enough.
I got off the freeway and onto the secondary highway to Abergavenny. The rain had stopped, but it was a stretch of road notorious for repair works. Euan's house was about ten miles on the other side of the town, on the road toward Brecon.
I weaved in and out of traffic, the other drivers hooting and waving their fists. Then, in the distance, I saw the red of brake lights. The morning rush hour had started. I slowed with the volume of traffic heading into the town and eventually came to a complete standstill. The jam was caused by resurfacing work; it looked as though there was a mile-long backup.
I drove onto the shoulder. As I sped past them on the inside, stationary motorists honked angrily. The noise alerted the workers laying the asphalt up ahead. They ran and shouted, trying to wave me down, gesticulating at the roadwork sign. I didn't even acknowledge them. I only hoped I didn't get caught by the police. I dropped a gear, picked up speed, and shifted back up.
I got to Abergavenny and stayed on the ring road. The traffic slowed at a long set of stoplights so I had to bump up onto the curb and edge my way to the front of the line.
Once I was on the other side of the town I was in the sticks and the road narrowed to a single lane in each direction. I put my foot down and bombed along at seventy to eighty, using the whole road as if it were my own. Seeing a left-hand bend, I moved over to the far right-hand side. I could hear the hedgerow screech against the side of the car. From this position I could see more of the dead ground around the bend.
Not bothering with brakes, I banged down through the gears to second just before turning. Once on the bend I put my foot down and made use of rubber on asphalt. Out of the bend, I shifted into fourth and stayed there.
After a mile, a slow-moving truck was taking up most of the road. Its large trailer of sheep on two levels had a sticker asking me if I thought the driving was OK--if not, to call the head office. I had plenty of time to read it, laboring behind the fucker at twenty miles an hour.
The road twisted and turned; the trucker could see me in his mirrors, but there was no way he was going to pull over for me to pass. The speedo dropped to fifteen mph. and I looked at my watch. It was 9:05; I'd been on the road for just under three hours.
I kept pulling out, looking and tucking back in again. Even the sheep were staring at me now. The truck driver was enjoying himself; we had eye-to-eye in his side mirror, and I could see he was laughing. I knew this road, and I knew that unless he let me pass I was doomed to several miles of driving at his pace. By now the road had a two- foot mud bank on each side, then trees and hedges. It was wet and slippery, with small streams running along each side. I'd have to take a chance, just hope that nothing was coming. On this road, all corners were blind.
Preparing for the next bend, the truck driver shifted slowly down through the gears, and I accelerated past him on the wrong side of the road. If there was anything coming around the bend, we'd both be killed. He flashed his lights and honked, probably doing his best to distract me and force me off the road. For the first time today, I was in luck. The road was clear; I'd soon left the truck far behind.
Fifteen minutes later I was at the turnoff for Euan's valley. I hung a left, and within a hundred yards the road petered out into a single lane. If I came up behind a tractor or farm machinery, there would be few passing places, but luck stayed with me and there was nothing ahead. Another twenty minutes and I got to the valley.
As I approached the brow of the hill I could already see the spiral of smoke. The walls were still intact but most of the roof had collapsed, and there were smoke and scorch marks around the window frames. Two fire engines were there, and the firemen were still damping down. They looked wet, tired, and stressed. On the other side of the house was an ambulance.
A handful of people had gathered, locals in their slickers and boots, who'd driven from the other side of the valley to rubberneck.
I drove on and stopped by the gate. A couple of firemen turned around, but they didn't say anything; they were too busy doing their work.
I got out of the car and ran across the road to the small copse about fifty yards away, hollering and shouting like a madman.
'Kelly! Kelly!'
Nothing.
'It's me it's Nick! You can come out now!'
But she wasn't there. Deep down, I'd probably known all along that she wouldn't be. She'd been dead from the moment she'd picked up the phone.
I turned away and walked slowly up the track toward the throng of spectators. They gave me the once-over, obviously not liking the look of my damaged face, then turned back, more interested in the remains of the house.
'Was there anyone in there?' I asked nobody in particular.
A woman spoke.
'His lights were on last night. The ambulance crew has been inside already. Oh, it's such a shame. He was such a nice young man.'
I walked beyond the group and a fireman came toward me, lifting a gloved hand.
'Excuse me, sir, if you could stay well back. We haven't made the area safe yet.'
'Radio Wales,' I said.
'Can you tell me what happened?'
I looked over his shoulder. Other firefighters were dragging out charred remains of Euan's house and placing them on a pile that was being damped down. I could now smell the burning.
I looked back at the fireman. He said, 'It looks as if there was a fire and then the gas bottles blew up. If you could move back, sir.'
'Was anyone killed or injured?'
As I asked, something one of them threw on the pile caught my eye. It was Jenny or Ricky, one or the other I never could tell which was which. Not that it mattered now.
Whichever one it was, it was now burned black with only half an arm left.
'It will take some time before we'll know for sure. But no one could have survived that blast.'
He was right. In any other circumstances, it would have been an explosion to be proud of.
Kelly was dead. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad. It would be a bitch, but I'd get over it. What could I have offered her?
Kelly would have been in bad shape when she realized what had happened to her; she would probably need psychiatric treatment. Besides, she'd been starting to like the way we'd been living. Her death would tidy things up. I wouldn't have to protect or worry about her anymore.
I started back toward the car, deep in my thoughts. What was done was done; I couldn't change it, couldn't turn the clock back. I'd find out more from the news.
Behind me, in the distance, I heard the squawk of a bird, maybe a crow. It almost sounded like my name.
I stopped and turned.
And there she was, running toward me from beyond the trees.
I started to run toward her but checked myself. I wanted to make it look casual, even if my insides were shaking off the Richter scale.
She flew into my arms, burying her face in my neck. I pulled her back and held her at arm's length.
'Why weren't you at the trees?' I was half-angry, half-relieved, like a parent who thinks he's lost a child in a crowd and then finds her again and doesn't know whether to give her a good old chewing out or just a hug and a kiss. I didn't know what to do, but it felt good.
'Why weren't you by the trees where I said?'
She looked at me in disbelief.
'As if! Because you always make sure you stand off and watch. You taught me that!'
I got hold of her hand, grinned, and said, 'Yeah, that's fair.'
Still smiling, we walked toward the car. She was soaked, her hair matted to her head.
We reached the car and got in without exchanging another word.
I looked at her in the rearview mirror. We had eye-to-eye.
She smiled, and I snapped, 'Put your seat belt on!'
