One Summer at Deer’s Leap. Elizabeth Elgin

      ‘They went to the same school, if that’s what you mean, though they were in different classes. But those Smiths kept themselves to themselves. Didn’t even go to the church here. Was Chapel, see. Got the pony and trap out and went over Leagram way, Sundays. Edwin Smith had no option, come to think of it. His missus was very devout. Eleanor Smith did a lot for the chapel.’

      I sucked in my breath, marvelling how easy it had been – how I’d hoped to find some way of seeing the parish records, yet Bill had dropped two names right into my lap. Smiths can be hard to trace, there being quite a few of them, yet now at least I knew I was looking for Edwin and Eleanor Smith. I was on my way. Small beginnings, but I had avoided the disappointment of finding no record of Susan’s christening in St James’s registers. In a chapel over Leagram way, it would have been.

      I felt so lucky I said, ‘Let me top you up before I go, Bill. I’ll have to be off – don’t have any lights on the bike, I’m afraid.’

      I bought a half at the counter and placed it more carefully beside him.

      ‘You’ll be going, then?’

      His face showed disappointment that we hadn’t even touched on the fighting in Italy.

      ‘’Fraid so. But Jeannie will be here again on Friday – we’ll be down at the weekend, I shouldn’t wonder.’ I drained my glass and got to my feet. ‘Night, Bill. See you.’

      ‘You be careful, lass, riding without lights. If you hear a car coming, you’ll have to jump off, though it isn’t likely you’ll meet anything on that road.’

      ‘No. It’s very quiet, but I’ll be careful. Bye, then …’

      I smiled at the landlord as I left; a satisfied smile really, because deep down I was hoping I would meet something, someone, on that road.

      

      The village lights were well behind me, and the narrow road ahead was unlit. I blinked my eyes rapidly, making out the dark shapes of trees and hedgerows and, dimly on my right, dry-stone walls. The only sounds were of my own breathing and the soft crunch of the tyres on the gravel at the roadside.

      This, I thought, was what it must have been like when a complete blackout covered the entire country, but even as I tried to imagine it, I could see an orange glow in the sky ahead that was probably Preston. Yet during Jack Hunter’s war there would be no shine of lights below him as he flew; only, sometimes, the moon which could be his enemy as well as his friend.

      I was passing the clump of oak trees, now, and began to look around me. The familiar little pulse behind my nose began its fluttering, and I wondered if it was because he was around and his vibes – his radar – were trying to beam in on me. Or was it myself sending out the signals, calling him to me? And why did I shake with dry-mouthed excitement? Why wasn’t I afraid?

      Afraid of a ghost I could easily fall in love with? Afraid of a wraith that had no substance; who, if I tried to take his hand, would vanish into the air maybe never to return? Could you, should you, try to touch a ghost?

      Something crossed my path just inches ahead of my wheel. It slid, soundless as a shadow and was quickly gone. A stoat, was it, or a rat? I began to shake. I was afraid of rats. Ghosts I could stomach, but not rats!

      I attempted a smile. It was all right! Whatever the creature was, it was surely more afraid than I! Concentration broken, my front wheel began to wobble and I swerved across the road, hitting the grass verge on my right.

      Fool, Cassie! I pushed both feet down hard and picked up speed, admitting for the first time that it was stupid of me to ride home in near-darkness. Suppose someone had seen me leave the Rose and was following me? It happened all the time. Women were attacked in broad daylight, even, yet here was I, asking for trouble! I was in the middle of nowhere, hoping to meet a ghost! It was completely ludicrous, and if Mum could see me now she would blow her top!

      I pedalled harder, wanting suddenly to be safely back, with Tommy rubbing against my leg and Hector welcoming me home; Hector, who didn’t like strange men!

      As I turned at the crossroads, I realized I had put Jack Hunter out of my mind, so sudden was my imagined danger. I jumped off the bike, walking carefully, feeling my way cautiously because the last thing I wanted was to trip and fall in the rutted dirt road.

      Then I let go my breath, just to see the white gate ahead. It was all right. I was back. In just a few seconds Hector would begin his barking and things would be sane and safe again.

      It was then that I heard the laugh; a man’s laugh, low and indulgent. My mouth filled with spittle and I closed my eyes and stood there, unable to move. He had followed me; allowed me to reach safety, almost, and now he was laughing.

      I straddled my feet either side of the pedals then reached for the gate, wrapping my arms around it as if it could protect me, then waited, breath indrawn. I was rigid with terror. Times like this you were supposed to run, kick out, shout and scream, but I could do nothing.

      I heard the laugh again, then a voice said, ‘Suzie …’

      Suzie? My God, it was him; Jack Hunter at the kissing gate! I swallowed hard on the sob of relief that choked in my throat.

      ‘It’s Cassie,’ I gasped.

      ‘Suzie darling, don’t worry. It’s going to come right for us. I’ll make it come right …’

      I listened, relaxing my hold on the gate, though my heart still pounded.

      ‘Sweetheart, we will be married. They can’t stop us …’ Him, talking again. ‘Don’t get upset. Tomorrow morning we’ll tell them. I do so love you …’

      Jack, talking to Suzie, only Suzie wasn’t there! Jack, reliving one of their snatched meetings at the kissing gate! I felt like a Peeping Tom, spying on lovers, listening. Yet only he was there; I heard only one voice.

      The shaking inside me had stopped, my fear gone. No one had followed me home.

      ‘Jack …?’ I said, more clearly.

      The kissing gate creaked, then silence. I propped up the bike and walked towards the gate, pushing it gently. It swung without effort or noise. He had gone.

      ‘Jack Hunter!’ I yelled, but my voice was lost in the night.

      It took me several seconds to unlock the back door. For one thing, it was dark and I had no torch; for another my hand wasn’t as steady as it might have been. But Hector was behind it, barking, jumping against it.

      It was all right. I could have been followed home by a man, had heard a ghost, but it was all right! Just how mad can you get?

      I slammed the door, pushing home the bolts. Then I bent down to stroke Hector, felt the comforting roughness of his tongue as he licked my face.

      I reached for the light switch and Tommy blinked, stretched, then jumped from the armchair to purr against my leg.

      I was home, with the safeness of Deer’s Leap around me. I would never do anything so foolish again!

      ‘Let that be a warning to you, Cassandra Johns,’ I said sternly, loudly, as I drew the curtains, then took down a mug; a sane, safe, familiar red mug.

      The heavy old-fashioned key was still in my pocket. I shoved it into the lock, turned it, then hung it on the brass hook at the side of the door.

      ‘Ooooosh!’ I let go a deep, calming breath. The airman was still around. I had always thought the kissing gate was their meeting place and he’d been there, talking to Suzie.

      ‘Susan Smith, where are you?’ I demanded of the kettle. ‘He was waiting for you tonight and you didn’t show! I need to find you!’

      

      When I collected the milk next morning, there was a letter in the lidded box from Piers, redirected from Greenleas, and a holiday postcard addressed to Cassie, Aunt Jeannie, Hector, Tommy and Lotus. It wished we were