Vision In Love (Legends of The North Book 1) (2 page)

Yes, she knew. Nothing her sister or she did was ever good enough. No, she couldn't put it off, even if she wanted to. But at least her parents' house was only a few miles away, and the walk would do them both good.
 

***

Walking along the back lanes from Altenchester to her hometown of Stydon brought back memories. She had spent many an evening hanging out with her friends there, out of the way of prying adult eyes that would have confiscated any alcohol they had managed to get a hold of. She wondered if any of her old friends still lived in Stydon. She had lost contact with all of them. Vicky, her best friend, had been the last. They slowly drifted apart after she had left for Cardiff. Yet another thing she could blame Ben for. He hadn't wanted her coming back to visit friends without him, but he never wanted to come back up north. And he didn't like her inviting them to Cardiff because he wanted to relax on the weekends after a hard week at work, and he couldn't do that if her friends were there. Funny how he never had a problem relaxing when Sarah was round at their place.

A sharp tug on the lead from Barney brought her back to the present as he tried to catch a bird. Pulling him back to her side, she turned down the lane where her parents lived. She pushed open the high, wooden gate that hid the house from prying eyes and "stopped people from just calling round uninvited," according to her mother. She stood outside the house where she had grown up, noticing it hadn't changed much. Maybe the door had had a different colour coat of paint, but it looked almost exactly like it had when she had lived there. Still nestled between two houses that looked just like it, in a row of houses that looked the same. On either side of the blue front door were two small, white, wooden sash windows.
 

The net curtain swung back into place, and she knew her mum had probably been looking out for her all day. Never mind the fact she hadn't told them she would be visiting. It would be expected, though; it was what her sister would do, no doubt. She let out a deep breath that had Barney staring up at her as she bent down and scratched his head.
 

"You've yet to have the pleasure of meeting my sister. Don't worry, though, she'll love you. But, my parents? Well, you're bound to be a disappointment, just like me." She looked up as the front door opened. Her dad stood in the doorway and she could have sworn he used to fill it, but in that moment, he seemed so small, frail even. His hair was thinning, and what was left was mostly grey. The small gold glasses perched on the end of his nose highlighted his flat, brown eyes. His skin was pale and speckled with red patches. The last few years had taken their toll on her dad clearly; how bad would her mum look?
 

"I didn't think you'd make it round today."

She wondered what he meant; that was the problem with not really knowing her parents or being close to them. Was that his way of saying that she should have rang them before calling round? Or was he glad to see her? She couldn't tell, as his body language and voice gave her no clue. She'd give him the benefit of the doubt, though; after all, they hadn't seen each other since she'd left for Cardiff. She leaned in to hug him at the same time he raised his arms. His hand hit her on the cheek and he pulled it back to pat her on the shoulder but missed as she leaned away from him.

"Sorry," he said as he dropped his arms to his side. "How have you been?"

"Good, Dad, you?"

"Can't complain. Come in, come in. Your mum's waiting to see you."

At the sound of the front door closing behind her, she wondered if that was what prison felt like. Unable to leave, stuck with people she didn't really know.
Stop it. It isn't that bad.
She made her feet move, putting a smile on her face at the last moment. Her mum was propped up in the corner of the sofa, huddled under a blanket, her head covered with a bandana. She looked pale and thin, her eyes sunken.

"Do you want a tea or coffee?" she asked as she drew back the blanket, struggling to move.

"It's okay, I'll make it," her dad said.

Her mum pulled the blanket back up then looked Emma over. "You've put weight on."

"Yeah, living in Cardiff didn't help."

"Don't know why you wanted to live there anyway. You back for good then?"

"That's the plan."

"Where's that man of yours?"

"He's still down in Cardiff, Mum. We split up."

"Oh, well, doesn't surprise me. Always thought there was something a little weird about him. It was the eyes. You can tell a lot about a man from his eyes. Wasn't like you were serious about him anyway, were you?"

"No, not really." No, she'd just moved her whole life down to Cardiff for him. Had thought she would spend the rest of her life with him. No, not serious about him at all. She found herself wondering why she had expected sympathy from her mother. The woman didn't do sympathy, unless she was on the receiving end of it.
 

Emma had a feeling it was going to be a long afternoon.
 

"Sit down, Matthew. It is rude to stand at the dinner table while we are eating, you should know that. I will get Mrs. Rees to bring you a plate. She always makes too much on a Sunday."

Matt pulled his arms behind his back, linking his fingers together so his nails bit into the tops of his hands.
This will go easier if I do it her way.
He moved to sit across from his mother and next to his father, who sat at the head of the table and so far hadn't uttered a word to him. "I didn't come here for dinner, Mother. I wanted to speak to you about James."

Her heavy, silver fork paused halfway to her mouth as her head tilted in his direction. She gently lowered the fork to the china plate. "Have you heard from him, darling? I told you he would get in touch when he wanted to. You know how headstrong your brother can be at times."

Matt pressed his lips together, his eyes drawn to the crossed swords mounted above the fireplace. He then raised them to the ornately carved ceiling that didn't show a cobweb or a crack in sight. "No, Mother, I haven't heard from him. That's why I'm here. As far as I can gather, nobody has spoken to him since August. That's almost two weeks. Aren't you the slightest bit concerned something might have happened to him?"

She lifted the linen napkin from her knee and blotted her lips, her eyes never leaving his. Slowly, she dropped it beside her plate. "What you seem to forget, Matthew, is that he is a grown man with a life to live. Soon, he will have the responsibilities that go with being the eldest Altenbury son and heir. Until that time, he can do as he pleases, just so long as it does not bring the Altenbury name into question. The family has a reputation to uphold, as he well knows."

Matt glanced at his father, studying his cutlery as carefully as an antiques collector would. His silence spoke volumes, the understood implication of the damage he had done to that reputation not lost on him. "I don't care about the Altenbury name," Matt said as he turned back to glare at his mother. "I'm going to report him missing to the police."

His mother rose in one fluid motion, the chair hardly making a noise as it slid across the polished wooden floor. "Now you listen to me, Matthew Hugo Altenbury. You may not care about the name, but it is still yours. I will not have the police crawling around this house, trying to unearth scandals about our family that just don't exist." She dropped the finger she had been jabbing in his direction and stood straighter as she took a deep breath. "Your brother will be in touch when he wants to be. Until then, you leave him be. Perhaps your time could be used more wisely, say in finding yourself a suitable wife? The name will always draw women, but thirty-two is getting towards the age where women might start to think there is something wrong with you. And while you don't
need
to have children, it wouldn't hurt for you to."

Matt stood abruptly, his chair toppling backwards in his haste. The thump of it hitting the floor mixed with the clang of cutlery as his father dropped his knife then cursed in Matt's direction.

"We're not having this conversation again, Mother. Whom I marry will be my decision, and my surname will be irrelevant. This isn't over. I
will
find out where James is, even if I have to call the police." He strode out of the dining room so she wouldn't have a chance to answer him. Christ, he was a fool. He had actually thought she might care more about James's welfare than the blasted name he considered nothing more than a curse.

***

The next morning, Matthew sat in his usual seat in the window of the little café on Main Street. It was as busy as always for a Monday morning. Workers clomping in and out in their heavy brown boots, the background hum of conversations. The aroma of the coffee mixed with the smell of fried bacon wafting in from the kitchen. He heard Betty from behind the counter, laughing and flirting with the other customers. He loved that she didn't care, even though she was old enough to be the grandmother of half of the patrons.
 

He stared out the window, through the hazy reflection of himself in the misted glass. Saw the cars whizz past, regardless of the twenty miles per hour speed limit, and tightened his hand around his cup, shaking his head. He knew he was stalling, knew he should leave; he had to open the museum soon. He checked his watch, noting he had to open up sharpish. Normally, he loved being there but for some reason, he didn't want to be that day. That was a new feeling for him, one that had him unsettled. He liked the routine of his days, but even that was bothering him at the moment. He felt like doing something different. Didn't know what, just ... something.
 

Checking his watch again, he stood and took ten pounds out of his wallet. At the counter, he handed it to Betty, watching her ring it up with her nimble but permanently curled fingers.

"There you go, Matthew."

"That's okay. You keep the change, Betty." He was rewarded with a flash of her smile, making her look young, despite her grey curls. "Worth it just to see that smile of yours. Makes my day."

"Ooh, you're such a charmer, Matthew. If I were twenty years younger ..." she said then clucked her tongue at him. "I'll see you on Friday, usual time."

He smiled back, thinking if she was twenty years younger he'd probably be running a mile right then. But then the rest of her words sank in. Friday, usual time
–
wa
s he really that predictable? Looking down, he saw the tweed jacket, brown trousers, and brown brogues. Yes, he really
was
that predictable, wasn't he? Right down to the reading glasses hanging from his jacket pocket and the leather patches on his elbows.
 

With a sigh, he stepped outside and started towards the museum. Heard the beep of a horn and waved as Bob drove past. Saw Mrs. Jones leaving the house for work and shouted "good morning" in reply to her. The same routine every Monday and Friday morning. Didn't that show they were just as predictable as he was? It didn't matter, though, as it was
his
predictability that was irritating him, had him unsettled. He didn't like feeling unsettled.
 

She knew where she was, she just didn't understand how she had gotten there or why. Even with only the faint light cast by the almost cloud-covered moon, she still knew. Heading across the fields, down by the farm where she walked Barney every afternoon, the feel of the soft, rain-sodden grass beneath her feet, familiar over the last few weeks. She remembered the sound of her wellie-clad feet squelching their way through it. But the sound was different at that moment, and she could feel the mud as it slid through her toes. She noticed the ripe animal smell that stung her nostrils with every breath, leaving its bitter taste in her mouth. The pungent odour surrounded her, carried by the constant wind funnelling between the hedgerows.
 

The trees, she admired with their bursts of colour, turning from greens and browns to rich red, purple, and orange, were towering black figures at night. Their branches bowed under the bitter bite of the wind. The wind whistled through them as though whispering to her, warning her to stay away. The snap of a twig underfoot was enough to have her turning. She was completely alone, no loyal dog beside her. But then, why would he be? This wasn't a normal walk. She'd never felt the need to walk under the cover of darkness before, so why was she right then? How could she explain what she was doing when she had no memory of getting there?

A low rumble erupted around her, the night suddenly lit up by a white flash of forked lightning that split the sky. Another flash, but that one struck the ancient oak tree in front of her. The tree shrieked as it was torn in half. Her screams added to the cacophony as one half of the tree began to fall toward her. Unable to move, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the tree, falling, as if in slow motion, straight for her. It was going to hit her, crush her. She was going to die there, alone in the middle of nowhere.
 

No, she wouldn't. She turned and began to run. Glancing back over her shoulder, the tree was still coming straight for her. Closer. Her foot caught on something; she stumbled, throwing her hands out in front of her as she began to fall. She saw the ground as it rushed up to meet her.

The cup fell from her hands as she pressed them flat against the worktop. As her eyes regained focus, she took in the familiar sight of her kitchen, the sound of the kettle boiling, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Her heart began to slow as she leaned against the cupboard for support, its solidity reassuring.
What was that?
It had felt real, like she had actually been there. But how could she have been? The kettle hadn't even finished boiling. Bending to pick up the cup, she noticed her feet. Across the top of them and splashed up her ankles–mud. If she hadn't left the kitchen, how did it get there?
 

***

By the time morning came round, Emma had all but convinced herself she had imagined the episode in the kitchen. She wasn't sure what else to call it–a daydream, perhaps? Although, why she would be dreaming about a tree falling on her she didn't know. Besides, she didn't have time to dwell on it as she had a new job to start.