The Chrysalid Conspiracy (9 page)

“You are so dead,” she told it.

She was looking forward so much to seeing Rayn and Bridie’s caravan and meeting their animals, she was determined not to let anything spoil her day. It was just getting light and some stars were still visible in a clear and healthy looking sky. It’s going to be a nice day, she thought.

She woke her mother, and although she was running a bit late, she didn’t stint on the care and attention she gave her. When Lucy was up and dressed and heading for her workshop she stopped to speak to her daughter. “It’s nice to see you have something else to do on a Sunday, Amelia”.

Amelia skidded to a halt. She had been hurtling down the stairs dressed in her tracksuit and pulling on a pair of woollen gloves.

“Oh Mum, I’m so sorry. Do you want me to stay with you today?” she said. That horrible feeling of guilt crowded in on her.

Lucy knew she meant it. Her daughter always put her first.
Too much really
, she thought. “What!” she cried, “And spoil my day? Get out of here!”

“But you’ll be on your own, Mum. That’s not right.”

“It’s fine. George will be over later. He’s cooking a Sunday roast. So get Bridie and that crazy daughter of hers over here by about four. Now, out!”

Once outside Amelia was thankful there was a clear blue sky, it was calm and sunny with that edge of late autumn. Jogging the length of the wide village green, originally a cricket pitch with its avenue of ancient trees, protected by the ring road, now little more than a car park with the shops and businesses that backed onto the river on her left while, on her right, the row of old stone cottages, the thirteenth-century church, the primary school and the edge of a more modern housing estate that swept back into the countryside, eating everything in its path.

Easing to her left she crossed the road and ran down Millers Lane, where a row of picture postcard thatched cottages with their beautiful gardens angled off to the right to square off the village. She ran down the lane and was almost immediately into open countryside.

She loved being down here by the river and even though it was sluggish and discoloured from the recent rains she jogged easily alongside of it. With no pressure to get back, the sheer freedom of mind and body matched the open freshness of her surroundings. She felt that she was truly a part of the vast panorama of life itself.

Nigel didn’t turn out on Sundays. Amelia was free to run later, when it was light, and she didn’t need her ‘Shining Knight’. She missed him though. He knew exactly when to push the pace or ease up and she also knew that she wouldn’t be doing the rigorous exercise workout he’d normally put her through before they ran back.

Her poor old mum believed they went out for a nice gentle jog, but with Nigel it was all deadly serious, he even spoke to her like an Army recruit, punctuating her efforts with a ‘Come on move it!’ or ‘No pain, no gain!’ She had to admit that, despite her rapid progress, some days she should be a little more selective about the things she wished for!

Nigel, she knew, would be spending the day with his beloved Harley Davidson. He was devoted to it and spent hours cleaning and polishing it. Every little nut and bolt got his attention and Amelia, although she knew nothing about motorbikes, recognised it as a work of art. People certainly gave him envious looks as he rode through the village, especially when he had a pretty girl on the back.

About half a mile further on she reached the point where the river swung sharply to the right. Miller’s lane ended here and access to the water meadows was via the old iron bridge, a Victorian relic, which in its heyday would have supported a horse and cart. Millers Way branched off to the right following a dry stone wall alongside the river.

A signpost informed travellers that this was the way to ‘Tetherington Hall only’. The unmade road climbed a steep hill and disappeared into thick woods. Amelia had never seen the Hall but had been told it was somewhere over the brow of the hill. The water meadows was an area of grassland where the river had broken its banks, spreading out to form a large area of shallow ponds and waterways, with wide areas of higher ground thick with forest. The size of several football pitches it was ideal for wildlife and as a very popular place in the spring and summer months, and in the winter the birds sat around posing for the army of twitchers to take their photos.

Several warning signs instructed the wary to stick to the paths and use the well-maintained footbridges provided. It rather took the edge off the ‘natural beauty’ aspects, but the local council was proud of its record of not having lost anybody for a number of years.

Squeezed in the corner between the iron bridge and Millers Way was a ‘kissing’ gate. There were a few steps down to a narrow footpath between the river and the dry stone wall boundary to the Tetherington estate. Miller’s Path ran two or three hundred yards to the weir and an abandoned mill. Although the mill was strictly Tetherington Hall property it was a beautiful spot and Amelia and Nigel went there and climbed over the wall for their workout. Nobody ever bothered them so they never bothered anyone else.

Amelia crossed the bridge and turning left she followed an overgrown path up the slope through the trees. A pair of large dogs broke through the cover, barking loudly and running straight for her. She had time to notice they were of indeterminate parentage while she frantically tried to recall the names Rayn had told her. She froze and called out to them.

“Jude! Gypsy! Down!” The dogs slowed and with their tails wagging approached her, vying with each other for some affection and she was grateful she was dealing with cold noses and wet tongues instead of sharp teeth and claws.

Rayn appeared through the bushes. “Sorry,” she called. “Jude, Gypsy, shut up and get home.” The dogs obeyed immediately. “Sorry,” she said again. “I meant to tie them up before you came. They don’t bite, but they might slobber you to death.” They both laughed.

Amelia followed Rayn up the path through the trees till they came to a clearing. Standing absolutely still the sight that greeted her was unbelievable. She felt as if she’d wandered into the past.

In front of them, at the edge of an space was an incredible gypsy caravan. Painted in a deep red, there were green and black floral patterns and what seemed to be a lot of gold leaf work winding in and around the design. There were shiny brass and chrome accessories and ornamentation, with black functional fittings and fixtures. The huge wheels were highly decorated, and steps at the back led up to a platform and a door.

The windows were open and two duvets were hung out to air. The picture was further enhanced by an open fire; the thin smoke wandering slowly upwards in the windless, bright autumn morning. Bridie was standing next to it in her dressing gown, wielding a frying pan. With her flaming red hair, Amelia thought that any painting that could capture this scene would have been priceless.

She stood there, captivated, and realised that it looked exactly as her rather vivid imagination would have told her had she allowed it. “Oh, Rayn, Bridie. I’m so jealous. It’s unbelievable.”

Rayn’s face showed more relief than anything. She had been so worried that her new friend wouldn’t like it, or, worse still, think it silly.

“Hi Amelia, are you hungry?” asked the more practical Bridie. “Do you want some breakfast?”

“Ooh yes,” she replied. She wasn’t in fact hungry, but she wasn’t going to miss one nano particle of this experience.

Rayn, pleased with Amelia’s response, had become overwhelmed with enthusiasm. “Come and meet Daisy and Dexter,” she said excitedly. Propped up on a box under the caravan was a large cage with two rabbits munching on some fresh food. Rayn took one out and plonked it in Amelia’s arms.

“This is Dexter. Say hello to Amelia,” she told it

Nervous at first, Amelia soon became seduced by the experience and found herself making those idiotic sounds that humans reserve for babies and lesser, non-aggressive species. Rayn put the disinterested creature back in its cage. “Come and meet Horace,” she said.”

Behind the caravan was a paddock, in the centre of which stood the biggest and most magnificent horse Amelia had ever imagined. He was gigantic. “Oh my God, I’m in love!”

Horace was munching on fresh hay from his feeding rack and ignoring everything else. Amelia had never seen an animal this big. She knew elephants were big, but she had never actually seen one in real life.

The beautiful beast just stood there with his huge head up. He seemed to know he was being admired and played to his audience showing off his deep chestnut coat, his white mane tumbling from his neck seemed to go on forever. From his fetlocks more white hair flared out to hide his massive hooves. More of his mane tumbled over his forehead and he peered out from behind it. His tail was so full and luxurious it would have made Rapunzel weep.

“He’s eighteen hands.” said Rayn. “That’s about as tall as they get.”

“Can I stroke him?” said Amelia dubiously.

“If he’ll let you. He’s a bit sulky right now. He’s getting a bit old and grouchy and we haven’t been on the road much this year. He just loves getting dressed up and pulling the caravan. He’s a real show off.”

Rayn called him and he turned, and then moved towards them with slow ponderous strides.

“Jump up on the gate, Amelia. He’ll break your ankles if you’re not careful,” warned Rayn. Amelia sat on the top rung of the five-bar gate. Horace walked over to her and lowered his head so that their eyes were level.

“Wow, that’s odd,” said Rayn. “He’s not usually that friendly with strangers.”

Amelia nervously patted his long nose and, gaining confidence, she ran her hands through his mane and then reached out with both arms to give him a hug.

Horace made a quick movement with his head catching Amelia full in the chest and knocking her backwards off the gate. She hit the ground, shoulders first. Rayn screamed as Amelia fought for breath. Horace walked back to his hayrack and carried on with his breakfast. Amelia sat up and looked at Horace. She would have sworn on oath that the beast was smiling.

“You don’t happen to be friendly with a little green digital alarm clock, do you?” she demanded.

As she slowly pulled herself to her feet, Rayn, who had been trying not to laugh, finally burst into hysterics. Amelia was caught by the humour of the incident and became engulfed in Rayn’s infectious laughter. Bridie, having assured herself that Amelia was unhurt, couldn’t help but join in.

Sitting round the fire in some old plastic garden chairs, Bridie handed out fried eggs in hot, freshly baked brown bread rolls. The smell was seductive enough to give Amelia’s taste buds a kick start. Rayn took out a small screw-top jar and sprinkled the eggs with what looked like crushed black peppers.

“What’s that?” enquired Amelia.

“Try it,” said Rayn.

Amelia sprinkled a pinch of it on her egg roll and took a mouthful. The taste surprised her. It was like a sweet spicy pepper and it went unusually well with the eggs. “Hey!” she said. “That’s really good. What is it?”

“A specially prepared combination of dried leaves and wild herbs,” said a pleased Rayn. “We get it from the woods when it’s in season and make up a batch.”

“You have to pick them at the right time, and get the proportions right. Don’t you, my dear?” said Bridie, looking at Rayn.

“Yes, Mum,” replied Rayn quietly.

Amelia decided not to go there and in an attempt to alter the subject, she enthused over the surprise breakfast. “Homemade bread rolls, and what’s that? Natural sunflower oil? Woodland spicy pepper. It’s amazing. Where do you get the eggs?”

“Supermarket,” replied Rayn. She looked at her mother and then turned to Amelia. There was payback mischief in her eyes. “She used to steal them, until she got caught.”

“What happened?” Amelia wasn’t going to let this one go.

Bridie drew a deep breath. “I once got two months for it,” she explained.

“Two months? For stealing eggs?” exclaimed a dumbfounded Amelia.

“Well, they were still wrapped in chickens, and I did have a truck full.”

***

Later, as the two girls walked along Millers Path to the weir and the old flourmill, Amelia told Rayn about Nigel and their fitness regime. As they climbed the wall and walked to the old mill she said, “Yeah, we do running, exercises, athletics, boxing, self-defence, all that sort of stuff.” To emphasise her point, Amelia leaped up and grasped a horizontal bar that Nigel had wedged between two trees. She curled her body upwards until she was on top of it. Quickly changing her grip, she threw herself up into a handstand. Perfectly still, legs straight and feet together, swinging down she executed a backward summersault landing feet together and arms outstretched.

“Oh sh..ugar, Amelia. That’s fantastic. Did Nigel teach you to do that?”

“Yes, but don’t you tell him. He’ll get really mad if he knows I did that without him here.”

“I’m jealous. I like to keep fit but that was something else. It sounds like a structured programme with a personal trainer. Do you pay him?”

“He won’t take anything. Just the odd breakfast and dinner now and again.”

“You can’t do all that out here, surely? What about the weather?”

“No, when it’s dark and miserable, like it is this time of year, we just run. We do all the other stuff in the gym.”

“What gym? Where?” Rayn was almost jumping up and down in her eagerness.

“Nigel converted the old coach house stables. Look, why don’t you join us?”

“Do you think I could? Would Nigel mind, do you think?”

“No, he’ll be fine. But we’ll ask him anyway,” said Amelia, settling the subject.

Rayn was ecstatic. She kept pushing for more details.

“How often do you get to your gym, then?”

“As often as we can. Two or three times a week. It depends on Nigel’s social life, if you get my meaning,” she replied with a grin. The girls turned round and made their way back to the caravan.

“You know Amelia, everything is changing,” pondered Rayn. “Up till now my life has been mum, the caravan, Horace and the dogs. Since we came here I don’t seem to have the enthusiasm. I think my priorities are changing.”