Page 4 of Starry Nights over Dragonfly Lake

‘I suppose you don’t need to think about self-defence with muscles like that,’ carried on the woman, staring at him. ‘It’s most annoying actually. I’ve tried to get stronger biceps but they just don’t seem to want to help a girl out.’ She rolled up one baggy arm of her pyjama top to study her upper arm. ‘Apparently the muscles in the human body contract when they receive signals from motor neurons, which are triggered from a part of the cell called the sarcoplasmic reticulum. I think I’ve got that right.’ A crease furrowed her forehead as she frowned to herself. ‘I wonder how I can get my motor neurons to work better for me. Such a shame because tonight I could really have done with punching somebody.’ She looked across at him, as if suddenly remembering that he was sitting next to her on the bed. ‘Not that I’m a particularly violent person, I want you to know. Don’t worry. Oh and I wasn’t talking about punching you, by the way. Someone else entirely.’

Noah wondered if he was still asleep, although the sight of the smooth, creamy skin on her arm made him consider that it might be a particularly enjoyable dream, in any case.

‘Who are you?’ he asked again, in a bewildered tone.

‘Oh! Yes, I suppose introductions are in order.’ She gave him a large smile and held out her hand for him to take. ‘I’m Beth Jones.’

‘Noah Jackson,’ he replied, taking her hand and giving it a firm shake. ‘And do you always make a habit of climbing into bed with strange men in the middle of the night?’

‘Ha!’ She laughed but he could see that it was without humour. ‘My dating life has been full of strange men! But no, this is a first for me. I don’t sleepwalk, in any case. What are you doing here anyway? I was told this room was empty.’

‘I was trying to sleep,’ he told her.

‘Me too,’ she replied, yawning. ‘I’m exhausted. What a night! So are you a guest of the hotel? Because this is the private family quarters and I think you might be in the wrong room. I’m a friend of the family, you see.’

‘I was invited to stay in this room by Walter Jackson,’ Noah told her. ‘He owns Maple Tree Lodge and is my uncle.’

Great-uncle actually, he added to himself, although he wasn’t going to give too much detail to a complete stranger. She mightbe beautiful, chatty and friendly but that didn’t mean that he had to trust her. He didn’t trust anyone.

‘Oh! You’re Walter’s nephew?’ said Beth, her eyes bright and sparkling. ‘He’s just wonderful, isn’t he? So Dotty is your aunt? Wow. That’s great. You know, it’s funny but I don’t think Ben’s ever mentioned having a cousin. Lucky you to have such an amazing family!’

She sounded almost wistful, he thought.

Noah had never considered himself lucky where his family were concerned. His conception, as his mother had been fond of telling him a number of times, had been the result of bad judgement and too much alcohol. His parents had married when she had discovered she was pregnant but it had never been a happy union.

Neither parent had given their son much time or love throughout his childhood. They both felt trapped into a life together that they didn’t want, with a child they hadn’t planned for. His mother had finally given up trying to find her maternal instinct when he had turned five. She had walked out on them both one evening, taking a couple of suitcases with her, and Noah had never heard from her since.

At least his dad had tried to take care of him to some extent. When he remembered that he had a son, that was. Most of the time, they travelled around from town to town, his dad making friends in the many pubs that he frequented, often coming back to whatever place they called home in a drunken mess. Jobs were only ever temporary, as was Noah’s education, such was the number of times they changed addresses. His dad had expensive tastes in socialising which never matched up to the small amount of money he had in his wallet. When he owed too much money to too many people and fights began to break out, they upped sticks andmoved on once more.

When he was old enough, Noah began to take care of himself, if only as a matter of survival when he became too hungry because his dad had forgotten to feed him again. From the age of eight, he had fed himself, done his own laundry and even taken care of his dad when he had been in too drunk a state to look after himself properly.

The neglect had left a lasting legacy on Noah, making him fiercely independent. He had to have been, otherwise he wouldn’t have survived his childhood. Even now, he felt he only just got out unscathed.

Without any qualifications, thanks to intermittent attendance at school, he had had to rely on hard graft to earn a living. Thankfully, he had had one piece of good luck in his life so far. One day soon after he had turned sixteen, and desperate to escape the unhappy life he had been sharing with his father in Sheffield at that time, Noah had had enough. He had stolen just enough money out of his dad’s wallet to buy a one-way coach ticket as far as he could travel. He got out at Penzance, Cornwall, at the very opposite end of the country, and took a deep breath of the fresh salty air, as if it would cleanse him of all the bad memories before then. After walking around the local area for a couple of days, trying to find any kind of employment, he had ended up in a small boatyard one afternoon. One of the handful of men who worked there had eventually ended up taking Noah under his wing and begun to show him the craft of boatmaking and restoring. It was the lucky break that Noah had been dreaming about and from that moment on, he was hooked.

He learnt as much as he could in those early years but was equally amazed and pleased that he appeared to have a gift for both carpentry and boatmaking. Over time, he gradually got a reputation for excellent craftsmanship. There was nothing thathe liked more than repairing a fine wooden boat or yacht and seeing it head back out onto the water when it was finished.

His reputation continued to grow throughout his twenties and soon Noah began to work his way around the country, repairing whichever boats he chose. The majority of his work was on either wooden yachts or classic vintage boats whose owners had been recommended Noah’s fine craftsmanship. He loved his work and moving around meant that he didn’t get close to anyone, just how he liked it.

After Noah had run away, he had only seen his dad a handful of times. His dad had never harboured any resentment towards his son that he had suddenly left home. Noah had always felt that his dad had been almost grateful to be finally relieved of the responsibility. They didn’t celebrate birthdays or Christmas together. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. His dad had continued on the same trajectory as he had always done, never settling anywhere and continuing to make and lose friends as well as money over and over.

So Noah had been surprised to receive a call from his dad two months previously, although shocked to hear that his father was now seriously ill. Noah had rushed up to Manchester to spend those last few days with his dad in hospital before he had finally succumbed to liver failure. Numb with grief, Noah hadn’t expected anyone to show up for the funeral. After all, his father had made few friends over the years and there was hardly any family to inform either. But he had let his Uncle Walter know what had happened to his nephew and Noah had been surprised that both his Uncle Walter and Aunt Dorothy had come to the funeral. After all, they hadn’t been close to his father or himself either.

Noah had only met his great-uncle and -aunt a handful of times growing up. Normally only when hisdad had needed to borrow money whenever things had got too tight. They would stay a night or two in Cranley before swiftly moving on once the loan had been received. Noah remembered Maple Tree Lodge as being a warm and happy family home, something that he knew nothing about.

After the funeral, Noah had talked briefly to his uncle and aunt and had found their kindness touching, at a time when he had felt even more alone than ever.

Walter had told him that there was something for him at the lodge. ‘Something that’s yours by right,’ he had said.

Noah had tried to put it out of his mind. Family was for other people, not him. And yet, the thought that he had something of his father’s to inherit was too alluring for him to stay away.

So he had finally turned up late that evening at Walter’s small cottage in the grounds of the hotel. There had been a power cut, Walter had explained, but there was always a spare room in the family quarters of the hotel. He could stay there and be shown his legacy in the morning.

Not wanting to get involved with any small talk, he had asked for privacy and Walter had given it to him, avoiding the rest of the family who had been gathered in the kitchen, and leading him through what appeared to be a very nicely appointed hotel. Thick carpets underfoot, soft mattresses, flowers and fresh-smelling candles. It smelt like money and luxury, both of which he knew nothing about.

‘The Jacksons aren’t my real family, of course,’ carried on Beth. ‘But I like to think that they’ve adopted me. Aren’t they wonderful? So supportive.’ She yawned. ‘Look, I know it’s all a bit awkward but everyone else has gone to sleep and I’m shattered. Plus I don’t want to wake up the large but terribly friendly dog who’s in the room next door. Apparently there are no other rooms available tonight so this is literally the only option. Do youmind terribly if I just sleep on the floor in here tonight? I’m not a stalker or anything but I’m just so tired.’

‘You want to sleep on the floor?’ he asked, staring at her. She was quite unlike any person he had ever met.