Page 61 of Teacakes & Tangos
Stepping outside and breathing in the delicious scents of the woodland in high summer, my mind was made up. I’d go foraging in the woods near our house, like Dad and I used to do regularly. Mum would join us at weekends sometimes.
It would be a way of feeling close to them both on a day when I so badly needed the comfort...
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
When I was much younger – and up until I started at the high school, I suppose – Dad and I would often walk into Sunnybrook in summer or on a bright autumn day, and after looking at the shops on the high street, we’d head a little further, along the road out of the village towards the Brambleberry Manor estate.
Just a few steps from the village boundary, a path led down to the river, and if it was late summer – almost autumn, Dad’s favourite of all the seasons – we’d walk along picking ripe blackberries from the bushes that grew along the riverside path.
Eventually we’d end up in the woods to the west of the village – and there we’d find even more treasure just waiting to be picked.
In summer, the elderberry flowers would be blooming and Dad would gather them to take home to Mum so she could make her special tea, which she used to tell me was full of Vitamin C and great for boosting the immune system. She’d be delighted if we brought home ripe hazelnuts and something called greater plantain, which she liked to add to her salads.
And then of course there were the wild mushrooms.
Dad was always very stern about what I should and shouldn’t pick. But as I retraced the steps we took on those walks in the summer heat – eventually stepping gratefully into the cool shade of the woods – I was overjoyed to spot one mushroom I definitely recognised.
‘Wish you were here with me, Mum and Dad,’ I murmured, smiling as I bent to pick from the little cluster of oyster mushrooms growing by the base of a sycamore tree. I’d picked some wild garlic leaves along the way – they were stored in the little bag I’d brought with me – so I was already planning what to do with the mushrooms later. I’d slice them up and sautéthem in butter, and I’d add a little chopped wild garlic for extra flavour.
On one of our walks, Dad and I had discovered a place where wild strawberries grew.
Every summer after that, we would leave the well-worn path through the woods and veer off towards that particular stretch of the riverbank, where we’d found the strawberries growing in abundance.
Now, I stood still and listened – and sure enough, I could hear the slosh and gurgle of the river off to my right, the water splashing over the rocks. Memories of wild strawberries spurred me on as I left the path and headed through an area of woodland that was thick with bushes and brambles. Dad had always said I could never get lost in the woods because I’d just need to listen for the river then follow it and it would eventually lead me back to the village and familiar landmarks.
I pressed on, eager to find the river and perhaps take my shoes and socks off for a paddle in the heat. But then suddenly, my foot got caught in something – a bramble snaking over the ground, maybe – and I felt myself pitching forward and unable to stop myself crashing down.
I lay there, stunned, for a moment, regretting my decision to veer off the established path.
Grinning foolishly, I got to my feet, preparing to walk on a little more carefully this time. But then a sudden loud rustling in the bushes close by made me freeze where I was.
What was that?
Some kind of animal?
Or another person, exploring the woods like me?
Feeling suddenly scared, in the middle of these lonely woods, I abandoned the idea of finding the strawberries and began trying to retrace my steps to get back onto the path.
But having turned round in the direction of the rustling noise, I felt panicky and disorientated and had no idea in which direction I should be heading.
Listen for the river!
Hearing Dad’s voice in my head, I nodded, closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath to calm myself down. The river was off to my left now, so I just needed to carry on walking parallel with it and I’d eventually find the path back to Sunnybrook...
But as I navigated my way through an area of bushy undergrowth, I emerged into a small clearing and stopped in surprise.
Someone had pitched a ridge tent in the open space and there was evidence that a campfire had been burning. As I stood there looking around me, I heard someone behind me – and I quickly turned...
Dressed in scruffy jeans and a black polo shirt, his face was ruddy and his hair gleamed with sweat. He was staring at me with a look of hostility in his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe I’d encroached on his own private space.
I swallowed hard, my head spinning in shock and confusion.
‘Xander?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Looking at him now, I wondered if I’d ever really known Xander at all.
