Chapter 1
I remember the first time I saw him. I was seven years old and at the play park in the middle of the village. It was July, at the start of the school holidays, and a friend of my mother's had offered to take me for the afternoon. My parents had separated the year before and my dad had moved to London for work. I hadn't really seen him since. My mum ran the village newsagents and didn't have enough money to hire anyone else in, so during the holidays when I was out of school it was difficult for her. I spent my days either playing in behind the counter or being minded by one of her friends.
It didn't bother me though. Ottery St. Catchpole was such a small place that everyone knew everyone else anyway, so my mother's friends felt more like family and they had plenty of children my age for me to play with. My best friend was Kathryn, we were in the same class at school and she lived next door to me. She was in the play park that day as well, ordering some of the boys about into whatever game she had concocted for us. There wasn't much else for us to do in those days except play in the same park day after day. Luckily Kathryn's imagination was enough to make sure that every day the play park held something different for us.
As I said Ottery St. Catchpole was a small place, so I remember the first time I saw him.
He was in a car I hadn't seen before which immediately caught my attention. New things were always interesting. The pretty lady with the long red hair got out of the car first, I saw her hurry towards my mother's shop before stopping abruptly. She walked back towards the car and retrieved the young boy, with the messy dark hair, from the back seat, where he had been hammering determinedly against the window. He held his mother's hand with a look of absolute triumph, as she again hurried them towards the paper shop. Two minutes later when they returned, the mother carrying a large bottle of water and some tissues, the boy excitedly waving a packet of crisps. For the briefest moment I saw a flash of white teeth in the windscreen as the driver of the car gave a large grin. Then they got in and the car sped off just as quickly as it arrived. They were gone.
Years went by and sometimes the mysterious family crossed into my mind, but not often. A few infrequent conversations with my mother about the subject led me to deduce that they were probably members of one of the families who lived just outside the village, although no one knew quite where.
"They don't go to school here," she told me one Sunday afternoon as we did a stock check. "I remember some of them used to come into the shop when I was about your age. Very funny boys. Used to show me magic tricks – fantastic they were. Absolutely flaming red hair."
"Didn't you ask them where they went to school then?"
"Didn't really talk to them much, and they never came in that often. Nice boys though," she mused.
"Weird though that there are whole families living near here and nobody seems to know anything about them. Maybe they're schooled at home?"
"Maybe," she sighed, before we moved onto talking about that evening's dinner.
Myself I went to the village primary school until I was 11, and then went to the much larger local comprehensive, which took in pupils from three of the surrounding towns and villages, not such Ottery. I had just finished my fifth year there when the mysterious boy with the messy dark hair came thundering back into my life.
"Look busy!" Kathryn all but screamed as she came thundering into the shop.
"What?" I said blearily, blinking up from the gossip magazine I'd been reading on the counter. It was nearly closing time on a Friday evening and the shop had been empty for hours.
"Boys!" she hissed.
"So?"
"New boys!"
"Oh?" Now I was vaguely intrigued.
"Saw them coming across the square. Looked like they were heading this way," she explained as she fixed her dark hair in the glass reflection of the drinks fridge. Now Kathryn was not the type of girl to lose her composure over boys but – "And they are fit!"
She had just managed to turn round and drape herself nonchalantly in front of the leftovers of today's papers when the bell over the shop door rang out.
The first boy, a year or two older than myself, took a good long look around, before he fully entered the shop. He was of average height with a stocky build, dark skin and dark hair to match. His most striking feature was his mischievous grin which he flashed back to his companion, beckoning him to enter. I looked back down to my magazine as he did so, not wanting to appear too interested in them.
Kathryn had no such qualms.
"Hey," she said a little too eagerly as the two boys wandered round the shop.
"Hey," said the first boy, after a brief pause. I looked up in time to see him lift a tube of crisps and start to shake them.
"Please don't do that," I said wearily. I spent most days saying this to five year olds, not people who looked about seventeen. "It breaks the crisps and then people won't buy them.
"Sorry," he said putting them back down with another flash of his grin.
"And you," I continued, turning to his friend. I was about to tell him off for reading through the magazines without buying them when something stopped me. It was him I realised. The little boy from all those years ago, but now he was all grown up. The same messy dark hair, with dark eyes, pale skin and a few freckles round his nose. He also had the same triumphant grin he had worn, waving his packet of crisps. It was gone with my next sentence.
"Oh," I said without thinking. "I know you."
The change was small but palpable. The boys continued to look indifferently around the shop but their grins were long gone. I also noticed a few furtive glances pass between them.
"Really?" said the mysterious boy, trying and failing to laugh it off.
"Well, I don't know you," I explained. "But I remember you. You've been in here before."
"Yea?" he asked, still tense
"Yea about nine years ago," I continued.
"Yea?" he said again, before looking around at his friend. "I honestly don't remember."
And why would you? Trips to a newsagent to pick up a bag of crisps are not memories someone normally holds on to for nearly a decade. Not unless you live in a village with about twelve people in it and the highlight of your day is locking up a shop that gets about seven customers a week. I looked back down at my magazine and waited for a large hole to open and swallow me up.
"Ottery is a very small place," Kathryn stepped in. "We remember new faces."
"Cool," said the first boy, visibly more relaxed than his friend. "What's your name?" he asked her.
"Kathryn," she replied
"And you?" he nodded towards me.
"Laura," I mumbled and immediately went back to my magazine.
"And where do you two go to school?" he continued. I noticed his friend had slunk off back towards the shop door, probably looking for a quick getaway from the stalker shop girl.
"The local comprehensive," Kathryn answered. "St Mark's. You know it?"
"Not from around here," he said, shaking his head.
"Where you from?" Kathryn asked.
"London," he replied. "I'm Fred and this is James." He beckoned his friend back from the door. "Come and say hello James."
"Hey," said James blankly. It was clear he all he wanted to do was leave.
"What brings you to Ottery St. Catchpole?" Kathryn asked. I secretly cursed her for prolonging the conversation.
"We're staying with our grandparents," Fred explained.
"Oh you're brothers?" Kathryn asked another question. Just let them leave.
"Cousins," Fred corrected her. "We're just here for a couple of weeks."
"Oh," said Kathryn, deflated.
"But maybe we could see you again?" At this James began to shift back to the door. "What is there to do around here?"
"Nothing!" I couldn't help but blurt out.
"Most nights we just hang out at the park," Kathryn explained. "See what happens."
"Yea? Well maybe we'll see you there then," he finished with another flash of that mischievous grin. "Later girls."
"Bye," said James hurriedly.
And with that they were gone.
After making sure they were out of earshot, we both let out our emotions through sounds – I groaned and Kathryn squealed.
"Do you think they'll really come to the park?" she asked bouncing about near the window, trying to get a last glimpse at them.
"No," I groaned, head now lying on the magazine in front of me.
"Tonight?"
"No."
"Tomorrow?"
"No, and throw the 'closed' sign round would you?"
"Do you think – "
"No!" I cut her off. "You are not listening to me. No. I don't think we'll see those boys again. Ok?"
"Why?"
"Because I am pretty sure I scared them off with my apparent stalkerish tendencies."
"Yea what was that about by the way?"
"I honestly don't know," I groaned again. Picking myself up from the counter and beginning to close down the till.
"Fred didn't seem to mind," she continued positively.
"Well James did."
"Ah," she said, with a knowing smirk. "You like him."
"No I don't," I replied wearily. "I just wish he didn't think I was keeping a diary of his movements."
"Well we see," she said in a singsong voice, opening the shop door. "When they show up to the park."
"No we won't" I chorused back to her as she disappeared. "And thanks for helping me close up by the way."
I spend the rest of the evening closing up the shop and hoping I would never see those boys again. Praying I would never see those boys again. Wishing I would never see those boys again. Trust me. My life would be infinitely simpler if I had never seen those boys again.
But obviously I did.
And I wouldn't change that for the world.