Build a Man (34 page)

“I need to see
him, Kirsty,” I say, holding her gaze. “That’s all. However he
responds, I can deal with it.” My voice is strong, but inside I’m
not so sure.
Is
it enough for me to see him, to tell him how
I feel? What if he just blanks me?

I shake my
head. I have to try, whatever the outcome.

Kirsty nods.
“Okay, then. Do you want me to go with you?”

I turn the idea
over in my mind. It would be good to have company, but this is
something I need to do on my own. “Thanks, but no. I’ll be
fine.”

She reaches
over and gives me a quick hug. “I hope you find him. And I hope you
get what you want.”

I give a short
laugh. “Me too, Kirst. Me too.”

A few hours
later, I’m on the M4 highway in my little rental car on the way to
Wales. Darkness has closed in, and all I can see for miles ahead
are the red tail lights of thousands of people fleeing London. I
had a few hairy moments getting through some roundabouts (has this
country never heard of traffic lights?) onto the motorway, but
thanks to the car’s SatNav, it’s been smooth sailing ever since.
I’ve been driving for almost two hours, and the rhythm of the road
is hypnotic.

In the
distance, the lights of a bridge rear up in front of me. Glancing
at the SatNav, I see it’s the bridge spanning the River Severn,
dividing England from Wales. My palms grow clammy and cold on the
steering wheel. I’m getting close to Jeremy – once I cross the
river, it looks like it’s only about ten miles to Tintern Abbey.
And then . . .

I shove away my
nervousness, slowing to pay the bridge toll. I’ll find him. I will.
I can’t imagine going back to London without seeing him, without
expressing how I feel. Even if – I take a breath – even if he
doesn’t want me.

The bridge
arches over the dark water, and I steer the car across the river
and down into Wales.
Croeso i Gymru
, a sign spells out in
what I guess is Welsh – the jumble of letters is unlike any other
language I’ve seen. I pull over onto the shoulder of the road,
pondering my next step. Maybe I should have planned this better,
but all I could think about was getting here.

It’s past ten
now, and the roads are quiet. I roll down my window and breathe in
the cold, fresh air scented with dead leaves and earth, so
different from the gritty air of the metropolis. The only sound is
the quiet whoosh of cars in the distance, and the stars above shine
brightly. I forgot stars could be so dazzling – in London, you’re
lucky if you can catch sight of the moon. For the first time since
leaving Maine, it feels kind of nice to be free from the grip of
the city.

As much as I
want to hunt down Jeremy, it’s a bit too late to go investigating
country barns. I shiver, roll the window back up, then dig out the
guidebook on Wales that Kirsty packed in my bag. I’ll just call a
B&B in – I glance up at a road sign – Chepstow. Book in for the
night, then start out tomorrow. I scrounge blindly in my black hole
of a bag for my mobile, but none of the objects I grip are
phone-shaped.

God. Cursing
myself for being so disorganised, I dump the bag’s contents onto
the front seat and rummage through them. I couldn’t have forgotten
my phone. I couldn’t have! No one sets out on a cross-country
journey without a phone, right?

Wrong.
Apparently I do. I shake my head, remembering Kirsty telling me to
make sure to charge my mobile. I’d put it on the charger in the
lounge . . . and left it there. I thump the steering wheel, then
take a deep breath. Okay. Not a big deal. I’ll just drive into
Chepstow and find the tourist information centre or something;
maybe spot a hotel on the way.

I key in my
destination then start up the car engine, following the calm voice
of my SatNav as it guides me through yet another roundabout and
toward the town. The land slopes downwards, and I navigate between
white-stoned buildings and under a narrow archway. Lights shine
from pubs, and the streets are dotted with people here and there,
wrapped up warmly. Christmas lights twinkle from boughs in shop
windows, and I can’t help being charmed.

Ah, there’s the
tourist information centre. And it’s – my heart sinks as I take in
the dark, deserted building – closed, of course. Inching down the
empty street, I scan the white-washed houses, sagging in relief
when I spot a building with a sign reading ‘Chepstow Inn’. Yellow
light streams from its windows, and inside I can see someone behind
a desk. Thank God. After parking the car, I grab my bag and duck
into the cosy interior.

“I’d like a
room for the night, please.” I hold my breath there’s space at the
inn.

“Of course.
Just fill this out.” The white-haired man at reception slides over
some paperwork. His accent is lilting and soft, like Jeremy’s but
stronger. “Would you prefer a castle view or river view?”

There’s a
castle? I didn’t even see it. “Um, castle, please.” I love the
thought of waking up to a castle in the morning.

He hands me an
old-fashioned heavy metal key. I grab my bag and make my way to the
room, suddenly exhausted. Once inside, I sink down on the soft
white duvet, and before I can even kick off my boots, I’m
asleep.

I awake the
next morning to a strange white light seeping through the thin net
curtains. I sit up slowly and yawn, trying to get my bearings.
Gazing out the large window in front of me, I notice a stone castle
sitting proudly on the side of a snow-covered hill. Something about
the white blanket makes the castle seem otherworldly.

I stand and
stretch, every muscle in my body protesting. My head is fuzzy and
my neck sore, but even that can’t stop the excitement building
inside me. Today is the day. I’m going to find Jeremy.

One glimpse in
the mirror brings me back down with a thud. Looking like this, I’d
probably scare Jeremy back into a coma. My hair wings up over one
ear like some kind of alien appendage, and mascara has trickled
down my face to create a look even a raccoon would shun. I take a
quick shower, carefully dry my hair, and ensure my mascara is
clump-free. For good luck, I even slick on some lipstick before my
customary gloss, then pinch my cheeks like they do in the movies.
There, I think as I smack my lips. Ready to face the world. And
Jeremy.

After gathering
up my things, I head down to the reception and hand over the
remaining notes that Kirsty’s lent me. Thank God I’ll get paid
soon.

“You’ll want to
be careful driving out there,” the man says as he checks me out.
“They haven’t got ‘round to gritting the roads yet.”

“Oh, I’ll be
fine.” I look out the window at the small coating of snow. I don’t
know what all the fuss is about – back home, this wouldn’t even
qualify as a flurry.

I find out when
I try to get my little car back up the hill. It goes a few feet,
then slides sideways. Goes a few feet, then slides sideways – and
repeat, a few hundred times. Thank God it’s still early and the
roads are empty. Finally, heart in my throat, I make it to the top
of the hill and ease the car down the road, following the brown
heritage signs and my trusty SatNav toward Tintern Abbey.

Despite my
shaking hands and the car’s slippery tires, I can’t help noticing
the beauty of the countryside. Trees gilded in white arch over the
road, and hills swell in the distance. I gulp at the sheer drop on
one side and the sign for falling rocks on the other, trying not to
think what would happen if I lost control.

The road twists
and turns, and finally I descend into a valley. To my right, I
catch a glimpse of majestic stone ruins rising up from the land
like a skeleton. Tintern Abbey, a sign says, and I pull off into
the large car park and get out of the car. The graceful arches of
the ruins are mesmerising, merging with the hills around it like
something from a fairytale. I swivel in the early morning silence,
taking in the valley’s panorama. I can see why Jeremy loves it here
so much. It
is
a piece of heaven.

‘Follow your
bliss and the universe will open doors where there were only
walls.’ Mom’s quote pops unbidden into my head. A smile tugs at my
lips as I run my eyes over the abbey’s crumbling stone walls, that
strange grey light streaming in through large gaps where doors once
stood. This must be a good omen, right? I’ve followed my bliss,
straight to the abbey. And here, there aren’t even doors. I scan
the valley again, sure Jeremy’s nearby. I’m almost tempted to
bellow out his name
à la
Rocky (Ad-ri-an! Jer-e-my! They
even have the same number of syllables) but cars pulling into the
car park stop me from recreating my favourite movie scene.

Two women get
out, and I hear the chatter of their voices as they unlock the
visitor centre, a small building a few yards from the gateway to
the ruins. I hurry toward it, my breath making white puffs in the
frosty air.

“Excuse me,” I
say when I finally reach them, just as they push open the
doors.

“We’re not open
yet, love,” a ruddy-cheeked, rounded woman responds. “Give us a
half-hour, all right?” Her accent is even stronger than the man’s
back at the hotel, and its down-home warmth makes me feel cosy
despite the cold.

“I’m looking
for someone. Someone who lives around here,” I blurt out before
they can shut the door on me.

“Oh? Well, it’s
a small place, here. We might be able to help. What’s the name?”
The woman peers at me.

“For goodness’
sake, Bronwyn,” the other woman says. “Let her in. It’s
freezing.”

I’m ushered
inside and before I know it, Bronwyn's poured me a cup of tea from
a Thermos. “So who are you looking for, dear?”

I take a sip of
hot liquid, warming my hands around the mug. “His name’s Jeremy.
Jeremy Ritchie. I think he converted an old barn around here.”

“Ah.” Bronwyn
taps the side of her head with a finger. “Jeremy Ritchie. The name
does ring a bell.”

I stare, my
insides about to explode.

“Mary,” she
calls to the other woman bustling behind the counter. “Do you know
someone called Jeremy Ritchie?”

Mary nods.
“Isn’t he the one who took over the Jones’s barn? Just up the hill
there?” She waves a hand behind us.

“Yes, I think
that might be him. Fastest way to get there is to leave your car
here. Go across the river on the footbridge, then follow the track
up the side of the hill. You’ll come to an old farmstead. Your
man’s in the barn, not the big house. Mind you don’t disturb Mrs
Jones.”

“Great. Thank
you so much.” My heart’s pounding and I don’t even look back as I
race out the door and along a small river track until I come to a
narrow bridge. I thump across it, ignoring the curious looks from
locals with walking sticks out with their dogs. My breath’s coming
fast and my chest burns, but I can’t stop. Not until I find
Jeremy.

I push between
trees clogging the narrow path, not even flinching as snowy
branches slap my face. Up ahead, the track merges with a gravel
road, leading to a wooden gate. I unlatch the gate and gulp in some
air, crunching across loose stones toward a clearing. A large
wooden barn nestles under snow-covered trees. Further down, there’s
an old farmhouse, smoke curling from its chimney.

I take a few
steps toward the barn, then stop stock-still in the middle of the
clearing. Just there, behind those walls, is the man I’ve been
searching for. Now that I’m so close, I almost want to stay in this
limbo state between happy reunion and rejection.

But I didn’t
come all the way to Wales to chicken out now. Moving toward the
barn, my legs churn faster and faster as I get closer, so that I’m
almost running by the time I reach the door. I grab the iron
knocker and rap it hard.

Silence.

I knock again,
even louder. It’s a big barn. Maybe Jeremy’s in another part of it.
Or maybe he’s sleeping.

Still
silence.

Right, well, he
could be having mobility issues. The doctors did say it might take
time to fully recover. I’ll just wait, be patient. The last thing I
want is to annoy him by rapping again if he’s on his way. I sag
against the door, breathing in the fresh scent of the wood.

Five minutes
later, I’ve had my fill of pine, and there’s neither sight nor
sound of Jeremy. But I will not be defeated. He
must
be
here. Pushing away from the door, I round the corner of the barn
and peer through a window. I can’t see anything in the dim light
inside. Maybe he’s popped out for a second, to get some . . .
coffee or something. Although God knows where you’d pop out to get
coffee in these parts.

I tramp around
to the back of the barn, where a small stream tinkles through
ice-covered tree roots. Sinking down onto a bench, my shoulders
lift in a sigh. I’ll just hang out here for a while. Jeremy will
have to come home sooner or later.

“Hey! You!”

My head snaps
up. An angry woman in rubber boots is dragging a large German
Shepherd toward me.

“What are you
doing here?” she asks. “This is private property.”

“Oh!” I
scramble to my feet. “Sorry. I was just waiting for Jeremy Ritchie.
I’m a friend of his.” I hope.

Her face
softens slightly. “Ah. Well, you’ve a long wait. He’s gone. Left
early this morning.”

My heart drops.
“Gone? Do you know where?”

The woman
shakes her head, yanking the chain as the German Shepherd tugs on
it. “Sit
down
, Judas.” The dog whines. “No idea. Just packed
up the car with his things and left. Poor lad. Been through so much
lately.”

My ears perk
up, and I scan her face for any sign of how Jeremy is now. “Is he
all right?”

She gives me a
suspicious look. “Thought you said you were a friend.”