‘Quite right,’ Ellie says as she fills in another word in the Telegram’s crossword puzzle. ‘Sometimes secrets are necessary.’
Outside, a dog barks as the whine of a motorcycle’s engine grows louder. It shuts off abruptly.
‘That’ll be Sam,’ Florie says.
On cue, Sam pushes through the screen door in his motorcycle leathers, Rupert bumping past his legs.
‘Get that dog out of here, Sam,’ Florie protests. ‘He’ll have the pancakes down him as sure as today’s Saturday.’ The huge black dog pushes past Florie and settles beside Becca, resting its immense head on Becca’s lap.
‘He’s just had Emmett’s salmon sandwich down at the store,’ Sam says as he tosses his leather jacket onto a chair. He accepts a mug of coffee from Ellie. ‘He’s full.’
‘That dog can eat for Britain,’ Ellie says. ‘I swear he gets bigger every day. Where are you off to?’
‘Wesleyville to pick up some supplies. Going to meet up with Ace and Thor and have a ride up along the coast up to Musgrave Harbour. We’ll grab some lunch at the Rocky Ridge. Got to take advantage of this weather.’ He looks over at Sophie. ‘So, Princess Grace, do you want to come?’
Sophie swallows down the pancake she’s been chewing. ‘What? Me?’
‘You’re not going anywhere else today, are you?’
‘I haven’t got a jacket.’
‘Well, I thought of that. I brought you Winny’s old jacket. Should fit.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m not much of a biker chick.’
‘Oh, go on with you, duckie,’ Florie says as she scrapes Becca’s leftover pancake into a bowl and sets it on the floor by the fridge. ‘We’ll be over in the shop all day today. Ellie’s doing art with the Brownies.’
‘We’re making a banner protesting the closure of the Heart’s Wish fish processing plant,’ Ellie says. ‘Florie and I’ve organised a protest down there next week when Grimes is in town for the public inquiry.’
‘Not that the government’ll do a thing,’ Florie grumbles.
‘That may be so, Florie, but we have to try.’
Sophie watches the great dog lumber over to the bowl and wolf down the pancake. She looks over at Sam. Why does he have to look so bloody … male? It’s like he’s stepped out of Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior. But then, Mel Gibson was pretty hot in that. Must be the leathers.
‘I guess it won’t hurt to see something of this place. Who are Ace and Thor?’
***
Sophie leans into the curve of the road as Miss Julie shoots along the road to Wesleyville. Sam’s warmth filters though their leather jackets and she’s conscious of her thighs pressing against his as she clings to his waist. She closes her eyes to the wind, and a lightness fills her as she feels the layers of the old Sophie peel away and fly into the September sky.
Who is this person? This isn’t me. Riding on the back of a strange man’s motorbike in the back of beyond in borrowed clothes? Mum would be appalled. But Mum’s not here. It’s me. Sophie. It feels good. Better than good. It feels amazing.
Sam veers the bike into the parking lot of the long, squat Home Hardware store in Wesleyville and pulls up beside two large motorcycles parked near the goods-in door. Two bearded men in sunglasses and Chrome Warriors leather jackets straddle the bikes, dismounting as Sam parks.
One of the men, with shoulders as wide as a door and a body hefty enough to support them, embraces Sam in a bear hug. ‘Sam, b’y. Thought ol’ Mavis had swallowed you up down in Gander the other day. Where you been?’ He turns his sun-glassed eyes towards Sophie and extends a hand the size of a small plate. ‘We hasn’t had the pleasure,’ he says, pumping her hand vigorously. ‘I’m Ace Dunphy. This here’s my brother, Thor.’
Thor, only slightly smaller than his brother, and sporting a neat ginger goatee, shakes her hand. ‘Nice to meet ya. Where ’bouts ya from, b’y?’
‘Uh, London,’ Sophie says, wiggling her fingers. ‘I was on my way to New York. My plane got diverted.’
Thor turns to his brother. ‘That’s odd, isn’t it, b’y? Why’d they send a plane from Ontario all the way up here when they’d just have to turn right back round again to gets to New York?’
Ace shakes his head. ‘Doesn’t make any sense, b’y.’
Sophie raises her eyebrows. ‘Ontario? No, I came from England. London, England.’
‘Oh, well, then,’ Thor says. ‘We thought ya were comin’ from London, Ontario.’
‘That’s not so far,’ Ace says.
‘No, not far at all,’ his brother agrees, nodding. ‘Not when ya compares it to London, England. Didn’t Uncle Lance’s wife’s sister Eunice marry someone from London?’
‘London, England?’
‘No, b’y. London, Ontario.’
‘No, b’y. That was Regina. Married a fellow in Waterloo.’
Sam slaps Thor on his shoulder. ‘You’ve got us all confused there now, b’ys. I’ve got to go pick up some stuff in the hardware.’ He glances at Sophie. ‘Do you want to come in, or stay here with the boys?’
‘Oh, I’ll come in. Definitely. Hardware is absolutely my thing.’
‘That’s fine, b’y,’ Ace says. ‘We’ll stay where we’re at till ya comes where we’re to.’
***
Sophie steers the trolley along a wide aisle lined with vats of nails and screws, and sheets of MDF.
‘What exactly are the Chrome Warriors, anyway? Are you outlaws or something?’
Sam laughs as he examines a package of 4mm flathead screws. ‘No, we’re just guys who like to ride bikes. We’re a Riding Club.’ He taps his shoulder. ‘You see the “RC” patch on the back of my jacket? That’s what it means. Riding Club. We’re not a motorcycle gang. We get together whenever we can and go for rides.’ He hands two boxes of screws to Sophie. ‘I used to bike down in Boston. It clears my head. We do a lot of charity events too. Ace’s wife died from breast cancer last year, so we’re doing a ride for that at the end of the month.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. How do you know them?’
Sam picks a nail out of a plastic bin and measures it against his thumb. ‘Ace is my dentist.’
‘Ace is a dentist? Seriously?’
‘Yep. His name’s actually Adrian.’ Sam counts out a dozen nails and drops them into Sophie’s free hand. ‘Thor’s Rupert’s vet. His name is Thornton. Any wonder he calls himself Thor?’
‘He’s a veterinarian?’
Sam grins at her. ‘What? They don’t look like a dentist and a vet?’
‘Not like any I’ve ever met.’
‘One thing I’ve learned here is that it’s best not to judge a book by its cover.’ He points down the aisle and to the left. ‘I need to find the sandpaper.’
‘And you’re all … bikers?’
‘Something wrong with that?’
‘Uh, no. Not really, I guess.’
Sam laughs. ‘People get the wrong idea about bikers. We’re not all Hells Angels. There’s nine of us in all, from Gander all the way to Musgrave Harbour. A couple of ex-military guys, a doctor, a couple of fishermen, a teacher … We just like bikes.’
‘Right,’ Sophie says as she juggles the boxes and screws. ‘Where did you say we’re going now?’
‘To a lighthouse up the coast. The one you can see from Kittiwake on a good day. There’s a great beach out there. You’ll think you’re in Florida.’
***
Sam’s bike bumps along behind the two other motorcycles, following them along the narrow road that snakes through a carpet of purple heather along the crest of a cliff. In the distance a white lighthouse topped with a red beacon squats on a headland beside a small white house.
They park in front of the lighthouse and dismount. Sophie is about to follow Ace and Thor into the lighthouse when Sam takes her hand and pulls her towards a narrow footpath that follows the cliff edge. ‘C’mon, Princess Grace. Nothing to see there, just a lot of stairs up to the beacon. There’s a great view this way. You
can see the beach down towards the west.’
Sophie tugs her hand free. Holding up his hands in surrender, Sam grins. ‘Sorry, I just don’t want you to blow over the edge.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ She peers at the path. ‘It’s not that close to the edge.’
‘Fine. Suit yourself.’ He heads out along the path, following it as it meanders through the heather towards a headland where the cliff thrusts like a blunt thumb into the sea. A curtain of lacy clouds hovers on the horizon, and the sea, under the warm blue sky, is almost turquoise where it puddles into bays at the foot of the cliff.
Sam points to the gulls swooping along the cliff’s edge. ‘See those? The ones with the black tips on their wings? Those are kittiwakes, but they call them tickle-aces here. You know why?’
‘No.’
‘Because they chase after other birds and peck at their tail feathers to make them drop their food. Then they swoop in and steal it. Tickle-ace is the politer version of tickle-ass, which some prefer to call them.’
‘Trust Newfoundlanders to say it like it is.’
When they reach the headland, Sophie joins Sam at the end of the path. A curving stretch of beige sand stretches out along the coast to the west, just as Sam had said. Ahead of them, the long line of the horizon divides the ocean and the sky. Shutting her eyes, she lifts her face towards the sun.
‘You look better.’
She opens her eyes and peers over at Sam. ‘I look better?’
‘Better than you did when I saw you in Gander.’
Sophie grunts. ‘That wasn’t hard. I’d been on the plane for over twenty-four hours.’
‘That’s not what I mean.’
‘What do you mean?’
Sam looks at her, his brown eyes giving nothing away. Bending forward, he kisses her.
Sophie pulls away. Oh shit.
They look at each other, the silence that engulfs them pierced only by the cries of the tickle-aces swooping below the cliff. Then her arms are around his neck, tugging his head down to hers. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her against his body. They kiss, the wind wrapping them in the salt-tinged air. Sweet, hot kisses, as delicious as the blueberries in Florie’s pancakes. Kisses like purple heaven.
Chapter 24
Norwich, England – 14 February 1942
Ellie pulls her wool scarf up over her nose and hurries down Earlham Road past the Gothic spires and turrets of St John’s Cathedral. Glancing behind her, she veers left down a narrow gravel path, past the shuttered gatekeeper’s hut, and down a steep hill lined with neatly trimmed bushes and artfully placed specimen trees. Clumps of fresh green vegetation spring through the earth on the terraced hill, and thrushes swoop amongst the tree branches, oblivious to the cold. At the bottom of the hill, Ellie follows the winding path along the edge of the lawn and awakening flower beds to the Gothic fountain, with its struts and arches dressed in velvet moss.
A figure steps out of the shadows behind the fountain.
Ellie hesitates, crossing her arms and tucking her hands against the warmth of her body. ‘I got your note. I told Fire Officer Williams I had to run over to Curls to get a new typewriter ribbon. I have to get back soon.’
Thomas walks towards her, tall and slender in his khaki wool great coat. He reaches out a gloved hand. ‘I’m glad you came, Ellie Mae.’
Ellie looks at the black leather glove and back at Thomas. ‘What is it, Thomas?’
Thomas drops his arm and sits on the fountain’s low stone wall. Reaching into his coat pocket, he takes out an envelope. ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about you, Ellie Mae,’ he says as he holds out the envelope to her.
Ellie frowns at her name in spidery blue handwriting on the envelope. ‘What’s this?’
‘What day is today, maid?’
‘February fourteenth. Oh, it’s Valentine’s. I’ve been so busy I actually forgot.’
Thomas gestures to the envelope. ‘Well, then, have a look.’
Running her finger under the flap, Ellie tears open the envelope and draws out a postcard. On the front is a picture of a blonde woman kissing a soldier in front of a large red heart. She holds up the card and reads. ‘Cupid is the victor o’er many a heart today. He’s made me love you, sweetest, far more than words can say. One little kiss would be such bliss, oh, don’t refuse me, pray!’
She smiles. ‘That’s very sweet of you. He’s an airman, though.’
‘What do you mean?’
Ellie taps the picture of the soldier. ‘He’s wearing a blue uniform. RAF.’
Thomas frowns at the postcard. ‘Oh, no. Am I stunned, or what?’
Ellie slips the card back into the envelope and tucks it into her coat pocket. She’ll have to hide that from Dottie or she’ll never hear the end of it.
‘I thought you’d forgotten about me. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had, after … after the last time.’
Thomas peers up at a raven cawing and flapping at a red squirrel in the spreading branches of a beech tree. ‘I’ve tried to forget about you, Ellie Mae. I threw myself into buildin’ those pillboxes along the coast. They’ve probably gots twice as many as they wanted. Good luck to any German who lands on the Norfolk coast is all I says. I figured if I tired myself out, I wouldn’t be able to think about you. But as soon as I closed my eyes, you were there, smilin’ at me with your lovely eyes the colour of a stormy sea, and that yellow hair of yours.’
Ellie looks down at her booted feet and knocks her toes together, flexing them in her boots to jolt the sluggish blood back to life. ‘I haven’t seen you for months.’
‘I’ve seen you, though.’
She jerks her head up. ‘What do you mean, you’ve seen me?’
‘At Samson’s a few times. The Lido once.’
‘You did? Why didn’t you ask me to dance?’
‘Because I couldn’t trust myself with you. With George either.’
Ellie runs her tongue over her dry lips. ‘George is a good man.’
‘So you’ve told me a hundred times.’
‘Not a hundred times.’
‘More times than I wished to hear.’
Ellie sits on the ledge beside Thomas. She’s never been to the Plantation Garden in the winter. Not a soul here but the two of them. ‘How did you know about this place? It’s off the beaten track.’
The corner of Thomas’s mouth twitches. ‘I likes to find the hidden corners of places. If you ever come to St John’s, I’ll show you all the secret places there.’
‘Secret places? To entertain the ladies?’
He chuckles. ‘Well, now, that would be sayin’.’
‘So, what am I? Just another girl to chat up?’
Thomas frowns at her, his grey eyes as stormy as the winter sky. ‘Do you wants to know the truth of it, Ellie Mae? You were just that, at the beginning.’
Ellie bolts to her feet. ‘Well, thank you very much! That’s the most insulting thing I’ve ever heard.’
Thomas grabs hold of Ellie’s arm. ‘Please. Sit down. Let me have my say. Then if you wants to send me packin’, I’ll go and I’ll not bother you again.’
Ellie sits down. ‘Fine.’
‘The first time I saw you at Samson’s with your friend Ruthie I thought, now there’s the best-lookin’ girl in Norfolk by a long shot. Just like Betty Grable.’
‘Then you spilt your Coke all over me.’
Thomas scratches his cheek. ‘I was a right idiot. I thought that was the end before I’d even started.’
‘Well, you made up for it at the Christmas dance. I think George was jealous of your jitterbugging. He’s not much of a dancer.’
Thomas taps at the thin film of ice on the surface of the fountain. ‘What is it about George?’ He looks back at her, and his gaze, naked with love, pierces her heart. ‘Because if you loves him, Ellie … well, if you loves him, I’ll just have to work a lot harder to make you love me more.’
Ellie’s heart batters against her chest. ‘George is …
George is …’
‘Do you love him, Ellie Mae? Tell me you love him.’
Ellie stares at Thomas, knowing that this is the end. The end of the life she’s known. The end of the life she thought she was heading for.
‘I—I …’
Then they are kissing, and Thomas’s warm mouth tells her everything she needs to know, everything she wants to know.
‘Does George kiss you like this?’ Thomas says as he covers her face with kisses. ‘Does he see the woman you are? Tell me you love him, Ellie Mae. Tell me.’
Ellie gasps for breath. ‘I love you, Thomas. I love you. Not George. I love you.’
Chapter 25
Tippy’s Tickle – 15 September 2001
‘Sam! Oh, thank God you’re here,’ Ellie calls out to them from the porch at the top of the steps to Kittiwake. ‘Becca’s missing.’
Sam flies up the steps two at a time, Sophie following behind. ‘What do you mean, she’s missing?’
Ellie stands on the porch, rubbing her arms. ‘We were over in the shop with the other Brownies this morning painting that banner. Then Emmy came in looking for lunch.’ Ellie steadies herself against the railing. ‘He suggested he take Becca out to look for partridgeberries since it’s such a lovely day. He took Rupert with them. He came back an hour ago. He was in a terrible state. He said the fairies must have taken her.’
‘What! Good God. Why didn’t you call me?’
‘We’ve been trying. Your phone was off.’
He runs his hand through his hair as he paces the porch. ‘Where’s Emmett?’
‘He’s gone back out past the marshes near the woods looking for her.’ Ellie clears her throat. ‘They were near the brook where we had the picnic on Canada Day. Oh, Sam, he’s beside himself.’
***
‘Becca! Becca, girl! Where you at, maid?’
Emmett stamps through the brush, heedless of the jabbing needles of the twisted larches that scratch at his hands and face. The great black dog gallops ahead, like a bear on the hunt for honey. Emmett flops onto a large moss-covered rock and, taking a handkerchief out of his back pocket, wipes the sweat dripping down his face.
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