The Retreat(2)

As I removed my small case from the car, the front door opened and a woman stepped out, hugging herself against the cold.

She was about my age – in her early to mid-forties – with long chestnut-brown hair and prominent cheekbones. She was skinny and pale, the kind of person my mum would say would be blown away by a stiff wind, but attractive, a woman who would make me look twice if I spotted her in a bar. She was wearing jeans and a green sweater, with some kind of cashmere wrap over the top. A poncho? She had on a pair of dark-framed glasses that she readjusted as she came towards me.

‘Lucas?’ she said. ‘I’m Julia.’

I shook her hand, which was surprisingly cold. Although her smile was welcoming, she managed to look sad at the same time. There was something in her green eyes, an echo of pain, that made me stop and hold on to her hand for an extra moment. Perhaps sensing that I was studying her, trying to read her, she became businesslike, asking if I had much luggage.

‘Just this,’ I replied. ‘This place is amazing.’ I nodded towards the swing. The wind had caught it so it swung slowly to and fro, as if being used by a tired ghost. ‘Must be a fantastic place to grow up.’

I knew immediately that my words had stung in some way. She recovered quickly, though, and gestured for me to follow her inside.

‘Welcome,’ she said, ‘to Nyth Bran.’



I followed her into a hallway which was painted white with a gallery’s worth of traditional pictures on the walls: the local countryside, mountains and horse riders. Crumbling castles and fields of daffodils.

She saw me glance at the paintings. ‘They’re not really to my taste. But I thought the guests might appreciate it. Rustic Welsh charm.’

‘I like them. They remind me of home.’

A raised eyebrow. ‘You’re from round here?’

‘Originally. I was born in Beddmawr but my family moved to Birmingham when I was six. We had pictures just like this in our house.’ I nodded at the painting of the daffodils. ‘In fact, I’m pretty sure my mum had this exact same picture.’

I smiled, wondering if she still had it, hanging in the villa in the south of Spain.

‘How about you?’ I asked. She had a faint northern English accent. ‘You don’t sound Welsh,’ I said.

‘No, I’m from Manchester originally. Didsbury. We only moved here a few years ago.’

I wondered who she meant by ‘we’. The retreat’s website listed Julia as the sole proprietor.

‘Come into the kitchen,’ Julia said. ‘It’s warmer in there.’

She asked me if I wanted a coffee and I accepted gladly. It was a typical rural kitchen – spacious, with buttery walls, a stone floor and a view of the front garden. I stood by the Aga and rambled on for a minute, telling her about the journey. I hadn’t spent time with another human being in days. Julia smiled politely as she waited for the kettle to boil, making the occasional comment. She’d removed her glasses, which had left two little marks on the sides of her nose.

A ginger cat strolled into the kitchen, tail held high, and I stooped to stroke it.

‘That’s Chesney,’ she said, as the cat purred and rubbed his face against my knuckles.

‘He’s gorgeous. So . . . is it just you and Chesney?’

She turned away from me and lifted the faintly whistling kettle. The cat, detecting a shift in the atmosphere, dashed out of the room.

‘Yep,’ Julia replied, the gap so long that I’d ceased to expect an answer. ‘Just us. And the other guests, of course.’

I looked around, stupidly, as if they might be hiding in the kitchen cupboards.

‘They’ve all gone to the pub,’ she said. ‘It’s become a bit of a tradition, when they finish work for the day. The Miners Arms – it’s a couple of miles down the road.’

She handed me my coffee. ‘I’ve got some boring paperwork for you to fill out. How long do you think you’ll want to stay?’

‘I was hoping to leave it open-ended, if that’s okay. I mean, at least a month.’

Her eyebrows shot up. ‘A month?’

‘Is that okay? I can pay up front.’

‘Yes. Sure.’

‘I really have to get my stupid book finished.’

Not just finished. Started as well. But I didn’t tell her that.

She looked me up and down, like she was seeing me for the first time. At last, she smiled. ‘That’s absolutely fine, Lucas. Stay as long as you like.’



I spent a while filling out the paperwork and made small talk with Julia while I finished my coffee. Outside, dusk crept up to the windows.

Julia gestured for me to go up the stairs first. In contrast to the immaculate decor on the ground floor, the stair carpet was threadbare and the wallpaper peeled in patches. There were signs that someone had started to decorate this area at some point, but the work had been abandoned.

When we reached the landing Julia said, ‘You’re on this floor.’ I was a little disappointed I wouldn’t be at the top of the house, but didn’t want to complain.

‘Yours is the second door on the left,’ Julia said from behind me.

I took hold of the door handle and she yelled, ‘Not that one!’

I withdrew my hand as if the handle were red hot. ‘Sorry, you said . . .’