The Life and Second Life of Charlie Brackwood (The Brackwood Series Book 2) (15 page)

The bride and groom were smiling as they approached the arched doorway and slowly made their way towards a group of their friends and family, all of whom had one arm raised in the air in anticipation. Clutched tightly in their hands were small pieces of pastel-coloured confetti that the bride and groom would no doubt keep finding upon their person throughout the rest of the day.

But it was the bride's bouquet that was of particular interest to me. It was a simple hand-tied design but it contained a purple flower that triggered a memory of a warm day spent in a secret place. I had once picked a similar flower for Lucy and she’d told me it was an allium.

Memories flooded through me and suddenly I knew where to find her. I also knew that I was the only one with this information. I turned the bike around and pedalled in the direction of Burnsall.

I rode down the hill and heard the swift, almost silent beat of wings. I watched in amazement as a large white swan flew past inches above my head. Its neck bent slightly and its dark eyes watched me inquisitively as it continued its journey to the inviting waters of the river: a moment of beauty amidst the fear that threatened to swamp me. My gaze followed the swan’s flight until I saw it disappear over a stone wall and across the fields belonging to my father.

As I reached Burnsall I noticed a few of the older residents chatting in groups, their furrowed brows revealing their uneasiness. News of Lucy’s disappearance was spreading. As I rode by a few members of the crowd acknowledged me with a subtle nod, a sign of acceptance.

I approached the crossroads leading out of the village and stopped to catch my breath. My legs ached from the effort of cycling at high speed and begged for a respite. I thought of Lucy and the secret place where I hoped she would be. If she was hiding there I would know that she had not forgotten about me, that there was a part of her that still loved me.

After my breathing had slowed to a regular rate I continued my journey. Up ahead I saw a path that was partly veiled by trees; it had been a while since I’d walked its uneven surface but it still felt as familiar to me as the journey home. I ducked under low branches and avoided large protruding roots as I fought to keep up the pace. The path had barely been disturbed recently and masses of undergrowth threatened to obliterate it.

I jumped off the bike and hid it beneath a bush before I approached a clearing.  I drew nearer to my destination and could make out the high stone walls that acted as a windbreak for the delicate life that grew beyond.

The walls were around ten feet tall and centuries old. There were cracks in places and ivy had colonised them. Birds flew silently in and out of the greenery as they searched for food. Nature was busy reclaiming the space.

I approached and took in the familiar sight of an ageing wooden door set into the stone. Its decorative brass knocker was tarnished by rust though the intricate pattern of the metalwork was still visible beneath. The door was tall and thin, the colour of the sky. The paint was faded and cracked, yet still it managed to maintain an air of mystery and a sort of romance, which was the reason I’d brought Lucy here all those years ago.

Pink and purple opium poppies grew next to the door and I imagined them attempting to escape the confines of the ten-foot walls, desperate for fresh space to colonise. I took a deep breath and looked up at the towering, ancient walls in front of me. I uttered a small prayer to God in the hope that his guidance would lead me to her.

I pushed the door open slowly and the doors hinges creaked a noisy protest. I scanned the area beyond and once again found myself amazed by its beauty. Lucy and I called it the secret garden, after her favourite children’s book. The large Georgian house the garden had once belonged to had been demolished during the Second World War, leaving three walls that encompassed the ruins that remained. The house and its occupants were the reason for the garden’s existence; without them it appeared lonely and out of place.

Twisted branches of wisteria crept up the walls, clinging to every crevice and crack while its impressive lilac blooms dropped down like heavy clusters of grapes. Splashes of colour adorned the flowerbeds, a mixture of poppies, forget-me-nots and cornflower. An apple tree stood tall to the left of me and a pear tree proudly to my right. An old stone fountain took centre-stage and blocked the path ahead. I breathed in the heady scent of roses, lavender and honeysuckle as I searched the scene in front of me for any sign of Lucy.

I saw the old stone bench where she and I had sat together years ago. I stared at the ground where I had kneeled, open ring box in hand, displaying the ruby engagement ring I had picked out weeks before. I had been waiting for the perfect day, the perfect weather, the perfect time, and I believe on that day I found all those things.

There were many recesses in the walls, each providing a sheltered place to sit when it rained. I quickly scanned each of these for Lucy, but there was no hint of her within the shadows. I walked to the other side of the garden, looking left and right, I spun around in a circle and searched every foot of ground. Nothing. My spirits were low as I realised that I must have been wrong in my assumption; she must be somewhere else. Somewhere that was special to her and Jamie, a secret place of their own.

I rubbed at my neck in frustration as I collapsed on a nearby bench. The hard stone felt cold beneath me. I stared unseeingly at the garden, taking in only a myriad colours that seemed to fade together.

A flock of sparrows flew past me and perched in the pear tree I had seen when I first arrived. If not for their chirping the place would have been deathly silent; even the sound of my own breathing was beginning to seem eerie and unnatural.

I allowed myself to remember the day I’d proposed to Lucy.

Weeks earlier, and on Russ’s orders, I had visited the small terraced cottage that belonged to Mrs Vain, cosmetic surgery addict and all round village flirt. She answered the door in fluffy pink slippers that stood out shockingly against her transparent, black stockings. She wore a short mini-skirt and white blouse open at the neck to reveal the chunky gold necklace that matched a pair of oversized earrings. Her face was unnaturally wrinkle-free. I had heard rumours she had undergone another round of plastic surgery recently.

Mrs Vain gasped as she opened the door and could hardly contain her delight to find me on her doorstep. Her grin was wide and revealed silver fillings that clashed with the warmer gold of her jewellery. Although a surprised sound came from her heavily painted mouth, her surgically enhanced face was incapable of conveying emotion.

It was widely known that Mrs Vain ran a small shop in a nearby village. It was the kind of place that sold small trinkets and ornaments, floral bunting and keepsakes. Russ had informed me on our recent fishing trip that she also sold intricate wooden jewellery boxes, perfect for presenting the ring I had bought for Lucy. So, on a cold, rainy afternoon, I found myself on Mrs Vain’s doorstep… and she couldn’t have been more delighted.

“Oh, Charlie, you
have
grown into a handsome lad,” she said, while looking me up and down in a way that made me regret my decision to seek her help. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for a ring box – an unusual sort of box.” She nodded enthusiastically as I spoke. “I’ve bought a ring for Lucy and I need it presented in the best possible way.”

She clapped her hands together like a child and disappeared towards the back of the house.

“I have just the thing,” she shouted behind her excitedly.

When I followed I found her bent over a deep cardboard box in her dining room, her large behind wiggling in the air as she moved.

“These just came in this morning and I’ve not yet had the chance to transport them to the shop. There’s only so much you can fit in a tiny sports car.”

I laughed awkwardly and watched her pull out a handful of wooden boxes.

“Now then, any of these tickle your fancy?”

I avoided eye contact and scrutinised her offerings. They were all polished, wooden pieces but one in particular caught my eye. The box was square and made from dark walnut. An intricate leaf pattern was carved around the edge of the lid and in the centre was a perfect marquetry butterfly in a paler wood. Seeing the depiction of Lucy’s favourite creature, I was convinced this was the box for me.

“Open it up,” Mrs Vain insisted, “it’s gorgeous inside too.”

I opened the box and found that instead of using a normal hinge. the lid slid sideways in both directions, splitting the butterfly in two. Lining the inside of the box was olive green satin that I knew would highlight the red of the ruby perfectly.

“I’ll take it,” I told her.

“I’m so glad,” Mrs Vain said cheerfully.

We discussed a price and I paid her in cash.

“So how are you going to do it?”

“Propose?”

Her head bobbed up and down enthusiastically.

“I’m afraid that’s top secret information. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

She giggled for longer than I’d expected and slapped my arm playfully.

“Oh, stop it, you!”

“I’m just kidding,” I said, laughing along with her. “I do have something romantic planned, though.”

“I knew you would have. Is it true that you built her a treehouse up at that
big
house of yours?”

“It is,” I said proudly.

“You’re such a clever man,” she said, clinging on to my arm with both hands. “And
so
strong,” she gasped.

“That’s enough of that now.”

A deep voice resounded through the open door.

“You’ve got what yer wanted, now best be on yer way.”

Mrs Vain’s husband was short in stature and shy by nature. I realised this was the first time I’d ever heard him speak.

“Hello, I’m Charlie,” I said, turning round to shake his hand, “your wife was just helping me.”

“I’m sure she was, son. Now be off with you.”

I’d always known where I would propose to my future wife, ever since I’d happened upon it as a young boy. I’d found the garden by accident. I’d been flying a kite on my own during the summer holiday. Lucy was away with her parents and Russ was, once again, grounded for bad behaviour, so I found myself alone. With little interest in helping my father on the farm, I’d entered the woods in the hope that I would find a clearing to fly my new kite, somewhere far away from dangerous power lines. I managed to get the kite in the air, but my sense of achievement was only short-lived. A strong gust of wind grabbed the kite from my hands and carried it out of sight.

I searched high and low and eventually found the string tangled in the large brass knocker of the blue door, the kite still flying high in the breeze. The sound of the knocker against the door as the kite soared and fought for its freedom eventually lured me to the secret garden. The kite now forgotten, I pushed open the crumbling blue door and the image of what I saw beyond stayed with me.

On the afternoon of my engagement to Lucy I blindfolded her as gently as possible and led her to the Mini. She was quiet the entire journey and I knew she was listening for clues as to our whereabouts. Lucy was very astute and it was often hard to keep surprises from her.

I parked in a layby and led her by both hands towards the flaking paint of the blue door. Her brow furrowed at the sound of the door being pushed open. I led her through and made her wait just inside the walls of the garden. The look on her face after I took the blindfold off has stayed with me ever since.

Lucy was eager to take in the many varieties of roses and smell the scents of the lilac, honeysuckle and jasmine. I guided her in the direction of the stone bench situated near the fountain in the middle of the garden. While the birds chirped and the breeze ruffled the leaves on the trees I told her how much she meant to me. She wiped warm tears from her cheeks as she listened attentively to my words. When my speech came to a close I got down on the ground. I retrieved the ring box from my pocket and, after opening it, held it up for her to see.

On that warm afternoon, surrounded by nature’s beauty, I asked her a question that eventually led to her becoming my fiancée. Afterwards we stayed in the garden for a while. We didn’t say much to each other, just sat amongst the trees and the flowers and soaked up the atmosphere of the moment – a moment I thought would be a once in a lifetime occasion for both of us.

Remembering the happiness of that day, I felt salty tears slide down beside my mouth. I felt trapped. I was a soul imprisoned in a body I couldn’t escape from and forced to live in a world where I no longer belonged. Time passed. I heard the rumble of thunder in the sky and it wasn’t long before rain lashed down. I decided it was time for me to leave.

I watched the rain destroy the delicate petals of some nearby poppies and a shock of purple caught my eye: the alliums that had drawn me here. At the top of their perfectly straight stems sat large purple balls made of tiny, star-shaped flowers. The rain soaked me to the skin while I stood a few feet away to stare at them.

A flash of movement caught my eye and my gaze was drawn towards a weeping willow that grew close to the flowers. As I looked at it closely I could just about make out the outline of a shoe.

I got down on all fours and peered beneath the drooping branches that acted like a curtain, concealing whoever was hiding behind them. I cocked my head to one side and squinted into the shadows. I saw a pair of green eyes shining in the half-light..