Head bent against the blustery March wind Eddie strolled back to the house in Regent’s Park. Confession had sanitized his soul.
A voice from the past intruded on his state of grace. Little sewers need disinfecting. He scowled. Confession didn’t burn as much.
He poured himself a brandy, lit a cigarette and then subsided into a chair. The house was empty of staff today so he could relax. Then his glance fell on Sarah’s bag. Shit! She was supposed to stay in Paris for another week.
Downing his drink he moved into the hall, his ears straining to catch any sound. A soft gurgling laugh floated down to him. ‘I know you’re down there Edward. Come to madam.’
Sarah sounded as high as a kite. He sighed as he mounted the stairs, hoping she wasn’t going to be difficult.
She was clad in a short navy blue uniform, and a Breton hat of the type French schoolgirl’s wore. Her hair was tied in two braids with ribbon bows. Suspenders held up black lisle stockings that left six inches of thigh on show. Her face, unblemished by makeup, looked incredibly young.
Blood rushed to his face and he closed his eyes for a second or two. Bloody hell, had she found out?
No ... it had to be a coincidence, and he wouldn’t let it rattle him. ‘Why aren’t you in Paris?’
She pouted, one finger hooked over her lip, little girl fashion. ‘Don’t be cross with me, teacher.’
He swallowed and took a grip of himself, but his glance kept going to her stockings. ‘Are you expecting someone, Sarah?’
She nodded, childlike. He eyes were shyly provocative as she walked towards him. Her pupils were tiny black dots an innocent blue. ‘I’m expecting you, sir.’ And her eyes went to the came on the bed.’ He held his breath when she bent over the back of a pint velvet chair. ‘Shall I stay like this, teacher?’
There was a surge inside his pants, making a mockery of his recent confession. Anger flooded him. The bitch must never be allowed to have power over him. Taking up the came he bent it over his knee and snapped it in half, throwing the pieces in a corner. ‘You’re trash, Sarah.’
‘And you’re fired,’ she snarled.
He grinned, enjoying this moment of domination. He’d amassed enough information on her to keep the tabloids busy for years. Now was the time to cash in on it. ‘Let’s get one thing straight. I know too much about you, and have the evidence to back it up. You might decide to offer me a substantial raise in salary after you’ve seen it.’
Turning his back on her outraged face he left her to think about it. From now on Sarah Wyman would dance to his tune.
* * * *
To look at him one wouldn’t imagine that John Smith had once worked for Scotland Yard. Of medium height, Smith had thinning brown hair and a face so ordinary it was instantly forgettable. Charles Wyman smiled to himself. The only extraordinary thing about the man was his name – the standard for anonymity.
‘Edward Renfrew,’ the investigator said in a dry voice. Born 1923 in Kent. Only child of Joseph and Agnes Renfrew. The father trained for the priesthood before his married. Both parents are deceased. Renfrew had a catholic school education. Conscripted into the army in 1941. Spent the duration of the war in the paymaster’s office in. Honorable discharge. After demob he took a position in a bank in Bournemouth.’
He sent as assessing look over his papers, then looked his client in the eyes, mouth pursed wryly. ‘I had no idea I was going to be so long-winded. There is more of the same, and nothing out of the ordinary unless you consider the age of his first wife, and her subsequent death. You have already have the information on the tragic circumstances surrounding it. Renfrew has no convictions, prior to, or since taking up the position with your wife’s secretary. One item of interest you should note. Four months ago he received a substantial raise in his salary.’
Charles nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr. Smith. You needn’t read it all out.’
The investigator slid the papers into a manila folder, placed them on the table and opened his briefcase. His astute brown eyes met those of Charles. ‘Sarah Wyman is more ... interesting.’
Charles sighed. ‘Continue, please, if you would.’
‘Because of her frequent trips I’ve concentrated my investigation of her in Paris, though I’ve including a comprehensive list of her social and business interests as well. I really think you should study my report in private. Most of it is based on hearsay, and is of a sensitive nature. If you wish to proceed with the investigation I could provide you with evidence, it will just tale a bit longer.’
‘How sordid is it?’
‘I’d prefer not to offer an opinion. ‘John Smith placed the folder on top of the other and rose to his feet. ‘Let me know your decision after you’ve studied it. You have my number.’
And extraordinary man after all, Charles thought – and one he could grow to like. After Smith had gone he opened up his wife’s file and flipped it open. An hour later he opened the safe and distastefully shoved it inside. He felt sick, inside and out.
Shrugging into his jacket he whistled for his dog. He needed some fresh air ... lots of it!
* * * *
Janey had turned thirteen in the winter of 1962.
Now it was summer and the holidays had arrived. Linda was in France with the Brown family. Lazy days on the beach or in the woods beckoned; and time to draw and to play with her baby sister.
‘Sit still for two minutes,’ she grumbled, quickly sketching in Susie’s dark mischievious eyes and springy dark curls. ‘If you’re good I’ll take you to see the new kittens in the barn.’
Pamela laughed. ‘You’ll be lucky. She’s on the go all day, and into everything now. She broke an ornament this morning. I don’t know what your dad will say when he finds out. It was a wedding present from Madam.’
Janey’s smile faded. ‘He isn’t coming down this weekend, is he?’
Pamela shrugged. ‘He might, he hasn’t been home for some time now.’
Eight weeks to be exact. Janey circled Susie in her arms when the child scrambled on her lap, and she kissed her sticky upturned face. ‘You’re a pest Susan Renfrew.’
‘Kitties,’ Susie demanded.
‘Okay.’ Janey stood and marched Suzie to the kitchen. ‘But we wash your face first, else the wasps will gobble you up. There was a short-lived fight with the flannel-yielding Janey. Susie was strapped in her push chair and the pair of them headed out.’
Eyes filled with love, Pamela watched them go. There had been a subtle change in Janey of late. Her face had fined, revealing a delicate bone structure, and her lips had a softer, rounder shape. Her hair had grown long again, and was drawn into a ponytail on the crown of her head. She’d never understood why Janey had hacked it off.
‘She might have been jealous of the baby,’ Ada had said, nodding in agreement with her own wisdom. ‘It was hacked off with no rhyme or reason.’
Yet Janey had never displayed and sign of jealousy. Susie adored her. It was only Linda that Susan hadn’t taken to.
Not that Linda cared. She didn’t care for anybody but herself. Just turned sixteen, she was too aware of herself, aware of the heads that turned her way. She was like Eddie, difficult to live with, especially when she got the monthly curse.
‘Anyone would think she was the only female who had to put up with it,’ Pamela grumbled as she surveyed the mess in the girl’s room. All the fainting and complaining from her got on her nerves.
She quickly gathered up Linda’s scattered clothes, sorting out the clean from the dirty as she did. Her wardrobe was stuffed full, some of it hardly worn.
Eddie catered to Linda’s every whim, whereas poor Janey walked around in cast-offs for most of the time. It was as if Janey didn’t belong to him ...? Pamela thought about that for a while, and then stared at the wall with shock. What if Janey wasn’t his child, could that account for the way he treated her?
She remembered a small leather case Eddie had brought back from London the last time he’d visited. Personal papers, he’d said, and had put the case in the roof space. She’d thought it an odd place to keep personal papers. But hadn’t dared question him.
An hour later she was none the wiser about Janey – but she was wiser about her husband. All those photographs ... and they’d been so young! They were so disgusting they’d made her skin crawl. She shuddered, thankful Eddie didn’t touch her any more. She didn’t think she could bear it now. She slumped in a chair, not knowing what to do about it as she stared at the case. What if one of the girls found them?
After a while she went outside, fetched a spade from the shed and dug a hole at the end of the garden. Wrapping the case in a plastic shopping bag she dropped it in the hole and filled the hole in. She doubted if Eddie would kick up a stink when he found out – he wouldn’t want to admit to them.
Things would be better after a cup of tea, she thought as she walked unsteadily back to the cottage. They always were.
* * * *
He would tell her when she was sixteen.
I’m your father, Janey ... your mother and I loved each other, he’d say.
Jack watched her mix a subtle shade of blue on her palette. She was working on a seascape – a gift for Charles Wyman. She’d known exactly what she’d wanted to paint, and had borrowed his camera to take a photograph of yachts racing out of Bridport and rounding the buoy. They were strung out across the sea, spinnakers blowing in the breeze.
She had a good eye for a scene and color but not much patience for the final details. Tonal colors merged into the other, shadows and shapes making suggestions ... impressionistic. But not quite, her style was unique.
She put the finishing touch to a sail, a shadowy sweep of blue. Then she stood back, her eyes intent and serious. ‘It’s finished.’
‘Are you sure?’
She slanted him a glance, her eyes still absorbed. ‘This is exactly as I wanted it to be.’
No hesitation or doubt, yet her eyes questioned him, invited comment.
‘You’ve forgotten your signature.’
Her laugh was a tiny breathless mortal as she picked up a brush and supplied the small detail. ‘Does it always feel like this when something comes to an end.
‘Like what?’
‘I feel like a boat without a sail.’
* * * *
‘Cast adrift, you mean?’ He remembered Margaret, Janey’s mother. ‘It’s a sort of bereavement, like when somebody you love dies. You have to plan another project to take your mind off it.’
‘Have you ever loved someone who died.’
Jack’s throat constricted. ‘Yes ... someone I loved very much.’
‘And you found something to replace her.’
Tears gathered in his eyes. ‘Someone, but nobody could ever replace her. Eventually she became a memory, and living without her didn’t hurt quite so much.’
Her hand patted his, ‘I’m glad you did. Thank you for the lesson Mr. Gregory. I enjoyed it.’
His tears threatened to spill over as she walked to the door and opened it. His pupil never lingered after the lesson, unconsciously aware of the proper relation between student and teacher. Jack could imagine Pamela Renfrew reminding her every time he came here. Don’t overstay your welcome, and don’t forget to thank him, Janey.
For once, Jack felt like breaking the mould. He followed her on to the porch. ‘Would you mind if I gave you a hug before you leave?’
Her hesitation was as momentary as the surprise in her eyes, then she nodded, allowing him to clasp her in a hug and kiss her forehead in a brief embrace.
She pushed him away almost immediately, and then hurried down the path into the lane beyond, her ponytail swinging. ‘Good night Mr. Gregory, I’ll see you on Friday,’ she called out.
Goldie pressed against his leg and whined. He fondled the dog’s ear. ‘Fetch your leash then. I’ll get the car out and we’ll go for a run on the beach before it gets dark.’
The district nurse was in the garden opposite, watering her plants..
He nodded to her as he backed out. ‘Good evening Mrs.. Adams.’
‘Mr. Gregory.
Her smiled faded as soon as he was out of sight. She’d observed the caress and wondered at it. Janey Renfrew was a strange child in her estimation. She was too quiet, a dreamer, and usually shied away from intimacy – but she was growing into a beautiful girl.
‘John Gregory was a single man, a war hero by all accounts and a loner. Apart from his sister and her husband he had very few visitors. In her experience men like him usually had something to hide.
* * * *
Janey lingered on her way home. The dusk resembled mauve velvet, and breathed moisture against her skin. It was a time of resting after the excitement of the day. Birds returned the their nests and squirrels to their homes on high in the trees.
Then came the turn of the night creatures. Tiny voles, and moles burrowed under the lawns, leaving mounds of earth where they popped their heads up. Owls glided on silent wings to hunt the unwary, and hedgehogs snuffled in the undergrowth.
Moths, white ghost shapes fluttered up from the grass at her feet as she walked, to be snatched from the air by bats swooping in from nowhere.
Only they weren’t really silent, and didn’t come from nowhere. Griff Tyler had told her they gave high-pitched squeaks to help them locate their prey, and to stop them from bumping into things in the dark
The bats inhabited a cave that was hidden inside the hill. Griff had taken her there once. They’d watched to bats emerge at dusk, exploding through a tiny fissure like a handful of black rags thrown into the air.
‘The quiet dusk was broken by something that sounded like a car rolling engineless down a hill, but there was no gleam of headlights and it didn’t come down the lane. She stopped to watch the moon emerge from behind the hill, throwing the pines into stark relief and sending silvery shafts of light through the trunks. It climbed rapidly upwards, bathing her in its glow.
When a twig snapped beyond the hedge she quickened her pace. Pamela didn’t like her being out after dark. She was about to pass the Sutton’s old cow-shed when something clinked against a stone. Tim Brown trying to scare her? Then she remembered he was in France. She gave a squeak of alarm when a shadow moved within a shadow.
‘Phil ...?’ But the shadow was too tall. ‘Griff ... stop trying to scare me.’
There was a low chuckle. Thoroughly spooked now, for it was out of character for either Griff or his father to play such a trick on her, she turned to run.
She’d hardly taken a step when something dusty came down over her head. A hand cut off her scream and her flailing arms were pinned to her side. Helpless, she was dragged into the building and thrown on the floor. As she tried to scramble to her feet something smacked against her head and everything went dark.
Consciousness came, and with it a claustrophobic suffocation. Rough against her face was a hessian sack. Sucking in a deep breath she inhaled dust and began to cough.
There was the taste of blood, and pain – unbearable pain. When she tried to resist, blows against her stomach, her ribs and her face. Then her arm was twisted up behind her back. A moment of unbearable agony made her scream.
‘The torment continued long after, just under the surface of her consciousness. Shadows came to haunt her and she cast herself adrift, riding the dark maelstrom until it became a drift of calm water.
* * * *
Janey woke to a different kind of pain, struggling up from sleep into an astringent smelling brightness.
‘You’re awake then dear.’
She stared at the nurse, bewildered. A hospital, was she sick?
‘Thirsty?’
She nodded, then groan when movement brought pain lancing into her neck.
‘Your shoulder is dislocated. Try not to move so much ... just drink it through the straw ... that’s right ... good girl.’
The liquid trickled sweetly into her mouth and parched throat.
A doctor came to see her. He shone a light into her eyes and asked her questions she couldn’t answer. Her head began to ache. The nurse held her hand and Janey cried during the examination. Humiliated and sore, she wished he’d go away.
Doctor nodded to the nurse. ‘Not much doubt I’m afraid. Her memory of the event might returns when she’s over the shock, but perhaps she’ll be better off if it doesn’t. Keep her in overnight and we’ll arrange for the district nurse to visit her.’
‘The sedative should be working by now so let’s see to that shoulder.’ He gazed down at her, pity in his eyes. ‘This might hurt a little, but try and relax.’
The words were hardly out of his mouth when a sudden excruciating pain made her yelp. The pain receded leaving only a few shreds behind.
‘Got it in one,’ the nurse said, and patted her hand. ‘Cheer up love, you’ll soon be home.’
* * * *
Pamela was awkwardly cheerful as she tucked her up in bed the next afternoon. ‘Your father was very upset to hear about your ... little accident. Thank goodness Griffin and Phil found you.’
Accident ... what accident? The last thing Janey remembered was leaving John Gregory’s house after her painting lesson and the moon climbing out of the pine trees. ‘Was I hit by a car?’
Pamela’s eyes slid away. ‘Most likely dear.’
‘Shortly afterwards her father arrived. He gave her some chocolate and an Enid Blyton annual she’d read three years before, and then seated himself on the end of the bed.
Uncomfortable in his presence Janey traced the pattern on the bedspread with her finger.
‘They’ve caught the man who did this to you. It was John Gregory.’
Shocked, her head jerked up. ‘Mr. Gregory ran me over?’
‘That’s right. There’s a policemen downstairs. He needs to ask you some questions. Make sure you tell the truth about John Gregory, else you’ll be in serious trouble.’
The policeman’s uniform and gruff voice was intimidating. ‘How long have you been taking art lessons with John Gregory?’
Janey couldn’t remember exactly so she gazed mutely at Pamela.
‘Several years ... but privately for just over two. He said she’s very talented.’
The policeman wrote it in his notebook.
‘Mrs.. Adams said John Gregory hugged and kissed you that night. Did he often do that?’
Her father’s grey eyes were intent on her face.
‘Not usually,’ she said reluctantly.
‘Did he ever touch you?’
Her head began to throb. ‘I don’t know ... he sometimes stood behind me and guided my hand with his.’
‘Did he ever tell you he was your father?’
She closed her eyes and wished the policeman would go away. ‘Why should he say something stupid like that?’
Pamela’s hand closed around hers.
‘I’m asking the questions, Miss. Can you tell me what happened last night?’
Tears trickled down her face when she remembered what her father had said. ‘John Gregory did it? I can’t believe –’
‘Leave her alone,’ Pamela snapped. ‘Hasn’t she been through enough. The doctor said she must rest.’
Later, Janey heard her parents arguing.
First came her father. ‘This is your fault for allowing her to roam all over the countryside at night.’
‘And where were you while this was going on? You only married me to have a mother for your children. You’re a rotten father, and I wish I’d never – ‘
Pamela cried out as a slap rang out. ‘You’re my wife and you’ll do what I tell you. If you don’t I’ll take Susan and leave you.’
‘You wouldn’t take Susie from me.’
‘Just try me.’ Footsteps thudded across the floor and the door slammed shut. Seconds later the car roared into life.
Janey waited until the sound of the engine died away, and then rose from her bed and went downstairs. Seated on the threadbare sofa Pamela fearfully cuddled Susie against her. Pamela was weeping, but it was silent and despairing. Experiencing a desperate rage when she saw the red welt on her stepmother’s cheek, she crossed to where she sat and gently touched it. ‘I want you to know that I love you, and I love Susie. I didn’t know how to say it before.’
‘I know Janey ... I know.’ Pamela drew her close. ‘I’ve loved you from the moment I first saw you.’
Pamela wondered where the girl found her strength. Her face was swollen, her arm in a sling, bruises covered her body and she’d been violated in the worst way possible for a young girl. ‘You should be in bed,’ she said gently.
‘What will happen to John Gregory?’
‘I don’t know. I expect he’ll go to prison if he’s convicted. You might have to give evidence.’
‘I can’t remember anything.’ The short, sharp sense of loss she experienced was overtaken by a deep hurt. Why had the man she’d grown to love and trust betrayed her?
‘I wonder is Mr. and Mrs.. Yates have been told,’ was all she could think of to say.
* * * *
The evidence against Jack Bellamy was circumstantial, but it was enough to convict him. On the doctor’s advice Janey was spared the ordeal of a court case.
Witnesses for the prosecution included Noel Chatterton. The lawyer Eddie had sought advice from. He verified the warning letter Eddie had sent to Jack. Mrs.. Adams said her piece with breathless relish. The policeman damned Jack straight away when he flipped open his notebook and read the record of his first interview with Janey.
‘John Gregory did it, the girl said, m’lord.’ He gazed at Jack as he exclaimed accusingly, ‘John Gregory did it?’
‘The fact that Jack had moved to the village to be near Janey, and had concealed his real name, did nothing to help his case.
Two people gave him a character reference, Phil Tyler and Mr. James. After the schoolteacher said Jack was a war hero, and was a bloody fine bloke and an expert painter, the judge commented caustically, ‘So was Adolph Hitler in the eyes of some.’
Jack received a jail sentence.
A week later Mary and Douglas Yates put the boatyard up for sale, then traveled to Winterbrook to close up Canford Cottage.
‘Jack wants me to take him the squirrel painting, even though it was Janey’s statement that convicted him,’ she said bitterly.
‘Don’t fall into the trap of blaming young Janey. Instead, think of what she went through. Someone attacked that poor lass and it was so traumatic she lost her memory of the event. When she made that statement she would have been suffering from shock, and wouldn’t have known what she was saying.’
‘If you ask me that Eddie Renfrew put those words in her mouth.’
‘Be that as it may, Mary, you’ll never be able to prove it. Let it be Mary. Jack’s accepted the fact that he’ll never be able to prove his innocence, and so must you.’
‘Never!’ Mary said fiercely. ‘Janey knows the truth and one day she’ll remember. When she does, she’ll want to clear his name.’
Douglas shrugged. ‘Well, we’ll have to find some way of keeping in touch, and wait, and hope.’
The only person Mary could think of to stay in touch with was Pamela Renfrew. Though reluctant, she was determined to see her before she left.
Leaving Douglas to board up the windows she took Janey’s seascape to Coombe Cottage. Pamela’s old Morris was parked in the drive but nobody answered the door.
Leaving the picture in the porch she wrote on the back of one of Douglas’ cards, Pamela, Please keep in touch, Mary Yates. She thrust it through the letterbox.
Arms folded over her chest, from behind the lace curtains of upstairs window Pamela watched the woman drive away.
* * * *
Six weeks after the trial Eddie Renfrew’s diary went missing from its hiding place.
Noel Chatterton called on him later in the day. He didn’t pull any punches. ‘I understand you have some incriminating photographs, Renfrew. If you hand them over without any fuss Mrs.. Wyman will allow you to resign with a reference, and a handsome pay off.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Amongst other things you’ll be charged with blackmail.’
‘What other things?’
‘Theft to start with; a large amount of cash has gone missing from your employer’s safe.’ His podgy hand hovered over the telephone receiver. ‘If the police are invited to investigate they’ll probably find it in your bank account.’
Eddie took the key to his safety deposit box and jiggled it on his finger. ‘You won’t mind if I check the amount it my account first?’
‘Of course not.’ Noel Chatterton gave a bland smile as he stood. ‘I suggest we visit your bank first, before it closes.’
The amount deposited to his account was generous – but not generous enough. ‘The negatives will cost a little extra, of course, Eddie murmured on the short stroll back across the park.
‘I thought they might.’ Noel slid a sealed envelope from his pocket. ‘This is for the extras. The negotiation is now over. Go and get my client’s package, there’s a good chap. I’ll wait for you here, in the park.’
He seated himself on the nearest bench.
Eddie was back within half an hour and they exchanged envelopes. Noel Chatterton compared photographs, and then shoved the envelope in his pocket. He relieved Eddie of his house keys. ‘You’ll find your suitcases in your car, and your car parked in Grosvenor Street. By the way ... you have a month in which to vacate your cottage.’
‘Toffee-nosed bastard,’ Eddie snarled. Ripping open the envelope he began to count the money. He didn’t see two men closing on his before it was too late. As he shot to his feet a fist in the stomach caused him to double over, and a boot caught him in the ribs. He was dragged behind some bushes and tried to cover his head with his hands as they set about him ...
A little while later, when Eddie managed to gather his wits together, he staggered to his feet. He’d been robbed, but at least they hadn’t broken any bones. Staggering to the water fountain he splashed water over his face and in his mouth, spitting it into the grass.
‘Don’t think you’ve got away with that,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve got copies of those photographs.’
* * * *
Half an hour earlier Pamela had returned from shopping to find the cottage in a shambles. There was nothing missing, so she didn’t call the police, though she had a good idea of what the intruders were looking for.
So when Eddie arrived home in a foul temper and told her to start packing, she wasn’t surprised. What did surprise her was the pleasure she experienced at seeing him so bruised and battered. A pity they hadn’t killed him, she thought, hiding a smile as she added insult to injury by telling him about the cottage being ransacked.
His face fell and his eyes became frantic.
She could have told him not to bother checking the roof space, but she didn’t. She enjoyed listening to him curse and scrambling around in the dust.
‘Later, when he found some excuse to hit her, it didn’t seem to hurt quite so much.’
* * * *
The news that they were leaving Winterbrook affected them in different ways.
Linda was excited because the Brown family had recently sold their property to a land development company that intended to build retirement bungalows in the area.
‘They’ve bought a house in Branksome Chine,’ Linda told her father. ‘It’s got six bedrooms and two bathrooms. It’s only a short walk to the sea. Wendy said it’s heaps better than the house they live in now. She’s bragging madly about it.’
‘The one we’re moving into is just as big, but it’s on the cliff top in Bournemouth and overlooks the sea. It used to belong to your mother’s family, and we used to live there when you were little. Can you remember it?’
And odd little expression crossed Linda’s face and she hesitated ... then she shook her head slightly and said, ‘Not really. Wendy’s going to change schools. Can I go to the same one as her.’
When Eddie looked dubious, she pleaded, ‘You won’t have to pay boarding fees if I do, and I’ll be able to see you more often. Besides, the nuns are a bore and the uniform is a drag.’
‘Janey won’t have to change schools, she can hop on a bus,’ Pamela said brightly, but neither of them were listening. She was sorry to be leaving the village, and the thought of seeing Eddie every day made her feel sorrier still. She just had to reconcile herself to the fact that she had no money of her own and had Susie to look after.
Janey didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. Since her accident people had changed in a subtle, but unsettling manner. It was nothing she could put her finger on. They seemed to stare at her in the village and when she smiled at them they avoided her eyes. Sometimes the customers in the village shop would fall quite when she entered.
Annie Sutton had made a new best friend at school. Janey thought it might be because she’d won both the English and Arts award at prize-giving, when Annie didn’t win anything.
Mr. Wyman hadn’t changed, though he looked sad when she’d gone to the big house to say goodbye. He’d made her promise to write, and to visit him when she’d finished school and was properly grown up. He’d had her seascape framed, and it hung on his dining room wall.
Brenda hugged her tight and handed her a box of handkerchief with her initial embroidered on the corner. ‘We’ll miss you.’
Phil was in his shed, his back towards her. He was sharpening the curved blade of a scythe with a flat stone held in his palm. It keened along the blade with a thin metallic zinging noise that set her teeth on edge. She watched him work in a smooth fluid motion, waiting until he finished because she didn’t want to startle him into cutting himself.
Spitting on his thumb he ran it along the edge then gave a satisfied whistle as he hung the tool on a hook. Without turning round he said, ‘You’ll be leaving then, young Janey?’
‘I’ve come to say goodbye.’
He poured tea from a flask into two cups. ‘You won’t forget old Phil while you still have my memory in your head, I reckon.’
She suddenly felt miserable, and tears pricked her eyes as she sipped her tea. ‘Why do things have to change?’
‘You know why, Janey. Life is a journey.’
‘But what if you don’t want to go on a journey? What if you want things to stay exactly as they are?’
‘Is that what you want, Janey ... never to learn or experience life? Sometimes we have to move on so we can find ourselves.’ His eyes were on her, dark and intense, and filled with the mystery of the woods and the earth. ‘We all have our journey’s to take.’
‘I’m scared,’ she admitted, for she could always talk over her fears with Phil. ‘Sometimes I think I belong to this place, but then I’m not sure.’
He gave a glimmer of a smile. ‘This place will still be here when you are sure. Griff says you won’t be going for good, so saying goodbye is a waste of words.’ He jerked a thumb towards the bench. ‘He’s made you something to remember us by.’
It was a small wooden disk with a carving on, and attached to a leather thong. She ran a finger over the carved relief. It looked like a lion with wings and had the head of an eagle. ‘What is it?’
‘A mythological called a Griffin.’ Phil took it from her hands and tied it around her neck. ‘It will give you strength and courage in the years that come. Griff’s mother named him after it because she knew she wouldn’t be around to raise him.’
‘Did she die?’
‘She had a heart problem, though we didn’t know it until she was carrying our child. She went quick and easy not long after he was born.’
‘I’m glad you had Griff to love.’
‘It was a rare gift she left behind.’ He reached out a calloused hand and ruffled her hair. ‘Off you go now Janey. I’ll be seeing you.’
She knew she should go back home but the woodland beckoned to her. Autumn had come in a hurry and was now in its dying stage. The glorious colors had faded to brown and the trees were nearly bare. Leaves piled on leaves, decomposing, pressed into the earth by rain. The brooked choked on them and the air of decay depressed her.
She walked through it, making her way to the top of the hill where she gazed out over the sea. Here the sea was tangy with salt, alive with the pull of the tide. She laid on the ground and spread her arms, hugging the earth to her body.
‘I’m leaving.’
The ground was as cold as the wind on her face.
Feeling stupid and angry she scrambled to her feet. What had she expected, that the earth would talk to her, make everything as it was? That was kid’s stuff.
Yet as she walked back home the certainty grew in her. She did belong ... she always had. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to leave. She had a journey to take, and the sooner she started the sooner she’d return.
The wind changed direction as she passed the big house, pressing eagerly against her back. It sent the cockerel on the weather vane quivering towards the west.
She smiled.