Before I can make my decision, Llewelyn (the priest, remember him? Haven't seen him in a while) beckons me over. I've never actually properly seen his face. He's always been blurry. I think I shouldn't have missed my last six appointments for the opticians. Llewelyn is short, shorter than me anyway, with a wrinkled face and tiny ice-blue eyes. He has a petite nose and is wearing a burgundy robe. "So, um, Kelsie..." he starts with a strong accent.

"Kelly", I interrupt.

"Oh, sorry, Kelly, have you seen your accommodation yet? I know the boys have been meaning to show you it", he continues.

"No, actually", I say.

"Well, I'll show you it", he replies cheerily and walks off. I follow obediently and Llewelyn starts to stride up a steep hill in front of us. I continue to walk after him and, wow, this hill is really steep. This is using muscles I haven't even thought about before. Llewelyn may be small, but man, can he move. We keep walking up this endless mountain and finally we come to a small hut. At the bottom is a high circle of stones and then some wood planks here and there. On top of this is a thatched roof, mouldy in some places, but looks sturdy. I turn the rusty handle on the door, but it comes off in my hand. Am I really that strong? Maybe there's radiation here, maybe it's made me, like, ten times stronger. I quickly check my arms for greenness. Right, I'm okay, I haven't turned into the Hulk.

Still clutching this orange mess that has half decomposed in my hand, I show it to Llewelyn and he just shrugs. Obviously wasn't very important then. I shove the door open and let light into a pitch dark room. It has slate floors and has a small pine bed with a flowery duvet on. There is a white fridge covered in Welsh themed magnets in the corner beside a few counters. But in the corner of my eye is something I'd never think would belong in such a rural place like this. Perched on an oak desk is a computer. However it looks completely different to the six we have at home. The monitor is like a plastic box and the keyboard has a few keys missing, but I'm happy to finally be reunited with some form of technology. "What's this?" I ask pointing to the computer.
"Oh, that is a computer", he says, his eyes full of wonder. "You can use it if you want, but please be careful, it was a present from Tom when he came back from New York". He could have picked a better model. "Oh, um, do you know how long will you be staying", he adds.
"I don't actually know, I'm sorry", I reply. He nods and says goodbye and I dump my bag on the bed (Llewelyn had been keeping it, the sweetie) thinking about why I'm still here. I mean I love it here, the people are interesting, there's a different culture to explore, but what's keeping me here? I guess I'm just waiting for a call from Dad to tell me to come home.
No, Kelly, stop lying to yourself, why are you really still here? The adventures. The excitement. The thrill that you haven't had since you were five years old. That's why isn't it? Or is it the fear of going back to a place that you've broken? You've shattered the glass and ran away, but someday you have to return and pick up the pieces. You've made so many people feel hate for you, you're scared. Peter, your mum, Julia, you're scared its all coming back to bite you. You can't hide forever Kelly. And you know I'm right.
I hate my conscience. But it's right. One day I have to face it. But not today.
My conscience lecturing me is paused for a minute by a knock at the door.
I slump over to it and open it, trying to keep a smile on my face. It's Gruffydd, soaking wet but still has a beam. Rain is pouring down from a dark sky and from where I'm standing Glyntafon looks vaguely like Atlantis. I invite him in and he immediately takes a seat on the sofa without a hello or good afternoon.
"Hi", I murmur quietly.
"Hey", he replies, mimicking my timidness. "I just wanted to see how you were getting on".
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Do you want some tea?" I say, spying a packet of tea bags on the counter.
"Love some. Tell you what, this place reminds me so much of my mam's house", he exclaims, looking around in wonder.
"Really, so what was she like?" I ask, trying to start a conversation that's not about me. It's tiring being the centre of attention.
"Um, well, I don't actually know anything about her", he answers.
"So you don't know her name? Or birthday? Or favourite colour?" I enquire.
"No, I'm sorry", he replies and tears start to form in his eyes.
"I mean you can look on the Internet, or you could look on Ancestry.c-" I start.
"You don't understand do you?! All this work I've gone through is to find that out!" he yells and runs out the door. I follow him, sprinting after him and I eventually grab hold of his arm, turning him round. A mixture of tears and rain runs down his face and his eyes were red with anger and pain.
"What do you mean?" I say, trying to be democratic.
"He will tell me if I do what he says", he answers and disappears behind some houses.
Well, looks like me, Kelly McKenzie Kennington, usual fashionista and chatterbox, is standing here with wet hair and muddy jeans in the middle of Wales and is utterly speechless.