by Julia Crouch
‘Am I going to get any more out of you?’ Gina said, trying to catch her eye.
Lara shook her head. Looking into her friend’s kind eyes, she found herself on the verge of tears. ‘I wish I could tell you,’ she said. ‘But I can’t. It’s – too complicated.’
‘That’s OK,’ Gina said, reaching over and putting a hand on her leg. ‘You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.’
‘I can’t,’ Lara said, forcing a smile, although her eyes were brimming. ‘Believe me. If I could, you’d be the first to know.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with a certain famous Brit actor who is “hiding” in the hills up thataway?’ Gina pointed in the direction of Stephen’s house.
If Gina had reached out and whacked her round the face, Lara would not have been more shocked.
Gina laughed. ‘Look, honey, some secrets aren’t quite as well kept as people would like to believe. Word flies around in Trout Island so fast you can’t even see it. The word grows into rumour and the rumour gets coloured in. And my house is right here, in the middle of the village, so I know everything. Just be aware of that and be careful, OK?’
Lara nodded. What exactly did Gina mean she had to be careful about, though: word, rumour or the fact that she knew everything?
Oh no, Lara thought as she and Jack walked up the garden path to the house. There was a note, addressed to her, pinned to the front door.
From the lawn, she scanned the porch for anything nasty, any stray corpses or faeces, but there was nothing. She climbed the steps to the door and grabbed the note, as if it were a nettle needing a firm grasp.
Inside, written in a familiar hand that made the blood rush to her cheeks, was the message:
Blueberry picking today? Bring kids. Pick you up at 2. Sx
She felt the familiar, digestive flutter that Stephen stirred up. It was only half past twelve. How on earth could she wait a full hour and a half?
‘I’m sleepy, Mummy,’ Jack said, not surprisingly, since he had spent the entire morning playing ballet school mascot for Gina’s daughters in tutu, blusher and all.
‘Why don’t you stretch out on the swing seat?’ Lara said. ‘It’s lovely and cool out here.’
She settled him on the porch, plumping up the cushions so he could lie fully down. Unlocking the front door, she stood in the scene-of-the-crime hall and called up the stairs.
‘Bella? Olly?’ There was no reply, so she supposed they must be out. A part of her she wasn’t proud of hoped they would stay out, so it would only be she and Jack – who noticed less than his brother and sister – who went blueberry picking. She could get away with more that way.
In the kitchen, she cleared up the post-breakfast carnage that proved the twins had, at some point in the morning, surfaced and fed themselves. Then she took a shower and put on her new dress, the one she had bought the day before.
Remembering that she had to remove a liberal application of make-up from Jack’s face, she headed for the front porch. But when she got out there, her heart jumped into her mouth. The swing seat was empty. Jack wasn’t on the porch, nor was he in the front garden.
‘Jack!’ Lara called, dashing into the house. But he wasn’t inside either. She ran out of the kitchen door and scanned the backyard and the hill beyond. He was nowhere to be seen.
‘Jack!’ she yelled, tearing back down the driveway to the front. A cold panic rose in her throat. She had lost her son. He had gone. He had been taken. She ran out on to the pavement and looked one way down Main Street, then the other. Apart from a distant truck slowly making its way towards her it was deserted, as usual.
She grabbed on to a streetlight and pressed her forehead against the hot metal, trying to think straight and stop the whirling behind her eyes.
‘Mummy!’
She jerked her head up. Jack was running towards her along the side street across the road from her. He had some sort of long, chewy sweet in one hand. In the other was what looked like the long-lost Cyril Bear.
‘Jack, STOP!’ she screamed just as he reached the kerb of the road that separated them. Shocked, he obeyed her, and in doing so was saved from running out in front of the truck as it thundered between them. Looking both ways, Lara darted across the road to the little boy, who was standing, wide-eyed, on the pavement, sticky sweet and make-up mingling with the tears of shock caused by his mother yelling at him.
‘What happened, Jacky? How did you get across the road? Who gave you that sweetie?’ She pulled the thing out of his fingers and threw it on the ground, as if it were about to explode in his hands. ‘And where did you find Cyril?’
Jack took a deep breath in and wailed, now outraged at losing his candy.
‘Who was it?’ Lara said. But she knew the answer already.
‘Lady,’ Jack said. ‘That lady gave me Cyril.’
By the time she had washed the stickiness from him, both Lara and Jack had calmed down. She told him he must never, ever go off with a stranger again.
‘But she’s not a stranger. She’s the lady.’
‘Most particularly you mustn’t go off with the lady,’ Lara said. ‘She’s not a nice lady. Remember?’
‘But she gave me a sweetie,’ Jack said.
‘And you must never take sweeties from the lady or from strangers. Understood?’
Jack nodded his red head. All clean and safe, he looked, more than ever, like an angelic version of his father. All the good without any of the infuriating.
Hearing the rumble of the Wrangler in the driveway, she glanced out of her bedroom window and saw him, Stephen, there, in the driving seat.
‘Now, not a word about the nasty lady to Stephen,’ she said, miming a zip over her mouth.
Jack nodded and zipped his lips in the same way.
She picked him up, grabbed her bag and set off outside to greet Stephen.
‘No twins?’ he said, getting out to help her.
‘They’re out.’
‘Ah well. Take a look at that dent,’ he said, showing her the side of the Wrangler. ‘I’m still puzzling over why that idiot wanted to do that to us. Has everything been all right here since yesterday? Nothing odd happened?’
‘Yes,’ Lara said. ‘I mean, no, nothing odd.’
‘Good,’ Stephen said, frowning slightly. ‘You would tell me, wouldn’t you, if something was worrying you?’
‘Of course,’ Lara said. ‘I’ll just get the car seat.’ She dashed into the hall and picked it up from where she had left it the night before. She wanted to tell Stephen what was going on. But Betty’s words rung in her head.
If Stephen finds out she’s back, it will kill him.
Lara didn’t want any more blood on her hands. Besides, she wanted to nail this woman once and for all, using her own devices.
‘Where are we going to do this blueberry picking?’ she asked as they drove out of Trout Island.
‘My place,’ he said. ‘The best blueberries are on my patch.’ He turned up the music he was playing on the car radio through his iPhone. It was the Smiths’ ‘There is a Light That Never Goes Out’. ‘Remember?’ he said.
She gazed at him and nodded. It had been their song.
They roared on up over the mountain, Stephen and Lara singing about double-decker buses crashing into them and dying by each other’s side.
‘I love that house,’ she said as they passed the pristine white farmhouse with the view.
‘Too exposed for me,’ Stephen said. ‘I need to be tucked away.’
They plunged again into the forest, until they got to his driveway. He reached into the side pocket of the car door and held out a button device. The locked gate whirred open, letting them pass, and clanged shut behind them.
‘It’s so beautiful here,’ Lara sighed as they drew up in the clearing by his house.
‘Yes.’ He looked over at her.
Lara stood to help Jack out of his seat. ‘Snakes!’ he said, wriggling out of her arms and making for the woodpile. Unseen by Ja
ck, Stephen put his arm around Lara and kissed her hair.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ he said.
‘I’m glad I’m here, too. I’m so happy to have found you again. I thought—’
‘Stephen! Come and find snakes with me!’ Jack bowled back round the corner and they moved apart.
‘I’m going in to get the blueberry picking things,’ Stephen said. ‘Your mum’ll come and help you.’
‘All right. But you must have a stick, Mummy,’ Jack said.
They were poking in the woodpile when Lara felt Stephen’s hand on her shoulder.
‘There you go,’ he said, handing a small wicker basket to each of them.
‘Carry me,’ Jack said, holding his hands up to Stephen.
They wandered off along the path into the forest at the back of the house.
‘We could take the Wrangler, but it’s not too far and it’s a lovely day,’ Stephen said.
‘That’s fine by me,’ Lara said as they climbed steeply up through dappled woodland, away from the house. As they walked, Stephen told Lara and Jack how there had once been a settlement up there, how, a hundred years ago, these hills, which were now completely wooded, were bare and cultivated, populated by smallholders trying to etch a living out of the shallow, stony soil. But the demise of the railway, which used to pass within ten miles, and the difficulties the land and the bitter winters presented for farmers, forced people away from the area. Within a couple of decades the trees and undergrowth had taken over. Lara thought of the trouble she had keeping weeds at bay in her little back garden in Brighton. How quickly the native plants must grow out in this hot, wet environment. She could practically see the ground-hugging vines creeping along the rocky ground, an inch at a time, reclaiming the path from the humans.
With every step, Lara felt herself recovering from the past couple of days. The three of them were striding out into the future, the binding strands of history and duty breaking as they moved forward.
‘If you keep your eyes open, the remains of those settlers are everywhere,’ Stephen said. ‘See.’ He pointed to an ivy-choked wall running up the hill, perpendicular to the path. ‘That’s an old boundary wall. If you follow it up over the top and down again, it leads to a tumbledown house. I’ll take you there after we’ve picked the blueberries.’
‘Sounds good, eh, Jack?’ Lara said. The little boy, his head held high, his arms clasped around the tall man’s neck, nodded. Stephen held him firmly with one arm and, using a stick he had picked up, cleared an overgrown section of path by slashing at the long, green leafy stems of some sort of willowherb. With the boy and the stick and the forest, Stephen looked as complete as he did in the Dover’s Hill photograph he kept in his bedside table.
‘And here we are!’ Stephen said, as they reached the top of the slope and the dark green light behind the trees turned lime then blue with the sky. One more step, and they were on a grassy hilltop, bunched around with large shrubs that stood taller than Lara. Narrow pathways wound into the bushes, which were thick with dusty, blue-purple berries crying out to be picked.
Jack wriggled out of Stephen’s arms and ran to the bushes.
‘But look at the view,’ Lara said, climbing on to a tussocky mound and turning. For a full 360 degrees, wooded hills folded into each other, fading out into the purple distance. If it weren’t for five distant power lines cutting across the land on looming pylons, there would have been no sign of human intervention. For the first time for a while, Lara didn’t feel as if she were being overseen.
‘Pretty good, eh?’ Stephen said, placing his hand on her shoulder and pointing. ‘We’ve come from all the way down there.’
Lara closed her eyes and rested her cheek on his fingers. ‘I—’
‘Shh,’ he said, moving his finger to her mouth. ‘Come on, Jacko, let’s fill these baskets up for Mum to make you pancakes.’ Taking Jack by the hand, he led him off along one of the pathways, deep into the blueberry patch.
In a daze, Lara set to work on a bush, absent-mindedly filling her basket and popping the odd blueberry into her mouth, pressing its dull-sharp sweetness against her tongue. A low buzzing of flying insects joined the clatter of crickets and she prayed to be allowed to stay here, in this blueberry patch, for ever.
‘Look Mummy!’ Jack burst into her daydream from behind her bush, his basket full of berries.
‘That was quick,’ she said, squatting down to inspect his harvest.
‘He had a tiny bit of help.’ Lara looked up to see Stephen peering down at her. She stood to break the odd intimacy of the moment.
‘I reckon we’ve got enough for breakfast tomorrow and maybe a pie,’ Stephen said. ‘Although I think Mummy’s eaten more then she’s put in her basket.’ He licked his thumb and wiped a stain of juice from her lips.
‘Naughty Mummy,’ Jack giggled. ‘Can I—?’
A sudden crashing in the bushes behind them swamped his words and made Lara and Stephen wheel round. About a hundred feet from them, a six-foot black bear stood on its hind legs, staring at them with an outraged expression. It seemed to be as startled to find them as they were to see it.
Jack grabbed Lara’s legs.
‘Don’t make any sudden movements,’ Stephen whispered, standing tall. ‘Get behind me and whatever you do, don’t look it in the eyes.’
‘It’s all right, Jacko. It’s going to be just fine,’ Lara said, bundling Jack behind her and trying to hold him still.
As instructed, she looked towards, but not at, the bear, keeping it in her peripheral vision. She could tell, though, that it had its hungry eyes firmly set on them. The insect life around them had stilled into silence, as if sensing the tension that stretched between the people and the beast. Although it was quite far away, the fruited stable-smell of the bear wafted towards them in the hot afternoon air. For what seemed like an eternity, nothing happened.
‘Hey bear,’ Stephen said, holding his hand out low, palm down. ‘I’m going to talk now, Lara,’ he said in a low, slow voice. ‘Keep upright and stand tall. Remember, don’t look it in the eyes, but don’t look away, either.’ He waved his arms slowly up and down and drew himself up to his full height. ‘This fellow,’ he said of the bear, ‘probably thinks we’re on his personal berry patch. We’re going to show him we mean no harm and we’re going to let him have what we picked to tell him sorry.’
‘No!’ Jack yelled. At this sudden sound, the bear began to move, looping its heavy, furred body from side to side, rotating its head and grunting.
‘Quiet, Jack,’ Lara said, holding him firmly behind her, pressed into her legs. ‘We can get some more berries.’
‘Have the berries, bear,’ Stephen said, emptying his basket on to the grass beneath them. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we back away.’ Still waving his arms and looking in the direction of the bear, he shuffled backwards, steering Lara and Jack towards the path back to the house. After they had moved about twenty yards, the bear made a move towards them.
‘Stop,’ Stephen said, grasping her hand. She felt his blood pulsing through his body. A bead of sweat rolled from his hair down the back of his neck. ‘We’re going to have to hold our ground. Get behind me.’
Lara pressed her face into Stephen’s back, holding Jack tight behind her. The bear began to lope towards them, picking up speed as it went. Stephen quickly lifted his arms right up, spread his legs wide and roared so loud that the trees around them seemed to shudder. Jack shivered into Lara’s legs.
To die by your side …
Stephen’s roar stopped the bear in its tracks. It froze on its hind legs while Stephen stood his ground, his arms up, looking as big as possible. Time stretched as man and bear regarded each other. At last, the bear dropped on its front paws to nose at the spilled blueberries, as if the three humans had disappeared.
‘He’s met his match,’ Stephen said, a small smile playing on his lips. ‘He’s met his bloody match.’
They backed into the forest. Only when they were out of sig
ht of the bear did they turn round. Stephen hoisted Jack up into his arms.
‘Well done, my brave little man,’ he said. ‘Now we have to make as much noise as possible so that if he’s got any mates nearby we won’t surprise them. But don’t run, whatever you do.’
They climbed down to the house, shouting, clapping and yelling. By the time they got to the deck by the back door, Lara’s throat was hoarse. But the adrenaline that had seized her when she was scared now mingled with the deeper thrill of having survived. Stephen unlocked the doors and let them in.
‘I thought we were done for, back then.’ He turned and grinned at her. She flung her arms around him and Jack and for a moment the three of them stood there, holding on to each other. After a short while. Jack started wriggling, worming his way out from between them.
‘Snakes!’ he said.
An hour of hunting in the back meadow yielded great treasure – a four-foot-long black rat snake, which Stephen said was extremely rare that far north. Jack clapped his hands in delight as the thing attempted to constrict the stick Stephen had looped it around.
All too soon it was time for Lara to return, Cinderella-like, to the horrible house in Trout Island, where she was expected to cook and clean for everyone else.
On the way down the mountain, Lara made use of the noisy Wrangler engine and the wind rushing through their hair to tell Stephen about the two free hours she had the following evening.
‘Perhaps I could come up and pay you a visit?’ she said.
He smiled, looking ahead, his hand on the wheel. ‘That would be very nice indeed.’
‘Wait,’ he said as she jumped out of the jeep back at the house. He pressed a key into her hand. ‘Back door,’ he said. Then he took her arm and, using a pen from the dashboard, wrote five numbers on her skin.
‘That’s the code I’ll set for the gate tomorrow. Just come when you can and let yourself in.’
Lara waved goodbye, then carried Jack and the car seat inside. The house was as empty as it had been when they had left, earlier in the day, before they had been chased by a bear and saved by a hero.