After both eating two huge slices of an amazing chocolate fudge cake, they get their stuff together. The old man is back now, sitting at the bar and watching them. He puts one foot on the ground and looks like he might stand up and come over to them. But then he shakes his head and sits back on the stool again, turning away. They wave goodbye then head up the road the woman mentioned, crossing a small bridge. It’s freezing so Amber bunches her hands up in her heavily insulated gloves, the joints of her bad hand aching.
They reach a farm and walk up a stone track. Icy trees bend over them, providing some shelter from the cold winds. Amber feels something land on her cheek and glances up.
‘Great, more snow,’ she says. It’s light though, falling in slow and carefree circles towards them. But Amber has a feeling it will grow heavier. She quickens her step as they head uphill, Lumin too clearly thinking the same. Amber thinks about stopping to take photos. It’s truly beautiful with the peaks of the mountain in the distance and the ice-laced fields surrounding them, a hint of the loch below. But she doesn’t want to be stuck up there in three feet of snow.
The track trails off into icy fields and Amber pauses a moment. ‘Have we gone the right way? There’s no wall any more.’
But Lumin isn’t listening. Instead, she’s staring ahead at a sheet of ice.
‘The waterfall,’ she says.
‘Waterfall? It doesn’t look like a waterfall.’ Then it dawns on Amber. ‘It’s frozen!’
Lumin nods, a wide smile on her face as she strides up the field towards a wooden bridge. She’s so fast, Amber has to jog to keep up with her. As she draws closer to the frozen waterfall, her mouth drops open. She’s never seen a waterfall like this before, let alone one that’s frozen in time. The once falling water has turned into a hazy sheet of silver-white, droplets of water now snow-encrusted stalactites around it. It feels to Amber as though she is watching a film that has paused, the once gushing motion of water completely still. The loch is frozen too, the water that once erupted in spurts from the impact of the waterfall now frozen into a cloud of ice. The air is eerily quiet, as though the animals, usually so used to the constant sound of the waterfall, have been muted in shock at its absence.
The hairs on the back of Amber’s neck stand up. It’s really quite something. Lumin must feel the same too as she is frozen to the spot, staring up at the silver stream with wide eyes.
‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’
Lumin nods. ‘I – I think I was here once before, when the waterfall was frozen like this.’ She squeezes her eyes shut and crouches down, thinking. Then she looks up at Amber. ‘I think – I think I was watching someone climb it. Is that even possible?’
‘Maybe if you had a pickaxe handy,’ Amber replies.
Lumin closes her eyes again, putting her hand to her temple as she focuses on her memories. ‘Not just one man climbing it, but two. Both with dark hair.’ She opens her eyes again. ‘Dark hair like the man I had a nightmare about.’
Amber goes to Lumin and puts her arm around her shoulders. ‘Don’t dwell on that dream too much. Dreams are weird. I dreamt I married Gordon Brown once.’
But Lumin doesn’t look convinced. And Amber can’t help but wonder if there is some truth in her dream, a memory resurfacing just as one is now.
‘Look, why don’t we take a drive around the loch?’ she says. ‘Let’s try to find the lodge you drew. If the waterfall is real then the lodge must be real too.’
By the time they return to their car, the snow is coming down even harder, quickly blanketing the ground and turning their surroundings into a symphony of white. Lumin looks frustrated, kicking at the snow with the Dr Martens Amber had lent her. Amber feels her frustration too. The more it snows, the more chance their quest will be delayed. But at least they are at the loch now.
‘The hotel I booked for us isn’t far,’ Amber says, opening the car door for Lumin. ‘We’ll circle the loch then head back to the hotel to wait the heavy snow out.’
Lumin nods, quiet.
The car starts, no problem, the snow tyres squeaking over the newly laid snow.
‘Keep your eyes peeled,’ Amber says as they set off around the loch. ‘And shout if you recognise anything.’
But after twenty minutes of driving, they have seen nothing, just more snow and icy trees.
‘There’s nothing like the lodge around here,’ Lumin says, her hands balling in frustration. ‘There’s nothing much at all, really. And the snow’s getting heavier,’ she adds, watching as the windscreen wipers battle to keep up with the snowfall. ‘We should head back before we get stuck.’
Amber wants to say no, that they shouldn’t give up. But she knows Lumin is right. She can feel the car beginning to struggle with the blanket of fresh snow on the ground, even with her special tyres. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ she says.
Lumin sighs and sinks lower into her seat, crossing her arms as she glares out of the window. Amber imagines Katy acting the same at this age and her heart aches for her daughter. She’d loved the snow. Amber had had to suppress the fear she felt when she saw Katy out in it the first time, kicking it up with her little legs.
Jasper had sensed Amber’s fear and come to her, taking her gloved hand in his. ‘She’ll be fine. We won’t let her out of our sight.’
He was always so good. He always seemed to know when Amber was scared or worried. Like when she had nightmares, ambushed by memories of losing her fingers and the sight of her bandaged hand after. The horror she felt in her little mind that they were gone for ever. She remembers her aunt crying in a corner of the hospital room, hand to her mouth. ‘Oh God, oh God.’ It had hit her hard, like she blamed herself for it, which was ridiculous. But then Viv always felt her sister’s pain so keenly.
Amber lets the memory dissipate as she looks around for somewhere to do a U-turn. The road is so narrow and the surfaces getting so icy, she doesn’t want to risk doing a three-point turn in case another car appears. The sooner they can get to the hotel, the better. It would be awful to be stuck out here in the snow with Lumin. She’d feel so guilty.
As she drives further up the main road, she notices a turning, off to their right. There’s a gate across it with a sign hanging off it reading Private Property. Amber turns into it, trying to see through the blinding snow.
‘Wait! Stop!’ Lumin says, voice breathless with excitement.
Amber puts her foot on the brake. ‘What?’
‘Look!’ Lumin points down the road. Amber follows her gaze to see a large house in the distance, its walls charred, its roof fallen though.
‘There it is,’ Amber says. ‘The house you drew.’
‘Or what remains of it,’ Lumin replies.
Chapter Eighteen
Gwyneth
Druridge Bay
2 October 1996
Polar bears are the top predators in the Arctic marine regions. But despite this, their young can be vulnerable to other predators such as arctic foxes and wolves, especially when the mother goes out to hunt, leaving the cubs behind in their den.
I took a deep breath, smoothing down my newly dyed hair as I looked at myself in the mirror. It was silly to care so much about how I looked on Lumin’s first day of school. She’d been the priority, of course; new crisp blouse and pinafore hung up the night before, several painstaking minutes perfecting a plait for her strawberry blonde hair. But as a single mum – the only single mum in the village from what I could gather – I felt extra pressure to look just right when I dropped her off. I’d been warned the school gate could be a minefield and I wanted Lumin to fit right in, which meant I needed to fit right in. Life was easier that way.
‘You look pretty, Mummy.’
I turned to see my beautiful girl standing at the doorway, her book bag clutched nervously in her hands. That intense ache of love I felt for her welled up inside. I pulled her into a hug.
‘So this is it,’ I whispered in her little ear. ‘Your first day at school. I can’t believe how
quickly these years have flashed by. It feels like only yesterday I gave birth to you!’
And it really did. Just under five years since my daughter had come kicking and screaming into the world. I’d given birth to her alone in the hospital near my flat in London. I’d hidden away there throughout my pregnancy, avoiding calls and reading all the books Reg had kept there, trying to adjust my mind to the fact that I was going to be a mother. I thought about telling Dylan. But things had ended with such finality between us, and I couldn’t bear the thought of my child feeling rejected by a parent, as I had ultimately been rejected by mine. Plus, he’d said himself he didn’t want children. So it was just me and Lumin against the world, and I vowed I would love her and be there for her no matter what she did.
But sometimes I’d look at Lumin, at her high cheekbones and the way she already towered above her peers in the village, and I’d think of her father, feeling a pinch of regret. I knew deep down inside it was wrong to deprive Dylan of his right to know of his child. But after she was born, with each month and each year that went past, it got more difficult to even consider tracking him down and telling him. Then there was his family to consider, especially his fearsome mother. They’d never forgive me for keeping one of their own from them. I convinced myself that after everything that had passed, the strange atmosphere and the whispered secrets I’d overheard, maybe it was just better Lumin wasn’t part of that anyway.
It didn’t seem to affect Lumin. She sometimes asked about her father and I told her he lived far away. We were a team, the two of us. Right from the start, we were a tight unit. We didn’t need anyone else who might disappoint us … or be disappointed by us.
I knew I’d need to get back to work after I had her. Throughout my pregnancy I’d lived on the money I’d earned from the Iceland trip, and while the flat was paid off by Reg and was now mine, there was still money to be found for food and everything a child would need once the Iceland money ran out. So I made some calls and finally something came up: a stable part-time filming job for a stock video company run by an old uni friend of Julia’s, Steve. He was based in Northumberland and mined most of his footage from the Druridge Bay area with its stunning nature reserves, which teemed with wildlife. It felt right: far enough away from London to feel like I was making a new start with my daughter. Not too close to the Highlands of Scotland.
I’d been honest from the start, telling Steve I had a newborn. The fact that his wife Tina, now a good friend, was a childminder made him more sympathetic. Eight weeks after I gave birth, Lumin and I moved to the village Steve and Tina lived in, a quaint little town filled with cobbled streets just a short drive from the magnificent Druridge Bay coast. Lumin was looked after by Tina on the three days a week I worked and I got the chance to earn money doing something I loved: shooting rare and beautiful wildlife. Yes, it would eventually be cut up into chunks and farmed out to be used by marketing people for adverts, not the wildlife documentaries I once helped create. But I couldn’t be fussy. I had a child now.
But I’d been feeling a restlessness lately, those old dreams of filming wildlife in abandoned buildings resurfacing. I hoped the consistency of school hours would give me the chance to spend the two spare days I’d have on my hands pursuing it.
‘Right,’ I said to Lumin, glancing at the clock. ‘We better go.’
I saw a flicker of nerves in my daughter’s eyes and my heart went out to her. She was so determined to seem brave and grown up, just as I had when I was young. But sometimes the vulnerability showed through. I squeezed her hand and she looked up at me, a brave smile on her pretty face.
‘Do you remember your first day at school, Mummy?’ she asked as I opened the front door.
I hesitated a moment. I remembered the photos of me standing at the front door of our old cottage, my mother and father proud behind me. They’d kept the photo up for years, surrounded by newer ones, with each school photo that was taken. Would those photos still be up on their walls?
Of course not.
‘I remember being very excited,’ I said to Lumin now as we stepped outside. ‘A bit nervous too.’
‘Did your mummy walk you to school?’
She sometimes asked about my parents … her grandparents. She saw other children in the village with theirs. I’d told her they were dead, just as I told everyone else. That had been difficult. But what else could I do? I didn’t want her wondering why they didn’t want to see her. Of course, I knew there might be more questions as she grew older. But I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.
‘I can’t remember, darling,’ I said now. ‘Oh, look, some other schoolchildren.’ I pointed towards two children walking up the road towards the small primary school.
‘They have the same uniform as me,’ Lumin said, eyes alight as she took in their green jumpers and grey skirts.
‘Of course, you’re part of the same school.’
‘But they’re big girls.’
I smiled down at Lumin. ‘And now you are too.’
She considered it a moment then smiled with pride. ‘I suppose I am now!’
We walked hand-in-hand down the steep cobbled path. We’d moved up from the flat I’d first rented, and were now living in a small terraced house just ten minutes’ walk from the coast where I did most of my filming. It was also a street away from Steve and Tina. I’d lived in the village nearly five years now but still felt like a bit of an outsider. Tina warned me that was the way it was in villages like this; everyone had grown up with each other. So for someone like me to turn up was a bit of a shock to the system. I’d been determined to integrate myself though, for my daughter’s sake, going to the gatherings Steve and Tina arranged as well as the baby and parent classes at the local community centre. But it had been hard; there was still that distance there.
We passed two mothers I’d met at one of those baby and mother classes. Their little girls were holding hands. Clearly they met up outside the class too. I smiled and waved at them, and they waved back. I clutched Lumin’s hand even closer, apprehensive about all the years to come of friendship cliques and dramas. I ached at the thought she might feel rejected. Then I shook my head. She’d be fine. She had my grit in her. I took a deep breath and approached the gates. It was a small school, just twenty in Lumin’s class. I heard Lumin take in a shaky breath and I squeezed her hand. We walked through the gates then into the school, the two teachers we’d met on the ‘settling in day’ waiting with happy smiles.
‘Coats off,’ they said with no-nonsense cheer. ‘Then goodbye to Mummy and Daddy before sitting down.’ My heart fell at the mention of Daddy. All of a sudden I yearned for Dylan to be there, sharing my worries and the excitement at this milestone.
I helped Lumin shrug off her coat. We’d spent the past month practising doing the awkward zip up so the teachers wouldn’t be burdened with the task. Placing the coat on her designated hook, she then took in the small area where children were beginning to sit down, cross-legged. One boy was holding onto his mother, his chubby arms around her waist as he cried. I felt tears prick at my own eyes.
‘It’ll be all right, Mummy,’ Lumin said. ‘It’s only a few hours.’ Funny that she was the one reassuring me.
I smiled and crouched down, crushing her against me. ‘God, I love you.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Sorry, darling,’ I said, sweeping her feathery fringe from her eyes. ‘Have fun, okay.’
She nodded resolutely then gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘I will.’
I watched as she took her place among the other children, sitting quiet and still. They all looked so young, too young to be at school. I suddenly felt the urge to run in and take her away. But she was ready. I knew she was ready.
The fact was, my baby was no longer a baby.
I tried not to think of Lumin too much as I drove towards the coast to do some filming. I knew if I did, I’d just turn back and pluck her out of that class. Instead, I focused on the job ahead. I was meeting Steve to film
some teal ducks. They were migrating south after their breeding season in Iceland and we were in prime spot to capture their flight.
I approached the stretch of icy beach. We’d had some snow the past few days, and half the beach sparkled white with it. But closer to the sea, the sand had won the battle against the ice, and its wet gold contrasted with the strip of white farther inshore.
The area around there used to be made up of coal mines. But the site had been restored and the wildlife was thriving. There were still hints of the coal mines though, with old shafts here and there. That was where I was hoping to head on my two days off at the end of the week while Lumin was at school: a chance to film the wildlife that might have made the shafts their home.
I drew up in the car park next to Steve’s four-by-four. He was waiting for me, a notepad in his hands. He sometimes accompanied me on shoots, taking notes. He was in his fifties with a large belly and dark hair to his shoulders. He was always wearing a T-shirt dedicated to one metal band or another. I remember the first time I met him, I thought he looked like he belonged to a motorcycle club. But he’d never ridden a motorbike in his life. His passion was videos, something he’d got into when filming tours for various rock groups over the years. After he married Tina, they moved from London to the Northumberland coast, leaving his heady days behind and settling down with their three sons.
I liked working with him. In the main, he kept quiet. But when he did talk, it was usually to regale me with some story about his days touring.
‘Already here,’ he said, gesturing towards a flock of teal ducks sweeping across the sky. They were like any normal duck but their colours seemed more pronounced, the emerald green of their wings a beautiful sight against snowy white skies. People often came here to see them on their path from Europe, especially when they gathered in the hundreds as they sometimes did this time of year. It would make good footage for anyone wanting videos of vividly coloured ducks. I’d even seen some footage I’d taken the year before used in a commercial by the Northumberland Tourism Board. Sure, it didn’t elicit the same pride I’d felt when I’d seen the documentaries I’d helped make air on the BBC. But I still enjoyed it, and if it meant I could offer Lumin a secure life, then I was all for it.
The Girl on the Beach: A Heartbreaking Page Turner With a Stunning Twist Page 20
