скачать книгу бесплатно
‘They’re gyppos, Adam. They don’t like outsiders much.’ David looked around the hall. ‘Where’ve you been anyway?’
‘Just talking to Angela Curtis.’ He tried to make it sound casual, but he didn’t think it worked. ‘I said I’d walk her home anyway, so I better go.’
David grinned and said he would see him later. When he got outside Angela was leaning against the wall beyond the light from the door. ‘I thought you’d got lost.’
‘Sorry, I couldn’t find him.’
She smiled. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
As they started walking towards the road she slipped her hand inside his.
Approaching the end of a long hot August, Castleton and the surrounding country seemed smothered in a sleepy stupor where late in the day nothing much stirred. Cows lay down in the shade of oak trees in the fields and buzzards circled lazily in the thermals high above the fells. Then something happened which abruptly shook the town from its lethargy.
One Saturday afternoon Adam was waiting outside the shop when Angela finished for the day. She wore a band in her hair and a denim skirt that ended mid-thigh. They walked along by the river where she took off her shoes, holding on to his shoulder for balance as she stood on one leg. They followed the path away from the town, past the sawmill and along the edge of Castleton Wood. At one point they passed the gypsy camp on the other side of the river where a woman was hanging washing on a makeshift line and some grubby children were playing with an old bike. The woman stared at them as they passed.
‘I wonder why they live like that,’ Adam mused aloud. ‘Do you think they’re as bad as people think?’
‘My dad doesn’t like them coming into the shop. He thinks the kids will nick anything they can get their hands on. When I was young he used to tell me I should stay away from them because gypsies sometimes stole children.’
‘That’s a bit strong isn’t it?’
She smiled ruefully. ‘It’s true the kids will nick from the shop though. You have to watch them like hawks. Little buggers.’
Half a mile further on there was a bend in the river where a willow tree grew and made a pleasant shady spot to sit. The water was shallow close to the bank where it flowed crystal clear over pebbles and rocks. They sat in the long rye grass that was flecked with splashes of vivid red from the poppies that grew in the field. Angela tilted her face to the sun and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath.
‘I love that smell, don’t you?’
It was the sweet smell of hay from a nearby field from where they could hear the drone of a tractor.
A week ago they had been to the cinema in Brampton and on the way home had taken a shortcut through the graveyard. They had paused under the big oak tree by the south wall and kissed. Adam remembered the feel of her body pressed against his, her quickening breath.
She opened her eyes and caught him watching her. The air seemed suddenly still. He didn’t try to conceal what he felt sure must be evident in his eyes. She leaned towards him and kissed him briefly and then her expression grew serious. She hugged her knees, not looking directly at him.
‘Adam … can I ask you something? Have you ever had sex?’
‘No. Have you?’
She shook her head. ‘Sometimes though, I feel as if I want to. With you I mean. It’s just … I want it to feel right. I want it to be special. Does that sound silly?’
‘No.’
‘There are girls in my class at school who’ve had sex with their boyfriends. They make it sound so casual. I don’t want it to be like that.’
‘Neither do I,’ he said.
She picked a stem of grass and began shredding it. ‘Let’s wait. Can we?’
‘Of course.’ He reached for her hand. ‘As long as you like.’
She smiled and they lay down side by side. He felt closer to her somehow. They linked hands and the warmth of the sun and the drowsy hum of insects lulled them into a languorous daze.
‘This is so beautiful,’ Angela murmured. ‘I don’t think I ever want to live anywhere else.’
‘Never?’ he questioned.
She opened one eye. ‘Why would I?’
‘Don’t you want to travel?’
She thought about that. ‘I suppose so,’ she said at last. ‘I’d like to go to America.’
‘What about somewhere closer? France.’
‘Paris. I’d love to go to Paris. I want to see the Eiffel Tower and all the glamorous shops. And I’d like to go to Italy. But I’d always want to come back here.’
He pondered what she’d said and then abruptly Angela sat up. ‘I’m hot,’ she announced. She stood up and went down to the river’s edge and waded into the water until it reached just below her knees while Adam sat on the bank watching her.
‘What’s it like?’ he asked.
She turned around and grinned. ‘It’s freezing.’
A dragonfly skimmed the surface of the water, and the sun shining through the branches of the willow made shimmering patterns of light. Where the bottom was stony the water was clear, the colours of the stones bright and hard, sandy browns and darker reds, but further out towards the far bank the river grew deep and dark where it was shadowed by overhanging branches. As Angela bent to scoop water in her hand, her long hair fell across her shoulders and as she stood she pushed it back and splashed her face. Adam felt his throat tighten. He wanted to capture this image of her and store it away in his mind, to absorb the detail of the light and the reflections on the water, of a green weeping willow and a girl whom he thought he was falling in love with.
When she came back to sit beside him again, she gestured to the paperback he’d shoved in his back pocket and asked what it was.
‘Cider with Rosie. It’s by someone called Laurie Lee.’ He showed her the cover. ‘It’s about a boy growing up in Gloucestershire before the war.’
‘Is it good?’
‘Yes.’ He started to tell her about it. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chin as he described the sense of another time that the book evoked.
‘Who’s Rosie?’ she asked.
‘A girl.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘She’s nice,’ he said. ‘He thinks about her all the time.’ An insect landed in Angela’s hair, and he reached out and brushed it away. She smiled and then turned to look at the water and for a while neither of them spoke.
It was evening by the time they walked back towards town. The light had grown soft and hazy, turning purple in the dusk. They passed the gypsy camp and heard the sound of voices from behind a caravan. The smell of wood smoke filled the air. Close to town they crossed the water meadow near the now quiet sawmill. On the other side of the river Adam glimpsed two figures in the trees. He stopped.
‘What is it?’ Angela asked when she saw where he was looking.
The figures had gone, however, slipped back among the trees as if they didn’t want to be seen, though not before Adam had formed a fleeting impression of a boy and a girl, the boy tall with thick brown hair, the girl slender and dark. For a moment he was sure it had been David. He was on the verge of saying so, but in the end he didn’t.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Thought I saw something that’s all.’
There had been times over the last few weeks when Adam had seen the gypsy girl in the trees across the river from the sawmill. She appeared to be waiting for somebody and she always hung back in the gloom as if she didn’t want to be seen. When he thought about it he hadn’t seen so much of David lately, though he’d been spending time with Angela so maybe that was it. Besides, if David was seeing the gypsy girl he probably wouldn’t want his dad to know about it, which might explain why he hadn’t said anything. And maybe it hadn’t been David anyway.
But if it was, he wondered as they walked on, had David told Nick?
Two days later, on Monday, the Courier was buzzing with rumours of a big story. For once Findlay turned up and went to the editor’s office where the two men were seen talking for almost an hour. When Findlay finally emerged he disappeared for the rest of the day, but he returned late in the afternoon and spent an hour at his desk hammering at his typewriter. Adam was proofing ads for the following weekend’s edition when Findlay surprised him by appearing at his side.
‘Working late I see, Adam.’
‘I thought I’d just get this done.’
Findlay glanced at the ads. There was something different about him, a kind of gleam in his eye. ‘Where is it you live, Adam? Over Brampton way somewhere isn’t it?’
‘Just outside Castleton.’
‘Aye, I thought it was. Do you know anything about the gypsies that are camping over there?’
‘I’ve seen them,’ Adam said uncertainly.
‘One of them’s gone missing. A girl. She hasnae been seen for a couple of days now. Do you ever talk to any of them?’
‘Nobody does much.’
‘No, I suppose they don’t. They’re not much liked, eh? Still, this wee lassie is a good-looking girl I’ve heard. Mebbe she just met some local lad, eh? And the two of them have eloped.’ He chuckled, but his gaze was penetrating. ‘If you hear anything, will you let me know?’
‘Alright,’ Adam said.
‘Thanks. Anyway, I expect she’ll turn up. Don’t work too late, Adam.’
In the morning the story was all over the front page of the Courier. The missing girl’s name was Meg Coucesco. There was no photograph, but the police had provided an identikit and Adam recognized her as the girl from the disco. He read the story through with growing unease. She was seventeen years old and had last been seen late on Saturday afternoon when she had left the camp alone. She had never returned. There was little detail in the story other than a description of what she’d been wearing, and a statement from the police expressing concern for her safety. A search of local land had been organized for that day involving local police and volunteers, and anyone who had visited the camp over the summer, or who knew the girl, was asked to come forward and speak to the detectives on the case. The final quote was from a unnamed senior officer who said that at this stage the actions they were taking were merely a precaution. There was always the chance that the girl had simply chosen to run away of her own accord.
Adam wondered about that. If the police thought she had run away, why were they conducting a search and asking to speak to anyone who knew her?
At the end of the day he was glad to be alone on the bus, to give him a chance to think. Whenever he’d seen Findlay around the office that day he’d done his best to avoid him, though he wasn’t sure why. He unfolded a copy of the paper he’d brought with him and stared at the picture of the missing girl. It was a good likeness though curiously expressionless, which made him think of the first time he’d seen her from the bus when she’d stared back at him through the window.
He kept thinking about the times he’d seen her near the sawmill and about the two figures he’d glimpsed vanishing among the trees on Saturday. He’d been thinking about it all day.
When he got off the bus Adam went to the sawmill. The saws were quiet and men were packing up or leaving for the day, though Nick was still working in the shed stacking freshly cut planks of pine. He found David outside the tearoom underneath the office and took him aside before he handed him the paper.
‘Have you seen this?’
He watched as David read the headline, his gaze lingering over the identikit picture of the girl. Though he frowned slightly he didn’t react in any other way.
‘The police want to talk to anyone who knows her.’
David regarded him blankly. ‘What of it?’
‘Shouldn’t you talk to them?’
They could hear David’s father talking on the phone through the open door at the top of the stairs. David lowered his voice.
‘Me? Why me?’
‘Well, you talked to her that night at the disco.’
‘Adam, I spoke to her for about a minute. That’s all. I don’t know her.’
Adam experienced a sense of relief. What had he thought anyway? It must have been somebody else he’d seen in the trees with Meg.
Just then Nick came over from the shed. He looked curiously from one to the other. ‘What’s up?’
David handed him the paper and after he’d read the headlines he glanced at David and gave it back. There was something in his expression that Adam couldn’t put his finger on.
‘So?’
The question was directed towards Adam. Suddenly his relief evaporated, though he wasn’t sure why. ‘I’ve seen her a couple of times,’ he said. ‘In the trees across the river. I got the impression she was waiting for someone.’
‘What if she was?’
He didn’t know how to answer. ‘I’m pretty sure I saw her there on Saturday. She was with somebody.’
Nobody spoke. The silence seemed to press down on Adam like a heavy weight.
‘Did you see who it was?’ David asked finally.
There was something faintly challenging about his tone. ‘Not really. I mean I’m not sure. I thought I did, but …’ Adam broke off. He was struck by the way Nick was looking at him. That same old sneer.
‘But what?’ David said.
Something clicked in his brain. All of a sudden he was certain that it was David he’d seen. ‘Nothing.’ Adam met his eye. ‘Nothing, I don’t know who it was.’
The story about the missing girl remained on the front page for the rest of the week. Findlay wrote a feature about the gypsy way of life which delved into the historical roots of Romany travellers and the suspicion and distrust they encountered wherever they went. The evidence that they were involved in petty crime was indisputable but some of the other things gypsies were accused of such as illegal prostitution and gambling, along with many of the more lurid myths like baby stealing, were less common and in some cases had probably never been true.
As the days passed and despite massive searches there was no sign of Meg Coucesco. The Courier reported the police speculation that she had merely run away. Adam read each report with increasing unease. He kept replaying the scene in the yard with David and Nick when he’d felt compelled to deny what he’d seen. Though he asked himself why he’d done it he already knew the answer. It was for the same reason that he hadn’t asked David since then to explain himself. He wanted to show David that he trusted him, that he could be trusted in return, as much as Nick. Even more.
As the days passed he found himself facing a dilemma. He knew he ought to persuade David to go to the police because he must know something about Meg Coucesco’s disappearance. He didn’t believe that David had done anything to hurt her, but the problem was whenever he decided to talk to David he always found Nick around, and anyway as each day went by he became less certain about what he’d seen. Sometimes he thought he had glimpsed David’s face, if only for a moment, and at other times he was sure he hadn’t seen anything more than a tall, indistinct shape. The fact that David seemed completely normal and utterly untroubled only added to his self-doubt. David, in fact, took little interest in the story.
One evening he questioned Angela about what she remembered. ‘When we were out by the river on Saturday, did you see anything in the trees across from the sawmill?’
She looked mystified. ‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Anything. I thought I saw somebody.’
‘You didn’t say anything. Who was it?’
‘I don’t know. It was probably nothing.’
The day afterwards at work he caught Findlay watching him thoughtfully and when he had to deliver some copy to the pub where Findlay was again ensconced, the reporter took it without even a glance and gestured to a chair.
‘Why don’t you sit down, Adam?’
He wanted to refuse but didn’t see how he could. Findlay lit a cigarette and studied him through a haze of smoke.
