The Girl by the River

by Sheila Jeffries

  Kate’s mood lifted. ‘You’ll have to be quick then, Freddie.’ Giggling, she bundled him upstairs and pushed him into the bathroom. ‘You need a wash.’

  ‘Me hands are full of splinters,’ Freddie said, ‘and oily. I can’t shake hands with anyone.’

  Freddie felt proud as he walked down the road in the hot sunshine with Kate swanning along beside him. He thought she looked like a film star in her ‘sixpenny hat’. ‘Don’t you dare tell anyone where I got it,’ she’d said, and her eyes flashed up at him mischievously. ‘Let them think I’ve been up to London and bought it from Harrods.’

  His first glimpse of Ian Tillerman was a surprise. Standing in the front pew, Ian looked smaller than Freddie’s image of him. He was slightly tubby and had a bald patch at the back of his head.

  When the music started, the heads turned to watch four-year-old Lucy in her yellow dress parading ahead of the bride, her little face radiant and confident. She glanced up at Freddie with a beguiling smile, so like Kate, heart-stopping. The air shimmered around her and around Susan in her rustling taffeta dress and veil, a bunch of cream lilies and the pinkest of roses in her hand. Mesmerised, Freddie stared at the golden light around them and realised he was seeing his daughter’s beautiful aura. It stirred a memory of the spiritual visions he’d had in his youth. Would they come again? He gazed around the church, half expecting to see an angel, a real one. It was there, camouflaged in the sunlight pouring through the stained-glass windows, he was sure. The immensity of it lived in his memory. The angel he’d seen had been a massive being of light. It would have made Ian Tillerman look no bigger than a fly. Was the angel talking to him now? Into his mind in secret? Telling him to follow his dreams – and dream big – and not be afraid.

  Kate was nudging him, and Freddie realised he was supposed to be singing. He looked at the hymn book she was sharing with him. ‘Love divine . . .’ He heard Kate’s sweet voice singing it next to him. Love divine! That wasn’t what Ian Tillerman was going to get with Susan, he thought.

  By the time the moment of eye contact arrived, Freddie felt powerful. He felt full of light and gratitude. With Kate staunchly beside him, he looked down at Ian Tillerman in the porch, after the photographs had been taken. Susan’s mother, Joan Jarvis, came up to him in a whirl of ostrich feathers and scarlet lipstick. ‘You MUST meet Freddie and Kate,’ she gushed, and dragged him towards Ian and Susan. ‘Well, you know Kate already. But look, Ian, Freddie is so clever. He carved this statue of St Peter. Isn’t it marvellous?’ She waved her arm at the statue on the stone shelf inside the porch, of St Peter with the ‘keys to the kingdom’. It had been Freddie’s first commission.

  Ian didn’t know whether to look at Freddie or at the statue. He looked overwhelmed. So he blurted, ‘Excellent, my man. Excellent!’

  His eyes shifted to and fro, avoiding Freddie’s steady gaze. Then they came to a halt on Kate, sweeping over her with blatantly lustful approval. ‘You should see the new horses we’ve got now, Kate,’ he said. ‘When we move down here, anytime you fancy a ride – you’re welcome.’

  Freddie tensed. He felt Kate squeeze his hand reassuringly, and, as always, she knew exactly what to say. ‘Well, thank you, Ian,’ she said, with her back very straight, ‘but I’m sure you’ll be too busy looking after your wonderful new wife.’ She beamed at Susan, who fluttered her eyes nervously. ‘And I’m a busy mum with two beautiful little girls,’ Kate added, looking fondly at Lucy who was leaning adoringly against the cool taffeta of Susan’s dress.

  Right on cue the happy atmosphere with the ringing voices and posh hats was ripped apart by the sound of a child screaming. Freddie and Kate looked at each other in disbelief.

  ‘Who on earth is that?’

  The crowd of wedding guests parted as an old woman struggled up the church path pushing a battered pram with a squeaky wheel. It was Annie, her face puckered with fury, her grey hair stuck to her brow with sweat, her feet in moth-eaten carpet slippers. She saw Freddie and Kate in the porch with the Tillermans and made a beeline for them. She was emanating such anger that people were leaping out of her way. All conversations stopped, and shocked faces watched the invasion of earthy rage. There was only the squeak of the pram wheel and the roar of the baby inside.

  ‘Annie!’ Joan Jarvis was first to speak. ‘My dear! What’s happened?’

  Annie brushed her aside. She shoved the pram at Kate. ‘I’ve FINISHED with this child,’ she ranted. ‘She does nothing but cry and she won’t let me change her. She fights like a wild cat. I’m not looking after her, Kate. She’s a BRAT and that’s the truth. I’m at the end of my tether. I’m leaving her here, wedding or no wedding.’

  ‘Annie!’

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ Annie shook Joan off as if she was a wasp. She took her ebony walking stick from the pram, straightened her back and limped away down the path. Again, people jumped out of her way and someone whispered, ‘WHO is that angry old woman?’

  ‘You should go after her, Freddie – take her home,’ Kate said, concerned. But Freddie leaned over the pram and looked at Tessa, sad to see her little face swollen with crying. She was too big for the pram now and Annie had strapped the covers down to keep her in there. Tessa was crying, and hiccupping, and coughing, and she had made herself sick. She looked up at Freddie like a drowning cat. ‘Now then – what’s all this about? Eh?’ Freddie undid the straps and picked up the distraught child with his quiet hands. ‘There. Daddy’s got you. Now you quieten down.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Kate was obviously burning with embarrassment. She tried to see the funny side of it. ‘So much for my beautiful daughter,’ she joked. But no one laughed.

  ‘Don’t you worry, Kate. I’ll see Annie home,’ said Joan. ‘It must have been a huge effort for her to come up here.’ She trotted after the retreating figure of Annie who was somehow managing to make even the back of her head look angry.

  Freddie carried Tessa through the crowd, across the churchyard and under the whispering shade of the elm trees. He felt her simmering down as she listened to his slow heartbeat, his rumbly voice, and the soothing rhythm of his footsteps.

  ‘Now I’m gonna tell you something,’ he said, sitting down on a bench made from railway sleepers. He watched Tessa’s eyes opening wider, brightening as she started back at him, quiet now, her breathing settling. ‘I love you,’ Freddie told her. ‘A lot. And I love these elm trees; they’re my favourite trees. They’ve been here for hundreds and hundreds of years, and my old Granny Barcussy used to tell me elm trees were the guardians of the spirit. They shelter us from the wind and the hot sun, and they make deeper, cooler shade than any other tree. They’re the tallest trees in England, and lots of wild creatures live in them.’ He paused and saw that Tessa was listening intently to his story, her pale blue eyes slowly filling with light. He showed her a tortoiseshell butterfly. ‘That butterfly – see? – she lays her eggs in an elm tree – and way up there in the branches there are birds’ nests, and a hole where the woodpecker lives. And . . .’ he lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘it’s said that the elves live in elm trees – and they’re magic.’

  Tessa was smiling now, and to Freddie it was an immensely satisfying time for him, sharing magic with this little person who was gazing at him raptly, hungry for every word. ‘Now if you come here at night,’ he continued, ‘and sit under an elm tree with a torch, you can see the elves’ eyes shining like stars, they say – but I know different – it’s the eyes of moths that are shining, and some of them are orange – like your orange juice, see?’ Tessa squealed in delight. Freddie touched her face and her skin was cool again, the way it should be.

  Kate was walking over to him with Lucy skipping beside her.

  ‘Thank you, Freddie. I’m so grateful,’ she said. ‘It was embarrassing, wasn’t it? Humiliating.’

  Freddie shook his head. ‘Not to me,’ he said. ‘I’d rather be here, under an elm tree, with our little Tessa than at any posh wedding. My church is out here, under the el
m trees, if you can understand that, Kate.’

  ‘Oh – I can.’

  ‘And – I know you want to go to the reception – so you go with Lucy. Just bring me a slice of cake. I’ll take Tessa home when we’ve finished looking at the elm trees.’

  ‘I don’t know how you calm her down,’ Kate said, ‘it’s like magic.’

  ‘’Tis simple,’ Freddie said. ‘I talk to her as if she’s grown up – and she will be. In a few years, she’ll be a beautiful little girl like Lucy. We’ve just got to believe in her, Kate.’

  A few weeks later, Freddie came home for his mid-morning cup of tea, and was not best pleased to see Ian Tillerman’s Daimler parked outside. He debated whether or not to get back in his lorry and drive on, but a strong territorial instinct sent him into the kitchen where Ian Tillerman was sprawled in the best chair, his beefy legs clad in breeches and brown leather riding boots. Clipped around the heel of each boot was a highly polished silver spur. Freddie looked at them and winced. Did the man really dig those cruel spurs into the flanks of a horse? His eyes travelled up the legs to the blue Aertex shirt, the expensive smooth tweed hacking jacket, the hairy wrist flaunting a chunky gold watch. What a toff, he thought. Then he got to the eyes. Piggy little eyes, he thought. Shifty.

  ‘Hello, Freddie,’ Ian said, and Freddie just nodded at him. He didn’t intend to speak.

  Kate got up and gave Freddie a hug. ‘Ian was telling me about the place he’s buying,’ she said, pouring him some strong tea in the earthenware mug he liked. ‘Susan’s here too and she’s taken Lucy for a walk down to the shop. Tessa’s asleep.’

  Freddie sat down. He didn’t feel like talking to Ian. He wanted him to go.

  ‘Darkwater Farm – out on the Taunton Road,’ Ian said. ‘We can’t move in until next year – there’s so much work to be done before the horses can come down. Do you know the place?’

  ‘Ah – I do,’ Freddie said. ‘Have you actually paid for it?’

  ‘Well – no – but I’m going to make an offer.’

  ‘Then you’re a fool,’ Freddie said bluntly, and Kate gave him a little kick under the table.

  Ian frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘You can’t keep horses down there,’ said Freddie. ‘Anyone would tell you that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘’Cause it’s under water for most of the winter. That part of the Levels floods every year.’

  Ian laughed. ‘I don’t take any notice of local folklore.’

  ‘Freddie is right,’ Kate said. ‘Didn’t they tell you that when you viewed it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll bet they didn’t,’ said Freddie. ‘And it’s not folklore. I’ve lived here all my life, and when I were a boy we used to row a boat over the flooded fields from Langport to Taunton.’

  ‘I’m sure it can be fixed with a bit of intelligent drainage,’ Ian said.

  Kate and Freddie looked at each other. ‘I’m surprised Joan didn’t warn you,’ Kate said.

  ‘She did have a go,’ Ian said, ‘but I don’t take any notice of women’s scaremongering. I’ve had a lot of experience in preparing equestrian property, and my men will have the paddocks fenced and the gallop circuit built before the winter. Once the stables are renovated, we can move down.’

  ‘You’re buying trouble,’ Freddie said. ‘You mark my words.’

  The two men eyeballed one another across the table.

  ‘Well, let’s not come to blows over it,’ Kate said pleasantly, ‘not in my kitchen!’

  When Ian had gone, Freddie stayed at the table drinking a second cup of tea. ‘I don’t want him in here,’ he told Kate.

  ‘He’s not doing any harm,’ she replied, startled at the brooding anger emanating from Freddie. ‘And Susan is my friend. You can’t invite Susan and not him. We must put our likes and dislikes aside.’

  ‘Ah – ’tis deeper than that. I’m telling you, Kate, I don’t want him here.’

  ‘But when they have children it will be good for Lucy and Tessa to have friends to play with,’ said Kate. ‘AND they might get invited to play, and to ride one day. Susan’s planning to have ponies for her children.’

  ‘I don’t want Lucy and Tessa down there.’

  ‘Well – we’ll see,’ Kate said pleasantly and Freddie thought that ‘we’ll see’ usually meant that she hadn’t given up on the idea, and further manipulation was to follow when Kate deemed it safe to try again.

  ‘He won’t last five minutes down here – that Ian Tillerman,’ he said. ‘’Tis no good him coming down here lording it about. Money don’t talk as loud as he thinks it does. He’s got to have some sense and listen to local people, not scoff at them – he’s going to come unstuck in a minute, Daimler or no Daimler.’

  ‘You’re usually right,’ Kate said. ‘We’ll see what happens – but at least you’ve met him now, Freddie, and broken the ice.’

  ‘Ice?’ Freddie said. ‘’Tis a mile thick at the North Pole. Herbie told me that. And that’s how thick the ice is between me and “Lord Tillerman”. I’m never gonna like the man – but I’ll try and keep the peace, Kate, for your sake. Just don’t ask me to play cards with the bugger.’

  He reached across the table and took Kate’s hand between his rough palms. Immediately a spark flared between them and her eyes gleamed enticingly at him. She loved him, and wanted him, and to Freddie that was a gift more precious than gold.

  Chapter Five

  THE ROMANY GYPSIES

  The Romany Gypsies rolled into Monterose on a Saturday morning in May. Freddie was in the garden hoeing the carrot bed when he heard the eerie sound of the elder flutes and the jingle of tambourines starting up at the edge of town. He went to the gate and listened, his hoe in his hand as he looked up and down the street.

  ‘What is it, Daddy?’ Three-year-old Tessa appeared beside him, a daisy chain around her neck, her chestnut curls shining in the sun. Her clear pale blue eyes looked up at him enquiringly.

  ‘’Tis the Romany Gypsies,’ Freddie said, and even saying the words sent a chill of apprehension up his spine. Would she be there? Madame Eltura? Would she see him there, with Tessa?

  He propped his hoe against the wall and together they watched the convoy turn into the street. The smell of horses and old canvas, the hot fragrance of dried herbs, the tang of new paint and polish. ‘You go and get Lucy – and Mummy,’ Freddie said. ‘Tell them to be quick.’

  Once they were all there, he lifted the two girls up on the wall. ‘You sit there and watch. Don’t you go running round the vardos,’ Freddie said, feeling in his pockets for money. He fished out a handful of coins and gave them to Kate. ‘You get whatever you want – clothes pegs or whatever they’ve got.’

  ‘They’ve got tistie-tosties!’ shouted Lucy. ‘In a big basket.’

  ‘Don’t shout, dear. If you’re good girls, you can have one each,’ Kate said. ‘So stay up on the wall. I won’t have you running round – but I might take you to stroke one of the horses, if they stop.’

  Freddie went into the kitchen and opened the cutlery drawer. He took out the long bread knife and put it in a cardboard box. Then he added all the other knives he could find, carried the box outside and put it down behind the wall.

  He stood with his arm round Kate, a strange feeling of unease in his stomach. The Romany Gypsies had never bothered him before; they’d been part of his rural life, and he wanted the children to see the wonder of the painted vardos.

  The sun blazed on the gleaming paintwork as the lofty horse-drawn vardos came majestically up the sloping street, each horse plodding obediently, some with jingling brasses, some with their long manes plaited and tied with raffia. Bunches of green elder leaves were stuck in their bridles to keep the flies away.

  Most of the vardos were painted in two colours, red and yellow, blue and yellow, or cream and emerald. Some had carvings on the doors of horses, birds or roses, decorated in gold leaf. Freddie glanced at Tessa’s face and saw that she was spellbound, taking it
all in, drinking the energy from the vibrant colours. Lucy was giving a running commentary. ‘That one’s got red wheels! That one’s got pretty curtains with tassels. That one’s got a golden bird on the door.’

  ‘Like you,’ Freddie looked down at Kate and gave her a squeeze. ‘A golden bird.’

  Kate gave him one of her radiant smiles and his heart lifted. He looked into her eyes and felt reassured that nothing could possibly go wrong. His children were healthy and strong, sitting happily on the wall kicking the heels of their sandals against the weathered blue-lias stone. Tessa was calmer most of the time, especially in the garden. She didn’t talk much, but her eyes were expressive, the eyes of a dreamer, Freddie thought. But many times he saw fear in her eyes, and it manifested as anger – just like Annie – and if Tessa hurt herself, she was terrified and would run away and hide in the most unlikely places. No one was allowed to touch or even look at any wounds she had, not even Kate with her nursing experience. ‘I’ll do it BY MYSELF,’ Tessa would yell, and it was the same when she was learning something new. She wouldn’t accept help.

  ‘Heaven help her when she starts school,’ Kate often said.

  The convoy of nine vardos with their domed green canvas roofs came to a halt, parked along the level end of the street, filling it with colour and noise. Annie hobbled out of her gate and stood with the family, watching the gypsy women climb down from the vardos and unload willow baskets full of clothes pegs, paper roses, elder flutes, bunches of herbs and handmade lace. With a basket on each arm, they began their journey down the road in their flowing skirts and coloured shawls, knocking on every door.

  ‘Will they come to us?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Ah, they’ll come,’ Freddie said, his eyes watching the last vardo which was smaller than the rest and decorated in red and purple. He tried to see the lettering on the side. No one had emerged from it, and the door stayed firmly shut. It had to be her, he thought uneasily.