"Madam? Excuse me, Madam."
She awoke to a soft voice in her ear, and the feel of someone touching her shoulder. Groggy and disorientated, she groaned, swatted the unwelcome hand away, and wriggled around in her seat, trying, without success, to get comfortable. It took her a second to process that thought. Wait. Her seat? Since when did she sleep sitting upright? She forced her eyes open and waited for the blurred outlines to swim properly into view. She was facing the back of a padded seat – a travel seat; as one might find on a bus or plane. And then, like a tsunami hitting its prey, the horrific memories came flooding back: the discovery she had made, the fight or flight reaction that had spurred her to run, and, of course, the secret she was currently concealing deep inside her pocket. She inhaled sharply and reared back from the shadow looming over her.
"Madam, are you alright?"
She swallowed, then examined the shadow a little more carefully. It was only a stewardess. She was young-looking, possibly in her mid-twenties, with kind blue eyes, dyed blonde hair pinned neatly into a bun, and a concerned crinkle to her brow. 'Ava' was written in big black letters across her name tag.
"I'm sorry, what?" she asked dazedly.
"Are you alright, Madam?"
She didn't answer straight away; merely took stock of her surroundings. Most of the other passengers seemed to have gone. In fact, there was no one left inside the cabin apart from herself and the stewardess.
"I... I fell asleep," she recalled lamely.
"I don't like to hurry you, Madam. But we've arrived and my colleagues and I need to clean up."
For a moment, all she did was stare blankly at the other woman. Then, comprehension dawned and she clambered clumsily to her feet, shaking her head at her own stupidity.
"Right, yes," she muttered. "Of course."
"Your luggage can be collected from –"
"No," she mumbled with a brief shake of the head. "No, I... I don't have any luggage."
For a moment, Ava's surprise was palpable. Then presumably her training kicked in, because she quickly schooled her face into a saccharine smile.
"No problem, Madam. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
She frowned, trying to file her thoughts into some sort of coherent order. Where could she possibly go from here? What would she do? She hadn't thought this through at all. The decision to board the next available flight had been completely spontaneous. All she had known amidst the toxic fusion of panic and adrenaline was that she had to get away. Her heart still galloped ten to the dozen as she thought of the host of armed men chasing her through Damascus. Back there, back then, the turn-off to the airport had seemed like the only way out.
"Er..." she stuttered, suddenly feeling more than a little lost. "Where... where are we?"
This time, the stewardess didn't even try to mask her surprise.
"You don't know?"
It was a fair question. Having no luggage besides the clothes she was wearing was somewhat odd. But boarding a flight without knowing (or caring) where it landed took oddness to a whole new level. All she could really offer in response was a feeble shrug.
"Melbourne," Ava replied with a disconcerted frown. "We're in Melbourne."
Perhaps she should have been more shocked, or reacted even just a little bit to this news. But after the last forty-eight hours, she didn't feel like anything could ever really shock her again, and her face remained static and impassive.
"Madam, should I call someone?" Ava asked, concern rife in her kindly blue eyes. "We have medical services at the airport. Or there's the police – "
That alarming suggestion finally woke her from her stupor. The last thing she needed was for the police to get involved. She didn't know who she could trust or how far the conspiracy went. No, she had already drawn enough attention to herself. The best plan now was to probably keep her head down and keep moving. So she steeled herself against the land down-under and flashed what she hoped was a convincing smile.
"No. No, it's alright. I'm fine now. I just slept very deeply. I sometimes get a bit confused after a long sleep."
Ava's eyes relaxed a little, "Are you sure? I can always – "
"No, honestly, I'm fine now. Thank you."
And before the stewardess could say anything else, she made a hasty break for the exit.
Heading into the terminals was an experience she hadn't been prepared for. Almost immediately she was bombarded by a flood of sensation, from the loud chatter of nearby passengers, to the incidental music playing over the tannoy which, annoyingly, seemed to be cranked up to full volume. The smell of fast food outlets frying the usual grease-laden stodge made her queasy stomach roll. The sunlight filtering through the large window panes irritated her tied eyes, and the constant bustling of those around her had her heavy heart pounding so fast, so frantically, that she feared it might fail. Her palms were sweating, her hands were trembling and all she wanted to do was collapse in a heap and cry. But she couldn't. Not with no many people around.
She took a quick, frenzied look around her, searching for familiar faces – anyone watching her, anyone who might have followed her. Deep down, she knew that she was probably being irrational. But why then did it feel like every single person in the room was staring at her? Her hand flew automatically to her pocket, her fingers closing tightly around the cold plastic device. It was alright. It was going to be alright. She just needed to keep her cool.
She took a long, calming breath and began to shove through the throng of people, searching for a map, a help-desk, a list of routes – anything that might help her decide what to do next. She very nearly missed it. It was a sign that only just caught her attention as she scurried past. It read: 'Buses and Shuttles', and just below was an arrowhead pointing towards the bus stands. It took only one more fleeting glance at the overwhelming sea of faces for her to decide that this was probably her next best port of call. So, taking another shaky breath, she curled her clammy hands into fists and followed the direction of the arrowhead.
"I went to the shop and bought: a banana, some Tim Tams, a watermelon, a mop, some vegemite, six spoons, a woolly blanket, a bucket, a spade, and... a meat pie."
"Daddy's favourite," Lottie grinned, swinging Ruth's hand as they strolled side by side along the beach.
"Daddy's favourite," Ruth confirmed with a smile. "Your turn."
"Hmm... I went to the shop and bought: a banana, some Tim Tams, a watermelon, a mop, some vegemite, six spoons, a woolly blanket, a bucket, a spade, a meat pie and..." Lottie hesitated, her tongue sticking out as she thought. "and... a dog."
Ruth raised her eyebrow in amusement. "Wow! A dog! This is some shop we're buying from. It sells dogs as well as food and mops!"
Lottie giggled, then turned her beseeching eyes on Ruth, "Mummy, can we get a dog?"
Ruth had to do a little double-take at the abrupt conversation shift. Where on earth had that come from? Lottie had never shown much desire to own a pet before. She seemed content enough to run around outside or lounge indoors with a book in her lap.
"I don't think so, darling," she said slowly. "A dog is a lot of work, and they can be very loud and messy. They could wake up the whole caravan park if they were to start barking at night."
"Please." Lottie pressed, her big blue eyes gazing imploringly at her mother. "What if it's a really good dog?"
Ruth sighed, despairing at her child's adorableness. Lottie knew how cute she was and often found numerous ways to play up to it. She was definitely her father's daughter.
"Why the sudden interest in owning a dog, darling?"
Lottie's bright expression faded, giving way to a gloom that completely opposed her usually sunny disposition. She became uncharacteristically subdued, offering only a weak shrug in response.
"Lottie?" Ruth prompted, stopping to search her daughter's face.
The six-year-old dropped her hand from her mother's and fiddled absently with the topmost buttons of her school dress.
"We're doing family trees in class. Tasha just had a new baby sister. And Jamie has three big brothers, and they're always playing together." Ruth's heart splintered. She had a good idea of what had triggered Lottie's abrupt desire for a dog now. "Everyone seems to have a big family, but me," the little girl murmured in an achingly small voice.
Ruth's fractured heart grew heavier, wearier, as she watched her baby pick dolefully at the sleeve of her dress. Ruth had more or less recovered from her meltdown that morning, and had managed to convince herself that it had just been a small blip on her happy trajectory. However, Lottie seemed to be on a role today, reminding her of the past, of home, of rainy London and the people they had left behind.
Of course, it wasn't the little girl's fault. She knew nothing of their past; only that they used to live in England. She had been brought up to believe that their family name was Knight and that her mother and father were called Rebecca and Henry, though they actively encouraged her to refer to them only as Mummy and Daddy. The guilt was easier to deal with, that way. She still thought Charlotte was her middle name and that the reason they didn't use Joanna, the legend Malcolm had set for her, was that she hadn't been able to pronounce it as a toddler. Truth be told, they hadn't even tried to call her Joanna, because the memories of the woman after whom the legend had been created were still too painful. Plus, when they looked into their daughter's eyes they saw Charlotte, and Charlotte only. Lottie was a compromise; a derivative of her actual name, adapted to keep her safe.
But, oh, if only Lottie did know the truth. If only she knew that it wasn't just her and her parents all alone in a huge, scary world. If only she knew that somewhere in England she had a big brother and sister, who now perhaps even had families of their own. If only she knew of Malcolm and Dimitri and Erin and Calum and Tom and Beth and all the friends who had risked life and limb to help her family escape. But the heartbreaking reality was that she would probably never know this. She would forever lead a life as Joanna Charlotte Knight, the only child of Henry and Rebecca Knight, the owners of Beechworth Caravan Park, the place where nothing exciting ever really happened, save for her father ranting at the occasional disrespectful guest. But then, perhaps that was for the best.
Ruth sighed and slowly lowered herself to her knees until she was eye to eye with Lottie. She could feel the coarse grains of sand sticking to her damp skin, and the uncomfortable sensation of broken shells pressing angry indentations into her knees, but she such trivialities no mind. Instead she focused on her daughter; her beautiful, kind, bubbly, intelligent baby girl who was staring so woefully at the ground that it finally broke her oh-so heavy heart.
"Lottie, look at me," Ruth instructed softly, reaching out and smoothing the girl's haphazard hair back behind her ear.
Lottie was a very independent and forward-thinking child, but she was mercifully still of the age where she obeyed her parents' every command. She looked at Ruth through glistening eyes.
"You are loved, my darling. You are loved so very, very much by your Daddy and me." Ruth said firmly, stroking a gentle hand across Lottie's tiny cheek. "You're our whole world, and we love you to the moon and back. You know that, don't you?"
Lottie nodded, safe, at least, in her certainty of her parents' love for her.
"Yes," she whispered.
"But you sometimes feel a bit lonely." Ruth surmised softly. "Is that it?"
Lottie nodded, again, her shoulders sagging.
"I love my friends," she murmured quietly. "And there're loads of really nice people at the caravan park... and at the museum. But..."
"But it's not like having a brother or sister to play with. Or a Grandpa and Grandma to spoil you. Like everyone else seems to have?" Ruth finished, knowing her daughter so well by now that she could practically pluck the thoughts right out of her head.
Again, Lottie nodded.
Ruth sighed, tamping down treacherous tears as she continued to stroke her baby's cheek, "Well, you know that your Daddy and I are... probably quite a bit older than a lot of your friends' Mummies and Daddies?" Lottie nodded. "That means that both our own parents have gone – so no grandparents. And it also means that... a little brother or sister is really very unlikely."
It pained her to say that aloud. It wasn't as if she and Harry had been actively trying for a child. Deep down, they had known that their chances of falling pregnant again were slight, and they had also been aware of the risks it would hold for Ruth after the trauma she had endured during Lottie's birth. Yet neither of them had made a secret of their desire for a bigger family and there had been an unspoken agreement to forgo contraception years ago. But it seemed fate had decided for them. There had been no baby, and they had learnt to accept that they were simply not destined for more.
"I know," Lottie said solemnly. "I'm not a baby."
Ruth smiled sadly, "I know you're not. You're a big girl now. But you'll always be my big girl. And you'll never be too old for special Mummy kisses," she stated, pressing a big, wet kiss to her forehead.
Lottie permitted the kiss, but then pulled back to eye her mother earnestly, "That's why I thought of a dog though, Mummy. It could be like a furry member of the family."
Ruth pursed her lips. She had to hand it to Lottie; she made a damn good argument. It wouldn't come as a surprise to her in the least if, when she reached high school, Lottie would become an active member of the Speech and Debate team.
"We'll see," was all Ruth deigned to say.
She wouldn't commit to anything until she had talked it over with Harry. She grasped her daughter's hand once more and they continued their stroll up the beach. Lottie was quiet again, and Ruth sensed that a bit of her daughter's excitement had waned upon the embarrassing confession of her loneliness. Ruth searched for something that might perk her up again, and found herself speaking the first thing that came to mind.
"You know, Daddy used to have a dog, back when we were living in England."
Lottie's eyes widened, "Really?"
"Yes. She was a terrier. A cheeky little thing, and extremely friendly. She was quite old when I knew her, but she was still very, very bouncy. She would leap up and down like this," she grinned, over-mimicking how far little Scarlett used to jump, and successfully making Lottie giggle. "and she would lick you right on the nose. You wouldn't need a shower – she'd just lick you clean."
Lottie giggled again, "She sounds funny."
"She was. And she definitely loved your Daddy."
"What about you? Did she love you?"
Ruth's smile faltered as she recalled the first time she met Scarlett. The little dog had startled her into dropping crockery, resulting in her sobbing helplessly on Harry's kitchen floor. But then, that had been mere days after the attack. Everything had seemed like a threat back then and... She cleared her throat. No. She wouldn't go there. Not again. Move forward, Harry had said. And that's what she intended to do.
"She and I didn't have the best of starts," Ruth admitted. "but we grew to love each other in the end."
Lottie grinned, a little spring back in her step as she resumed swinging their hands back and forth.
Harry stood back, hands on hips, admiring his handiwork. The Christmas lights he had spent the vast majority of the morning stringing up amidst the fine branches of the treetops looked simply magical. Their twinkling bulbs cast a myriad of colours along the grassy ground, creating much awe among the party of five and six-year-olds. Alfie Sullivan was contentedly whizzing from light to light, quietly counting each bulb as he passed. Harry smiled. He doubted the boy had even been invited to a birthday party before, and he took great pleasure in the fact that the little lad seemed to be enjoying himself.
Harry and Jamie Peters' dad had managed to set up a marquee where all of the food had now been carefully laid out. The children seemed to be making a game out of seeing how far they could get to the food table without being spotted. Unfortunately for them, Harry had razor sharp senses. It took only the rustle of a single foot against the grass for the hairs on his neck to stand on end, and within seconds he was sending the little terrors right back to square one.
Amelia Craig was sitting in the corner of the marquee, sulking because it turned out that cake had been covered in fondant icing after all. Frankly, Harry couldn't give a damn about the child's temper tantrum. A Victoria Sponge filled with buttercream and jam and topped with fondant icing was Lottie's favourite kind of cake – and that was all he cared about.
"Mr Knight?" a little plaintive voice called from somewhere below him.
He looked down and saw Jamie Peters tugging lightly at his belt loop.
"Yes, Jamie?" he smiled.
He liked Jamie. The boy was as skinny as a rake, with floppy jet black hair, soft brown eyes and a winning smile. He was perhaps a little boisterous; often seen sporting 'war injuries' from the death-defying stunts he attempted in the playground – for which he was frequently getting into trouble. But he was a sweet lad with a big heart, and he had been a good friend to Lottie. He had been the first one to welcome her into his friendship group at the start of school, and was very supportive of her academic gifts. More than once he had described Lottie's ability to multiply two and three digit numbers in her head as 'an awesome superpower'. Other children hadn't been quite so kind.
"When's Lottie coming?" Jamie asked politely.
Harry checked his watch. He and Ruth had agreed that she would bring Lottie for 5pm, but Ruth was nearly always a little late. Yet as he caught a glimpse of the time, he realised that she was running nearly twenty minutes late. That was a new record – even for Ruth. He frowned, hoping fervently that she and Lottie were alright. No harm had come to them in their five-and-a-half years of living in Beechworth, but he still couldn't help the cold hand of dread that clasped his heart.
"Soon, Jamie," Harry replied, forcing a smile. "She'll be here very soon."
"How soon is soon?"
Harry chuckled. The boy was nearly as inquisitive as Lottie.
"Oh, in about five or ten minutes, I should imagine."
"Cool," Jamie grinned, looking down at his gleaming new watch. It had been his birthday last week, and for his party Lottie had asked them if she could get him a watch. Ever since, their little girl had been trying to teach her friend the time. "Err... which one is the minute hand again?"
"The long one," Harry answered, remembering the long hours Ruth had spent teaching Lottie the time herself.
"Ah, ok. Cool."
Harry thought about asking if the word 'cool' was now cool, but decided that that would probably make him seem like a granddad - and he already felt old. When the fathers of Lottie's friends had dropped their children off, he had not failed to notice that they were all at least twenty years his junior.
Jamie seemed just about set to run off and play with the other kids when a smaller, shyer girl that Harry couldn't quite put a name to, came dashing up to him. She whispered in the boy's ear before glancing, wide-eyed up at Harry. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or wilt with shame. It was a known fact around town that Lottie Knight's dad, whilst kind to his family and friends, could sometimes have a bit of a temper. Rumours had spread of the no-nonsense way in which he dealt with misbehaving clients, and no-one wanted to get on the wrong side of him. As such, one or two of Lottie's more timid friends were a quite terrified of him.
"Sophie says that Evie's crying because Samantha accidentally tripped her up, and now Samantha and Evie aren't friends anymore," Jamie relayed aloud, clearly having no such reservations about speaking to Harry.
Harry groaned. Hadn't he foreseen that something like this would happen? Crying children at a birthday party were inevitable. And Ruth had told him he would enjoy himself! He could only hope Ruth and Lottie would arrive soon. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could handle on his own.
"Alright, Sophie," he sighed resignedly. "Show me the where the girls are."
"Look at that one, Mummy!" Lottie yelled, ripping her hand from Ruth's to go tearing off across the beach.
Ruth hurried after her, and arrived just in time to see Lottie dig up a large, half-submerged whelk shell. It was filthy and weather-beaten, with a mouldy green tinge to its smooth cream coat, but still, it was vast in size, perfectly intact and a very fine specimen indeed.
"Good job, my darling! But what creature do you think it belonged to?"
"A sea snail."
"Also known as...?"
"A whelk!" Lottie answered promptly, eager to impress.
"Well done! Full marks." Ruth smiled, ruffling her hair.
Lottie grinned and held her discovery up to her face for further examination, carefully tracing along the fine ridges and removing sand from each tiny crevice. Ruth rubbed the back of her neck, sighing at the relief it gave her aching muscles. Hunching so far over to inspect Lottie's find had given her a distinct crick in the neck. She was sure she never used to be so prone to such minor ailments, but then she decided it was all part of the package of growing older. She leant back, allowing gravity and the sun's welcoming warmth to soothe her cramp, before letting her head fall gently back into place.
"Mummy, look!"
Ruth sighed, preparing herself to bend down once more. However, she was surprised to find that Lottie's interest was no longer in her shell, but something further up the beach. Her eyes followed where her daughter was pointing and found a woman, sitting curled in on herself at the edge of the sand. She looked to be somewhere in her mid-thirties, and was certainly very pretty, with shoulder-length blonde hair that complemented her perfectly pale, porcelain skin. But something didn't sit right about her. Her hunched-over stance and the way her hands kept battling to conceal her face indicated that she didn't want to be seen. And yet, she was dressed in grey cargo trousers and a plain, long-sleeve black top, a combination which made her stick out like a sore thumb amongst the other t-shirt-and-shorts-clad beach dwellers. Yes, she clearly wasn't from around Beechworth. In fact, judging from her almost translucent skin, had Ruth been a gambling woman, she would have bet that she wasn't from Australia at all.
"Mummy, she's crying." Lottie whimpered in a timid little voice.
Now that Ruth looked closely – really closely – she realised that, sure enough, Lottie was right. Even though the lady was making an admirable effort to shield her face, she couldn't hide the fact that her shoulders were shaking, and the way she kept scrubbing furiously at her eyes told Ruth all she needed to know. Ruth had cried enough tears to know when someone was at rock bottom.
Lottie's anxious gaze was yo-yoing constantly between her mother and the distressed woman, as if begging Ruth to tell her what to do. But she and her daughter had quite similar inclinations towards the suffering of others. They simply couldn't bear it. Their empathetic impulse was to try and help; to soothe the pain; to use whatever tools they carried in their somewhat limited arsenal to make the hurt go away. But they were both also incredibly cautious of strangers. Ruth had been burned once too often in the past by allowing her heart to rule her head, and had vowed never to be so emotionally naive again. Her subsequent wariness seemed to have rubbed off on Lottie. So although her baby was now staring at her, desperately seeking direction, all Ruth could do was hover uncertainly on the spot, silently vacillating between her head and her heart.
Her brain, her judgement, her spook instincts and every subtle sinew in her body were screaming at her to turn tail and run; to not get involved. After all, it was probably just the fallout of a family argument, or something similar that wasn't any of her business. Yet for some reason, her gut was telling her otherwise. Her heart was telling her to stay and help. It was irrational and inexplicable and simply plain weird, but she somehow felt drawn to this woman. She could feel her pain like a dagger to her own heart. She could feel the sting of her tears like they were hers and hers alone to bear. And suddenly, like a switch had been flicked inside the deep, dark depths of Ruth's mind, she knew what she had to do.
"Come on, darling," she murmured, grabbing Lottie's hand and helping her to her feet.
Together, they marched over to the woman, who seemed too absorbed in her misery to notice their approach. In fact, she only seemed to realise once they reached her side and cast an afternoon shadow over her trembling form. She gave a loud, wet gasp and started back.
"Who are you?" she demanded, unexpectedly fierce as she abandoned her tears, leapt to her feet, and raised her fists, ready to fight.
Ruth immediately pushed a wide-eyed Lottie behind her. Only once she was sure that her child was safe did she hold up her hands to signal peace.
"It's alright, it's alright," she said slowly, gently, as if trying to tame a wild and frightened horse. "I don't mean you any harm."
The woman clearly didn't believe her. Her fists remained firmly clenched.
"Really. I come in peace. My daughter just saw that you were upset and... well... I wanted to see if I could help."
At that moment, Lottie peeked out from behind her mother, straining to catch another glimpse of their mysterious new acquaintance. The woman saw her, stopped and blinked – once, twice, then rapidly, as if waking from a well-induced trance. Little by little, she lowered her fists.
"Sorry," she muttered.
"It's alright. No harm done."
The woman nodded, somewhat awkwardly, but made no further effort to speak. Still, it was a relief to see some of the wildness fade from her eyes. And as it did so, Ruth was struck by a startling sense of déjà vu. Now that they weren't veiled by fear and frenzy, she realised that those brown orbs actually looked incredibly familiar. She was sure that she had seen them before; possibly even seen the lady herself. And before her logical side could scream that she was making connections where there were none, she decided that she probably knew where too. Home. Although she hadn't heard the woman speak at great length, her accent was unmistakably English. Exactly how much of a coincidence was it that the only other Englishwoman in Beechworth had a connection to one of its two English residents? Yet Ruth couldn't place her, and it was fairly obvious that this woman had no clue as to who she was either. Plus, she didn't seem to pose a threat, and Ruth was wholeheartedly convinced that her breakdown was genuine. Nobody could fake the depth of distress currently running rampant in this woman's eyes.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Ruth asked gently.
She fished a clean tissue from her bag and offered it to the stranger.
"I'm fine," the woman said stiffly, regarding the tissue with great suspicion.
Her voice was rough and wrecked, and Ruth could only imagine how long she must have been crying.
"Well, that's clearly not true,"
She continued to hold out the tissue, but her efforts were again met with hostility.
"Mind your own business!" the blonde snapped, folding her arms defensively.
Ruth paused, deciding a change of tack might in order.
"You're English," she observed quietly.
"So what?" came the crisp response.
"I'm also English."
There was a subtle change in the woman's heated gaze, as if this was something that had only just occurred to her. Then, almost as quickly as her walls had toppled down, she built them back up, stronger and higher than before.
"Good for you," she growled.
Ruth failed to hide a tiny, lop-sided smile. This woman reminded her a little of Harry. He sometimes had a similar tendency to lash out when hurting; to use anger and spite to disguise his baser instinct to cry. Alright, then. She would handle this the way she would handle Harry: calmly, patiently, but without being a pushover.
"The way I see it is that we're both a long way from home," she reasoned, her mind flicking briefly to London: to the buses, to the bustling crowds, to that bank by the Thames where she and Harry used to sit in silent contemplation. "And when you're a long way from home... when you're alone in a strange place, everyone needs a friend."
"How do you know I'm alone?" the woman asked coldly.
"Experience," was all the explanation Ruth gave.
She wasn't about to launch into the long and painful description of how she landed in Cyprus with no one and nothing but the clothes on her back. Still, she had been that woman, alone and crying on the beach, despairing at the world before steeling herself against it and getting on with her new life. She had survived, but she would have given anything for a friend during that lonely time. The time before she found George and Nico.
Ruth watched some of the tension leave the other woman's shoulders. Then, a marked sign of progress, the blonde's eyes flicked infinitesimally towards the tissue.
"Take it," Ruth prompted. "It's a tissue, not a grenade."
The woman hesitated, then finally accepted it, blowing hard into its folds. Once finished, she scrunched it into a ball and curled it deep into the crease of her fist.
"You can't help me, you know," she mumbled, dropping all pretence of anger.
"Try me."
The woman scoffed, clearly sceptical that this unassuming woman and her small child could understand the pain that was currently dragging her down into the dark depths of despair.
"No. Really," she muttered, dodging past them. "Just leave it alone."
She was going to leave. She was walk away. Ruth could see it in her eyes. And she panicked. She genuinely panicked, and she didn't know why. Strangers could be dangerous and untrustworthy and a threat to everything she and Harry had built. Yet for some reason, with this stranger, this poor broken soul,she just knew that helping her was the right thing to do. It was like a signal, a message, a beacon from the universe, burning bold and bright within her heart.
"Since you're not from around here, perhaps you need a place to stay?" she offered quickly. "My partner and I run the local Caravan Park. You'd be very welcome."
The woman stopped in her tracks. Ruth felt herself heave a sigh of relief – though again, she didn't really know why.
"It's great!" Lottie piped up out of nowhere, evidently deciding that it was now safe for her to speak. "The caravans all have a kitchen, and a sunroof, and a really comfortable bed. It's true! I've tried them all!"
Slowly, and very, very cautiously, the woman turned to face them. To be honest, Ruth would have preferred Lottie not to have entered into a dialogue with a stranger, but then she supposed she hadn't exactly role-modelled the situation herself.
" – And," Lottie barrelled on, slipping easily into her groove now that her shyness had been overcome. "They've all got lamps with little shells on. Mummy and I decorated them ourselves, using shells from this beach." She showed the bewildered woman her latest find. "Like this one we found today. It's a whelk. It's a bit big for a lamp, but imagine something smaller – and that's what we stick all over the lamps."
" – I – " the blonde blinked.
"Please come," Lottie begged, turning her huge, imploring blue eyes on the stranger. "It's my birthday. So Daddy can even bring you some cake tonight."
The woman faltered, looking towards Ruth, who was a little nonplussed herself. Never before had Lottie seemed so comfortable around someone with whom she was not extremely well acquainted. Perhaps she too could feel an invisible tether drawing her towards this mysterious woman.
Ruth flashed the blonde a gentle smile, "As I said, if you'd be welcome to stay. "We have some vacancies at the moment."
"I haven't much money. I can't – "
"Don't worry about that, we can work something out. A free trial, perhaps?" Ruth suggested, hoping Harry wouldn't be too cross at taking in a pro bono guest.
"I don't want charity, thank you very much!" the woman snapped, her cheeks flaming.
"Good, because what I'm offering isn't charity," Ruth stated firmly. "It's you helping me out by putting my mind at rest."
"Ohhh," the lady laughed humourlessly. "I see what this is. You're some Bible-bashing nutter who wants to take me in like a stray just so that you can feel good about yourself! Well, sorry. I'm no-one's goodwill project!"
"That's not it at all."
"Bullshit!"
"Would you mind watching your language around my daughter?"
The blonde snorted, "Yep. Knew it. Total Bible-basher."
"No. Concerned mother," Ruth countered calmly. "Is it really so hard to believe that a person might just want to do a good turn for another?"
"Yes," the woman snapped. "Yes, it is."
"Why?"
"Nothing in this world's free. No one does anything for anyone without expecting something in return."
"I don't think that's quite true."
"Then clearly you've not seen the things I have."
Had Ruth not been growing more and more curious as to whom this woman was, she might have laughed at the irony of that statement.
"I've seen a fair bit in my lifetime," she reasoned slowly.
"What? What things have you seen from your comfy caravan park and your cushy lifestyle?" the blonde snarled.
Ruth paused, forcing herself to bite her tongue before she revealed more than she should. The woman mistook her silence for defeat.
"Yeah," she scoffed. "Thought so."
"Look," Ruth sighed. "I'm just worried about you."
"Well, don't be. I can do just fine on my own!"
"I don't doubt that. But let me at least try and – ."
"Why?" the woman spat incredulously. "Why are you so obsessed with helping me? You don't even know me."
"No. But I do know what it's like to be on your own in a strange place with no money or belongings but one hell of a lot of baggage. And I do know what it is to reach the end of your tether and not know where to turn," Ruth argued, her eyes unblinking, her voice unwavering.
That captured the blonde's attention. Her fiery temper seemed to simmer for a moment, before gradually fizzling down into nothingness. Her shoulders sagged and she exhaled a slow, shaky breath. And for the first time, Ruth saw not the weary woman or the fierce fighter, but a girl – just a girl – young and lost and alone and so very, very frightened.
"Come. Please." The older woman murmured softly. "Even if it's just for tonight. I promise I won't pump you for information. Your business can stay your own. It's just... at least you'd have a safe space to think and rest."
Lottie was clearly confused. Ruth's words about baggage and reaching the end of some sort of tether made hardly any sense to her. Nevertheless, she was pleased that her mother seemed to be getting through to their potential guest. She flashed a charming smile that could only have been learnt from Harry, and blinked beseechingly up at the woman.
"Please come. It's my party so there'll be Christmas lights up in the trees. It'll look really beautiful."
Ruth finally tore her gaze from the stranger and tickled her daughter lightly under the ribs, "Excuse me, cheeky, how do you know there'll be Christmas lights?"
"Because there're always Christmas lights up on my birthday," Lottie answered with a devilish grin. "And also... I saw Daddy getting the Christmas lights out this morning."
Ruth rolled her eyes and tickled her again, prompting a long, increasingly hysterical bout of giggles. She only stopped after remembering the awful purplish colour Lottie had turned that morning. When she turned back to the woman, she saw, much to her delight and dismay... that she was smiling. Actually smiling. And she had a very beautiful smile indeed.
"You seem to have your hands full there," the blonde commented quietly.
Ruth ruffled Lottie's hair, "Don't I know it."
Their acquaintance seemed slightly easier now, calmer; less likely to fly off the handle at the first proffer of friendship. Ruth decided to take a gamble and held out her hand.
"I'm...Ru –" she winced, only just stopping herself in time. "Rebecca."
There was a distinct hesitation before the woman shook her hand, "Ava. I'm Ava."
Ruth's inner spook told her that this was probably a false name, but then, she hadn't exactly been the most truthful of people either. Perhaps that put them on an even footing. And least they had a name by which to call one another.
"I'm Lottie!" Lottie grinned, copying her mother and sticking out her hand.
Ava chuckled and shook it, "Nice to meet you, Lottie."
"Are you staying at the Caravan Park?" the little girl pressed.
Ava's eyes strayed uncertainly to Ruth's, "I... " she sighed, as if relinquishing all resolve inside of her. "Yes... I suppose. Just... just for a night or two... If that's alright?"
Ruth smiled warmly, "Of course it is. I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't."
Lottie beamed and blinked up at Ruth, "Do you think Daddy will have sorted all the guests out yet so we can go home?"
Ruth laughed and tweaked Lottie's nose before checking her watch. Her eyes widened. It was 5:28pm! She had completely lost track of time whilst dealing with Ava and now they were almost half an hour late. She thought of Harry left on his own with a bunch of screaming six-year-olds – for longer than duty required. Oh dear. Harry was not going to be pleased.
Hmm... who's the mysterious stranger? And why is she running? Thank you Wolfdrum, Gregoriana and Alias47 for your reviews - they made my day. I hope people are enjoying the story. Next chapter coming soon. All the best x