Storm Rising

by Rachael Richey

  “So, Gideon,” she said, smiling at their guest, “where are you planning to go first?”

  Gideon turned to face her and took a sip of his coffee.

  “I shall go to see my parents first,” he said. “They’ve got a house in the New Forest—it’s quite secluded, so hopefully I won’t get bombarded by the paparazzi too much. I’ve warned Mum I’m on the way, and Dad’s coming to fetch me from the airport.” He paused and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Sonia could detect the anguish in his soul. “Then I shall go to Newbury. I need to see her. To lay the ghosts.” He looked at his friends for support. “You do see why, don’t you? I’ve got to stop the dreams.”

  Sonia reached over and patted his hand. “Of course we do, Gideon. I really think this is something you need to do.” She glanced at her husband, who was nodding in agreement. “Unless you can find out why she left you, you’ll never be able to get on with your life. You shouldn’t really have left it ten years, you know,” she added gently.

  Gideon flicked back his hair and scowled. “Oh, god, don’t I know it!” He slapped his hand on his leg in frustration. “But I got so caught up in things, and I was hurting so much to start with, that I found it impossible.” With a glance at Kurt and Sonia, he continued, “But I have to do something now. I’m not sure why, but something’s pulling me to her again.”

  Kurt stood up and put his hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing,” he said in his Southern drawl. “Now I’m gonna take over from Brett for a bit. See you later.” And he sloped off towards the cockpit, coffee cup in hand.

  Sonia moved over to the seat opposite Gideon and once more curled her feet up under her. She smiled her wide, engaging smile and brushed her hair back from her face. “I’ve got a good feeling about this, Gid,” she said with a decisive nod. “I reckon things’ll turn out well for you.”

  Gideon raised an eyebrow. “Maybe,” he said bleakly, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. “We’ll see.”

  ****

  By the time Abi finally set off for home, it was nearly two o’clock. She had dawdled at Judy’s until eleven, not able to tear herself away, and then, having collected her luggage from the hotel, she popped in to see her father. This proved a rather more lengthy business than she’d anticipated, because he insisted she stay for lunch, and foisted some more boxes on her to take home and sort out for him. Abi had protested mildly, but Arthur had been insistent, suggesting that bringing them back when she had been through them would give her an excuse to visit him. She didn’t have the heart to deny him, but she still refused his offer of a front door key, and she still couldn’t bring herself to offer him the hospitality of her own home. He’d never been to her cottage, and for the time being she wanted to keep it as her safe haven, away from all reminders of her past.

  She glanced wryly at the box on the seat beside her, realising she was in fact taking much of her past back home with her. The rest of the stuff her father had given her consisted of another cardboard box, apparently full of photograph albums and old newspapers, and a locked black metal tin, about the size of a box file, for which there was no key. Abi had remonstrated with her father over the wisdom of her taking the locked tin home, but he was firm about not wanting to prise it open himself and most insistent that Abi should take it. She couldn’t help wondering why. Did he know what was in it?

  As she approached Bristol on the M4, Abi encountered the first of the Friday night rush-hour traffic, and by the time she finally made it onto the M5 heading south towards Exeter, it was almost four o’clock, and the sun had sunk nearly down to the horizon. As she sped down the motorway, Abi watched as the golden orb disappeared from sight and the darkness began to creep in.

  By Exeter it was completely dark, and her eyes were beginning to get tired. She pulled into the services and stopped just long enough to grab a burger and a Coke to keep herself awake, then got back onto the road again, joining the A30 just past Exeter, the road which would take her all the way home. She was excited to be going back to her cottage by the sea, but at the same time she felt much more vulnerable than usual and really wished Judy had been able to come back with her. With a little persuasion she had managed to get her friend to agree to come down the next weekend, when they would be able to have a really good chat. Shell-shocked by the events of the past couple of days, she still badly needed someone to talk to.

  The stars were beginning to come out in the clear night sky as she crossed Dartmoor, and by the time she reached Bodmin Moor, the moon had risen behind her and was shining directly in through her rear window. The lights from Jamaica Inn looked welcoming as Abi sped past, but she resisted the temptation to stop for a drink and carried on towards her destination. She had texted her neighbour Chris earlier in the day and was hoping he would have been able to pop in and put the heating on for her. The thought of the cosy little cottage awaiting her return spurred her on for the final leg of her journey, and soon she was passing through Penzance and on the road to Sennen.

  As Abi approached the little village and saw the sign for the primary school at the top of the hill, she got a little tingle of excitement in her stomach. She could just make out the shape of the little row of four cottages on the cliff top overlooking the bay, and even though she had lived in the tiny cottage on the end of the terrace for over four years now, it still had the same effect on her. A light was shining from a downstairs window, a sure sign that Chris had been in to put on the heating. Abi grinned. She could already taste the toastie she was going to make, and the wine she was hoping she’d left in the fridge.

  As she turned into the narrow driveway at the front of the cottage, the clock on the dashboard clicked onto seven o’clock, and she was greeted by the excited barking of her two rough collies, Lilt and Flora.

  ****

  At the same moment Abi arrived home, Gideon’s plane touched down on the tarmac at Southampton Airport. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and yawned. The flight had been uneventful and rather boring despite the company of his friends, and he was glad to have arrived. He was hoping his father was already there to meet him so he didn’t have to hang around avoiding the press. He stood up and heaved his luggage down from the overhead locker. He had invited Kurt and Sonia to stay at his parents’ place for the night, but they had politely declined, saying they had booked into the Harbour Hotel on Southampton waterfront. He thanked them profusely for their help, then walked down the steps and headed for customs.

  As he approached the long low building, he saw a familiar figure, tall and thin, silhouetted in the window. Gideon raised his hand to his father and received an acknowledging wave. He smiled to himself. It was good to be home.

  ****

  Simon lay on the bed in his hotel room with the blinds lowered against the afternoon sun. He had spent the day alternating between avoiding the paparazzi and attempting to contact Gideon. He had left dozens of messages, both voice and text, but had had no reply. He strongly suspected his friend was on his way to England, and he had kept a close eye on the news in case Gideon was spotted arriving at an airport in Britain. Simon sat up and ran a hand through his hair. He was wearing the same clothes as the day before, and he hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep since Gideon’s shocking announcement.

  He got off the bed and went into the bathroom to get a glass of water. Throwing two Advil into his mouth in the hope of banishing his thunderous headache, he swallowed them down with the tepid water, then walked over to the closet and pulled out his well-travelled canvas sports bag. He heaved it onto the bed and carefully unzipped a pocket on the inside. Thrusting in his hand, he drew out a small bundle of letters, then tossed the bag onto the floor, sat back on the bed, and picked up the first envelope.

  It was addressed to Gideon in a childish hand, with an English stamp and a postmark of July 1995. Simon’s hand tightened on the envelope, and he closed his eyes. This was the reason why Gideon must not meet up with Abi again. She had
written him ten letters in all, over the six-month period from July ’95 to January ’96, via the record company. They had eventually been passed on to the band, albeit somewhat tardily, and Simon had concealed their existence from Gideon.

  He knew Gideon had written dozens of letters to Abi, so he assumed these had been sent in reply, but he had always balked at actually reading them, feeling the extent of his deceit had gone far enough. Now Gideon planned to seek her out, and Simon realised he was about to be found out. The only thing that had always puzzled him was the fact that Abi had stopped sending the letters when she did, when he knew Gideon continued to write to her until the summer of ’96. For the first time, he wondered if perhaps she had not received Gideon’s letters.

  He held the earliest letter up to the light. The envelope was a thick vellum and completely opaque. Impatiently he tapped it on his hand, his mind in a whirl. Surely if he opened just one, to see if she’d been receiving Gideon’s letters, he would not be making things any worse? He had already committed the sin of withholding them from Gideon and therefore being the cause of his break-up with Abi. All for the good of the band, he continued to tell himself, although now, ten years on, he wasn’t sure his motives had been quite so altruistic as he had thought at the time.

  With a sudden decisive movement, Simon slid his chubby finger under the flap of the envelope and peeled it open. He slipped out the single sheet of good quality notepaper and unfolded it carefully. He began to read and discovered in the first sentence that Abi had not received any correspondence from Gideon at that time. He narrowed his eyes speculatively and looked down at the page again. As he read, his eyes widened and his tongue slipped out and hastily moistened his lips. Tiny beads of sweat began to appear on his forehead, and he leaned back heavily on the pillows.

  He sat up again and dropped the letter on the bed, scrabbling through the small pile for the last one Abi had sent. This was dated mid-January ’96, and he took a deep breath before he tore it open. Once again the envelope contained only a single sheet of paper, this time roughly torn from a reporter’s notepad. It had just a few words scrawled on it, ending with “…so this will be the last time I write to you. I think I know now that you’ve moved on and I must learn to do the same. All my love for ever, Abi.”

  Simon screwed the page into a tiny ball and clutched it tightly in his hand. The sweat was now pouring down his face, and he was breathing heavily. He finally realised the enormity of what he’d done, and that there was nothing he could do that would right that wrong. He had to stop Gideon from meeting Abi again, at all costs.

  Chapter 10

  Saturday, 19th November 2005

  The following morning Abi awoke to the sound of the dogs barking and someone hammering on her back door. Muttering an oath under her breath, she rolled out of bed and staggered over to the window. As usual, the spectacular view made her catch her breath, even on such an overcast and gloomy day. She opened the small leaded window with a loud creak and peered down into the back yard. A young man dressed in tight faded jeans, a gleaming white T-shirt, and a black denim jacket was standing at the door looking back up at her. He grinned and pushed his floppy blond hair out of his eyes.

  “Morning, darlin’,” he said, stepping backwards so as not to crane his neck too much. “What you doing still in bed?”

  Abi leaned dangerously far out of the window.

  “What time is it, then?” she asked sleepily, rubbing her hand across her eyes.

  “Half past nine, you sleepyhead,” came the reply. “Now, let me in, and I’ll make you some breakfast.”

  Unable to resist the offer, Abi slammed the window shut, shrugged on her dressing-gown, and padded barefoot down the stairs. The tiny living room still held the remains of her last night’s supper, and the dogs appeared to have made a good job of licking the last of the toast crumbs off her abandoned plate.

  “Bad Lilt, naughty Flora!” she scolded mildly as she drew back the bolts on the heavy wooden door. “Come on in then, Chris,” she said standing back to admit her young neighbour.

  He ducked his head to avoid the low beams and gave her a quick hug.

  “Glad you’re back, Abs.” He squeezed past her and made himself at home in her tiny kitchen. “Place has seemed very quiet without you.”

  While she watched, he filled the kettle, assembled the wherewithal to make tea, and popped some bread into the toaster. Abi wandered into the living room, curled up on the nearest chair, and tucked her chilly feet beneath her.

  “To what do I owe this pleasure?” she asked, stroking her two dogs. “I assume you’ve got news, if you’ve got me out of bed this early on a Saturday.”

  Chris looked pained and carried on with his culinary efforts.

  “Abi, you malign me,” he said in an aggrieved tone. “Perhaps I just want to spend some time with my best friend.”

  Abi raised an eyebrow and looked unconvinced. The living room was beginning to smell badly of dog, so she struggled to her feet and padded across to the back door to let the animals out into her tiny garden. They bounded out into the dreary early morning and began chasing each other around the muddy lawn. Abi grinned at them and closed the door, then gazed around the room and sighed. God, she was messy! Reluctantly she bent to gather up the various items of clothing she had left scattered the night before, drew back the curtains, and finally plumped up the cushions. She had just flopped back down into a deep, well-stuffed armchair when Chris appeared from the kitchen and plonked a steaming cup of tea and a plate of golden toast dripping with melted butter on the coffee table in front of her.

  She smiled up at him. “Thanks, you’re a gem,” she said and blew him a kiss.

  He winked at her and, taking his own tea and toast, sat down in the chair opposite.

  “So, what gives?” he asked between munches. “How was the funeral? As awful as you thought?”

  Abi shrugged. “Pretty shitty,” she replied with a nod. “I kinda made up with my dad a bit, though.” She paused and bit her lip, thoughtful for a moment.

  Chris glanced over at her. “Something happen?” he asked perceptively.

  Abi screwed up her nose and wriggled a bit in her chair.

  “Yeah, something,” she said. “Something to do with my past, that’s all. I helped Dad clear out the attic a bit”—she hesitated—“and I found some old photos. Brought back a lot of memories, actually, not all of them good.”

  Chris watched her from under his long lashes.

  “Can I see the photos?” he asked. “I bet you were sweet as a kid.”

  Abi snorted. “Probably, but these were just from ten years ago. I certainly wasn’t very sweet then! At least that’s what everyone told me. I suspect I was a nightmare, to tell you the truth.” She fell silent and bit savagely into a piece of toast.

  Chris watched her for a moment, then finished his tea, sat back in his chair, and crossed his legs.

  “You’re right, of course, I have got news,” he said with a small smile. “George is back.”

  Abi looked up in surprise. “What, your George?” she asked.

  Chris nodded. “Yeah. Not back with me, but back in the village. He came up to see me two days ago.” He watched Abi’s reaction, his eyes gleaming.

  She wiped some butter off her chin and surveyed him closely.

  “Well, don’t you go and do anything silly, like letting him back to live with you,” she warned in a big-sisterly way. “You know he can’t be trusted.”

  Chris grinned at her. “I know.” He sighed, adding with satisfaction, “In fact, I’ve been teasing him that I’ve got someone else. He didn’t like that.”

  “Be careful.” Abi frowned at him. “He’ll have you wrapped around his little finger again. He’s not good for you.” She finished her tea and replaced the mug on the table, adding with a wry chuckle, “Not that I’ve any right to give relationship advice.”

  Chris looked at her affectionately and began to clear up the dishes.

  “What are yo
u up to today?” he asked, dumping all the crockery in the sink.

  Abi followed him into the kitchen.

  “Just enjoying being back home,” she said with a small smile. “And going through some more of the stuff from my dad’s attic.”

  Chris looked at her over his shoulder. “Can I see it, or is it all secret?”

  Abi grimaced. “I guess you can see the photos. But there’s some other stuff that’s a bit private. Sorry.”

  He shook his head. “No problem. I don’t want to pry,” he said comfortably, piling the dripping dishes on the draining board, where Abi studiously ignored them.

  “I saw Judy,” she said, after a moment’s silence.

  Chris grinned in delight. “’Bout time,” he said. “How is she?”

  Abi grimaced. “She’s had another baby, and I didn’t know. She’s called it after me—as her middle name.” She grinned at Chris. “And she’s coming to visit next weekend!”

  He grinned back and nodded in satisfaction.

  “About time, too,” he said. “I can’t wait to meet her. Is she bringing her husband?”

  Abi shook her head. “No, just her. She’s leaving the kids with him. And anyway, Robert’s not your type, besides being married to Judy.”

  Chris laughed and finished tidying the kitchen.

  “Only joking, sweetie,” he said with a wink.

  After Chris had gone back home, Abi got dressed in her warmest combat trousers, a stripy jumper, a waterproof jacket, and welly boots, called to the dogs, and set off down to the beach. The wide sweep of Sennen Cove below the village was one of the most beautiful beaches in the country, and as usual Abi got a little thrill of disbelief that she was lucky enough to live there. They scrambled down the steep grassy hill to arrive panting onto the sand dunes.