Wanted: White Wedding. Natasha Oakley

storm was. It was one hell of a day to have picked to bunk off school.

      It was all too easy for her to imagine how that girl must be feeling. And how cold. Freya swore softly and steeled herself to go back and check the teenager was at least okay.

      At the next junction she performed an illegal U-turn and drove back up the other way. It was one thing not to want to deliberately get someone into trouble, quite another to drive off leaving them wet and miserable.

      The light from her headlights picked up the rain, now coming down like stair-rods. Despite it, the girl stepped straight out and lifted her thumb—which certainly made it all much easier. Freya gave quiet thanks that she didn’t have to get out of the car. She slowed and came to a stop.

      ‘You in trouble?’ she asked, opening the window with the push of a button.

      ‘The bus is late and I’ve got an appointment in Olban.’ The girl took a drag on her cigarette. ‘Are you going that way? I could use a lift.’

      Rain slipped in through the opened window, darkening the suede of Freya’s jacket. One glance at the teenager showed she was faring much worse. Her khaki coat was sodden, and her hair, dragged back in a tight ponytail, hung limply down the back of her neck.

      ‘What time’s your appointment?’ Freya asked, mentally reviewing her options. Now she was here she wasn’t at all sure what she was going to do.

      ‘Twelve-fifteen. I’m meeting my mum at McDonalds.’

      And she believed that just about as much as she wanted a hole in the head. ‘Can I ring her? To check she doesn’t mind me giving you a lift?’

      ‘She won’t mind.’

      ‘I’d like to ring her anyway.’

      ‘My phone’s died,’ she said, with a jut to her chin, then brushed a long strand of sodden hair off her cheek.

      ‘We can use mine.’

      ‘I can’t remember her number.’

      Freya’s hands moved over the steering wheel. Hell, this kind of thing never happened to her in London. For one thing she was always too busy to notice if anyone was out of place.

      Damn it! She really should have just rung the school. They could have checked their records and she could have driven back to Fellingham guilt free.

      ‘Are you going to take me?’ The girl took another drag on her cigarette and then dropped it to the ground, twisting the ball of her foot on it. ‘I won’t smoke in your car. And I’ve got a plastic bag in here,’ she said, lifting her schoolbag forward. ‘I can lay it across the seat if you’re worried about your leather.’

      Freya fought the smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. This girl was only a beginner in delinquency. Way back when, she wouldn’t have said anything like that. She’d have been more inclined to smoke if she thought it would shock, and the idea of protecting a car seat just wouldn’t have occurred to her.

      ‘I can give you a lift, but I need to ring your school and ask them to contact your mum. I need her permission.’

      ‘Don’t bother.’ The girl turned back towards the shelter, her shoulders braced against the wind.

      ‘You know hitch-hiking is dangerous,’ Freya offered, wincing at words she knew would achieve nothing. ‘I might be anyone.’

      The girl looked over her shoulder. ‘But you’re not. You’re Freya Anthony. I’ve seen you before.’

      ‘Have you?’

      ‘And everyone’s talking about you.’

      Ah. Why did that still have the power to surprise her? ‘Do I get to know your name?’

      ‘Do I get a lift?’ she countered.

      It was a little like looking into a mirror. Albeit one that had the ability to turn back time. There was something else, too. Some sense that she’d seen this girl somewhere before. Maybe it was nothing more than the ghosts of her youth haunting her. Reminding her.

      ‘It’s pouring down out here, and I’m wet.’

      ‘I…’ Freya was momentarily distracted by a bright light shining in her rearview mirror. She looked up and then over her shoulder as a silver estate car bore done on her.

      The girl swore, and Freya turned in time to see her duck out of sight. What the—?

      The lights were switched off and a car door slammed behind her. Freya swung round in her seat and she watched, amazed, as Daniel Ramsay stormed over towards the shelter.

      Oh…my…goodness. She made the connection surprisingly slowly. Somehow it had never occurred to her that a man the age of Daniel Ramsay would have a daughter as old as this one. But that had to be it. Every line of his body screamed his anger.

      His dark eyes met hers briefly, but his attention was on the belligerent teenager. Fascinated, she watched the confident, mouthy girl turn into a sulky, quiet one. Freya deliberately looked away, and carefully re-zipped the inner pocket of her handbag.

      She felt a strange pang of envy watching the two of them. No one had ever come looking for her. Certainly not her dad. Not ever. It would have meant a lot if he had. If just once he’d put her first. Freya brushed an irritated hand across her eyes. It had been such a long time since she’d allowed herself to be so affected by thoughts like that. It didn’t matter.

      Not any more.

      Her parents were her parents. They’d done the best they could and that was that. One’s worth must come from inside oneself. She only wished she could believe that…on some level other than a cerebral one.

      ‘Ms Anthony?’

      Freya looked up.

      ‘Is that yours or hers?’ he asked abruptly, his voice edged with anger and his eyes on the cigarette butt on the kerb.

      ‘I’m sorry?’

      ‘The cigarette?’

      His voice was like steel…and she instinctively reacted against it. Who did he think he was, to be talking to her like that? She glanced at his daughter, standing sullenly behind him, and caught the appeal for help in her eyes. It was fleeting. Barely there before it was gone. And Freya couldn’t do anything but respond to the sense of kinship she felt.

      ‘You have a problem with that?’

      His brown eyes narrowed infinitesimally. ‘Actually, plenty. But if you want to sabotage your chances of living into old age so be it.’ He turned his head. ‘Mia, get in the car. Now. I said now!’

      The teenager allowed herself a quick glance of gratitude towards Freya before doing as she was told. It was amazing how much ‘attitude’ she still managed to exude. Even the slam of the door spoke volumes.

      Freya turned back to look at Mia’s father, feeling a little guilty.

      He took a moment, seemingly trying to gain some control. ‘That wasn’t helpful. I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but—’

      ‘I—’

      ‘—if she’d actually got into your car I’d have seriously considered charging you with abduction.’

      ‘I—’

      ‘I suggest, in future, you mind your own business,’ he said, stepping back from her car and heading towards his own.

      Freya sat, a little stunned at his attack. She felt as though she’d been verbally cut off at the knees. And people said she had a tongue dipped in vitriol.

      She wouldn’t care to be in Mia’s shoes right now, she thought as she caught a glimpse of Daniel’s expression as he drove past. There was a price to being loved, it seemed. Because she didn’t doubt he was motivated by that.

      Even so…he’d had no business