrassed, nervous even.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

She slapped my arm. “I’ve come to pick you up, silly.”

“Well, I kinda figured that. But how did you know which flight I was on?”

“Vicky, of course. She called last weekend, as soon as she knew when you were arriving, and asked if I could pick you up because, obviously, she couldn’t?”

“Last weekend? But how did she know she’d be on the breakfast shift then?”

“Well, who else would be doing it?”

I shrugged. “One of the other chefs. There’s plenty of them up at The Hall.”

“Oh, that’s right, you don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

She smirked. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just a little surprise Vicky’s got for you when you get home, that’s all.”

“What surprise?”

“Come on, Paul, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it? It’s nothing bad, I promise. Now, let’s go, shall we? Are these all your bags?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Okay then, follow me.”

It was a fairly uneventful drive home although the M25 was its usual unpredictable self. At times it felt as if we were the only car for miles and at other times it lived up to its reputation as the world’s largest car park.

“This feels weird,” I said about twenty minutes into the journey.

“What does?”

I gestured to the dashboard in front of me. “This. Sitting on the left with no steering wheel in front of me.”

“Huh? I thought you were too young to rent a car over there. Don’t you have to be twenty-one or something?”

I shrugged. “Dunno. I didn’t bother to find out. I just bought one instead. Well, I say I bought a car, but it was a proper old American pick-up truck. I almost felt American driving one of those things. Almost.”

“But why would you do that? Buy a car I mean. Or a truck or whatever.” Emily asked.

I shrugged again. “I didn’t want to be tied to public transport. I stayed in New York for a while, but when I was ready to leave I paid cash for this ten-year-old Ford from some slimy second-hand dealer. Only cost a couple of thousand dollars. He even gave me a discount for paying cash. The insurance was expensive, but the petrol was much cheaper than over here, so they cancelled each other out. And, I mean, it’s not like I can’t afford it.”

Emily knew about my financial situation. She was the only person besides Vicky and Will that did. She was the only one I trusted. A trust built on our mutual relationship with ... her ... and solidified in those horrible few weeks last autumn.

“Wasn’t it difficult to drive on the wrong side of the road?”

“I got used to it. Actually, getting out of New York was the most difficult bit of the whole trip. After that, everywhere else felt like a piece of cake.”

“Where did you go after New York?”

“West, well, south-west, to Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington, then back north-west through Pittsburgh and Cleveland, up to Detroit and then across to Chicago. Over a thousand miles. Seventeen hours total on the road or something like that. Took me about a month.”

“A month?”

I nodded. “I took my time. Stopped off in little towns I’d never heard of. Stayed a few days in each city too. From Chicago I took the old Route 66, winding down to L.A., just like the song says. Two thousand miles all the way.”

“Hang on, let me think, so you went through Saint Louis?”

I nodded.

“Chaplin, Missouri? Oklahoma City? Was it pretty?” She giggled. “Hey, did it show the way to Amarillo? And were you ever twenty-four hours from Tulsa?”

I chuckled. “Yes, yes, yes and yes. I think. Maybe. Only it’s Joplin, Missouri, not Chaplin.”

“Really? So you’ve mean I’ve been singing Chuck Berry wrong all these years?”

She took her eyes off the road for far too long in my opinion to look at me and smile. Then her eyes went back to the road as the traffic went through one of its heavy periods.

“After that?” she asked.

“Back east. Las Vegas, Dallas, Houston, then along the south coast to New Orleans and on to Florida.”

“Disney World?”

“Not as much fun on your own as I expect it would be with friends.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Then what?”

“North, along the east coast back to New York and then ... here.”

She went quiet again, for longer this time, concentrating on the road as the traffic became the worst we’d seen so far. It cleared just as quickly five minutes later.

“What about when you came home? What did you do with the car?”

“Sold it to some other slimy second-hand dealer. Got back over half what I paid for it too, which wasn’t too bad. It paid for an upgrade to my flight.”

“You know,” she said after a pause, “I’ll never understand why so many countries drive on the wrong side of the road. Can’t they all drive on the left like normal people?”

“You mean about ninety percent of other countries?”

“Is it really that many?”

“I think it’s only ex-empire countries that drive on the left, isn’t it? Makes you think we’re the ones driving on the wrong side.”

We looked at each other, grinned and simultaneously said, “Nah!”

It was almost lunchtime when we got back to Micester. As we entered the town, I was reminded of just how much I hated the place. It wasn’t just the bad memories, it was the whole damn town. Everything about it. I could feel myself tensing up. It didn’t help that one of the first things you come across as you enter the town, is the cemetery.

“You okay?” Emily asked. I guess she could sense my unease.

“Fine.”

“Liar.”

“Yeah, well...”

“I understand. We could stop if you want.”

“Stop?”

“At the cemetery. Go see Clarissa. Let her know you’re back.”

I shook my head.

“Sure?”

“I said no. Not now. Just leave it. Besides, it’s not just there. It’s here. This place. The whole town. I wish I didn’t have to come back here.”

“At least it’s only for a week, huh?”

I nodded. “The sooner term starts the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Do you know where you’re staying yet?”

“One of the Halls of Residence. You know those four that are together on the edge of the campus?”

“That’s where I was last year. I was in Wintersmith. Do you know which one you’re in?”

“Not a clue. Does it matter?”

“Absolutely. Wintersmith rocks. The best of the four.”

“Why?”

“It just is, okay. The other three suck.”

“If you say so. Where are you this year?”

“One of the campus flats. Not that far from the Halls actually. There’re six of us sharing. The girls are cool. You’ll like them. And they’re all dying to meet you. Especially Amanda. You’ll like Mands. She’s a lot of fun.” She raised her eyebrows and grinned.

“You’ve not been talking me up, have you?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I hope they’re all prepared for a disappointment.”

“I don’t think they’ll be disappointed.”

“You’re biased.”

“True.”

A few minutes later, I turned to her and said, “Ems, thanks for coming to pick me up.”

She glanced at me and smiled. A big, beaming smile. “You’re welcome.” A Pause. “Actually, I’m just glad you’re back. It’s been weird at Westmouth knowing you really should have been there but weren’t. It was like there was a big hole in my life where you should have been. Two holes actually, but...”

“Yeah. I know.” This was a subject I’d rather avoid. Thankfully, the conversation couldn’t go any further because we passed right by my street.

“Ems, you missed the turning,” I said, turning in my seat to look behind.

“No, I didn’t. I’m not taking you home.”

“You’re not? Where then?”

“You’ll see. It’s a surprise, remember?”

We headed into town—why? I had no idea. Guess I’d find out soon enough. After a few more minutes, Emily parked the car at the kerb outside a greasy spoon café on the high street. At least, it had been a greasy spoon when I left. It didn’t look like one now. Sleek and modern, I suppose it could be justifiably called a bistro. On each of the two floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the entrance that made up the frontage was written the word Millie’s in a script that looked vaguely familiar.