Page 60 of A Brambleberry Manor Christmas
A feeling of sheer panic floods my body. I feel light-headedand there’s a high-pitched whine in my ear.
Stay calm, stay calm!
‘Yes, maybe. Okay, thanks, Angela. If…if she turns up, canyou get her to call me straight away, please?’
‘Of course, Jenny. I’m sure you’ll find her soon.
I end the call, and with a sick feeling of dread in the pitof my stomach, I turn the car around and head back home. I keep glancing leftthen right, hoping I might have missed her on the way there, but there’s nosign of her.
Arriving home, I check to make sure she’s not back, but thehouse is deserted.
And that’s when I know she must have walked over the fields.It’s a short cut, for sure, but it’s still probably more than a mile ofunpredictable terrain. Plus it will be pitch black. I dash to check if she’staken the torch from under the sink – and sure enough, she has. That’s somecomfort, anyway. At least she’ll be able to see where she’s going.
The really worrying thing is that she hasn’t made it to thefarm – or at least, she hadn’t when I called twenty minutes ago. Should I phoneAngela again?
I decide against it. She said she’d get Tavie to phone me ifshe turned up…
I pull on a baggy waterproof, on top of my winter garb, andI grab a big padded puffa jacket from the wardrobe that belonged to Harvey, andI tie it around my waist. It’s a bit bulky, but I need it. When I find Tavie,she’ll be freezing…
To my relief, a rummage in the shed reveals a spare torch.It’s not as powerful as the one Tavie has taken, but it will do the job. I needto go. Now.
I set off, climbing over the back garden fence and sinkinginto deep snow on the other side. Shining my torch around the normally grassystretch of land behind our house, I can see the slight incline that Tavie wouldhave walked up to get to the public footpath that winds its way across countryto the next village, passing close to Taylors Farm.
Her footprints have long since vanished, covered over by afresh layer of snow, so the exact route she’s taken is lost to me. I just haveto hope she’s walking the way she has in the past, with Amy, sticking to thepublic footpath. The path, which starts among the trees at the top of theincline, will be buried in snow, but if I can find the hedge it runs alongside,I should be able to follow it all the way to Taylors Farm.
The snow reaches up to my knees, and after just a fewminutes of laboriously crunching my way up the gentle slope, I’m out of breath.It’s made worse by the fact that the wind is whipping the falling snow, drivingit straight into my face, so that I have to bend my head, only looking up totry and gauge where I am in relation to the footpath.
At last, I make it to the trees. It’s less exposed here andI stand there, leaning against a fence to catch my breath, grateful for alittle shelter from the vicious wind. But I can’t afford to waste time. Soafter a minute, I locate the hedge and start walking alongside it. Every nowand then I call out Tavie’s name, but the howling wind snatches the words away,and they vanish into the terrifying maelstrom of the snowstorm.
I’m walking downhill now, which is slightly easier, so I’mmaking faster progress, although trudging through snow this deep in thedarkness is hard work and scary, too. You’ve no idea what you’re walking on,beneath the endless layers of snow, and one time, my foot meets the edge ofsomething hard and unyielding, and my ankle turns over painfully. It must bethe stump of a tree – or something like that – buried beneath the snow.
I walk on, ignoring the stabs of pain in my ankle, intent onfinding Tavie.
Every now and then, I stop and sweep the torch around thelandscape, searching for movement or a dark shape against the white-out. Andeach time that I draw a blank, the panic inside me rises up another notch.
Oh, where are you, Tavie?
Did she even come this way? Maybe she got part of the way,before realising how bad the conditions were, and deciding to turn back? Shecould be sitting in a friend’s house in Sunnybrook right now…
But I’ve no idea what was in Tavie’s mind when she wrotethat note to me. She would have been sitting all afternoon, thinking about whatI told her about her dad. She seemed all right when I left her, but lookingback, she was probably in shock and still processing it all. I should have stayedwith her. We could have talked about everything. Then maybe she wouldn’t havemade the mad decision to set out on this hazardous mission to get to Amy’sparty…
I’m battling my way along the side of another field now,snowflakes clogging my eyelashes, my face beneath my hood bearing the brunt ofthe icy wind – but I know that at the point where the wood on my left petersout there’s the little country road that will lead me to Taylors Farm.
Different scenarios keep running through my mind about whereTavie might be. She could have hurt her ankle like I just did; unable to walkany more, she might be hunkered down in the snow, alone and terrified. What ifshe’s stranded somewhere, needing to call me, but finding her phone’s dead orshe can’t get a signal?
She could have reached the farm already, although I know Angelawould have phoned me if that was the case. She could tell how frantic I waswhen I spoke to her. I keep checking, thinking I might not have heard my phonering because of the wind, but so far there’s been nothing.
The land at the bottom of this field tends to be wet andboggy, and there’s a natural pond there in a dip, which in the summer monthstends to dry up. But sometimes during a long rainy spell, the water level willrise to the top and spill over onto the field, forming a mini lake that’sdeepest in centre. And when the ‘lake’ freezes over in winter, there’s alwaysthe danger that kids will see it as the perfect playground…
Right now, of course, everything is covered over with snow.
But if I keep to the hedge and the trees, I’ll be fine…
I stop, shouting for Tavie as loudly as I can, cupping mymouth with my hands to make the sound carry. Three times I call out her name,my voice in the snowy darkness sounding like the desperate cry of a spirit thathaunts the woods. Then I stop and listen for any little sound that’s differentto the wail of the wind.
Nothing.
She has to be out here somewhere!
