by
Sheila Claydon
Digital ISBN:
EPUB 9781772999075
Kindle 9781772999082
WEB 9781772999099
Amazon Print ISBN: 9781772998207
2nd Edition
Copyright 2013 by Sheila Claydon
Cover art by Michelle Lee Copyright 2013
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Dedication
For The Red Stripe Band which unwittingly triggered this story.
Thank you for the music
Acknowledgments
It is important to get it right when dealing with such sensitive topics as Autism. If I have managed to do this then it is entirely thanks to Lesley Fleming who is passionate about the potential of people with autism and who works tirelessly to make it happen. She read the manuscript of this book several times and her comments and suggestions were invaluable. Through her, Luke came alive. My thanks also to the Riding for the Disabled volunteers who let me watch them at work and, just as importantly, allowed me to make a fuss of their wonderful horses.
“You can’t do that!”
“Watch me,” the man in the yellow fluorescent jacket barely glanced at Jodie as he snapped the heavy padlock shut, closing off access to the bridleway.
Reining in Buckmaster to steady him, she tried to explain. “But you’re not allowed to close it. It’s a public footpath as well as a bridleway, and....”
He interrupted her with a shrug. “I don’t make the rules Miss. I just do what I’m paid to do. You got a problem with that, then talk to the boss.”
“I would if I knew who he was,” she could feel her temper beginning to flare.
The man jerked a thumb over his shoulder as he started to walk away. “Him what’s having the house built.”
Jodie looked in the direction he’d indicated. There was nothing there except a dense tangle of undergrowth and a copse of windblown pines. With an exclamation of annoyance, she wheeled Buckmaster around only to find the workman had disappeared.
“Now what do we do?” she asked the large chestnut gelding who was waiting patiently for his morning gallop. He twitched one ear at the sound of her voice and then skittered sideways as a flurry of leaves blew around his ankles.
She kicked her feet out of the stirrups, slid to the ground, and looped his reins over the gatepost. “Don’t worry gorgeous boy. You’ll still have your ride. I just need to do something first.”
In less than a minute she had climbed over the gate onto a sandy path and forced her way past brambles and weeds to where a derelict building crouched under a gloomy canopy of misshapen trees. With a hiss of pain as a rogue plume of gorse scratched her hand, she retrieved her riding crop from where it had become entangled in a bush, straightened up, and stared at the old farmhouse. It stared right back, its boarded-up windows giving it an air of blank disregard for whatever fate was awaiting it. And fate certainly had plans if the scaffolding piled against the walls was anything to go by.
Picking her way through a scatter of fallen roof tiles, she walked across to where old trees creaked and moaned above fast encroaching undergrowth. It was dark and gloomy and smelled of damp and decay. There was nothing else though. No notices on the door announcing its imminent destruction. No labels on the scaffolding. Not even a phone number she could call.
As she turned to go back to Buckmaster a splash of color caught her eye. Blue paint. The tree nearest to her was circled with a band of blue paint about a meter from the ground. She walked a little further into the wood. There was another one. And another. She lost count before she reached twenty. A lot of trees were going to be felled, but for what?
* * *
Buckmaster gave a welcoming snort when she re-emerged shaking burrs and a couple of small insects from her clothes. She started talking as she walked towards him.
“We’ve work to do Bucky. Someone has bought the old farmhouse and we need to find out who it is. I don’t care what happens to the house, or to the woodland, and neither would you if you could see it. It’s far too spooky for you. You’d do your prancing about, rolling your eyes thing if I took you in there. I do care about the bridleway though. That’s why we have to find out who’s bought it, and go visit them. We need to tell them they can’t lock us out.”
She had clambered over the gate while she was speaking and now she rubbed the white blaze on his forehead. He pushed his nose against her shoulder and blew gently into her ear. She laughed as she seized his reins and with a cursory touch to the stirrup, leapt onto his back.
“I knew you’d see it my way. Now let’s find another route to the beach. You’ve waited quite long enough.”
As she guided Buckmaster around and then paused to check for traffic, a tall man, muffled up in a thick padded jacket and wearing a wool beanie on his head, climbed down from a parked 4 x 4 and walked towards her.
“What’s going on here?” he asked with a frown.
“Someone’s bought the old farmhouse,” Jodie told him. Then, noticing he had a dog sitting in the back of his car, she shook her head.
“You can’t walk your dog down the path anymore. Nobody can. Whoever owns it seems to think it’s okay to close the bridleway, but don’t worry, I intend to find out exactly who it is. I’ll make sure it’s opened up again even if I have to chain myself to the gate.”
Kicking her legs against Buckmaster’s flanks, she trotted off down the lane without waiting for an answer.
The man stared after her in irritation. He didn’t seem to have handled that very well. When he’d asked the girl what was going on he had expected some sort of lame excuse; an embarrassed explanation as to why she was clambering back into the lane over a locked gate. Instead she’d been angry and said something about organizing a protest. Then she’d ridden off without a backward glance. He gave an inward groan. A stroppy teenager threatening to stir up the locals. Just what he needed. He was going to have to get some No Trespassing signs put up as soon as he could.
He walked back to his car and lifted down a very old dog, making sure it had full control of all four paws before he let go.
“Come on Blue. Time to see your new home.”
The dog, a dusty looking black Labrador, wagged its tail, and then waited patiently while its master searched in his pocket for the key to unlock the gate. Then it followed him along the roughly cleared path that Jodie, in her impatience, had missed, until they could both see the house.
“Haven’t any of you heard anything?”
Jodie was sitting at the old wooden table that was the focal point for everyone who worked at the riding school; the place where they left messages for one another, dumped their belongings, or grabbed a mug of coffee when they had a moment to spare. Jodie was drinking coffee now; or rather she was stirring her coffee round and round while she addressed the people in the room in general, and the girl sitting next to her in particular.
“Nothing! Nix! Nada! I already told you,” Carol shook her head in exasperation. “For goodness sake Jodie, don’t get so worked up about it. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding!” Jodie’s voice went up several notches. “How can anyone misunderstand a bridleway? And it’s a public footpath too don’t forget. Understanding that both of them have to be kept open is hardly rocket science.”
“I guess…but it’s still not worth getting into a state about something that can probably be put right by a call to the local council.”
“You reckon?” Jodie didn’t share her assistant manager’s faith in authority. It had let her down too often in the past.
“Yes! And I’ll prove it to you,” Carol reached behind her to where some local telephone directories were stacked on the windowsill, selected the one she wanted, and began to rifle through the pages. A moment later she was punching a series of numbers into her cell phone.
Jodie listened to the ensuing conversation without hope and when, after several minutes, Carol finally cut the call, she gave a resigned shrug.
“Told you.”
“The man I spoke to said they were aware of it,” Carol protested.
‘He didn’t say they were going to do anything about it though, did he?”
“No. Apparently it’s not an official bridleway, or a footpath for that matter. He says the new owner is quite within his legal rights to close it.”
“Even though everyone who lives around here has been using it for years?”
“Yes. The family who used to own the land didn’t care who used it but apparently the new owner does. The man at the council said he values his privacy or something like that.”
“Well guess what? I value my bridleway, and so should you…all of you. So what are we going to do about it?” Her eyes were fierce as she looked around the room.
Before anyone could answer her the door swung open and smacked against the wall with a thud. Five heads swiveled, and then five pairs of eyes opened wide as a gawky teenager wearing a spectacularly ugly school uniform fell into the room.
“Izzie!”
“Sorry folks. Not at all the entrance I was aiming for.” The girl picked herself up with a grin and untangled her feet from the heavy school bag that had tripped her.
Kicking it under the nearest chair she seized Jodie’s mug, swallowed a mouthful of coffee, and helped herself to two oatmeal cookies from a tin that was open on the table. Then, spraying crumbs, she said the one thing destined to gain the attention of everyone in the room.
“Did you know that Marcus Lewis is moving to the village?”
It was several minutes before Jodie could make herself heard over the excited buzz in the room. When she finally did, everyone stared at her in disbelief.
“Who is Marcus Lewis?” she asked.
Coughing over a crumb that had gone down the wrong way, Izzie rolled her eyes and shook her head speechlessly, leaving Carol to answer.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of him,” she pleaded. “He’s a jazz pianist, or at least he used to be. You must remember him. In his heyday he won every award going. I don’t know why he stopped performing but he’s still a huge part of the music scene. He’s written stuff for everyone and he’s composed some fantastic film scores too.”
Jodie shook her head. “I’ve never even heard his name before.”
Then a new thought struck her and she swung back to where Izzie was sitting on the edge of the table, still red in the face from her coughing fit.
“Where is he going to live…this Marcus Lewis?”
“I think he’s bought the old farmhouse down by the beach.”
Jodie seized her arm. “Who told you?”
Izzie stared at her, surprised by her vehemence. “Someone at school. Her Dad’s an estate agent or something. Why are you so bothered when you don’t even have the first clue who he is?”
“Because your Marcus Lewis is the man who has closed the bridleway.”
“My Marcus Lewis…I wish,” Izzie grinned as she shook her head in puzzlement. Then she looked around the room.
“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on, and why my dear sister seems to have gone ever so slightly mad?”
* * *
Jodie’s temper wasn’t any better by the end of the evening. For a start she and Izzie had spent so long trying to track down Marcus Lewis’ contact details on the Internet that she knew she wasn’t going to get her paperwork finished unless she stayed up until long after midnight. To make matters worse they hadn’t been able to find out anything useful. No phone number. No address. Just a website full of musical stuff. Izzie had scrolled right through it but Jodie had given up and pushed back her chair in disgust. It wasn’t what she wanted.
“Lots of celebrities try to stay under the radar,” Izzie had soothed, stretching her back when she eventually got up from where she had been hunched in front of the computer. “If they made it easy for fans to find out where they lived…well it would make their lives impossible.”
“It doesn’t help us though, does it?” Jodie grumbled.
“No, but we can send an email to his agent’s contact address. We did find that. And anyway he’s bound to turn up in the village eventually. You’ll be able to talk to him then.”
“Not if he’s such a celebrity I won’t. He’ll probably travel everywhere by limousine, with minders or something.”
“Whatever.” Izzie gave a wide yawn and rubbed her eyes. She’d had enough of Marcus Lewis until he actually moved into the village. When that happened she was going to do everything in her power to get to know him, but when she spoke to him she wasn’t going to waste time talking about bridleways or footpaths. Not that she was about to tell Jodie that.
The tall man in the wool beanie was leaning on the top bar of the gate on the third morning Jodie rode by. He was gazing into the straggle of woodland while a very old black Labrador sat patiently beside him. The man in the yellow fluorescent jacket, the man who had secured the padlock in the first place, was just getting into a van that was idling at the curb. With a twitch of the reins she pulled Buckmaster to a halt as he drove away.
“What did he tell you?” she demanded.
The man in the beanie hat swung around and stared up at her, a look of puzzlement on his face. He had very blue eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“Did he say how long it would be before they start building? Did he say how long it will be before Mr. Marcus…I can do exactly as I like because I have a lot of money and this is my land…Lewis, turns up? No he didn’t, did he? I can see from the look on your face that you’ve no idea what’s going on. I bet he didn’t even tell you when they’re going to start cutting down the trees.”
Without giving him time to answer, she slid down from Buckmaster’s back and walked across to the gate to stand beside him. Her head barely reached his shoulder. Together they surveyed the tangle of undergrowth, and then Jodie turned towards him, her body taut with impatience.
“Didn’t he tell you anything?”
“Not about the bridleway, no,” Marcus Lewis shook his head. He was torn between irritation, amusement, and just a little admiration. She was certainly passionate about her damned bridleway that was for sure. Courageous too. He could still remember what she had said about chaining herself to the gatepost.
“Why is this bridleway so important anyway?” he asked. “There must be others.”
“There are,” she conceded, looking up at him. “But we have to negotiate a lot of traffic to get to them. This is the only one that takes us straight down to the beach.”
“We?”
“The children who use my riding school.”
“You work in a riding school?”
She nodded dispiritedly. “For what it’s worth I’m the manager, so I’ve a vested interest in keeping my riders safe.”
His gaze slid over her. It didn’t compute. She wasn’t much more than a teenager. As if she knew what he was thinking she suddenly grinned at him. It totally transformed her face, changing her expression from angry to something altogether different. He found himself responding with a smile of his own as he wondered if the hair hidden under her riding hat was as dark as her eyes.
“I’m older than I look,” she told him as she took hold of the horse’s saddle and vaulted onto its back. “Way, way older. Plenty old enough to give Marcus Lewis a piece of my mind when he eventually turns up. In the meantime, I’m going to start gathering protest signatures.”
“I thought you said you were going to chain yourself to the gate,” he said, squinting up at her against the early morning sun.
She laughed as she began to move away, pleased he had remembered. “Don’t worry. I’ll be doing that too, but not until the journalists arrive. I want to inflict maximum damage to his reputation.”
* * *
He watched her go. She was a good rider. She sat straight and true in the saddle, moving rhythmically, guiding the horse beneath her with only an occasional twitch of the reins. She was attractive too, despite the riding hat and the shapeless green fleece that hid any curves she might have. Good looking, courageous, passionate…a girl worth knowing in different circumstances. Then he shrugged and turned back to the gate. Those No Trespassing notices were still going up. After all he had Luke to think about.
It was three weeks before there was any more action. Then a flat bed truck turned up and off-loaded a shiny new trailer. Jodie saw it arrive when she passed by on her daily reconnaissance. The tall man with the dog was there again as well. He was standing beside the open gate, apparently quite unconcerned that he was in the way. Jodie waved to him but she didn’t stop because she didn’t want the bustle and the noise to spook Buckmaster.
By the time they returned from their morning gallop along the beach, all was quiet. The tall man was still there though, only now he was contemplating a large red notice board that had been erected on the other side of the gate. Jodie stared at it.
THIS IS PRIVATE LAND. ALL TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
From her position, sitting high up in the saddle, she could see that a second board had been erected at the far end of the bridleway as well.
“It’s war now,” she said. “There’s obviously no point in appealing to his better nature. Those signs prove he hasn’t got one.”
“He is entitled you know. After all it is his land.” Marcus Lewis walked across to where Buckmaster was blowing through his nostrils.
“And I thought you were on my side,” she said in disgust. Then she wheeled about and trotted away, her parting words floating back to him on the breeze. “If you want to sign the protest there will be a list for signatures in the village shop.”
He watched her go. He didn’t know why he hadn’t told her who he was when they first met, or why he was compounding the problem now. After all she was bound to find out sooner or later because it was very clear she wasn’t going away any time soon. He sighed as he bent down and patted his dog.
“I guess I’m a coward Blue,” he told him. “But at least I know what I’m up against now. A protest campaign that’s being run by the village shop!”
* * *
Marcus underestimated the power of the village shop, however. Within a few days Jodie’s campaign had garnered a lot of sympathy, and once people from outside the village started adding their signatures to the list, the local Press got involved.
At first it was just a couple of lines telling readers about the protest. Then it was a half page picture of the closed off bridleway with the No Trespass sign featuring prominently in the foreground. By the third week things were a lot worse. Marcus, who had been away on business and so had missed the earlier papers, stared at the lurid headline in barely contained fury.
ACCIDENTS INEVITABLE AS MUSIC MOGUL FORCES RIDERS ONTO THE ROADS
Underneath was a picture of that dratted girl and her horse. The caption said she was called Jodie Eriksson, and she was flanked by a group of small children. Marcus knew publicity when he saw it, and he could see they had all been told to look as miserable as possible. If he hadn’t been so angry he would have found it amusing.
He grabbed his cell phone and called his agent. He needed to organize some damage limitation as soon as possible.
* * *
The following week he was standing on the steps of the trailer talking to his site manager when he saw Jodie clamber over the gate and start to walk up the path. She was clutching a folded newspaper in her hand and from her furious expression he knew he was in trouble. Deciding he had better meet it head on, he excused himself and strode towards her.
“You do know you are trespassing,” he said.
She glared at him. “Did you enjoy making a fool of me? Did it amuse you to pretend to sympathize and then go away and laugh about me with all your celebrity friends?”
Wondering what she would think of him if she knew he could count his celebrity friends on two thumbs, he shook his head.
“I haven’t discussed you with anyone. I didn’t set out to deceive you either…I…it just never seemed to be the right time to come clean.”
“Huh!”
One word, but somehow she managed to make it radiate disbelief and contempt. Her eyes were the same. They might be dark brown and luminous and set under finely arched brows but they were hard and unforgiving.
He knew a sensible person would just point to the No Trespassers sign and send her on her way but suddenly, and inexplicably, he found himself minding very much what she thought of him.
“Come into the trailer. Join me for a coffee while I try to explain things.”
“What’s to explain? You made your feelings very clear in your newspaper interview. You have no intention of opening up the bridleway. Your personal privacy is far too important.”
“Maybe. But I didn’t say why.”
“You didn’t need to. Your picture says it all. It’s obvious you want silence so you can be ready when the muse strikes.”
She thrust the newspaper at him as she finished speaking. It was folded open at his picture and he cringed inwardly when he saw the PR shot his publicist had chosen. It was the one where his hair was slightly too long and slightly too artfully arranged, where his silk shirt was open one button too many, and where his pose was soulful and serious. In it, he looked every inch the poseur maestro, right down to the white grand piano behind him. No wonder she thought she knew why he had refused to open up the bridleway.
He shook his head again. “It has nothing to do with my music. It’s because of my son.”
“Your son? The article doesn’t mention you have a son.”
“That’s because I don’t talk to the Press about him.”
“But you’re talking to me.”
“Yes I am, because I want you to understand why I can’t open up the bridleway however much you want me to. I want you to understand why Luke has to be protected.”
Her expression didn’t change but at least she was listening. He took a deep breath.
“He has...a learning disability.”
“And?”
His temper flared. She was impossible. “And nothing. Isn’t that enough for you.”
“No. Not unless you think he’s about to be kidnapped or something.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“I don’t think so. Explain to me why his learning disability affects the bridleway?”
“Well for a start he’s frightened of people. A new face can make him hysterical for hours. He’s the same with people he does know if they turn up unexpectedly. He finds a lot of things challenging and that’s why I have no choice but to keep the bridleway closed…I need to protect him from himself.”
“So you’re going to turn your home into a fortress without any regard for the local people you’re going to upset in the process. Tell me, do you really think that is what your son needs, or is it just the easy way out?”
Surprised she was still challenging him, he met her gaze and saw something close to sympathy had crept into her eyes. He resisted it. He wasn’t interested in sympathy. He just wanted her to understand about Luke.
She gave the tiniest of smiles when she saw his scowl. “Maybe I will have that coffee after all, but only if I can bring Buckmaster inside the gate.”
Now it was his turn to give the ghost of a smile. “Don’t you ever go anywhere without that damned horse?”
* * *
Five minutes later Marcus led the way into the trailer. Buckmaster, now tethered to the branch of a tree, watched them go. Then he resumed his hopeful search for a few blades of grass amongst the builder’s rubble and the piles of old flagstones.
Jodie looked around the trailer with interest. It was the sort of thing she imagined movie stars used on film sets except it was being used as a site office. There was a desk immediately inside the door. It was piled high with architect’s drawings, and there was a laptop computer too. It was open and working, its cursor winking impatiently at the end of a half written sentence.
Marcus led her beyond the desk to where the trailer opened up into a comfortable sitting area. He gestured to the black leather couch that took up half the space. His dog was stretched out on a rug in front of it. Jodie bent down and patted him.
“Make yourself comfortable while I brew some coffee.”
“Don’t bother just for me. Instant will be fine. It’s all we ever have at work,” she told him as she sank into the cushions.
He grimaced with distaste as he moved across to the kitchen area. Then he grinned. “I guess only liking fresh coffee makes me seem like a spoilt rotten celebrity too.”
“Just a bit,” she nodded with the trace of a smile. “But I’m prepared to be persuaded it’s all a big mistake and you’re a just regular guy who is misunderstood.”
He ignored the sarcasm and concentrated on the coffee. When it was ready he offered her sugar and cream before settling himself into a corner of the couch.
“I’m not you know.”
“Not what?”
“I’m not a spoilt celebrity. I mostly live a very ordinary life and I do everything I can to avoid the limelight.”
“For you, or for your son?”
He sighed. “For both of us I guess. It was bad enough when his mother died but he was only a baby then, so it didn’t hurt him. Now he’s older any Press intrusion sparks a hysterical reaction that sometimes lasts for days. That’s why I have to protect him.”
“Where is he now?”
“At our home in London.”
He sat forward and watched the steam rising from his cup as he tried to explain. He was finding it difficult because he never discussed Luke with anyone. He wasn’t even sure why he was discussing him with this irritating girl, or why he cared what she thought of him.
“Luke is autistic. He goes into total melt down over things that don’t bother most people at all. The only way to keep it to a minimum is to maintain a routine. If he knows what’s going to happen every minute of the day he stays relatively calm, so I employ a team of people to care for him. They follow a set program 24/7. He does schoolwork, he exercises, he draws and paints, but all at exactly the same time every day. Although I’ve tried, I haven’t been able to find any other way to help him. I have to make sure he’s pre-warned before visitors arrive too, especially if they are people he doesn’t know, so the thought of an open bridleway full of dog walkers and horse riders doesn’t bear thinking about. He would be in permanent melt down if I kept it open, surely you can see that.”
Jodie heard the pain in his voice and understood how much effort it had taken to talk to her, so her voice was soft when she replied.
“I’m sorry about your son. Truly I am. And I do I understand. But hasn’t it occurred to you there might be another way?”
She didn’t flinch when his head jerked up. Instead she kept her eyes steady. “I know you think I’m talking out of turn and maybe you’re right…but I do know about challenging behaviors because I run a program for disabled riders. You’d be amazed at the miracles the horses achieve. Even just coming along to watch might help your son get used to being around new people.”
Marcus gave a short, hard laugh that was devoid of any trace of humor. “And you think this would succeed where everything else has failed I suppose?”
“I didn’t say that. But once he’s settled into his new home wouldn’t it be worth giving it a try? If nothing else it would give him a chance to experience something different, something that might teach him to cope outside of that routine you’ve set up.”
Swallowing the last of his coffee he stood up, irritation written all over his face. “You don’t know Luke. He wouldn’t even pat a horse let alone ride one, so thanks, but no thanks. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve work to do.”
Jodie stood up too. “Okay. Have it your way, but maybe you should ask me why I want the bridleway kept open so badly. It isn’t for me; it’s for children just like your son; children with problems who come to ride our horses but who need to be kept safe. So just remember that when you can’t sleep at night Marcus Lewis.”
He clenched his fists as he watched her jump down from the trailer. Then he turned back to the coffee machine and refilled his mug. She could see herself out.
Jodie was very quiet when she returned to the riding school. Everyone noticed but nobody said anything. They knew better than to enquire about her feelings. Jodie’s personal life was a closed book. Nobody ever got near her except Izzie. And Izzie didn’t talk either. All anybody knew about the sisters was that their parents had died when Izzie was small and that Jodie took care of her.
Only Carol, who was the nearest thing Jodie had to an intimate friend, had ever been inside the cottage where they lived, and whenever she stepped over the threshold she was always shocked by how bare it was. No pictures on the walls, no family photographs, and a TV that looked as if it had seen better days in someone else’s house. The few pieces of essential furniture were obviously second hand too, and the drapes at the windows were thin and tired looking. The bookcase was stuffed full of books, however, and bizarrely, there was what looked like a brand new, up-to-the-minute computer on the kitchen table.
She glanced across the tack room to where Jodie was pulling towels from the dryer and wondered, for the umpteenth time, why Izzie attended the most prestigious private school in the area when it was clear they had barely two pennies to rub together.
She had never seen Jodie in anything other than her riding gear either. Nor did she wear makeup, or do anything with her hair. Not that she needed to she thought enviously as she pushed her fingers through her own frizzy curls, because her friend had hair to die for. If she had hair like that then she certainly wouldn’t wear it in one long plait day in and day out, the way Jodie did.
As if she sensed she was being watched, Jodie straightened up, swung around and looked straight at her.
“What?”
“Nothing…that is…is something the matter? You’ve hardly said a word since you got back from…”
“My coffee break with Marcus Lewis…the unexpected meeting of minds that has all of you sniggering behind my back you mean.”
“That’s not true,” Carol flushed slightly as she shook her head.
Unexpectedly, Jodie grinned at her. “Yes, it is, and according to Izzie it’s all my own fault. Apparently I am the only twenty-eight-year-old in the whole world who wouldn’t recognize him at ten paces.”
“Perhaps it’s why he talked to you. Perhaps he likes being anonymous…you know…the way some celebrities say they do.”
Jodie shook her head decisively. “No, it wasn’t that. He just had something he wanted to say but he didn’t know how to say it, so he invited me in for coffee to buy himself time.”
“What, Marcus Lewis? You must be joking,” Izzie picked up the tail end of the conversation as she stepped into the tack room trailing her school bag behind her. “He’s used to performing to a whole arena full of people and he gives Master Classes to students. How can someone like that struggle with words?”
“I don’t know. I’m just saying how it was. And will you please pick up your bag before it gets covered with mud and straw.”
Izzie hoisted her bag up onto her shoulder with a long-suffering sigh. “So what was it he had such trouble talking about then?”
Jodie shrugged. “Just some personal stuff.”
“And…?”
“And nothing. It’s not important.”
“Jodie! Any personal conversation with Marcus Lewis is important. He’s the man who has shaped the musical tastes of a whole generation: your generation as it happens. He has probably just told you something the local paper would love to know about and yet you don’t think it’s important. How come, when this morning you were ready to tear him limb from limb? What has he done to you?”
* * *
Later, washing up their supper things while Izzie finished her homework, Jodie pondered her sister’s words. What had Marcus Lewis done to her? What was it about him that had made her reluctant to repeat their conversation? And why had he told her about his son anyway? He had freely admitted he liked to keep his personal life out of the public eye, so why had he taken such a risk? Why had he trusted her when, for all he knew, she might go straight to the Press and blow the whole story.
After sluicing down the sink she upended the dish mop into a pottery mug Izzie had made for her years ago and stared out of the kitchen window. It was dark outside; too dark to see anything but her reflection in the glass. She looked at it for a long minute and then twitched her thick plait over her shoulder and slowly removed the elastic band holding it secure. With a toss of her head she shook her hair free and started to brush it with the hairbrush she had left lying on the windowsill that morning.
She was still brushing it when Izzie came into the kitchen to say goodnight. She gave a sigh of envy as she planted a kiss on Jodie’s cheek. “If Marcus Lewis could see you with your hair down he would open up that bridleway in a heartbeat.”
Jodie frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous…and anyway, when did you become so knowledgeable about men?”
Raking her fingers through the wheat-colored pixie crop covering her own head, Izzie returned her sister’s frown. “I’m not exactly a child anymore you know. Besides the girls at school never talk about anything else.”
“Well I hope you’re not one of them. You’re only sixteen. You’ve another two years of school ahead of you, and then university. You’ve got better things to do than waste your time giggling about men and worrying about whether they like long hair or not.”
“Seventeen, I’m nearly seventeen. I’m almost the same age you were when Mama died, and you didn’t think you were too young to take care of me then did you? Seventeen is practically grown up. Besides there’s nothing wrong with thinking about men, or even having a date. I can do that and still get an education you know.”
When she saw the stricken look in Jodie’s eyes she laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not dating, not yet anyway. And when I do, I’ll tell you. I’m just saying it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Nor would it be the end of the world if you tried a different approach with Marcus Lewis…you know, ride Buckmaster Lady Godiva style, just covered by your hair. That would get his attention!”