He climbs back into the car without a word, and I take my time as we trundle the rest of the way. The track is dangerously close to the edge of the loch and I can see why they named this place Blackwater. As I pull up outside the old white chapel, I start to feel better. It’s been an exhausting journey, but we made it, and I tell myself that everything will be OK as soon as we get inside.
Stepping out into a blizzard is a shock to the system. I wrap my coat around me, but the icy cold wind still knocks the air out of my lungs and the snow pummels my face. I get Bob from the boot, and the three of us trudge through the snow towards two large gothic-looking wooden doors. A converted chapel seemed romantic at first. Quirky and fun. But now that we’re here, it does feel a bit like the opening of our own horror film.
The chapel doors are locked.
‘Did the owners mention anything about a keybox?’ Adam asks.
‘No, they just said that the doors would be open.’
I stare up at the imposing white building, shielding my eyes from the unrelenting snow, and take in the sight of the thick white stone walls, bell tower, and stained-glass windows. Bob starts to growl again, which is unlike him, but perhaps there are more sheep or other animals in the distance? Something that Adam and I just can’t see?
‘Maybe there is another door around the back?’ Adam suggests.
‘I hope you’re right. The car already looks like it might need digging out of the snow.’
We traipse towards the side of the chapel, with Bob leading the way, straining on his lead as though tracking something. Although there are endless stained-glass windows, we don’t find any more doors. And despite the front of the building being illuminated by exterior lights – the ones we could see from a distance – inside, it’s completely dark. We carry on, heads bowed against the relentless weather until we have come full circle.
‘What now?’ I ask.
But Adam doesn’t answer.
I look up, shielding my eyes from the snow, and see that he is staring at the front of the chapel. The huge wooden doors are now wide open.
Adam
If every story had a happy ending then we’d have no reason to start again. Life is all about choices, and learning how to put ourselves back together when we fall apart. Which we all do. Even the people who pretend they don’t. Just because I can’t recognise my wife’s face, it doesn’t mean I don’t know who she is.
‘The doors were closed before, right?’ I ask, but Amelia doesn’t answer.
We stand side by side outside the chapel, both shivering, with snow blowing around us in all directions. Even Bob looks miserable, and he’s always happy. It’s been a long and tedious journey, made worse by the steady drumbeat of a headache at the base of my skull. I drank more than I should with someone I shouldn’t have last night. Again. In alcohol’s defence, I’ve done some equally stupid things while completely sober.
‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ my wife says eventually, but I think we’ve both already hurdled over several.
‘The doors didn’t just open by themselves—’
‘Maybe the housekeeper heard us knocking?’ she interrupts.
‘The housekeeper? Which website did you use to book this place again?’
‘It wasn’t on a website. I won a weekend away in the staff Christmas raffle.’
I don’t reply for a few seconds, but silence can stretch time so it feels longer. Plus, my face feels so cold now I’m not sure I can move my mouth. But it turns out that I can.
‘Just so I’ve got this clear… you won a weekend away, to stay in an old Scottish church, in a staff raffle at Battersea Dogs Home?’
‘It’s a chapel, but yes. What’s wrong with that? We have a raffle every year. People donate gifts, I won something good for a change.’
‘Great,’ I reply. ‘This has definitely been “good” so far.’
She knows I detest long journeys. I hate cars and driving full stop – never even took a test – so eight hours trapped in her tin-can antique on four wheels, during a storm, isn’t my idea of fun. I look at the dog for moral support, but Bob is too busy trying to eat snowflakes as they fall from the sky. Amelia, sensing defeat, uses that passive-aggressive sing-song tone that used to amuse me. These days it makes me wish I was deaf.
‘Shall we go inside? Make the best of it? If it’s really bad we’ll just leave, find a hotel, or sleep in the car if we have to.’
I’d rather eat my own liver than get back in her car.