‘OK,’ Rosie said. ‘That’s fine.’ She drummed her fingers nervously against the steering wheel.
Guided by Niamh, Rosie drove through residential streets, past houses and a primary school, before finding the small cluster of country lanes that signalled they were near their destination.
‘Just a mile to go now,’ Niamh said. ‘And it’s pretty much a straight line.’
It was at this moment that a ferocious screeching assaulted their ears.
‘What the hell isthat?’ Niamh cried.
‘I’ve no idea,’ Rosie gasped, as the car began to slow and judder. With some effort, she pulled over onto the grass verge at the side of the road, then cast her eyes over the various dials and lights of the aged car’s dashboard.
‘Ohfuck,’ she said a second later, putting her head in her hands and accidentally beeping the car horn.
‘What?’ Niamh yelped, taken aback by the noise.
‘We’ve run out of fuel,’ Rosie moaned. ‘We should have made a second stop when I saw the dial start dropping again … I’m an idiot.’
Niamh winced and said: ‘Would it help if I pointed out this isabsolutelysomething we’ll be able to laugh about a year from now?’
‘Maybe?’ Rosie said. ‘I can’t believe this. I can’tbelievewe’ve come all this way only to fall at the final hurdle.’
Niamh twisted in her seat, folded her arms and stared at her friend.
‘What?’ Rosie asked miserably.
‘I’m just waiting.’
‘For a miracle?’
‘No,’ Niamh said calmly. ‘For you to do what you always do: dust yourself off and try again.’
‘Thereisno try again – we’ve got no petrol. The only thing we can do from here is …’
‘There you go,’ Niamh whispered, a split second before Rosie said,
‘…walk.’
Dubiously, Rosie looked out of the car window, which was still being battered relentlessly by rain. ‘I can’t believe I’m going to do this,’ she said.
‘You mean, you can’t believewe’regoing to do this,’ Niamh informed her. ‘Safety in numbers. Just … tell me he’s worth it.’
‘He’s worth it,’ Rosie said, with feeling.
‘Right then. Shall we?’
Disbelieving but grateful, Rosie got out of the car and pulled her rucksack from the back seat. ‘I wish I was the sort of person who carried waterproofs and a torch in the boot,’ she shouted to Niamh, her voice barely audible above the howling wind.
‘It’s good to have something to aim for,’ Niamh yelled back.
Using Rosie’s mobile for torchlight and Niamh’s for directions, they staggered up the hill that led to the guest house. The road beneath their feet was slick and treacherous, and every tree they walked under seemed to gift them with a fresh dousing of chilly raindrops.
All hope of appearing at least moderately presentable lost, Rosie now simply prayed that Aled wouldrecogniseher when she arrived. She was soaked to the skin, her coat, scarf and gloves all dripping moisture, unable to absorb any more rain. Her limbs were shaking with cold.
The road before Rosie and Niamh curved, finally bringing the guest house into view. Twinkling fairy lights adorned its mullioned windows, illuminating the huge festive wreath that hung on the front door.
Galvanised by the warm, welcoming light that seemed to spill from every corner of the building – not to mention the thrilling sight of smoke curling up from its chimney – they trudged the final few metres towards it as fast as their leaden legs would carry them, then practically fell upon the doorbell.
A middle-aged, friendly-faced man with a glass of beer in his hand opened the door. At the sight of Rosie and Niamh, he scrambled to put the drink on a nearby window ledge – apparently fearful that shock might cause him to drop it. On an occasional table behind him, a mini Christmas tree glowed – and when the scent of sweet roast chestnuts reached Rosie’s nostrils, her stomach griped hungrily.
