by Sharon Jones
Thankfully, the chipped white van was still there – open and doing some last-minute business. When she got to the hatch she was relieved to see Tariq in his clean white apron, putting away sauce bottles into the lockable cupboards.
‘Hi,’ she called.
Tariq stopped and stared. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Oh, that’s nice.’
He disappeared and she heard his quick footsteps clanging on the metal steps. He reappeared at her side. There were little worry lines around his dark eyes that made him look like a proper grown-up who’d always been too old for her. ‘I didn’t think your mum would let you out of her sight for the next ten years.’
‘So you were just going to disappear without saying goodbye?’
He smiled. ‘I thought that’s how you’d want it.’
‘That’s not how I wanted it. I wanted to say goodbye and, well, say sorry,’ she said. Her cheeks filled with heat, but she was determined to say it. ‘I think maybe you were right. I was using you. I didn’t mean to. But you were right – that stuff you said about Michael.’
He shrugged. ‘That’s OK. I was just trying to get you into bed – or at least a sleeping bag.’ He smiled, and it was such a sweet smile that she knew he was joking. Whatever he was, he wasn’t that guy. ‘Has he come to his senses yet?’
‘Who, Michael? I don’t know. Maybe it was a stupid idea. Maybe you can’t be...more...when you’ve been friends as long as we have.’
He squeezed her shoulder. ‘Don’t give up before you’ve even tried. But if you do – give me a call?’
He leaned down and kissed her. It was gentle and lovely and made her want to kiss him back, but that would be wrong on so many levels. She pulled away.
Tariq cleared his throat. ‘Yeah. Sorry – bad idea.’ He punched a fist into his other hand. ‘Thanks for coming to say goodbye. I’ll see you around, Poppy.’
‘Yeah, see ya.’ She gave him a last smile and started walking in the direction of the bluff. She stopped and spun around. ‘Hey, Tariq?’
He turned to look at her.
‘I think you should go back to Manchester. Finish your degree.’
He nodded. ‘You never know, maybe we’ll be there at the same time,’ he said with a faint smile.
The bluff seemed steeper than before. The sky over the lake was a sheer blue but the air was hot and sticky like it was about to storm. Poppy pushed herself up the slope, not daring to stop in case her feet wouldn’t start moving again. Every muscle in her body ached like she’d climbed a mountain already that morning and her head was clouded with tiredness.
By the time she reached the summit the ground seemed to be moving of its own accord and she honestly thought that Cumbria might be experiencing an earthquake.
After taking a moment to get her breath back, she wandered slowly towards the crumbling edge of the bluff. As she did she was bombarded by memories, so many that they made her dizzy – the desperation in Kane’s eyes before he stepped over the edge and slid from view; Beth’s too-red lips singing the name of her murdered love.
Mayaaaaaa...
Poppy stopped, squeezed her eyes shut and pushed the images away. They were just memories. Surely she could choose not to see them. It was her brain, for heaven’s sake!
She opened her eyes, forced herself forward, as close to the edge as she dared, and dropped to her knees. When Mo had told her to say goodbye, she’d known it would have to be here. At the place where it started...and ended.
Below, the choppy grey waters sloshed up against the pebbles where Kane had fallen. The warm breeze pulled at the fine hairs around her face, tickling her nose and eyes. Poppy brushed them away, pulled the cloth bag off her shoulder and felt inside for the three gifts she’d managed to find from among Bob’s stuff.
The first was a Tarot card. It wasn’t from a normal deck, not the kind that Kane read; instead it was from a set of Druid cards that depicted animals rather than human figures. This one had a picture of a blackbird, its beak open in song. Bob had explained to her that the blackbird was the guardian of the forge – the entrance to the underworld, where people were transformed and made new. It seemed appropriate somehow.
Next to the card she placed a tealight. A candle to burn for them: Beth, Maya and Kane.
Poppy took a box of matches out of her pocket and lit one. The small flame was too weak and easily extinguished by the breeze. Poppy sighed, dropped the match and tried another. This time the flame took hold. She carefully cupped her hand around the tealight and held the match to the wick until it caught fire.
For a moment she watched the flame dance, felt its heat against her skin. As soon as she took her hand away the candle would be extinguished, but this was all meant to be symbolic, right?
Poppy removed her hand and let the breeze consume the flame, leaving only a wisp of smoke to rise into the atmosphere.
The last gift was a miniature bottle of whiskey. She took it out of the bag and smiled. ‘Have a drink on me, Beth,’ she whispered as she set the bottle on the grass.
Crystal clear, as if she’d known the girl her whole life, an image of Beth formed in her head. Her glossy hair, the fire in her eyes.
Poppy took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. She should have asked Mo how exactly she should do this. But it was too late now. She’d just have to wing it.
‘I’m leaving today, Beth.’ She felt stupid saying it out loud, but she preferred to think that even if there was some kind of afterlife, the dead couldn’t hear every thought that passed through her head. ‘I suppose you’ll know about Kane. And I’m sorry, I really am. You shouldn’t have died; it wasn’t fair. Life’s a bitch, hey? I just hope you found Maya and you’re happy.’ Poppy shook her head at her own lack of eloquence. If anyone heard her, they’d think she had cracked...talking to dead people. Maybe she had.
‘I guess I just wanted to say that I won’t forget you.’
Poppy ran her fingers over the small square bottle and in her head she saw Beth smile.
She was done. It was time to leave.
‘See ya,’ she whispered.
As she got to her feet her phone buzzed. She pulled it out to see who was texting her.
It was Michael. Crap!
All thoughts of gifts for dead people disappeared. Her heart thundered like the hooves of a runaway horse. She clutched the mobile tighter. It was just a text message. Nothing to be afraid of. Except it could say that he’d had enough of her, or that he and Julia had decided to leave school, get married and have lots of babies. Could she handle it if he was telling her that he never wanted to see her again? She went to shove the phone back in her pocket but stopped herself. She was being a wimp. She’d caused this situation: it was time to face up to the consequences.
She took a deep breath, opened the message and read the contents.
Sorry had 2 leave yesterday. Am arse. Do over?
An apology. She felt sick with relief, and then doubly sick at the thought of talking to him again, but she didn’t have much choice if they were ever going to get back to the way things were. She typed in:
I’ll text you when I get home.
Poppy hit send. Almost immediately, her phone buzzed again.
Am arse of EPIC proportions. The Ben Nevis of arses.
She smiled and texted back:
True.
She waited, and sure enough, her phone buzzed again.
But u know I hate it when u figure something out b4 me.
The breath caught in her throat.
What did I figure out?
Silence. Poppy stared at the phone, willing another text message to appear.
What do u think?
She growled with frustration.
If I knew I wouldn’t be asking.
She’
d kidded herself about his feelings for her so often that she refused to second-guess him.
I’m at ur tent. Where r u?
He was here. Poppy’s gaze sought out her tent. She could barely see the green nylon between all the bigger more elaborate tents, but she could see the top of Mum and Jonathan’s tipi, and yes, there was his mum’s car, sunlight sparking off its silver paintwork. She texted him back:
I’m on my way.
She ran, grabbed her bag from the edge of the bluff and was about to negotiate the steep slope down to the festival ground when she remembered the envelope Bob had asked her to post through the farmhouse door.
‘Bugger!’
She blew the hair away from her eyes and walked in the opposite direction, away from Michael. She hadn’t gone too far before she broke into a run.
The heat from the sun combined with tiredness, and by the time she reached the cobbled yard at the front of the house she felt hot and sick. Bright lights flashed before her eyes, the world tipped, and only a strong arm wrapped around her waist stopped her from toppling over.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
On her way from where? Michael glanced at his watch and ran a hand through his hair. Her texts had been unusually monosyllabic. Understandable – he’d hurt her. She was his best friend, and instead of being honest with her he’d walked away. Twice. She had every fucking right to be mad at him.
He thought about texting her again, but that risked coming over as pushy and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to do or say anything that would lead to them blowing up at each other again. He just wanted to see her, talk to her. Convince her, and maybe himself, that everything would be OK. Nervousness buzzed in his veins. It made him twitchy to do something – anything to pass the time until she got there.
He scanned the festival ground that was quickly returning to nothing more than a crescent-shaped field on the shore of Lake Scariswater. Cars were driving slowly over bumps and bouncing down into muddy dips, wrecking their suspension. And the only evidence that the wicker man had been there was the large black burnt spot at the centre. Most of the tents and caravans had gone; only a few of the food vans remained. Between two other larger trailers, he spotted the small white burger van.
Shit. Was that where she was?
He spotted Meg and Jonathan carrying what looked like a heavy box between them. He jogged over to them and took over from Meg.
‘Michael, what are you doing here? We’re just packing up,’ she said, rubbing her hands together and stretching her fingers.
Michael soon knew why. The box weighed a tonne. ‘What’ve you got in here? Rocks?’ he asked.
‘Yes, actually.’
He exchanged a glance with Jonathan, who grinned and shrugged.
‘So, err, where’s Poppy?’
‘She had a few things to do. I thought she’d be back by now,’ Meg replied.
Michael and Jonathan made their way to the boot of the Saab and dumped the box on the ground.
Jonathan opened the boot and frowned. ‘It’s never going to fit in.’
‘I can take them for you,’ Michael volunteered. ‘Or you could put that in Poppy’s seat and I’ll drive her home.’
Meg and Jonathan looked at each other and grinned.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
‘Are you all right?’ Pete asked.
Poppy blinked away the flashing lights. ‘Sorry,’ she gasped. ‘Got a bit hot.’
Pete smiled. ‘Think maybe you’ve had too much excitement over the last couple of days.’
She smiled. ‘Yeah. I don’t want that much excitement ever again.’
‘You and me both, love. What are you doing up here?’
‘Bob asked me to give you this.’ She grabbed the envelope from out of the bag.
The farmer snorted. ‘Not something else to bring on the baby? The last batch of herbal tea weren’t too successful.’ He opened the envelope and Poppy saw a flash of purple bank notes. Money? Maybe it was what the festival owed for the ground rent, but why would they send that as cash?
Pete smiled and shook his head. ‘Bob’s a good bloke.’ He handed the envelope back to Poppy.
‘But...?’
‘Tell Bob thanks, but we’ll be OK.’
She nodded. Bob was doing his usual fairy godmother trick – he’d said he was worried about having to move the festival next year and the impact it would have on the farm. Obviously Pete knew a handout when he saw it.
‘Sure?’
Pete nodded and so she stuffed the envelope back in the bag.
‘Thanks for everything, Pete. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been there when I found...Anyway, I should get going. My mum’ll send out a search party if I’m not back soon.’
‘I’ll drive you down. Don’t like the thought of you climbing down the bluff if you’re not feeling too good.’
‘Oh – umm—’ Driving would take longer than walking, and if she didn’t head back to the festival ground soon there was a very real possibility that either she would chicken out of talking to Michael or her head would explode with nerves. ‘—I’ll be fine—’
‘—Nonsense! Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re as white as one of my sheep.’
Poppy laughed. ‘Oh, thanks.’
Pete nodded in the direction of the house. ‘Come on, I’ll just grab my keys.’
To say no would be rude. She had no choice, damn it! ‘OK. Thanks.’ She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Another text from Michael, no doubt.
The front door to the farmhouse wasn’t locked. Pete pushed it open and urged her in.
‘Sally? Sally, we’ve got company,’ he shouted up the stairs. ‘She’s supposed to taking a nap but she won’t like it if she finds out we had a visitor and I didn’t wake her. Sally!’ He sighed. ‘Why don’t you go into the living room and sit down. I’ll get you a drink. What would you like?’
Oh no, a drink too? ‘Just water would be great,’ Poppy said, trying not to sound too irked.
She headed in the direction that Pete had pointed, grabbed her mobile out of her pocket and opened the text.
WHERE R U?
Someone was getting shouty with the capitals. She was about to reply when she realised that the thick walls of the farmhouse had killed her signal. Great! She shoved the phone back in her pocket and sighed.
The hallway led into a living room dominated by a fireplace almost big enough to stand up in. On one of the whitewashed stone walls was there were the obligatory family photographs. Some were black and white, some more recent. Poppy forced herself to focus on the pictures rather than the queasy nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. Pete and Sally smiling on their wedding day. Pete and Sally sitting on the bonnet of an enormous tractor – him dressed in his usual checked shirt, Sally in the pink female farmer equivalent, a scarf around her neck. And one photograph of a guy with a long stubbled face that was strangely handsome in a Sean Connery, ancient actor kind of way.
‘That’s my dad,’ Pete said, nodding to the photograph. ‘He took over from his dad, and he handed it down to me.’
Poppy remembered Bob growling something about Pete’s dad being an old bastard. A handsome old bastard though. She looked back at Pete, who she guessed looked more like his mum. He had the same ruddy farmer’s complexion as his dad, and maybe the same hair colour, but the similarity stopped there.
Pete smiled and handed her a glass of water.
‘Thanks.’ Poppy took a sip. She spotted a walking stick leaned up against the fireplace. The handle was worn with use. ‘Does your dad live with you?’
Pete shook his head. ‘Died last year. He was out with the dogs rounding up the sheep. Heart attack, they said.’
‘I’m sorry.’
He shrugged and almost ma
naged a smile. ‘It’s how he’d have wanted to go – out on the farm. This land was in his blood.’
Poppy glanced at the door. There was still no sign of Sally. OK, this was too much. She needed to get out of there. ‘Listen, I’d better get going. My mum’ll freak if I don’t get back to help her take down the tents.’
‘But Sally’s just coming.’
A scream itched to get out of her throat and her head felt like it was going to implode.
Pete’s big hand squeezed her shoulder. ‘You’ve gone awful pale again, you should sit down.’
At that moment, Sally walked in. Poppy smiled with relief until she saw the look on the woman’s face.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, frowning.
Pete spun around, knocking Poppy’s arm and sending water sloshing over her hand.
‘Lass isn’t feeling too good,’ he said, defensively.
Sally stared at Poppy, her expression going from one of disgust to despair, then her gaze slid over to Pete and for a moment she looked totally lost. Pete rushed over to her and pulled his wife into a hug while Poppy stood awkwardly watching.
What the heck was that all about? She couldn’t possibly think that she and Pete were...ewww!
‘Sally’s hormones are all over the place, aren’t they, love?’ Pete said. ‘Sooner this baby comes the better.’
‘Yeah, I’m sorry,’ Sally whispered. ‘For a second there I though you were—’
‘—You should stay and look after Sally,’ Poppy said, cutting off Sally before she could say something that would embarrass them all. ‘I’ll be fine walking.’
Pete nodded.
‘And don’t worry, I’ll get that envelope back to Bob. Good luck with the baby, Sally, I hope it all goes OK.’
‘Thanks,’ Sally muttered.
‘I’ll see myself out.’ Poppy had to stop herself from breaking into a run. She marched down the hallway, let herself out and pulled the door closed behind her. She sighed with relief, set off across the cobbles and pulled the phone out of her pocket. Damn it! Still no signal.