As I read the last sentence of the diary entry I thought about Adam and the life he was living. I was witnessing the breakdown of his marriage and it was a hard thing to observe. It also caused me to feel grateful for the friendship that Lucy and I shared throughout our relationship. I was confident that she did not feel the hatred for me that Emma seemed to have for Adam. But it was not Adam I felt most sorry for, it was Ben.
I saw the sadness in his face the day of the festival and I knew it was caused by the lack of a responsible father figure in his life. He missed his dad. It was clear as day on his innocent face.
I thought of Timmy and the abuse he had suffered at the hands of his parents and felt a sudden urge to embrace him, to let him know he was loved.
While I sat and worried for Timmy’s state of mind without me, I heard a faint knock at the door. I opened it and the first thing I noticed was the long, straight red hair that flowed to the shoulders and dominated the small frame of the person in front of me.
“Can I come in?” Emma asked.
“Sure,” I said, slightly concerned that my lack of information on this woman might blow my cover and ruin my mission.
She sat down in one of the armchairs and crossed her legs. She looked nervous and uncomfortable as her eyes darted around the room, taking everything in.
“Where’s Ben?” I said.
“He’s at my mother’s, no doubt being spoiled rotten as we speak.”
I nodded as I remembered an excerpt from the diary.
“Look, Adam, I want to know what’s going on. I’m worried about you. I want you to be able to see your son again, he misses you, but your behaviour lately…” Emma’s voice trailed off. “Yesterday at the festival I couldn’t believe my eyes. You threatened a man and upset your son in the process.”
“That wasn’t what it looked like. The man was far from blameless… I was protecting a friend.”
She laughed bitterly and gazed up at the ceiling. “And I’m supposed to believe that? Adam, we both know your behaviour is fuelled by drink.”
“The man was an intruder, I saw it with my own eyes. He tried to break into a vulnerable woman’s home.”
Emma raised an eyebrow as she looked at me with a curious expression on her face.
“What woman? And why is she vulnerable? Is she elderly?”
“Not elderly, no, she’s in her late twenties.”
Emma looked annoyed. “Were you at the festival together?”
“Yes, she was there,” I replied calmly.
Emma shook her head as she gazed out of the window. She appeared angry but I didn’t know why. As far as I knew she and Adam were divorced.
“Well, no surprise that I’d bump into you at the Folk Festival. I suppose you were there for the home-brewed refreshments,” she said bitterly. “I bet your little friend also has an issue with drink, it’s probably how you met each other.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Like what? Sober? I bet it’s a novelty to you, isn’t it? I’m sure you and your new girlfriend have a good laugh about it.”
My hands clenched into fists at her last words.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I said calmly, trying to control my anger. “And you hardly know her, where has this hostility come from?”
“I see I’ve hit a nerve. Are you sure you’re not together?”
“No, we’re not, and neither of us has an issue with alcohol.”
“You mean, you’re stone cold sober?”
“Yes, I’m sober, and long may it continue.”
Emma looked at the floor and then back at my face, where her gaze lingered for a while.
“I’m in shock.” She seemed almost apologetic. “I didn’t think it would ever happen.”
“Well, it did. I’m a better person than I was before. I did this for Ben, for my son. Please let me see him.”
“Well… I don’t know what to say.” She was silent for a while. “I need to think about this, it’s a lot to take in.”
“Take as much time as you need, just think about our son when you make your decision.”
Emma got up to leave, looking confused.
“Well, thanks for stopping by,” I said sincerely.
She nodded and turned towards the door before thinking better of it and turning back in my direction. To my surprise she reached for my shoulder and squeezed it gently.
“Well done, Adam. I am proud of you.” She hesitated. “Really proud.”
I nodded in response, not really knowing what to say. Her mood had changed dramatically and it was my turn to feel confused as I showed her out.
I looked down, saw the bright green flash of Kermit the frog and realised I was still in my pyjamas. I cursed Adam’s odd taste in nightwear and climbed the stairs to take a shower.
As the water washed over me I wondered what kind of relationship Adam and Emma must have had. Why was she so highly strung? Was Adam’s drinking the only reason? Either way she seemed to feel intense resentment towards him and that made me uncomfortable.
I changed quickly into jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The weather was set to cool off with thunderstorms forecast for the afternoon, but a glance outside told me the sun was still shining for now. It was Sunday and I was pondering how to spend my free time when a loud knock sounded at the front door. When I opened it I saw Russ, looking flushed and agitated.
“Is she here?” he asked.
“Who, Lucy?”
“Yeah.”
“No.” I looked at him closely. I doubted he’d even brushed his hair that morning. “Why? Is she missing?”
“You could say that.”
“What’s happened?”
“She had some bad news about an hour ago, was seen getting into her car and driving off erratically. I’m worried she’ll do something stupid.”
I looked at the floor and clenched my fists, gaining control of my reactions. Slowly I raised my eyes to meet Russ’s.
“What was the bad news?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.
“Jamie, he…” Russ focused on the wall behind me. “Something happened during the night and he went into cardiac arrest. He didn’t make it.”
I looked up at the sky for a moment. Then I grabbed my keys from the hook in the hallway.
“I’ll help you look for her.”
“Good lad. I’ve got one more place I think she might be. Best if we split up.”
“Sounds smart. I’ll have a ride out, see if I can find her.”
“Yeah, and if you notice any folk knocking about, ask them an’ all.”
I nodded. “Right you are.”
I watched Russ climb back into his car, frowning and narrow-eyed.
I fumbled with the lock on Adam’s bicycle in my haste to join the search party and realised that my hands were shaking. It wasn’t long before I felt the heat of the sun on my skin and took in the fresh scent of cut lawns. As I cycled around Grassington, I tried to think of the location Lucy was most likely to choose as her retreat.
Lucy was a creature of habit and a frequent visitor of places that brought her comfort. She used sites that held happy memories of the past as a way of coping with the stresses of daily life.
I cycled past neat rows of ash-coloured cottages and watched the villagers as they went about their day-to-day lives, each oblivious to the turmoil that engulfed Lucy. As I passed I shouted out to them and asked if they’d seen anyone matching her description. They shook their heads solemnly and assured me that they’d keep a look out for her. An older gentleman even had a tear in his eye as I described Lucy; he told me he had seen her picture in the paper, and offered to get out his old bicycle to spread the word of her disappearance. Due to his frailty, however, I felt it right to decline his help, yet my heart was warmed by his offer.
As I rode, I tried to think back to the moments in Lucy’s life that were important to her. A fishing trip with our fathers, the treehouse in my parents’ garden, her graduation. But none of these seemed
important enough. It was only when I rode past the local church that a prominent memory was triggered.
The bride and groom were smiling as they approached the arched doorway and slowly made their way towards a group of their friends and family, all of whom had one arm raised in the air in anticipation. Clutched tightly in their hands were small pieces of pastel-coloured confetti that the bride and groom would no doubt keep finding upon their person throughout the rest of the day.
But it was the bride's bouquet that was of particular interest to me. It was a simple hand-tied design but it contained a purple flower that triggered a memory of a warm day spent in a secret place. I had once picked a similar flower for Lucy and she’d told me it was an allium.
Memories flooded through me and suddenly I knew where to find her. I also knew that I was the only one with this information. I turned the bike around and pedalled in the direction of Burnsall.
I rode down the hill and heard the swift, almost silent beat of wings. I watched in amazement as a large white swan flew past inches above my head. Its neck bent slightly and its dark eyes watched me inquisitively as it continued its journey to the inviting waters of the river: a moment of beauty amidst the fear that threatened to swamp me. My gaze followed the swan’s flight until I saw it disappear over a stone wall and across the fields belonging to my father.
As I reached Burnsall I noticed a few of the older residents chatting in groups, their furrowed brows revealing their uneasiness. News of Lucy’s disappearance was spreading. As I rode by a few members of the crowd acknowledged me with a subtle nod, a sign of acceptance.
I approached the crossroads leading out of the village and stopped to catch my breath. My legs ached from the effort of cycling at high speed and begged for a respite. I thought of Lucy and the secret place where I hoped she would be. If she was hiding there I would know that she had not forgotten about me, that there was a part of her that still loved me.
After my breathing had slowed to a regular rate I continued my journey. Up ahead I saw a path that was partly veiled by trees; it had been a while since I’d walked its uneven surface but it still felt as familiar to me as the journey home. I ducked under low branches and avoided large protruding roots as I fought to keep up the pace. The path had barely been disturbed recently and masses of undergrowth threatened to obliterate it.
I jumped off the bike and hid it beneath a bush before I approached a clearing. I drew nearer to my destination and could make out the high stone walls that acted as a windbreak for the delicate life that grew beyond.
The walls were around ten feet tall and centuries old. There were cracks in places and ivy had colonised them. Birds flew silently in and out of the greenery as they searched for food. Nature was busy reclaiming the space.
I approached and took in the familiar sight of an ageing wooden door set into the stone. Its decorative brass knocker was tarnished by rust though the intricate pattern of the metalwork was still visible beneath. The door was tall and thin, the colour of the sky. The paint was faded and cracked, yet still it managed to maintain an air of mystery and a sort of romance, which was the reason I’d brought Lucy here all those years ago.
Pink and purple opium poppies grew next to the door and I imagined them attempting to escape the confines of the ten-foot walls, desperate for fresh space to colonise. I took a deep breath and looked up at the towering, ancient walls in front of me. I uttered a small prayer to God in the hope that his guidance would lead me to her.
I pushed the door open slowly and the doors hinges creaked a noisy protest. I scanned the area beyond and once again found myself amazed by its beauty. Lucy and I called it the secret garden, after her favourite children’s book. The large Georgian house the garden had once belonged to had been demolished during the Second World War, leaving three walls that encompassed the ruins that remained. The house and its occupants were the reason for the garden’s existence; without them it appeared lonely and out of place.
Twisted branches of wisteria crept up the walls, clinging to every crevice and crack while its impressive lilac blooms dropped down like heavy clusters of grapes. Splashes of colour adorned the flowerbeds, a mixture of poppies, forget-me-nots and cornflower. An apple tree stood tall to the left of me and a pear tree proudly to my right. An old stone fountain took centre-stage and blocked the path ahead. I breathed in the heady scent of roses, lavender and honeysuckle as I searched the scene in front of me for any sign of Lucy.
I saw the old stone bench where she and I had sat together years ago. I stared at the ground where I had kneeled, open ring box in hand, displaying the ruby engagement ring I had picked out weeks before. I had been waiting for the perfect day, the perfect weather, the perfect time, and I believe on that day I found all those things.
There were many recesses in the walls, each providing a sheltered place to sit when it rained. I quickly scanned each of these for Lucy, but there was no hint of her within the shadows. I walked to the other side of the garden, looking left and right, I spun around in a circle and searched every foot of ground. Nothing. My spirits were low as I realised that I must have been wrong in my assumption; she must be somewhere else. Somewhere that was special to her and Jamie, a secret place of their own.
I rubbed at my neck in frustration as I collapsed on a nearby bench. The hard stone felt cold beneath me. I stared unseeingly at the garden, taking in only a myriad colours that seemed to fade together.
A flock of sparrows flew past me and perched in the pear tree I had seen when I first arrived. If not for their chirping the place would have been deathly silent; even the sound of my own breathing was beginning to seem eerie and unnatural.
I allowed myself to remember the day I’d proposed to Lucy.
Weeks earlier, and on Russ’s orders, I had visited the small terraced cottage that belonged to Mrs Vain, cosmetic surgery addict and all round village flirt. She answered the door in fluffy pink slippers that stood out shockingly against her transparent, black stockings. She wore a short mini-skirt and white blouse open at the neck to reveal the chunky gold necklace that matched a pair of oversized earrings. Her face was unnaturally wrinkle-free. I had heard rumours she had undergone another round of plastic surgery recently.
Mrs Vain gasped as she opened the door and could hardly contain her delight to find me on her doorstep. Her grin was wide and revealed silver fillings that clashed with the warmer gold of her jewellery. Although a surprised sound came from her heavily painted mouth, her surgically enhanced face was incapable of conveying emotion.
It was widely known that Mrs Vain ran a small shop in a nearby village. It was the kind of place that sold small trinkets and ornaments, floral bunting and keepsakes. Russ had informed me on our recent fishing trip that she also sold intricate wooden jewellery boxes, perfect for presenting the ring I had bought for Lucy. So, on a cold, rainy afternoon, I found myself on Mrs Vain’s doorstep… and she couldn’t have been more delighted.
“Oh, Charlie, you have grown into a handsome lad,” she said, while looking me up and down in a way that made me regret my decision to seek her help. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a ring box – an unusual sort of box.” She nodded enthusiastically as I spoke. “I’ve bought a ring for Lucy and I need it presented in the best possible way.”
She clapped her hands together like a child and disappeared towards the back of the house.
“I have just the thing,” she shouted behind her excitedly.
When I followed I found her bent over a deep cardboard box in her dining room, her large behind wiggling in the air as she moved.
“These just came in this morning and I’ve not yet had the chance to transport them to the shop. There’s only so much you can fit in a tiny sports car.”
I laughed awkwardly and watched her pull out a handful of wooden boxes.
“Now then, any of these tickle your fancy?”
I avoided eye contact and scrutinised her offerings. They were all polished,
wooden pieces but one in particular caught my eye. The box was square and made from dark walnut. An intricate leaf pattern was carved around the edge of the lid and in the centre was a perfect marquetry butterfly in a paler wood. Seeing the depiction of Lucy’s favourite creature, I was convinced this was the box for me.
“Open it up,” Mrs Vain insisted, “it’s gorgeous inside too.”
I opened the box and found that instead of using a normal hinge. the lid slid sideways in both directions, splitting the butterfly in two. Lining the inside of the box was olive green satin that I knew would highlight the red of the ruby perfectly.
“I’ll take it,” I told her.
“I’m so glad,” Mrs Vain said cheerfully.
We discussed a price and I paid her in cash.
“So how are you going to do it?”
“Propose?”
Her head bobbed up and down enthusiastically.
“I’m afraid that’s top secret information. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
She giggled for longer than I’d expected and slapped my arm playfully.
“Oh, stop it, you!”
“I’m just kidding,” I said, laughing along with her. “I do have something romantic planned, though.”
“I knew you would have. Is it true that you built her a treehouse up at that big house of yours?”
“It is,” I said proudly.
“You’re such a clever man,” she said, clinging on to my arm with both hands. “And so strong,” she gasped.
“That’s enough of that now.”
A deep voice resounded through the open door.
“You’ve got what yer wanted, now best be on yer way.”
Mrs Vain’s husband was short in stature and shy by nature. I realised this was the first time I’d ever heard him speak.
“Hello, I’m Charlie,” I said, turning round to shake his hand, “your wife was just helping me.”
“I’m sure she was, son. Now be off with you.”
I’d always known where I would propose to my future wife, ever since I’d happened upon it as a young boy. I’d found the garden by accident. I’d been flying a kite on my own during the summer holiday. Lucy was away with her parents and Russ was, once again, grounded for bad behaviour, so I found myself alone. With little interest in helping my father on the farm, I’d entered the woods in the hope that I would find a clearing to fly my new kite, somewhere far away from dangerous power lines. I managed to get the kite in the air, but my sense of achievement was only short-lived. A strong gust of wind grabbed the kite from my hands and carried it out of sight.
The Life and Second Life of Charlie Brackwood (The Brackwood Series Book 2) Page 13