Storm Rising

by Rachael Richey

  The tide was almost fully out, and Abi and the dogs raced down to the water’s edge, splashing through the numerous little pools that had remained on the sand when the tide receded. Abi waded out to ankle depth and stood lost in thought, the icy water lapping around her boots. The events of the last few days had left her confused and feeling vulnerable, and she was glad to be back in her own familiar surroundings where she could attempt to come to terms with what had happened. Everywhere she looked she fancied she saw Gideon’s face, sometimes as the fresh-faced teenager she’d fallen in love with and sometimes as the moody, slightly haggard man he’d become. She’d studied his pictures in the papers since the band split and could sense a haunted look in his piercing eyes that tore at her heart.

  She realised she’d been kidding herself all these years, thinking she was over him.

  ****

  “I’m just off to Lyndhurst for a bit. Would you like to come?” Caroline Hawk addressed her son as she pulled on her gloves and picked up her bag.

  Gideon looked up at her from his seat by the fire.

  “Not this time, Mum. I think I’ll just chill out here for a bit,” he said with a smile. “Anyway, I’m trying not to be seen, remember?”

  Caroline snorted. “Yes, and we’re talking about Lyndhurst in November,” she said. “Do you really think anyone there will recognise you? They’re mostly older than your father and I.” And with a brisk wave of her gloved hand, she left the room and headed out to her car.

  Gideon leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him, causing Berwick, the chocolate Labrador who’d been dozing in front of the fire, to shift slightly and whine in his sleep. As he heard his mother’s Range Rover shoot off down the drive, Gideon sighed and leaned forward to toss another log onto the already roaring fire.

  “Don’t waste it, son. It doesn’t grow on trees,” came his father’s voice from the doorway. Used to the corny wit, Gideon groaned and grinned at him over his shoulder.

  “Dad, your jokes get worse,” he stated firmly, reaching down to stroke the sleeping dog.

  Roger Hawk folded his lanky body into the chair opposite his son and smiled at him. “It’s good to have you home, Gideon. But I can’t help thinking there’s more to this than just a social visit.” He raised his dark eyebrows enquiringly. Gideon shrugged, then stared into the glowing embers. Part of him wanted to pour his heart out to his father, but a larger, stronger part insisted he keep it all to himself. Roger watched his son. “You know, her mother died a couple of weeks back,” he said suddenly.

  Gideon’s head shot up, and he turned startled eyes on his father.

  “What?” he said sharply, his brows coming together.

  Roger cocked his head to one side. “Young Abi. Her mother died. Your mother heard it from one of her old friends in Newbury.” He paused. “I’m fairly sure she won’t be shedding many tears.” He glanced at Gideon. “I know your arrival has something to do with Abi. If you don’t want to tell me, then so be it, but I’m here if you want to talk.” He continued to watch his son, his balding head tilted.

  Gideon’s shoulders slumped. “I want to see her, Dad,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving the fire. “I know it’s mad, I know it’s been ten years, but I can’t stop thinking about her.” He paused for a long moment, almost hypnotised by the flickering flames. “I told myself I’d got over her. For years I told myself that, but underneath, something always niggled at me. I had a feeling right from the start that something was wrong.” He turned anguished eyes on his father. “I don’t believe she would’ve deliberately left me like that. No letter, no card, nothing?” He leant forward and put his head in his hands. “We were in love, Dad. Really in love. I was going to marry her when she was older. I know we were both far too young then, but I knew, and I thought…well, I thought she did too.” He paused again and looked up. “No, I know she felt the same. Something must have happened after I left, and I’m sure it was to do with her mother.”

  Roger sat quietly while Gideon spoke, his dark eyes sombre. Only when his son had fallen silent did he speak again. “Your mother tried to see her before we moved, but she was refused admittance.”

  Gideon looked up in surprise. “Mum went to see her? Why would she do that? She barely knew her.”

  Roger smiled a rueful smile. “No, but she liked her, and she knew how much she meant to you. She was surprised when you told us she hadn’t replied to your letters, so she went to see if she’d received them okay.” He shook his head. “Mrs Thomson was extremely rude to her and told her Abi was away. Your mother left our new address with her, but I rather suspect it never reached Abi.” He paused again and chewed on his lip. “Your mother also felt something wasn’t quite right. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she just had a feeling.”

  Gideon got to his feet and began pacing the room.

  “Dad, that’s exactly how I felt when I tried to see her in ’97. You remember on that brief trip home I made that November?” His father nodded. “I was sent away and told she didn’t live there any more. But something else was going on, I’m sure.” He stopped and stared imploringly at his father. “Or is that just wishful thinking on my part? Is it really that she forgot me as soon as I went away and really didn’t want anything to do with me?”

  Roger looked his son in the eye. “Only one way to find out.”

  ****

  Judy was humming to herself as she loaded the dishwasher. She had really enjoyed her time with Abi and was busy planning what she would take with her at the weekend. The revelation that Abi’s mother had concealed the letters from Gideon had actually not been that much of a shock to Judy. In the years since he went away, she had often found herself wondering why he hadn’t written. She was the only one who knew how strong the feelings had been between the two teenagers, and she had been very taken aback when he had failed to contact Abi.

  She paused as she was heaving a large saucepan into the machine. This new information also brought up another issue. In the letters she had read, it was quite clear Gideon had not been receiving letters from Abi, either. Judy knew she had sent at least half a dozen; the first about a month after he left, when she started to worry about not hearing, and the last…the last one had been in January ’96.

  She closed the door of the dishwasher and turned it on. Then she picked up her coffee and carried it into the conservatory, where Sabrina was happily cooing to herself in the playpen and Tommy was building a train track. She curled up in one of the chairs and gazed at them fondly. She was so lucky.

  Before long, her mind went back to the puzzle it had been mulling in the kitchen. She leaned back in the chair and frowned in concentration. So if Gideon had not received Abi’s letters, what did that mean? Could her mother somehow have prevented them from being sent? She dismissed this thought almost as soon as it came into her head. She had watched Abi post those letters herself. Unless Joan Thomson had mugged the postman who emptied the box—and done it each time a letter was sent—then that idea didn’t work.

  She knew Abi had sent the letters to the record company because she didn’t have any other address, but she felt sure they would have passed them on to the band, even if it took a while. She must ask Abi if Gideon mentioned her letters in any of his. Maybe he got them all together much later. She shook her head impatiently. But if he had received them at all he would have realised Abi had not received his letters, and he would have taken action. Judy could remember the content of Abi’s letters like the back of her hand, and there was no way Gideon could, or would, have ignored them.

  So, she thought to herself slowly, if Gideon didn’t receive the letters, there were only two options. One, they were never passed on by the record company, or two, someone else concealed them from him. She was just mulling this information over in her head when the phone rang. She jumped to her feet and sped back into the kitchen to answer it.

  “Hello,” she chirped. “Oh, hi, Mum, you okay?” She carried the receiver b
ack into the conservatory and curled up again in the chair. “Really, that’s nice…Yes, we had a lovely time, thanks, and guess what? I’m going down to Cornwall to stay with her next weekend!” She took a swig of her coffee and a slight frown crossed her face. “What d’you mean? What information? Mum, what are you talking about?” She listened intently for a moment, incredulous. “Are you sure? Mum that’s almost too incredible to take in…Why don’t you come over, and you can tell me more?” She paused again. “Yeah, okay, I’ll see you about one. Love you.” She disconnected the call and thought. If what her mother had just told her turned out to be true… She shook her head in disbelief. How on earth could she tell Abi?

  ****

  Abi had spent the day just relaxing with the dogs, doing a minimum of housework and washing, and checking her work schedule for the coming week. She was a commercial artist and provided the art work for the advertising of a number of local—and national—companies, as well as teaching twice a week at a local primary school and running a night class once a week in Penzance. All these jobs, with the addition of the occasional landscape she sold to tourists in the summer, provided her with a comfortable income and meant she could live her secluded existence with a feeling of security.

  By five o’clock she had done everything she felt she ought to do, and decided to run herself a bubble bath, then settle down for a cosy evening perusing her way through the rest of the letters and photos. She thought she felt strong enough to read them all now, and hoped that after that she would have a better idea of what she should do next. As she started up the stairs to the little bathroom, she passed the strange tin box she’d brought back from her father’s house. She paused for a moment and stared at it, eyes narrowed. She had a very vague feeling she remembered the box from some time in her childhood. After a moment, she shook her head and continued upstairs. Maybe it would come back to her later.

  An hour later, warm, clean, relaxed, and dressed in cosy pyjama bottoms and a bright red sweatshirt, Abi padded downstairs and busied herself lighting the fire. The tiny low-ceilinged living room heated up quickly, and by the time she had the fire roaring the whole house was feeling cosy. She wandered into the kitchen, turned on the oven, and raided the freezer. After a moment she found what she was looking for and pulled out a large cheese-and-tomato pizza.

  Ten minutes later, with a variety of toppings added, it was in the oven, and she had poured herself a glass of wine and was sitting by the fire straightening her hair. The prospect of a lovely comfortable evening in her own home, with good food, good drink, and a lot of memories, was getting more appealing by the minute, so she was slightly annoyed when she heard a sharp tap on her door. Muttering to herself, she struggled to her feet, balanced the straighteners on the hearth, and padded over to the door. She opened it cautiously, prepared to turn away the unexpected visitors, only to discover Chris standing on the doorstep, a hopeful grin on his face and his arms full of goodies.

  Abi rolled her eyes and laughed. “Come on in, then,” she said, opening the door fully. “What’s all this in aid of?”

  He ducked into the room and deposited his armful on the kitchen counter.

  “Thought you needed company tonight,” he said. “We could have a bit of a girly night. I brought wine and pudding.”

  Abi laughed. “You’re incorrigible,” she said. “I’ve got a pizza in the oven. I guess it could serve two, if we have pudding, as well.”

  He grinned at her and poured himself a glass of wine from her open bottle.

  “Help yourself, why don’t you?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

  Chris smirked at her. “You love me, really,” he said squeezing past her and going over to the fire. Abi joined him and continued to straighten her hair.

  They sat together in a companionable silence until the timer on the oven buzzed to say the pizza was ready. Abi went to serve it up while Chris rearranged the furniture to allow them both to sit by the fire and have a table to use.

  By the time they had both had enough to eat and were making good inroads on the wine, it was nearly eight o’clock. Chris glanced over at Abi, who sat on the hearth rug, directly in front of the fire, her arms clasped around her legs and her chin resting on her knees. Her long hair hung forward, concealing her face. He spoke quietly. “Any chance I could look at some of those photos you brought back?” he asked tentatively.

  Abi looked up, considered for a moment, then nodded. “Okay,” she conceded. “Just the photos, though. Not the other stuff.”

  She scrambled to her feet and fetched the two boxes from under the stairs, leaving the metal box where it was for the time being. Dropping them unceremoniously on the hearth rug, she sat down cross-legged beside them, then delved into the original box, felt around under the bundles of letters, and pulled out a photograph album.

  “These are mostly holiday snaps from about fifteen or sixteen years ago,” she said flicking through it before handing it over. “We all look very happy. It’s amazing how a photo can lie.”

  Chris winced at the bitterness in her tone, and began to flick through the album.

  “You were sweet,” he commented, indicating an out-of-focus shot of her riding a fat little pony when she was about ten.

  Abi crawled over to have a look. “Oh, yeah. That was a fun day, actually. I loved that pony,” she said with a slight grin. Suddenly she thrust a slightly wrinkled photo under his nose. “This is me aged fifteen, on my way to our school Christmas dance.”

  Chris sneaked a look at her under his lashes, interested in the alteration in her voice. Her face looked slightly flushed, and she was definitely showing some strong emotion. He held up his hand.

  “If you’d rather I didn’t see these, I don’t mind.”

  She shook her head and rifled through the box again. This time she pulled out the photos from the New Year’s Eve party.

  “There’s Judy, New Year’s Eve ’94. And me and Judy. And me and…my boyfriend.” She looked away and pulled the other box to her.

  Chris studied the photos and frowned.

  “Abi,” he began, “isn’t that Gideon Hawk?” There was no reply, so he looked over at her. She was sitting very still with another pile of loose photos in her hand. Chris crawled across the floor towards her. “Abi?” he asked, stopping next to her.

  She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears. “Yes,” she whispered. “It’s Gideon. Here he is again. On my sixteenth birthday.”

  She held out a photo of her and Gideon sitting on top of a five-barred gate. The wind was blowing their hair, and they were both laughing. “We fell off the gate the moment after Judy took that,” she said with a tearful giggle. “He landed in a huge cow pat!” Pulling a tissue from her sleeve, she blew her nose. “Sorry, Chris. Just caught me unawares, that one,” she said after a moment. “I’d forgotten about that. Not forgotten my birthday, just forgotten the photo. The birthday was great.” She gave a whimsical smile.

  Chapter 11

  Wednesday, 19th April 1995

  “Happy birthday, Abs!” shrieked Sammy down the phone.

  Abi grinned. “Thanks. Are you coming over later?”

  “I can’t,” moaned her friend. “We’re still in Swanage with Granny and Granddad. Won’t be back till Friday. You shouldn’t have your birthday in the Easter hols. We always go away.”

  She sounded so downcast that Abi laughed. “Well, I like the fact that I don’t have to go to school on my sixteenth birthday!” she retorted. “But don’t worry. We can have another celebration when you get back. Thanks for the card. See you at the weekend.”

  She replaced the receiver and went back into the kitchen, where Judy was sitting at the table reading through Abi’s cards.

  “Who on earth is Katerina?” she asked, peering at a signature.

  Abi grimaced. “Oh, some cousin or other. I think she might be Russian,” she said dismissively.

  Judy stared. “You’ve got Russian cousins?” she said in amazement. “You never told me b
efore.”

  Abi shrugged. “Well…I think they’re Russian. Or Polish, or Welsh or something.”

  “Welsh!” shrieked Judy. “Abi, are you crazy? Russia and Wales are nothing alike!” She stared at her friend in astonishment.

  Abi had the grace to giggle. “Oh, I know. I’ve no idea where they’re from. I don’t know why she sends me a card. We’ve never met.” She took the card out of Judy’s hand and put it on the pile. “Now, come on, we need to go. Gideon’s picking us up in ten minutes.” She caught Judy’s hand and pulled her to her feet.

  As the girls sped down the road towards the junction where Gideon had arranged to meet them, Judy gasped, “Are you sure you don’t mind me coming?” as she struggled to keep up.

  Abi shook her head. “’Course not. Got to spend my birthday with my best friend,” she managed between puffs. “Anyway, I told Mum I was going out to lunch with you.”

  Judy snorted. “So I’m just a smokescreen, then?” she said, as they came to a halt at the pre-arranged meeting place. “I thought your mum was okay with you going out with Gideon now?”

  Abi made a face. “She is…sort of. But we’ve seen each other three times this week already, and I was afraid she’d make a fuss. Then we would have had a row, and I would have gone anyway and then got grounded…so I thought it easier to tell her I was going out with you.”

  Judy nodded. “I can see the logic,” she conceded, “but why am I actually here? You only had to tell her I was.”

  Abi looked shocked. “But I wanted you here too,” she said in surprise. “I always spend my birthday with you. This one’s no different.”

  Judy looked at her doubtfully but kept her thoughts to herself.

  At that moment Gideon’s old van appeared around the corner and ground to a juddering halt beside them. Abi ran round to the passenger side and clambered in, Judy just behind her. Abi grinned at Gideon, and he leaned over and kissed her firmly on the lips.