Wanted: White Wedding

‘I can give you a lift, but I need to ring your school and ask them to contact your mum. I need her permission.’

‘Don’t bother.’ The girl turned back towards the shelter, her shoulders braced against the wind.

‘You know hitch-hiking is dangerous,’ Freya offered, wincing at words she knew would achieve nothing. ‘I might be anyone.’

The girl looked over her shoulder. ‘But you’re not. You’re Freya Anthony. I’ve seen you before.’

‘Have you?’

‘And everyone’s talking about you.’

Ah. Why did that still have the power to surprise her? ‘Do I get to know your name?’

‘Do I get a lift?’ she countered.

It was a little like looking into a mirror. Albeit one that had the ability to turn back time. There was something else, too. Some sense that she’d seen this girl somewhere before. Maybe it was nothing more than the ghosts of her youth haunting her. Reminding her.

‘It’s pouring down out here, and I’m wet.’

‘I…’ Freya was momentarily distracted by a bright light shining in her rearview mirror. She looked up and then over her shoulder as a silver estate car bore done on her.

The girl swore, and Freya turned in time to see her duck out of sight. What the—?

The lights were switched off and a car door slammed behind her. Freya swung round in her seat and she watched, amazed, as Daniel Ramsay stormed over towards the shelter.

Oh…my…goodness. She made the connection surprisingly slowly. Somehow it had never occurred to her that a man the age of Daniel Ramsay would have a daughter as old as this one. But that had to be it. Every line of his body screamed his anger.

His dark eyes met hers briefly, but his attention was on the belligerent teenager. Fascinated, she watched the confident, mouthy girl turn into a sulky, quiet one. Freya deliberately looked away, and carefully re-zipped the inner pocket of her handbag.

She felt a strange pang of envy watching the two of them. No one had ever come looking for her. Certainly not her dad. Not ever. It would have meant a lot if he had. If just once he’d put her first. Freya brushed an irritated hand across her eyes. It had been such a long time since she’d allowed herself to be so affected by thoughts like that. It didn’t matter.

Not any more.

Her parents were her parents. They’d done the best they could and that was that. One’s worth must come from inside oneself. She only wished she could believe that…on some level other than a cerebral one.

‘Ms Anthony?’

Freya looked up.

‘Is that yours or hers?’ he asked abruptly, his voice edged with anger and his eyes on the cigarette butt on the kerb.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘The cigarette?’

His voice was like steel…and she instinctively reacted against it. Who did he think he was, to be talking to her like that? She glanced at his daughter, standing sullenly behind him, and caught the appeal for help in her eyes. It was fleeting. Barely there before it was gone. And Freya couldn’t do anything but respond to the sense of kinship she felt.

‘You have a problem with that?’

His brown eyes narrowed infinitesimally. ‘Actually, plenty. But if you want to sabotage your chances of living into old age so be it.’ He turned his head. ‘Mia, get in the car. Now. I said now!’

The teenager allowed herself a quick glance of gratitude towards Freya before doing as she was told. It was amazing how much ‘attitude’ she still managed to exude. Even the slam of the door spoke volumes.

Freya turned back to look at Mia’s father, feeling a little guilty.

He took a moment, seemingly trying to gain some control. ‘That wasn’t helpful. I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but—’

‘I—’

‘—if she’d actually got into your car I’d have seriously considered charging you with abduction.’

‘I—’

‘I suggest, in future, you mind your own business,’ he said, stepping back from her car and heading towards his own.

Freya sat, a little stunned at his attack. She felt as though she’d been verbally cut off at the knees. And people said she had a tongue dipped in vitriol.

She wouldn’t care to be in Mia’s shoes right now, she thought as she caught a glimpse of Daniel’s expression as he drove past. There was a price to being loved, it seemed. Because she didn’t doubt he was motivated by that.

Even so…he’d had no business talking to her like that. Slowly she reached down for the ignition to start the engine.

Surely it had been a tad disproportionate? She’d known from his reaction to her name earlier that he’d heard something of her history, but what exactly did he think she’d want with a truanting teenager? Did he honestly imagine she went around the country finding disaffected girls to turn into mini versions of her?

After starting the engine, Freya pulled away from the kerb. The sooner she got out of this spiteful little place the happier she’d be.

CHAPTER THREE

‘IS YOUR granddaughter here?’ Daniel asked, shaking the rain from his coat. ‘I’d like a word with her if I may?’

‘Through there.’ Margaret nodded towards the door to the dining room. ‘I don’t think you’re Freya’s favourite person right now.’

‘I don’t imagine I am. May I—?’

‘Go through,’ she said with a smile, giving every appearance of thoroughly enjoying herself. ‘I’ll put on the kettle. Call if you need rescuing.’

Daniel walked down the hallway, but he didn’t venture further than the doorway. Freya was there. Wrapping china and seemingly absorbed in her task.

He stood with one hand on the doorjamb, searching for the words he knew he needed to say—and trying to whip up some anger towards Mia for having placed him in this embarrassing situation.

But he knew this was about him. He’d spent long enough over the past few months talking about personal responsibility to know he’d no one to blame but himself for the way he’d spoken to Freya.

He’d done it because he could, he supposed. Because he’d needed someone to blame. Someone to take out his anger and frustration on.

Only…

Only—and this was the damnable part—he’d seen the slight widening of her blue eyes and caught the hurt in them. A fleeting expression. Swiftly controlled. But he’d seen it—and it felt as he imagined he would feel if he kicked a puppy.

There were enough people round and about who were ready to stick the knife into Freya Anthony, and he didn’t intend to be one of them. She was here now. That was wonderful, as far as Margaret was concerned, and if she was happy he had no business making it hard for her granddaughter to stay.