by Rachel Hore
Eventually she placed the book on the desk and tore out the pages she’d written over the last few days, wrapped them in the oilcloth and packed them in her bag. Then with one last glance around the room, she followed the gypsy girl downstairs.
It was snowing quite heavily still, although the wind had finally dropped. They loaded up the little cart and set out across the clearing, knowing the snow would cover their tracks. Once, Esther skidded and fell and when Rowan helped her up, she felt the necklace slip from her neck. Holding her glove in her teeth, she felt for where it had caught in the lace of her dress and pulled it free. She was clutching it in her hand, just as she’d done nearly fourteen years before, as they vanished together into the forest.
The only trace of Esther was a little gold star that lay winking in the snowlight.
When Summer awoke, she was curled up under a tree, the early dawn light starting to filter down through the leaves. She had awoken because she was cold. The remnants of her dream fled in the face of her surprise and fear and she sat up, crying out for her mother and looking all around. When no one answered she called again, and again, then threw herself to the ground and curled up like a caterpillar waiting for danger to pass. Tears zigzagged across her face and for a while she drifted between sleeping and waking. Then she felt the lightest of touches on her shoulder, like the caress of a falling leaf. “Mummy?” She raised her head and at first could see no one. Then she heard a giggle and caught a movement behind the next tree. Not Mummy—but, curiosity overcoming fear, she rose to her feet. The other child, if child it was, ran ahead to another tree, but Summer could only detect the movement, not see the girl—she sensed it was a girl—herself.
“Who are you?” Summer called out, then whimpered, “I want my mummy.”
She thought the girl beckoned, then saw the leaves move and the giggle came again, from farther along the path. Summer started to follow. “Where are we going?” she asked, but the girl did not reply. The light was stronger now, and the birds were in full voice. Summer felt much calmer. She didn’t know where the girl was taking her, but she understood it would be all right. She pictured her mummy’s face in her mind and knew, just knew, she’d find her soon. Her mother had said to her once after they’d become separated in a supermarket, “Darling, if you ever feel you’re lost, don’t worry, I’m looking for you. I’m always looking for you.” Her mother would be looking for her and she’d find her. And in the meantime, this girl, for she could see her properly now, was helping her. They wandered together all day, the girl showing Summer where blackberries grew, and where clear water flowed. They played together, hiding games and catch, and once they made a dam in a shallow bubbling stream. Then came times of realization that she was still lost, and she’d panic and cry, and the girl would make soothing noises and caper around, trying to make her smile. When evening came once more she sank exhausted on a mossy bed and the girl covered her with dry leaves.
She was awakened on Monday morning—not that she knew it was Monday—by the sound of a passing car. She sat up and looked around and saw she was lying near a road. Of the other girl there was no sign. When she got to her feet she recognized where she was. A little farther along the road, on the other side, stood the gypsy caravans. She could even see Liza, sitting on the steps of her van, reading a newspaper and eating toast. She wondered what to do, suddenly lacking courage. Relief and fear rushed over her in equal measure. She sat down in the grass again and wept.
There came the roar of another car, the jangle of music. The car slowed, the music stopped and a man’s voice cried, “Hi there. Are you OK?” She looked up, dazzled. It was a lovely sports car, her favorite kind of blue, with the roof down and a small dog of indeterminate lineage standing in the backseat waving its tail. She’d always wanted a little dog. The driver was a man with curly blond hair like hers, and sunglasses. He took these off now, and she saw his face, all smiley and snub-nosed. She liked him at once, but remembered what her mother had told her about not getting in people’s cars even if she knew them. But this man didn’t ask her to get into the car. Instead he said, “I’m sorry you’re sad. Do you live over there?” He pointed to the gypsy caravans. She shook her head and whispered, “I want my mummy.”
The man thought for a moment, then he said, “Look, will you stay exactly where you are, next to my car, and look after it for me? I’d like to ask that lady over there for help.”
Summer nodded, so the man checked for traffic, then got out of the car, his little dog leaping out after him. He crossed the road and jogged over to the caravan site and Summer saw him speak to Liza. And then they were both hurrying back toward her.
And Liza put her arms around her and called her darling and Summer knew she was safe.
CHAPTER 33
Jude would never ever forget that first rush of relief when the policewoman said, her voice cracking, “She’s found. She’s OK.” After the release of tension it was like her body was filling up with fizzy champagne. There was nothing more to worry about in life, ever ever again. She and Claire clasped one another, Claire laughing and crying alternately. The worst had been contemplated and the worst had gone away. Then the euphoria ebbed and questions rose in her mind. When could they see her? Where had she been for the last two nights? Was she really all right?
“She’s being taken to the hospital just to check her over. We’re to meet her there. Come on.”
When they arrived at the big hospital near Great Yarmouth, they were taken to a small whitewashed office, where Summer was sitting with a nurse, who was trying to entertain her with various brightly colored toys. She went at once to her mother and they hugged each other and Claire started crying all over again.
“I’m OK, Mummy, don’t fuss,” Summer said, and it was Claire who needed comforting.
* * *
Out in the corridor, a youngish man with wavy blond hair, and an elderly woman with gold-hoop earrings, sat waiting patiently. Jude had been too anxious to give them a second glance on the way in, but now she recognized Liza, and the man, too, looked vaguely familiar. Claire, who was gripping Summer’s hand, seemed to know him, too, because she said, “You!” and her other hand flew to her cheek. Jude couldn’t quite place him. Was he another of the gypsies?
“Hello, Claire,” the man said softly. “It was me that found her. Well, and Liza here, of course. Are you all right now, little one?”
Summer nodded and leaned into her mother’s side.
“It was you who saw her first, young man,” Liza said. “My eyes aren’t as sharp as they were.”
“Claire, this is Liza,” Jude said. “Do you remember I told you about taking Summer to meet her?”
“Liza, thank you. Thank you, both of you,” Claire whispered. Then she turned and said, “Jude. You’ll remember Jon?” She looked anxiously at Jude, and Jude did remember. She turned to the man in wonder. “Yes, I met you one Christmas, I believe. We were, er, worried because you left without saying good-bye.” He’d looked different then, when he’d been going out with Claire, that time after their father’s death. Trying so hard to be cool he’d come across as plain rude.
“Yes, well I’m sorry about that,” he mumbled. “I guess those days you didn’t see me at my best.”
“Snap,” Claire remarked drily.
He’d certainly changed for the better. He was wearing neatly pressed stone-white chinos and a crisp pale blue shirt. The hair, though still longish, was neatly styled and his blue eyes were lively, intelligent, but with a touch of seriousness. And as Jude saw him properly she knew the truth immediately, and a great burden slipped away.
Claire seemed quite anxious in his presence, kept looking nervously at Summer.
“How was it you found…? Did you know…? I didn’t…,” she kept starting to say, and Jon broke in.
“Look, this is going to sound ridiculous, but I’ll try anyway. Your sister, Jude—well, I didn’t know her name was Gower. It didn’t mean anything to me when I saw the letter.”
“What letter?” Claire asked, confused.
“The letter in the paper. About Tamsin Lovall.”
“Oh goodness,” said Jude, “that letter. I didn’t have a chance to see it had been printed.”
“What on earth are you both talking about?” asked Claire as though they were mad. Summer, tired, had started a little rocking game at her side, threatening Claire’s balance.
“I maybe forgot to tell you. Liza here and her son recommended that I place a letter in the local paper asking if anyone knew any Lovalls and, in particular, Tamsin.”
“So what’s that got to do with Jon?” Claire asked. “Summer, do stop jiggling. I know you must be shattered. We’ll be going in a moment.”
“I was on my way to find Judith Gower,” said Jon simply. “You see, Tamsin Lovall was my grandmother.”
* * *
“You’ve got to tell him, Claire,” Jude said, arms crossed, as she contemplated her sister. They were back in Blacksmith’s Cottage and had just seen Sergeant Bride and her boss off the premises after two wearying hours of discussion and filling in forms. The police, after hearing Summer’s own rambling account about gypsy girls and towers, had settled for the easier explanation that she had suffered a nightmare, sleepwalked and got herself thoroughly lost. Euan, they were told, had been immediately released and the case more or less closed. Summer, meanwhile, bathed and fed by Jude while Claire was still talking, was soundly asleep upstairs.
“Tell him what?” Claire snapped.
“Well, the truth.”
“The truth being…”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? You were right to tell me I was crazy thinking it was Mark. It’s as Mum and I guessed at the time. Come on, Claire. Jon’s her father, isn’t he?”
Claire grunted and turned away.
After a moment, she said, “Yes. Yes, he is. And yes, I suppose I will have to tell him.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s guessed already. After all, they look similar, and he can do his maths, I’m sure.”
“Great,” said Claire gloomily. “Now he won’t leave us alone at all.”
“Did you see the adoring way he looked at her, though?” Jude asked, unable to resist teasing. “Another conquest for Princess Summer.”
“Oh really, Jude.”
“She is very charming, your daughter.”
“She’ll be worse trouble than I was. So, I’ll tell him. And I’ll have to tell her. Then what?”
“I expect he’ll want to see her from time to time.”
“And interfere. Just what I was frightened of.”
“Oh, come on, Claire, what’s so bad about him becoming involved? Summer will have a father. And what a lovely one at that. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but he seems to have grown up a bit since he last graced us with his presence.”
“Yeah.” Claire seemed lost in thought for a moment, then sighed and said, “I suppose so. OK, I’ll tell him. But Jude, please don’t say anything to anyone else about it yet, to Gran or Mum. I have to tell Summer first and I want to do that in my own time. Maybe let her get to know Jon a bit first. It’s not going to be easy for any of us.”
“OK, it makes sense.”
* * *
Euan phoned Jude’s mobile half an hour later when Claire was upstairs. Jude took the phone out into the garden. “Is Summer all right?” were his first words.
“Yes, yes, amazingly she is, thank God.” As he didn’t seem to have heard the details, she explained about an old friend of Claire’s finding the girl near the gypsy encampment.
“Are you back home? How are you?”
“I’m fine. They let me go pretty soon after she was found. Police car home, many apologies, sir, that sort of thing.”
“I can’t believe that they took you in the first place.”
“It’s routine, Jude, you mustn’t worry about it.”
“Or that you’re being that nice about it.”
“Yes, well…,” he said. “Your sister was very stressed.” Both of them were thinking of Claire’s accusing words.
“I don’t believe she meant it. Not when she stopped to think.”
“I know,” he said, “but it hurt. Very deeply.”
“Euan, this might not be the time, but what happened between you? The night Summer disappeared, I mean. I came into your living room and, well, you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.”
“I think you’ll have to ask Claire about that. It wouldn’t be gallant of me…”
Jude sighed and closed her eyes. “I thought as much,” she said, but a guilty feeling of delicious relief welled up in her. Euan changed the subject.
“Where did Summer say she’d gone?”
“It’s still a bit of a mystery, Euan. She doesn’t seem to remember. Someone was shut in the tower, is what she says, and she had to let them out. Then a girl looked after her in the forest and they played, and then she woke up near the gypsy caravans, and we know the rest. It sounds extraordinary, but—well, everything she said tied in with a dream I had the night she disappeared. Only I forgot about it in the morning, the dream I mean. It must have been the shock or something. I’m so sorry, I’m rambling. Everything’s happening at once and it’s so … oh, confusing.”
Euan brought her down to earth by saying patiently, “So she thinks she was in the forest all that time? And she didn’t even hear us calling for her?”
“Apparently not. And you’d have thought she’d have hypothermia, but you should see her, she’s absolutely fine. She says this girl put leaves over her—leaves, Euan. Like the folktale.”
“They sound like a couple of very lucky Babes in the Wood. Who was the girl, do you think?”
“I’ve no idea. Summer thinks she was a gypsy, but it certainly wasn’t Liza’s great-granddaughter. She was out with her mother all day yesterday and fast asleep in her parents’ caravan at night. Hang on a moment.”
Claire had stepped outside, clearly wishing to speak to her.
“Is that Euan?” Claire whispered. “Could I talk to him when you’ve finished? If he can face it, I mean.”
“I’ll ask him,” Jude said, her face impassive, then she spoke into the handset: “Euan, will you have a word with Claire?”
There was a silence, then Euan said, “Yes, sure.” He added, “I’ll see you soon, then?”
“Of course,” replied Jude. “I’ll ring you.”
She passed her phone to Claire, and went inside, not wanting to hear their conversation. She couldn’t help, though, watching her sister pace the garden, her expression agitated. Once she pressed her forearm to her face as though trying to stem tears. Another time she heard her cry, “No, you’ve got me all wrong.”
“Hi.” Jude spun around at the sound of a man’s voice. “Heck, who put that there?” Jon was rubbing his head and frowning at the low doorway to the living room. “Sorry to make you jump, Jude. The front door was open but no one heard me knock.”
“Oh dear,” she said. “Are you all right? I’m glad you’ve come.”
“I wanted to find out how the little girl is,” he said.
“She’s absolutely fine,” Jude repeated, “not least thanks to you.”
“Asleep, I imagine,” he said, seeing her glance upstairs.
“Dead to the world,” she replied, then immediately thought what an unfortunate expression that was in the circumstances. “Are you really a Lovall?”
“That was the other thing I wanted to see you both about. Yes, I am. Descended from one, anyway.”
At that moment, Claire finished her call and walked in slowly from the garden. She looked exhausted, Jude thought tenderly. Exhausted and sad.
“Oh,” Claire said, seeing Jon rise to meet her. “You again. I’m sorry … I didn’t know you’d come.”
“Are you all right?” asked Jude, putting out her hand for her BlackBerry.
“Yes,” Claire replied, giving it to her, her voice steady. “I’ll tell you about it later.” She half
fell onto the sofa and sat hunched up like a small, bruised waif, her legs tucked under her.
“More tea, I think,” said Jude firmly, and she went off to make it, pushing the kitchen door to and deliberately clunking about, glad when the noise of the boiling kettle drowned the rise and fall of voices from the living room. Even so, when the kettle switched itself off she couldn’t help hearing his anguished cry: “You should have told me I had a child. I had a right to know.”
“Don’t you see?” Claire replied, her voice passionate. “I had to protect her.”
“From me?” he cut in. “From me? Did you think I’d drop her or—or try to take her from you or something?”
“I didn’t know. I couldn’t predict how you would turn out. But I didn’t trust you then, Jon. I could hardly trust myself.”
Stuck in the kitchen, Jude didn’t know whether to pretend she wasn’t listening, or to blithely interrupt. The problem was solved for her by Claire, who came in. “So I’ve told him,” she remarked, picking up two of the mugs.
Jon had gone out into the garden where he stood legs apart, arms folded, looking at the full-blown roses, their petals starting to fall.
Jude watched as Claire took out the tea, nudging his arm to get his attention with such a tender, natural gesture Jude wondered where it came from. Jon turned slightly and Jude was entranced to observe the ease of the look that passed between them, though Jon still looked cross and Claire prickly. They’re like a long-married couple, she thought, which really was extraordinary considering that as far as she knew they hadn’t seen each other for seven or eight years. Jude and Mark had shared that feeling. They might not have met up for months or, like that time leading up to their engagement when he was away on his travels, a whole year, but they had just picked up where they’d left off every time. Still, she hadn’t kept the secret of an unexpected baby from Mark. This might, she suppose, either draw Claire and Jon together, or drive them further apart. She wondered if it were too tidy to hope for the former. Jon did seem quite transformed from the casual young man she’d met that Christmas Day nearly eight years ago.