The next morning, and despite her own best advice, nothing looked different at all. The girls were – mercifully, for once – a full-time job and so she decided that the only thing she could do was stay with them at all times, to act as a distraction.
But she could not dispel the fear and uncertainty which hung over her like a cloud. You’ve been here before. Deal with it. And this time you’re not alone. But then that was the point.
Had she been on her own she would have been able to cope much more easily, slip back off-grid, change her name to Emily or some such and set off again. Survive. But Sophie and Lucy needed her and, did they but know it, she needed them more than ever. They were her life and she would give it up for them, but she hadn’t worked out how she was going to protect and provide for them from now on.
The sun was out. “Glorious!” she could hear Peter say, and so after breakfast she took the twins outside and walked them down the long sloping field to the river where Carician was still moored, now gathering moss and cobwebs, a brown tide mark around her white hull. The girls ran around chasing each other and the butterflies and picked buttercups, and Alice watched them, thankful for them and thankful to Peter for looking after them all. She was so lost in her thoughts she didn’t hear someone coming up behind her.
“I thought I’d find you down here.” She turned and smiled.
“Hello, Michael. I didn’t know you were coming today.” She walked up to him and he kissed her on both cheeks. The twins spotted him and ran up to meet them.
“Hello, Uncle Mikey!” they shrieked in unison, jumping around at his feet.
“Hello, princesses!” said Michael, dropping to his knees and taking their tiny hands in his. “Hey, you two, go on up to the house and see Auntie Emma, she’s got a present for you!” They shrieked with delight and set off up the field, little legs wobbling and arms flapping like fledgling ducks.
“Don’t run!” shouted Alice, “and hold hands with each other.” Hand in hand, the twins dutifully slowed their pace to a plodding walk, and Michael and Alice watched them go in amusement. But for Alice, the dark cloud descended immediately.
“What are we going to do, Michael?” her voice already breaking, her arms wrapped around her chest in an instinctive gesture of self–preservation. Michael looked at her fondly.
“May I call you Jess?” he said gently but with the air of authority she knew well. She dropped her head.
“Yes. Of course. Peter told you.” She felt embarrassed at the pretence, the deception that had not been a deception at all. Only to herself.
“Yes. He told me a long time ago,” he said, and her frustration and fear quickly surfaced. The fairy tale was over.
“Then he must have told you I have nothing but a bad history,” she sobbed, berating herself for imaginary crimes in the past.
“You have two beautiful daughters and, I hope, some fond memories of your time here with Peter,” said Michael, reasonable, unemotional, incontrovertible. She looked at the twins still plodding up the field and had to agree; these had been wonderful times. But there were practicalities and they were serious.
“But what are we going to do?” she wailed as the tears continued to flow. “I can’t stay here. I feel like I’m trespassing already. And I still owe lots of people lots of money.” Michael put his hands on her shoulder to steady her and she dropped her head at the shame and humiliation she felt.
“You don’t owe anything, Jess. Peter settled it all.”
She looked up, startled, uncomprehending.
“Most of the debt was registered at the Crown Court and therefore public knowledge, so that was easy to rectify. Of the rest, shall we say, the unofficial debt, the stuff that was undocumented, we did some research, tracked them down, and cleared it. Jackson & Rutherford – top men indeed. There’s no history.” But Jess still could not understand.
“But … but … why would he—”
“Because he loved you,” he interjected, “and he loved his grandchildren. He did it before they were born. He fixed things so you would always be safe.” Jess’s body sagged as she took in the enormity of it all.
“Oh, Peter.” She wiped the back of her hand across her cheek. “I never got a chance to thank him.”
“And as far as staying here is concerned,” continued Michael, “you, Sophie and Lucy can stay as long as you like. It’s what Peter wanted.”
“But …?” she had no idea what he meant.
“It’s yours, Jess. Peter left you everything.” Her eyes widened as she processed the meaning, and she clasped her hand over her mouth to stop herself crying out.
He had done this for her, a complete stranger, a miserable waif and stray with a chequered past, pregnant with twins. He had taken her in, given her sanctuary, provided for her and given her everything she could possibly want and had asked for nothing in return, other than she stay with him and be his companion for as long as she wanted to.
“What?” was all she could say. Her children would be safe. She would be safe. “I never knew,” she whimpered.
“He didn’t want you to know. He didn’t want to you to feel any obligation to stay with him, or for that matter, any incentive. He just wanted you to be safe.”
His love had been unconditional and absolute, and she desperately wanted to hold him once more and tell him how much she loved him.
“He was a wonderful father to me.”
“And a good friend to me. We’re going to miss him.” He turned away and looked out over the river. She could tell he was contemplating something, had something to say but unsure of how to say it. Perhaps Michael disapproved? She couldn’t tell, but there was more to come, of that she was sure.
“There’s one other thing,” he said, and she looked up, bewildered. When you have just been given the earth, what else can there be?
“At the same time Peter changed his will, he asked me to do something else. Something we thought impossible at the time.” She studied him closely. He appeared to be struggling to find the right words, wrestling with a dilemma, and it frightened her. He had given her nothing but hope so far, but there had to be a downside, a catch. But she could take anything. She just needed him to come out and say it. “There’s someone here to see you,” he said gravely, and turned his head up the slope towards the house.
Jess, still stunned by what she had heard, slowly followed his gaze, and, seeing a group of people up by the house, took two or three steps towards them. Emma, standing. Sophie and Lucy next to her, gripping her skirt. Emma’s hand on the shoulder of another figure she couldn’t identify.
She strained her eyes to see. And then it hit her. She knew who it was. It was the girl in the photograph. Her battered, crumpled photograph. Older, taller, still beautiful, in colourful Asian dress, smiling. Jess’s mouth opened, the scream emerging as a hoarse whisper.
“Leila!”
She broke into a run, an uphill sprint, arms pumping, legs straining, hair streaming backwards, voice screaming, “Leila, Leila!” and she covered the distance between them rapidly and then Leila was running to her, “Mummy! Mummy!” and Jess dropped to her knees as they collided and she lifted her daughter up high and hugged and kissed. And then the twins jumped on them both and they all fell on the grass in a heap, laughing and crying. A new beginning.