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‘Perfect,’I sigh. I decide I won’t tell Sketch about my carving skills. I’ll wait until we return from Europe and then I’ll bring him here and surprise him. Maybe we could return every year on our anniversary and add the date of the new year.
I shiver as rain clouds gather in the sky and block out the sun. I don’t have a watch, but it feels like I’ve been alone between the apple trees for so much longer than an hour. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my hands up and down, trying to keep warm. I begin to worry that we’ll miss the ferry. Or worse still, my father will be awake by now and have come looking for me. He doesn’t know where the orchard is, but I still can’t shake the feeling that I’ll find him behind me at any moment. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to stay in the orchard alone, after all.
‘Where are you, Sketch?’ I say, my voice echoing back to me as it bounces off the trees. ‘Where are you?’
A tiny raindrop falls onto the top of my head. And another. And another. I take shelter under the trees and wait as it starts raining heavily. I close my eyes and daydream of France. I must have drifted off to sleep because I open my eyes again to find Bridget standing over me, shaking my shoulders roughly.
‘Wake up, Annie,’ she shouts. ‘Oh, sweet Jesus, please wake up.’
Bridget’s beautiful polka dot dress is tattered and dirty. A murky, brown stain is smeared all down the front. Her usually perfect curls are messy and blown all over her face, and her cheeks are puffy and red from crying.
I’m on my feet before I’m fully awake.
‘What is it?’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’ I recognise the same fear in Bridget’s eyes that was all too familiar in my mother’s gaze over the years. ‘It’s my pa, isn’t it? Has he found my ma? Oh God, this is all my fault. How could I be so selfish?’
Bridget is ghostly white, and she’s shaking so badly I think she’s going to fall over. ‘Hurry Annie, please?’
My eyes wash over Bridget’s dress again. The realisation that the stain on her clothes is blood hits me like a brick over the back of the head.Christ, what has Pa done?
‘Where is Sketch? Is my ma okay?’ I shout, beginning to run, not sure if I’m even going in the right direction.
‘The main road,’ Bridget chokes out. ‘There’s been an accident. A terrible accident. You have to hurry, Annie.’
‘Pa.’ I tremble, imagining my father’s rage when he can’t find me. ‘Has he hurt my ma?’
Salty tears trickle down Bridget’s checks. ‘No, Annie.’ Bridget shakes her head. ‘It’s Sketch. He needs you.’
I beg my legs to run faster, but they wobble and fight against me. I kick off my stupid old shoes and pick up speed. Bridget is right beside me, keeping up with my frantic pace. She takes my hand in hers, and we run together. We stumble often on the uneven ground, but we catch each other, never letting the other fall.
We make it up the winding lane joining the main road in record time. I look down at my feet. They’re bloodied and torn from the sharp stones on the road, but I don’t feel any pain. My whole body is numb with fear.
I come to a sudden stop as we reach the intersection. I can’t put one foot in front of the other any more. I’m frozen. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I don’t want to believe it. Sketch’s car is turned upside down in the ditch, with the wheels in the air like a beetle on its back. I can see the skid marks where the tyres must have fought to grip the road.
My throat burns, and I hear a desperate woman screaming for help. It takes me some time to realise the screaming is coming from me.
I don’t understand. Sketch knows this road like the back of his hand.
Bridget’s fingers claw at her neck and it looks like she might tear her skin clean off. ‘Your Pa was just standing in the middle of the road like a crazy man. Sketch tried to brake. He tried so hard to stop the car, but it was starting to rain. The road was wet. We skidded.’ Bridget stares ahead at the wreck of Sketch’s car and her fear is tangible, the memory clearly playing over in her mind.
I look down at the sparkling diamond on the gold band wrapped around my finger that I’ve only been wearing for a couple of hours and the notion of France slips from my mind like grains of sand through my open hand.
‘Where’s Sketch?’ I shout. ‘Where is he?’ My heard jerks from side to side, searching the empty road that stretches for miles.
Bridget doesn’t answer me.
Why has Bridget come to fetch me and not Sketch? What has my father done to him?
‘Where’s Pa?’ I tremble scanning the wild hedging lining the roadside.
‘He’s gone, Annie. Your father ran – scared, I think.’
‘Pa is never afraid of anything,’ I say. A sinking feeling drags my whole body down as I push out words that don’t want to come. ‘Won’t you tell me where Sketch is?’ I ask again, daring to take baby steps closer to the car.
‘Your Ma’s gone to fetch help. Mr Talbot too. They’ve set out towards town,’ Bridget says. ‘They’ll get help in time, I know they will. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay, won’t it, Annie? It has to be okay.’ The words tumble out of her mouth with such speed and terror I think she might make herself sick.
‘In time for what?’I begin to shake uncontrollably. My teeth chatter and create a horrible sound. Suddenly, I’m so cold; so much colder than I ever was walking to the village without a coat on a winter’s day.
Bridget shakes her head. Her silence taps against my heart like a woodpecker working hard on an old tree. I don’t ask where Sketch is again. I don’t need to. My sinking heart already knows.
