‘They’re gyppos, Adam. They don’t like outsiders much.’ David looked around the hall. ‘Where’ve you been anyway?’
‘Just talking to Angela Curtis.’ He tried to make it sound casual, but he didn’t think it worked. ‘I said I’d walk her home anyway, so I better go.’
David grinned and said he would see him later. When he got outside Angela was leaning against the wall beyond the light from the door. ‘I thought you’d got lost.’
‘Sorry, I couldn’t find him.’
She smiled. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
As they started walking towards the road she slipped her hand inside his.
Approaching the end of a long hot August, Castleton and the surrounding country seemed smothered in a sleepy stupor where late in the day nothing much stirred. Cows lay down in the shade of oak trees in the fields and buzzards circled lazily in the thermals high above the fells. Then something happened which abruptly shook the town from its lethargy.
One Saturday afternoon Adam was waiting outside the shop when Angela finished for the day. She wore a band in her hair and a denim skirt that ended mid-thigh. They walked along by the river where she took off her shoes, holding on to his shoulder for balance as she stood on one leg. They followed the path away from the town, past the sawmill and along the edge of Castleton Wood. At one point they passed the gypsy camp on the other side of the river where a woman was hanging washing on a makeshift line and some grubby children were playing with an old bike. The woman stared at them as they passed.
‘I wonder why they live like that,’ Adam mused aloud. ‘Do you think they’re as bad as people think?’
‘My dad doesn’t like them coming into the shop. He thinks the kids will nick anything they can get their hands on. When I was young he used to tell me I should stay away from them because gypsies sometimes stole children.’
‘That’s a bit strong isn’t it?’
She smiled ruefully. ‘It’s true the kids will nick from the shop though. You have to watch them like hawks. Little buggers.’
Half a mile further on there was a bend in the river where a willow tree grew and made a pleasant shady spot to sit. The water was shallow close to the bank where it flowed crystal clear over pebbles and rocks. They sat in the long rye grass that was flecked with splashes of vivid red from the poppies that grew in the field. Angela tilted her face to the sun and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath.
‘I love that smell, don’t you?’
It was the sweet smell of hay from a nearby field from where they could hear the drone of a tractor.
A week ago they had been to the cinema in Brampton and on the way home had taken a shortcut through the graveyard. They had paused under the big oak tree by the south wall and kissed. Adam remembered the feel of her body pressed against his, her quickening breath.
She opened her eyes and caught him watching her. The air seemed suddenly still. He didn’t try to conceal what he felt sure must be evident in his eyes. She leaned towards him and kissed him briefly and then her expression grew serious. She hugged her knees, not looking directly at him.
‘Adam … can I ask you something? Have you ever had sex?’
‘No. Have you?’
She shook her head. ‘Sometimes though, I feel as if I want to. With you I mean. It’s just … I want it to feel right. I want it to be special. Does that sound silly?’
‘No.’
‘There are girls in my class at school who’ve had sex with their boyfriends. They make it sound so casual. I don’t want it to be like that.’
‘Neither do I,’ he said.
She picked a stem of grass and began shredding it. ‘Let’s wait. Can we?’
‘Of course.’ He reached for her hand. ‘As long as you like.’
She smiled and they lay down side by side. He felt closer to her somehow. They linked hands and the warmth of the sun and the drowsy hum of insects lulled them into a languorous daze.
‘This is so beautiful,’ Angela murmured. ‘I don’t think I ever want to live anywhere else.’
‘Never?’ he questioned.
She opened one eye. ‘Why would I?’
‘Don’t you want to travel?’
She thought about that. ‘I suppose so,’ she said at last. ‘I’d like to go to America.’
‘What about somewhere closer? France.’
‘Paris. I’d love to go to Paris. I want to see the Eiffel Tower and all the glamorous shops. And I’d like to go to Italy. But I’d always want to come back here.’
He pondered what she’d said and then abruptly Angela sat up. ‘I’m hot,’ she announced. She stood up and went down to the river’s edge and waded into the water until it reached just below her knees while Adam sat on the bank watching her.
‘What’s it like?’ he asked.
She turned around and grinned. ‘It’s freezing.’
A dragonfly skimmed the surface of the water, and the sun shining through the branches of the willow made shimmering patterns of light. Where the bottom was stony the water was clear, the colours of the stones bright and hard, sandy browns and darker reds, but further out towards the far bank the river grew deep and dark where it was shadowed by overhanging branches. As Angela bent to scoop water in her hand, her long hair fell across her shoulders and as she stood she pushed it back and splashed her face. Adam felt his throat tighten. He wanted to capture this image of her and store it away in his mind, to absorb the detail of the light and the reflections on the water, of a green weeping willow and a girl whom he thought he was falling in love with.
When she came back to sit beside him again, she gestured to the paperback he’d shoved in his back pocket and asked what it was.
‘Cider with Rosie. It’s by someone called Laurie Lee.’ He showed her the cover. ‘It’s about a boy growing up in Gloucestershire before the war.’
‘Is it good?’
‘Yes.’ He started to tell her about it. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chin as he described the sense of another time that the book evoked.
‘Who’s Rosie?’ she asked.
‘A girl.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘She’s nice,’ he said. ‘He thinks about her all the time.’ An insect landed in Angela’s hair, and he reached out and brushed it away. She smiled and then turned to look at the water and for a while neither of them spoke.
It was evening by the time they walked back towards town. The light had grown soft and hazy, turning purple in the dusk. They passed the gypsy camp and heard the sound of voices from behind a caravan. The smell of wood smoke filled the air. Close to town they crossed the water meadow near the now quiet sawmill. On the other side of the river Adam glimpsed two figures in the trees. He stopped.
‘What is it?’ Angela asked when she saw where he was looking.
The figures had gone, however, slipped back among the trees as if they didn’t want to be seen, though not before Adam had formed a fleeting impression of a boy and a girl, the boy tall with thick brown hair, the girl slender and dark. For a moment he was sure it had been David. He was on the verge of saying so, but in the end he didn’t.
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Thought I saw something that’s all.’
There had been times over the last few weeks when Adam had seen the gypsy girl in the trees across the river from the sawmill. She appeared to be waiting for somebody and she always hung back in the gloom as if she didn’t want to be seen. When he thought about it he hadn’t seen so much of David lately, though he’d been spending time with Angela so maybe that was it. Besides, if David was seeing the gypsy girl he probably wouldn’t want his dad to know about it, which might explain why he hadn’t said anything. And maybe it hadn’t been David anyway.