by Jo Watson
23 June, 1948
Dearest Edith,
The world around us doesn’t want us to be together, and I say we should find ourselves our own world, or create a new one, just for us. Because this one is wrong.
If I close my eyes, I can imagine what it would be like. In our world, we’d be able to walk hand-in-hand through the streets together. We could sit on the same bench to feed the pigeons in the park, ride the same bus and be free to love each other. In our world, the sun would always shine (because I know you hate winter), it would always be spring, so that I could pick as many daisies as you want.
In this turbulence that surrounds us, you and I need to find our own special places, little worlds within this one where we can be together, where we write our own laws and live by our own rules . . .
You, me, forever.
My fingers glided over my keyboard as I finished the first letter and then moved on to the next one.
1 July, 1948
I’ve found it. I’ve found the perfect place for us. Under the willow tree on the banks of the river. No one will find us there. It can be our own magical world. Let me know when you can meet me there. I know it’s getting more difficult to sneak out, and I’m sorry things at home with your father have been so trying. I wish I could be there for you and hold you and make it all better. I’ll be waiting for you under the willow tree tonight. I hope you can make it . . .
I stopped typing and looked at the tree again. When I’d first seen it, it had looked like a normal tree: green leaves and bark. Nothing more. But now I knew better. That wasn’t just a tree, it had been their own private universe where they could escape and be themselves. A place where they could shut the world out, a sanctuary for their love to be whatever it wanted to be. It dawned on me . . . the sheer injustice of it all, being told who you were and were not able to love. This place was so special to them. And all this made me want to see that engraving more than ever.
CHAPTER 21
Although it was dark by half past six, I waited another whole hour before I felt ready to act. And so, with a very rumbling stomach (not a full bladder, since I had relieved myself in the bush!), I climbed out of my car at half past seven and closed the door as quietly as possible.
I’d found an old black hoodie on the back seat, and I put it on now and raised the hood over my head. I scuttled across the large, open grassland with the stealth of a black puma. I ducked behind bushes and hid behind trees with the cunning of a leopard on the hunt. I threw myself on the ground and crawled with the grace of a . . . Fuck, no—there was nothing graceful about this at all. In fact, my body was really not made to wiggle on the ground like this.
And soon the tree was very much in my grasp. It was only about twenty meters away and I decided to make a final sprint for it. But, as I did, I almost ran into two jogging women on the path. At the last second, I managed to evade detection by jumping out their way. Unfortunately, this jump also led to a rather uncontrollable roll. A roll down an embankment I hadn’t seen. I tried to stop myself, but gravity was a bitch and the embankment was steep and I’d gained too much momentum and now I was being tossed around like a shoe in a tumble dryer. Around and around and around and then . . . Splash!
“Crap!” I screamed, as I fell into the muddy shallow waters of the river. I tried to get up; the mud squelched beneath my feet and dragged me deeper and deeper into it. “Oh my God!” I waved my arms around frantically to stop myself from falling backwards. I tottered and teetered and grabbed on to the low-hanging branch of a tree to stop myself from losing my balance. But then . . .
Chaos!
A hundred ear-shattering squeaks and squawks!
The gale-force wind of hundreds of birds taking off in panic whipped at my face.
The rain of bird splatter, thick and warm and gooey.
I screamed as the beating of wings grew so loud that I felt like I was standing behind a Boeing 747 that was taking off. I was terrified as the noise surrounded me like a raging hurricane. And then, just as quickly as it had started, it was gone. I looked up. The moon was completely obscured by what seemed to be hundreds of birds flying into the night. My God, I had never seen so many birds together in my entire life. But then, suddenly, the night wasn’t so dark anymore.
It was bright and I couldn’t work out where the light was coming from. It seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once. I was disorientated and stumbled forward again, trying to rub the combination of bird crap and mud from my eyes. I threw myself forward and gripped on to the long grass of the embankment, pulling myself out of the river. And then I heard it. Another noise filled the air. Dogs and shouting and running and . . . what the hell was going on? I finally managed to open my eyes, and, when I did, I froze.
There, surrounding me on all sides, like an army, angry-looking residents were holding torches, and all of them were pointing at me.
“Mommy, it’s a swamp monster!” I heard a child shriek.
“No! No!” I stepped forward and waved my hands at them. “I’m friendly. Not a monster,” I said. Which only seemed to cause more screaming.
“She’s coming for us!” another child yelled, and then another one burst into tears, and suddenly concerned-looking mothers were dragging their children away. Did I really look that bad?
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Someone with a massive torch stepped forward. He was probably the leader of this mob! “Are you aware that this tree is off limits?” he said.
Then someone else spoke. “Are you aware that you have just disturbed the sacred nesting spot of the black-crested night budgie that has migrated all the way from São Tomé and Príncipe.”
“Huh?” That sounded made up, if you ask me.
“It hasn’t nested here in over 200 years, and now it will probably never return, thanks to you!” another angry person shouted.
“And it only lays one egg a year, before plunging to its death in the Strait of Gibraltar.”
“It plunges?” I asked. “Like a lemming?”
“Oh God,” one moaned loudly. “We might never hear their sweet song again.”
“What?!” I stared at these people. They all seemed more concerned that I’d disturbed some nesting birds than the fact I was breaking and entering. This thing sounded totally made up and I decided to challenge them.
“And how do you know they only nested here 200 years ago?” I asked indignantly.
A gasp rose up from the crowd. “Who the hell are you?” the man asked again.
“She must be an eco-terrorist!” shouted one person.
“Wait, wait!” I put my hands in the air again. “I didn’t even know those birds were nesting here. And, let’s be honest, they looked like pigeons, if you ask me.”
At that, more gasps. As if pigeon was a dirty word.
“And, trust me, I am not an eco-terrorist. I don’t know the first thing about the eco-bloody-system.”
“Have you not seen those pictures of the sea—”
“Horses?” I cut her off and sighed. “What’s with all this seahorse talk?” I threw my hands in the air and people began to back away from me as if I was mad.
“I suppose you don’t care about the orangutans either?” someone asked. They sounded as if they were on the verge of tears. Who were these people? Of course I cared about the orangutans, of course I worried about forests and global warming, but I still liked Nutella! Although, I didn’t think I should say that.
I sighed in total resignation. This night was not turning out the way it was supposed to. I looked to my left; the willow tree was right there. Within my grasp, but so far out of reach, what with this mob surrounding me with torches. And then a familiar voice cut through the chatter. I turned and looked, and . . . I was not pleased!
CHAPTER 22
All I saw at first was a large silhouette. The light of tens of torches created a halo around him. He loomed there, like a dark shadow, for a few moments, and then he took a step forward and I shielded my eyes from
the light that rushed towards me as he moved.
“God!” I squinted into the light. Why was he always backlit? Why? Was this some kind of movie? Seriously? No one walked around in real life being backlit. No one but him.
“Becca?” Mike said, and I let out a long, loud sigh, because now I could see all of him. And he was standing there in his uniform, looking hot and sexy, and very much like the man that had left me standing in a parking lot with a pack of condoms in my hand. Non XL!
“What are you doing here?” he asked. He looked as surprised as I felt. As if he’d hoped he would never see me again. I bet I was the last person in this ridiculous town that he wanted to see.
“This woman broke into the estate and she disturbed the nesting birds,” the ringleader yelled.
“I didn’t break in,” I objected loudly.
“Then how did you get in?” the man asked.
“I came to look at a house. An estate agent let me in,” I said defensively.
“You’re looking to buy here?” someone else asked, with an incredulous and somewhat patronizing tone to their voice.
“Yes.”
“Well, as head of the eco committee, I can tell you now that, as someone who has just ruined the natural nesting place of the black-crested night budgie, we would not welcome you here.”
“Oh my God, do you know how made up that sounds?” I asked. “And they were pigeons!”
More gasps, and now I was just feeling very indignant.
“Well, for your information,” I started, “I would not want to live in this shitty, birdy, stuck-up, cow-dung-floored place, anyway. And you know what else? My Porsche uses petrol and the fuel consumption is BAD! I mean, really, really bad. Like, shocking. My fuel consumption is probably responsible for melting at least one ice cap a year.” Okay, maybe that was taking it too far, but the desire to throw it back in their faces was just too great.
Even more gasps. What was with these people and their shocked gasps? They sounded like a recorded sound-effect that was played on sitcoms, like laughter or clapping.
“Okay, okay, everyone, let’s just all calm down.” Mike stepped forward in an authoritative way.
“It’s illegal to trespass! Arrest her!” one of the residents shouted.
“Oh, please,” I said, and chuckled. But then I looked at Mike and stopped chuckling. He raised a rather serious-looking eyebrow at me. Come on. There was no way he was arresting me. For what? Disturbing some birds’ sexy time?
“I’m afraid I am going to have to take you in,” Mike said.
“Take me in!? HA! And now you want to ‘take me in.’ ” I gestured air quotes. “Now you want to commit to something like that. Are you going to use handcuffs?” I teased.
Mike approached me quickly and lowered his voice. “Let’s not do this here; we can talk about that later.”
“Do it here? Oh, if I know anything about you, I don’t think we’ll be ‘doing it’—here or anywhere, actually.” I was really throwing around the old air quotes now.
“That is seriously uncalled for,” he whispered under his breath.
“Is it?” I asked sarcastically. “I could name a few other things that might be considered uncalled for, like—oh, I don’t know—standing someone up in a parking lot with—”
“SHHH! Okay, okay . . .” He turned and looked at everyone. “Nothing to see here, folks. I will deal with this and you can all go back home.” Nobody moved. And then he turned to me and looked very, very serious. “You’re going to have to come with me now, Becca.”
“What? Are you being serious?” It hadn’t really occurred to me that I actually might get arrested over something as silly as trespassing and disturbing a . . . What was it . . . ? Blacky-crested budgie-majiggy!? I put my hands on my hips defiantly.
“Look, we can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way,” he said.
“The hard way?” I mocked. “Interesting that you should mention hard ways.”
“Becccaaa . . .” he hissed. “Please. You’re being very inappropriate.”
He took a step closer and I knew it was now or never. The willow tree was right there and I knew this would be my last, last chance, to see what was engraved on it. And I had to see it! I’d come this far and I was covered in bird shit—I deserved this. I looked at the tree and then looked at him. His eyes widened suspiciously, as if he knew I was up to something. I had to do this very quickly, and then . . .
I bolted. Ran! As fast as I could.
“Becca! Don’t do this!”
But I did do it. In fact, I made it all the way up to the tree. I ducked under its hanging branches and entered into the most magical world. The long leaves hung like soft green curtains, surrounding the largest tree trunk I had ever seen. The light from the torches lit the green curtains up and made them shimmer like emeralds. The breeze blew and every now and then the curtains opened just enough to allow a shaft of light to break through. But there was no time to admire this. I ran up to the trunk and there it was. I could see the engraving. I could almost read it, almost . . .
A symbol.
Two words.
What the hell?
But then I fell to the soft mossy ground as something heavy pulled my feet out from under me. I turned around to see Mike, holding on to my ankles.
“Are you kidding me? Now you want me horizontal? I don’t think so.” I wiggled out of his grasp and threw myself at the tree, but I felt the tackle once more and I was down on the ground again. Flat on my back. From here, I could see a slight opening in the green curtain, and one star peered down at me through the gap in the branches.
“Becca, why are you making me do this?” He sounded so frustrated, I wiggled from his grasp. I must have knocked him over, because suddenly he fell, on top of me. His face was right in front of mine, and his eyes seemed to be pleading with me.
“Please, Becca,” he whispered softly. “This is the last thing I want to be doing, right now. Please, just come quietly.”
I burst out laughing. “Come quietly?” I asked. “Really? Well, you didn’t give me that option last night.”
“Becca,” he said, his eyes coming to rest on mine now.
Suddenly, something happened. His face softened and he leaned in, until our noses were almost touching.
Enclosed in that shimmery green curtain, the world outside seems to disappear . . .
Here, with you, under the willow tree, the world around us vanishes. It melts away into obscurity and it is only you and I, my dearest Edith.
I looked up into his eyes, they seemed to draw me in. I felt sucked in by them somehow, as if I was falling into them, unable to stop. Some magnetic force pulled me deep into him. We leaned towards each other, our noses touching now. I could feel his breath on my lips as he looked deep into my eyes . . .
And then, when I look into your eyes, my love, I know that everything is right again. Just the way it should be. As if looking into your eyes is what can save me. As if looking into them is essential to living, just like breathing.
“Have you got her?” A loud voice snapped us out of the green spell we’d fallen under.
Mike and I looked at each other and suddenly everything felt awkward.
“Sorry . . . I . . .” Mike quickly climbed off me, stood up and dusted himself off.
I climbed to my feet, unable to look him in the eye now, as if something had just happened between us.
“I’ve got her,” he called, and then held out his hand for me to take.
I stared down at it. It was a really nice hand. Big and broad. Long fingers—the kind you wanted intertwined in yours. The kind you wanted to hold on to. Protective hands. I sighed. It was a defeatist sigh; I knew I’d lost this battle. “Fine. Let’s go,” I conceded. My fingers slid between his and, as soon as they did, he gripped my hand tightly, as if he wasn’t going to let it go.
CHAPTER 23
“This isn’t a jail cell,” I said, looking into the room. I’d just arrived at the police st
ation after being put in Mike’s car and driven there. Granted, he’d let me sit in the front seat and had decided against handcuffs and flashing lights, but still. I’d never been in a police car before. I’d never been in this kind of trouble before. But trouble seemed to be my new middle name.
“We turned our holding cell into a storeroom a few years ago; we needed a place to store town records and, believe it or not, we hardly have any criminals here.” He looked at me meaningfully.
I tutted. “You’re not really going to put me in there, are you? I’m not even a real criminal! This has just been a really huge misunderstanding that—”
“Becca.” He cut me off. He looked serious now and, for a moment, my heart jumped into my throat.
Oh God, maybe I was actually in trouble. Maybe I could go to jail. But then I thought about my agent’s face, and my publisher’s face, and his face, and all my readers’ expectant faces, and I realized that jail was way less scary than facing them.
“You trespassed, Becca. You broke into a secure estate, and this wasn’t the first time, either. Yesterday, I caught you trying to climb over the fence, and you lied to me about it. So why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing here in Willow Bay?” He leaned against the wall, waiting for me to speak. He’d crossed his arms and they bulged and strained against the material of his police uniform. I tried not to stare at those ridiculously muscular arms. It was both sexy and amusing, all at the same time; this man was a total cliché—an uber-hot policeman in uniform. Up until this moment, I’d mainly thought such creatures were a myth, an invention created by the minds of romance writers the world over, but he was very much real. Real and hard and big and—God, he smelled nice. Just as he had the night before, when he’d walked me backward, towards my bed, and pushed me down on it.
