The Girl by the River (30 page)

Breathing hard, Kate tried to run faster, slipping and sliding across the moonlit snow. She couldn’t let Freddie die. What about her girls? They’d be devastated. A family ruined. A
family without a rock. ‘Why Freddie?’ she agonised. ‘Why should it be him? Please God – please don’t let this happen to us.’ Her own breathing and the pounding
of her heart became painful. Exhausted, Kate fell heavily into the snow, hurting both wrists. She picked herself up, and paused for a moment to get her breath.

A blinding light shone into her face as the beam of a powerful torch swept the field. Voices called out. Kate stood in the snow, trembling, trying not to cry as she saw a miracle happening.
‘Am I dreaming this?’ she said, aloud. The steady crunch of boots in the snow, the torches, the two men carrying a stretcher! And that white van in Lexi’s yard was an
ambulance.

‘Kate!’ Lexi came striding towards her, dressed in a sheepskin coat and woolly hat, a torch in her hand.

‘Oh thank God! Thank God!’ Kate was overwhelmed. ‘Are they here for Freddie?’

‘Yes – we know where he is, Kate – goodness, you’re in a state!’ Lexi said. ‘Were you trying to get help? Is Freddie okay?’

‘No – he’s bad,’ Kate said. ‘Please hurry.’

She heard Jonti barking in the wood. They all hurried up to the place in the fence where Kate had got through.

‘I can’t believe this,’ Kate said. ‘Someone must have found Freddie. Who was it?’

‘Tessa,’ said Lexi. ‘She rang me from London.’

Kate’s eyes rounded. ‘Tessa! But how could she have known that? She’s in London!’

‘Well, she did,’ Lexi said. ‘Apparently she rang home and her granny told her Freddie was missing, and that he was ill. Tessa knew exactly where he was. She said he
couldn’t breathe and she rang 999 – from London! – and organised an ambulance. Then she rang me and told me to expect them and asked if I would guide them up here – she said
he was under the Evergreen Oak. Is he?’

‘Yes – that’s where he is – well, what a blessing. But Lexi – how did Tessa know?’

‘She’s psychic,’ said Lexi bluntly, ‘and you should be proud of her.’

‘Psychic!’ Kate fell silent as she followed Lexi into the wood, tasting the new word in her mind. Psychic. It echoed in the undiscovered realms of her consciousness.

Tessa stood by the fountain in Trafalgar Square. She’d never seen anything like it in her life. The massive jet of water, peppermint white in the morning sun, fascinated
and excited her. She gazed and gazed, and took the last two shots on her precious roll of film in the Brownie Box Camera. Then there were the lions. Awed at the size of them, Tessa had spent a few
of her last pennies on a postcard and a stamp. Her dad had never been to London, and he’d love the postcard. It would inspire him, especially if she wrote him a message on it. Bundled in her
stiffly dried duffle coat, Tessa sat down on a bench and filled the back of the card with her neat writing. She was annoyed when a man came and sat beside her. He smelled of garlic and
aftershave.

‘You’re a pretty girl,’ he said, staring at her. ‘Where are you from?’

Tessa glared at him. ‘Planet earth,’ she said rudely, ‘and I want to be alone.’

‘A lovely girl like you shouldn’t be alone. I will show you London. I can pay for a taxi, and a meal.’

‘No thanks. I said – I want to be alone.’

‘I’ll take good care of you.’

‘Will you GO AWAY and stop pestering me.’

‘Mmm, you are fiery. I like fiery women.’

Tessa snatched up her canvas haversack, stuffed her camera, pen and postcard into it, and marched off, stomping in and out of the pigeons. She sat on a different seat on the other side of the
square and continued writing Freddie’s postcard, but the feeling of sharing wonder had gone.
I hate men
, she thought furiously. Aware that he was still prowling, watching her, Tessa
scanned the buildings around the square, and her eyes found the National Gallery. She popped the postcard in a letterbox, crossed the road and went up the steps.

It was warm and quiet in there, with huge leather seats. Entranced by the enormous paintings, she wandered through the galleries and sat down in front of Giovanni Bellini’s
Agony in the
Garden
. It spoke to her soul. The sunset sky, the rocky landscape, the pain of the lonely figure of Jesus kneeling on a rock.
It’s my life
, Tessa thought,
and that angel in the
clouds – so far away, so small – it’s like the real me – small and far away, but waiting
!

Tessa had chosen to stay in London on that Saturday morning. She even thought of staying there forever. Dropping out of college.

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Faye had said. ‘We haven’t done a term yet. Give it a chance.’

Starlinda had given Faye her train fare back to Bath, and Faye had accepted it grudgingly, and then hitchhiked. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she assured Tessa. ‘You do your own
thing.’ Starlinda had told Tessa she could come back and stay another night. The idea of a whole day to herself in great big beautiful London was intoxicating. So many places she wanted to
see. Big Ben. Westminster Abbey. And the river – always the river. Time alone was precious thinking time. She planned to find a bank and draw out another ten shillings, maybe even a pound, to
tide her over.

But first, she must go in a phone box, armed with a pile of pennies, and find out how her father was. She rang Yeovil Hospital, and was shocked when her mother came to the phone and told her, in
a hushed, flat voice, that Freddie was fighting for his life. ‘Everyone is here, round his bed. Lucy’s here, and Uncle George, and the vicar is on his way,’ Kate said. Then the
pips went, ending the phone call, using the last of Tessa’s coins.

Tessa stayed in the phone box, her hand on the receiver, like a stone statue of a woman weeping in a garden. A bitter flame burned through her heart. ‘Everyone is here –’ Kate
had said.
Except me
, Tessa thought,
me, the troublemaker. No one cares that I’m not there. But Dad would care. Dad would care
.

A shadow darkened the space inside the phone box, and the man who had pestered her was leering at her, his greasy face pressed to the glass.

Tessa shoved the door open and confronted him. ‘Will you PISS OFF and leave me alone,’ she screamed, ‘or I’ll call the police.’

His smell and his laugh followed her as she ran wildly across Trafalgar Square, dodging people, scattering the pigeons, her haversack flying from her shoulder. At the corner, she dashed across
the road with the surge of people crossing when the lights were red. She paused by a man selling newspapers. ‘Which way is the river?’ she asked.

‘Down that street.’

She ran blindly down the street and came to the embankment. The gleam of the water between the trees. The incoming tide. The healing power of this great river which seemed to bring the lost
energy of Earth’s wild places sweeping boldly into London. Even the sky seemed brighter, more silver, over the river. The wind easterly and far away down river was the embryo of a storm, like
a pearl in the womb of the wind.

My dad is dying
, Tessa thought.
Where are you, Dad? Don’t die. Don’t leave me. You’re all I have
.

Annie watched from the window as the Reverend Reminsy got out of his car and walked up the path. She hobbled to the front door and opened it.

‘Mrs Barcussy – I’m going to Yeovil Hospital now to see Freddie. Would you like a lift? I can take you, and bring you back.’

‘But what about the snow?’

‘It’s not too bad, melting a little on the roads now.’

Annie battled with herself. She still had a terror of going out, especially in the snow. She imagined slipping over and breaking her hip the way Gladys had done. ‘Thank you, but ’tis
best if I stay here,’ she said. ‘I can keep the fire burning and look after the house.’

‘Did you know how seriously ill Freddie is?’

‘Kate rang me. She said not to worry.’

‘Well – she’s asked me to come and – and give him a blessing.’

‘A blessing? I hope you don’t mean the last rites, Vicar.’

The Reverend Reminsy hesitated. ‘Where there’s life, there’s hope,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’

‘I won’t come, thank you.’

Annie watched him drive away. Surely Freddie wasn’t that bad? Kate hadn’t been honest with her. Pulling the wool over her eyes as usual! She thought back to Freddie’s
childhood. He’d been ill with bronchitis every winter. The cold weather made him worse, and Annie had spent countless nights sitting with him as he struggled to breathe. With no money to pay
the doctor, she’d used her own remedies. Hot mullein tea. Friars Balsam. Ipecac. Hot flannels and eucalyptus. But, beyond the remedies, Annie had a gift she had almost forgotten.

She went to her special drawer in the rosewood sideboard and opened it. She reached into the back and took out a brown paper bag. Inside was her favourite photograph of Freddie at seven years
old, white-blonde hair, intense, knowing eyes. He wasn’t smiling. Freddie hadn’t smiled a lot, until he met Kate. Annie took out a tiny matinee coat, hand-knitted in pale blue wool.
Freddie had lived in it as a baby for the first year of his life, and Annie could still feel him when she held it.

She sat down by the fire, in Levi’s old chair, and put the photo of Freddie on her lap. She held the little matinee coat close to her heart, and remembered her way of healing. With her
eyes closed, she asked for healing love to flow through the palms of her hands. It came, instantly, glowing with warmth. Her hands felt hot. She imagined how the healing love would look, and it was
a beam of coral-coloured light, coming across the universe from the source of all joy. It was limitless and powerful. She let it flow, the way she used to, and visualised it reaching Freddie as he
lay in hospital. ‘My son is not going to die,’ she affirmed. ‘He’s going to get well.’

Flames flickered white gold and orange, and then a deep crimson as the fire died down. Annie sat for a long time, focused on her prayer. She opened her eyes and gazed at the eastern sky where
the tight pearl of a storm was melting away into patches of blue. She thought suddenly of Tessa, alone in London.

Melting snow gushed down the streets of Yeovil, carving winding torrents through piles of slush. The late afternoon sun was a corn-gold reflection blazing from windows and
dusting the bare elm trees with light. Tessa hurried up the hill towards the hospital, her wet socks squelching in her shoes, the ends of her jeans heavy with water. Her duffle coat was again
sodden wet and so was the coloured braid in her hair.

Not knowing what to expect, she braced herself and walked into the hospital foyer. A tall Christmas tree stood there, with pink and green fairy lights, baubles and toys hanging on it, and a pile
of wrapped presents underneath.

The receptionist didn’t look friendly.

‘You shouldn’t come in here in such wet clothes,’ she said.

‘I just hitchhiked from London.’

‘Hitchhiked?’ The receptionist tutted and looked her up and down. ‘What is it you want?’

‘I want to see my father – Mr Barcussy – where is he?’

‘I’m afraid visiting hour is over. Come back at seven o’clock.’

‘I can’t do that,’ Tessa said desperately. ‘I’ll have nowhere to sleep.’

‘Nowhere to sleep! Oh, you’re homeless are you?’

‘No. I’m an art student. The banks are closed and I haven’t got enough money to phone my family or catch a bus back to Monterose. I hitched from London, I’ve had no
lunch, and I want to see my father – please.’

The receptionist tutted again and rolled her eyes.

‘You must let me,’ Tessa was close to tears and angry. ‘If you don’t, I shall walk through every ward until I find him and you can’t stop me. You’ve no right
to treat me like this when my dad is dying.’

The receptionist sighed and lifted the wooden counter lid to let herself out. ‘Follow me, and I’ll see what I can do.’

She set off huffily in her dry, clean uniform, and Tessa squelched after her with grief and anxiety knotted together in her stomach. Along the corridor were little signs of Christmas, holly and
tinsel and snowmen made of cotton wool. A cardboard Santa pointed the way to the Children’s Ward. They walked on, through smells and sounds, until they reached the Men’s Ward.

‘Wait there.’ The receptionist went into the office marked
Ward Sister
and Tessa could hear her indignant voice. She heard the word ‘hippie’.

‘Leave it with me.’ The ward sister came out in her navy blue uniform. She didn’t look at Tessa’s clothes. She looked at her eyes, kindly, with searching love, and Tessa
felt the anger draining away like the drips on the end of her jeans.

‘I need to see my father. I’ve hitchhiked from London.’

‘You poor girl! Tessa is it?’

‘Yes – how did you know?’

‘He’s been waiting for you, dear. He’s so proud of you! Come with me. We’ll draw the curtains round his bed and you can spend a bit of time with him. He’s very weak
and can’t talk much – so you must do the talking.’

‘Mum said he was fighting for his life,’ Tessa said.

‘He was indeed. But round about midmorning, he started to respond to the treatment. He’s sitting up now and he’s had a bowl of soup. Now take off that wet coat – then you
can hug him – I’ll hang it over the radiator for you.’

‘Thanks.’

Under her coat, Tessa had a turquoise sweater from C&A, and a string of ethnic beads she’d found in a junk shop in Bath.

‘Dad!’ She ran to the bed, and Freddie held out his arms to welcome her, as he’d always done. ‘Oh Dad – I’ve missed you so much.’

Freddie just held her, patting her hair, and whispering, ‘That’s my girl,’ and when they finally pulled away from each other, he said, ‘You look beautiful – like a
beautiful angel.’

‘Dad!’ Tessa was moved, and surprised to see tears on Freddie’s rough red cheeks, running into the stubble around his chin. His eyes looked at her with a raw spiritual hunger.
‘What happened, Dad?’ she asked.

‘They – cut – my lime trees down.’ Freddie hunched forward, gripping her hand, the effort of talking, and the need to cry seemed to be paralysing him. Tessa was alarmed.
She put her arms around his tense shoulders, and held him. It felt weird to be doing what he had done for her so many times. She sensed the hot pain inside him, and remembered how she had healed
Selwyn, how the horse had trusted her and come to her with the burning need to be understood, to be heard, to be given love. So she talked to Freddie in the same way, in the same special voice. The
words didn’t matter. It was the resonance and the love that reached the spirit, like the light in the forest. Those eight haunting notes, still in her mind. She let them sing, and visualised
the light. She saw that years and years of ‘men don’t cry’ had become the dark forest in Freddie’s mind.