The boys were not hard to find.
In fact, they had forgotten to hide at all, and instead were standing one above the other on the stairs that led up to the pub’s bedrooms, their noses pressed against the window as the storm raged outside, the lightning brightening the sky into blazing day for a few seconds each time it ignited, thunder seemingly rumbling in one continuous roll in the heavens.
‘Monsters,’ Jamie said, apropos of nothing, as he looked out at the sheets of rain driving against the window. ‘Look, Aunty Tam, monsters!’
Tamsyn stood behind them, and saw the huge tree in a neighbouring garden swaying back and forth like a sapling, its thick green leaves trembling as it writhed against the storm. It did look a little bit as if the tree was doing its best to drag up its roots and run away. The wind wasn’t so bad that it could bring down a tree that big, was it, Tamsyn wondered, guessing that if that particular tree came down, quite a considerable amount of it would end up crashing through the window and coming to rest on the spot where the boys were standing. How bad had it got out there? As she watched the weather tearing at the trees and roof tiles, a distinct feeling of unease settled in her stomach. Now she wished she’d paid attention to the weather forecasts on the radio in the taxi – and what was it the driver had said about a super-storm, what did that even mean?
‘Come back into the bar,’ Tamsyn said, taking her nephews’ hands and leading them away from the window. ‘I’ll buy you both a fizzy pop full of sugar that will keep you up all night.’
‘And then will you do some drawing with us?’ Jamie asked. ‘I’ve got my colouring pens.’
‘No,’ Tamsyn said. ‘I never do drawing.’
‘But Mummy said your job is drawing and colouring in,’ Joe said.
‘Did she now?’ Tamsyn found that it was quite hard to argue that point. ‘Well, fine, I will do one drawing. A small one, and then I want you never to bother me again, because you know I don’t like playing with you.’
‘Can it be a drawing of a very fat alien pirate with an orange head?’ Jamie asked.
‘What, you want me to draw a picture of you?’ Tamsyn said, sending the boys into peals of laughter as they ran ahead of her into the bar.
‘Looks like you’re their new favourite aunt,’ Ruan said. Had he been waiting for her to reappear, Tamsyn wondered?
‘No, I am their favourite aunt to annoy, that’s a completely different thing.’ She hovered for a moment, wondering if he was going to say something else, or if she should. Or was he, like she was, thinking of the things they’d said to each other the last time they were together? Things that seemed to make it impossible to say anything now?
None of it seemed to make sense to her – to be back here, back in this place and time, to be standing opposite the person whom she had once felt closest to in all the world, and to be here for his wedding. His wedding to a woman that Tamsyn had only just met. She wasn’t part of Ruan’s life any more, that was the truth of it; she’d written herself out, out of Poldore’s history, on the day that they had stood around Merryn’s empty grave. And there was no way she could undo what had been done. Sue, Eddie, Lucy and the rest, they might still see her as that mischievous, skinny little girl who never stopped doodling, or that angry teenager, always getting into trouble, but that girl was long gone. They say that people never really change, but Tamsyn had transformed herself a long time ago into the sort of person who only ever looks forward, the sort of person who is happy having an affair with a man who will never own up to her in public, the sort of person who, when it comes to it, will always be able to manage alone. And she had begun that change the day after she told her brother it was his fault that Merryn had drowned, that he had driven her to her death. That day changed everything, including her, for ever. Because she’d hurt her brother, and damaged their relationship beyond repair, not because she believed what she said to him. Because of her guilt, guilt she still struggled with.
That was what made it so hard to look him in the eye now.
‘Thank you,’ Ruan said finally, ‘for coming. Alex was pleased that you said yes.’
‘And you?’ Tamsyn asked him. ‘Were you pleased?’
Ruan was silent, his eyes dropping to the floor. ‘I want to put the past behind us, Tam. I’m starting a new life now. I want to be able to move on without any more … regrets. I will try if you will.’
Before Tamsyn could reply, Buoy appeared, soaking wet, leaving a trail of water behind him.
‘Where have you been, Buoy?’ Ruan asked as he shook himself, sending icy droplets cascading in a halo all around him.
Buoy danced, paddling his front paws for a moment, before running towards the exit and then back again, barking. It was a high-pitched, urgent bark, one that meant he wanted a human to pay attention to him.
‘It looks like he’s trying to tell us something,’ Tamsyn said. ‘Maybe some kids have fallen down a mine shaft.’
That wasn’t entirely impossible, since there had been quite a tin-mining industry in the area in the past, and the old shaft had been left up on the moor behind the town.
‘Although the last time he made this much fuss was because Alex and I hadn’t given him any prawn crackers from the Chinese takeaway. He does love a prawn cracker.’
There was a silence between them as the conversation petered out, and the dog continued to run to the door and back again, yelping insistently.
‘Well, I’m going anyway,’ she said. ‘So he can come out with me, and I’ll see if there’s anything he’s trying to tell us. I’m staying at the hotel. Mum’s got my number, so if there’s a fitting or a rehearsal or something I have to be at, tell her and I’ll be there.’
‘Are you going?’ Alex asked her, as she came to join her husband-to-be. ‘And what’s up with Buoy?’
‘I’ll check out whatever it is on my way to the hotel.’ Tamsyn pulled on her coat, which was still soaking. ‘I’m … erm … looking forward to the dress-fitting. It will be so interesting to see what you’ve chosen.’
‘Right, oh God, you will probably hate your dress,’ Alex said, anxiously. ‘I’ve got no idea what suits me. My mother chose everything. And you haven’t met my mother yet. She would give Madonna a run for her money.’
Tamsyn hesitated, and then ever so briefly kissed Alex on the cheek.
‘You would look lovely in sackcloth,’ she told her. ‘And as for the rest of us, it doesn’t matter what we look like. We’re only there to make you look good!’
Alex smiled and unexpectedly hugged her. ‘Buoy was right about you,’ she whispered in her ear.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ Tamsyn said. ‘I’m now going to try and sneak out without my mother noticing, otherwise she is going to try and persuade me to stay with you all, and much as I love my nephews, I’d rather poke my own eyes out with a spoon.’
The door of the Silent Man threatened to fly off its hinges as Tamsyn opened it, Buoy shooting past her legs, though he waited for her on the cobbles, the wind lifting his ears and blowing them across his one good eye. For a moment Tamsyn felt that if she let go of the iron railings that stopped drunk people tumbling down the steep steps, she might very well be swept up in the maelstrom herself and end up somewhere that definitely wouldn’t be Kansas. She could see Buoy barking at her, but couldn’t hear him over the din of the storm. Grabbing her suitcase from the porch, she made her way down the steps and watched as he ran a few steps ahead of her and waited. He seemed to want to go in the same direction as her. Maybe he fancied a nice hotel room and room service too, Tamsyn thought.
Fifteen more minutes of discomfort, she told herself, and that was exactly where she would be. Except Buoy had very different ideas.
The rain was still falling in a constant torrent, rather than in drops, and although it was almost the longest day of the year, and it should still be daylight as it was only just before nine o’clock, the sky was as dark as a starless midnight. Water rushed down the steep streets towards her, cascading down the steps that were the quickest way up to the hotel, flowing over Tamsyn’s feet and around her ankles, its volume increasing with frightening speed.
As she followed Buoy she watched as a plastic recycling box was easily dislodged from its place on a doorstep and set on a new path that would no doubt involve a trip out to sea. She remembered the stream at the top of the hill, the one that ran through the meadows behind the hotel; normally it was barely more than a trickle, often even completely dry during a long summer, but it must have burst its banks by now, and the overflow was finding its own route towards the sea. Tamsyn had never seen anything like it, and she gasped as Buoy slipped into the freezing deluge, sliding down the street a few feet. Catching his collar, she dragged him upright, but he was determined to carry on up the hill. He really must want whatever it was that he’d found up here, near the top of the town.
Shuddering, Tamsyn drew her sopping coat around her for comfort more than the scant protection it offered, instinctively ducking as another flash of lightning briefly illuminated the sky, followed a moment later by the deep rumble of thunder so loud it sounded as if it were ricocheting off the walls of the houses. Ten more minutes, Tamsyn told herself, then a bath and wine, with possibly a soggy dog for a secret room guest.
The wind howled in her ears, tearing at her hair; it seemed to pinch at her cheeks, making her almost want to laugh. Right now she should be sipping something expensive in Club Silencio, dressed in something gorgeous and wearing a pair of shoes that were guaranteed to cripple her. Instead, she felt rather like she should be traversing the plains of Siberia, and that the major threat to her feet came from frostbite, and it was June! Tamsyn made herself smile, because although she didn’t care to recognise the feeling, for the first time in her life she was frightened by the weather.
For the briefest of moments the wind dropped like a stone, and there was a fraction of deep silence, and then came a sound that made Tamsyn stop dead in her tracks and listen. She just caught a snatch of sound, a thin, high howl – no, more of a wail – a sound quite different from the roar of the wind that enveloped them once again. Was it an animal, or something human? Was this what Buoy had been fretting about? Had he heard something trapped and in distress?
Dropping her hood for a moment, so she could hear better, Tamsyn listened. Yes, it was still there, the noise – a cry? Perhaps it was a trapped cat, or a fox caught under a fallen tree. It was definitely the source of Buoy’s distress, as he’d made his way to the gates of the churchyard and was barking at her, taking a few steps into the darkness of the churchyard and then back out again, as if he were as afraid of what he thought was there as much as he wanted Tamsyn to see it. Nevertheless, whatever it was, she found she couldn’t walk away from it: Buoy wouldn’t let her. She had no choice but to investigate.
Tamsyn left her suitcase parked by the wrought-iron gate and walked up the path towards the church. As she made her way into the churchyard, the water was ankle deep, sloshing between her toes. The old cedar that had stood sentinel over so much of her life creaked dangerously, looming towards her in the dark. It was so dark that the shapes of the ancient gravestones could only just be made out, and the steep grassy slopes that led up away from the path, now banks to the fast-flowing river running around her ankles. The lightning cracked against the steeple and, for a split second, Tamsyn saw it. The source of the wail, the reason that Buoy had been so insistent that she look in the churchyard.
Floating towards her on the inches of dirty water that now covered the path entirely was a Moses basket. It was a sight so incredible, and so unexpected, that Tamsyn thought at first that she must have been hallucinating, but then the lightning flared again, revealing the same image, and the dog barking at it, and at the tree that strained against its roots. In the seconds it was illuminated Tamsyn could see the basket was made of woven wicker, with a hood and lined with blankets, blankets that covered up … what? Her heart stopped for a second, her feet slipping from underneath her as she made her way towards the object, the crying now unmistakable. There was a baby, in a Moses basket, out in the cold in the middle of the worst storm that Tamsyn had ever seen, a real-life, actually
alive
baby. And it wasn’t any hallucination; she wasn’t safely tucked up in bed in her room at the hotel dreaming it all. This was real.
Then the creak of the tree became a groan, followed by deafening splintering sounds. Tamsyn just about had time to turn around to see one great branch crashing down towards her, and dived out of the way into the mud as it impacted with the path.
‘Oh my God,’ Tamsyn spoke, but she was unable to hear her own words. Kneeling down in the water, she dragged at a crushed blanket that was now caught under the fallen branch, but she could not free it. ‘Oh my God, oh no.’
Then a damp head butted her, and she found Buoy next to her, a crumpled, sodden Moses basket at his side, and within, a bundle that was wailing inconsolably. Buoy must have snatched the basket out from under the tree just in the nick of time.
‘Oh Buoy, oh God,’ Tamsyn found herself trembling as she carefully took the bundle out of the basket, unwrapping the soaking blankets to find the relatively dry baby at their heart, still warm and yelling with enough gusto to reassure Tamsyn that it had not been out in the storm for very long. Carefully, although her fingers were now numb with cold, she discarded the wet blankets, feeling helpless as the baby’s tiny face contorted in horror at the sudden cold that gripped it. She took the tiny but furious little person and did the only thing she could think of, which was to pull one arm free of her shirt and sweater, wriggle it inside her top and then take hold of the baby against her skin, tucking the child as safely as she could under her clothes. Once there, the baby stopped crying at once, making Tamsyn worry about whether it could breathe, but as she peered down the neck of her sweater she could just about make out the child turning its face towards her skin, perhaps hopeful it might find a source of food there.