Natodola

It was a biting mid-winter day. The journey began, clear and cold, as the train left London, but as it cut through the countryside, the skies clouded and by the time it arrived by the coast in north Wales, there was a sharp wind and an unrelenting slashing rain that came from black and blue thunder clouds.

The taxi driver looked away as Celebes exited the train station. She pulled her hood up and tapped on the window.  Begrudgingly, he lowered the window enough for her to say, ‘Natadola please’. He grunted, hit a button and the boot opened. Celebes let her one large suitcase drop into the boot with a thud, then lowered her backpack letting it slide in next to the dirty wheels.

The taxi was freezing, and the driver wore a coat buttoned up so high to his nose and a hat pulled down so close to his eyes that she couldn’t imagine how he could safely drive the car. Mum would not have approved. The driver tore through the countryside and puddles splashed up over the windscreen, the wipers not fast enough to clear the water as the taxi moved blindly through the narrow roads.

He turned down a wooded lane and came to an abrupt stop outside a large gate. Celebes sighed and said under her breath, ‘Christmas with Grandma Sia at Natadola’. It was clear that the driver was not going any further. Celebes could not remember exactly how far the Natadola was from the gate but if the driver would not go any further, she had no choice but to walk. Hauling her luggage out of the boot, she paid the driver and watched as he did a messy three-point turn that her driving instructor would have failed. The driver did not want to be here anymore than she did.

The black iron gate had rusted, and ivy grew wild up the large stone posts. A gargoyle sat on top of each post, resting on their haunches ready to pounce. Their stone eyes followed every movement.

Celebes approached the gate, pulling the case over the thick veins that crossed the pathway. She lifted the latch and pushed the gate wide enough to pass through.

The hill up to Natadola was steep. The closer she came to the clearing, the more the rain had eased to a misty drizzle. Seagulls squawked and circled above as she emerged from the wood. The top of the house, Natadola, was ahead.

There was no direct entrance for cars. No driveway to the front door. No dropping off point. Only side paths and roads. Celebes approached the house from the left side and stopped in front of the stone steps that led to the front of the house. Steep and narrow, moss grew along both sides the steps. The skeleton plants that grew along the bank did not offer any sense of welcome. About halfway up the steps, there was a small landing with two pillars of red brick and a smaller iron gate. Celebes balanced the suitcase on the last step and pulled the gate open. It scraped a well-worn track on the stone, and as she ascended the final few steps, Celebes pushed her hood back and Natodola came into full view.

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