Gypsy Girl (19 page)

She was right – it would’ve been easier – but Sabrina had insisted on setting off from Gypsy’s Acre.

“She wants it to be exactly like our mother’s wedding,” I explained. “The same field, the same flowers, the same church, the same hotel for the reception.” That’s why I’d been busy putting up the bower of roses by the trailer door and making sure everything was ready for the photographs. I looked at myself in the mirror as the girl arranged the long, shining curls. No one could tell that I hadn’t slept and that someone had threatened the life of me and my family. Nor that a few hours ago I was fighting Rocky. My arms knew it, though.

By the time our hair was finished and our make-up was done, all the girls at the hotel – except for Alice – were crowding round the door telling Sabrina how beautiful she looked.

“Come on, time to go,” I said to her, as she twirled in front of the mirror, in full make-up, false lashes and jammy-red lips, with her long curls swishing about her and the crown sparkling on her head. “Daddy’s waiting in the car park. I’ll call him to come round to the front door and meet us.”

“Why bother? We can go to him in the car park,” said Sabrina as we clattered downstairs, our hair and make-up perfect, our tiaras glittering, but still in our oldest jeans and tops.

I couldn’t tell her that I didn’t want just the two of us to get too close to Hudson.

“Nah, you’re a bride, you have to have luxury.” And I got my phone out.

Me daddy met us at the front door. That’s when I spotted Milo sitting in a bus stop opposite, talking on his phone and watching us. I wanted to go up and hit him. I wanted to whirl through 360 degrees and bring my leg up and kick him in the chin and send him crashing to the floor. I wanted to go and tell the police and Mr Langton and everyone else that it wasn’t us that they should be so worried about, but a respectable businessman. But I couldn’t.

“Sammy!” Sabrina was already inside the car. “Stop daydreaming.”

It wasn’t a daydream I was having, it was a nightmare.

“Coming.”

I thought I’d be able to relax on Gypsy’s Acre, but even here among all my aunties and uncles and friends, all I could think about was the danger I’d put everyone in.

There were children running round everywhere, or riding their bikes and push-alongs. They weren’t in their wedding clothes yet, because they’d only get them dirty. Some of my aunts had gone into town to the hairdresser’s, some were hurrying between the trailers borrowing shoes or trying to find where they’d put their new fascinators.

“Look what we got, Sabrina!” shouted Star as we dodged between the children. She was waving a bunch of flowers.

Star, Suzie and Savannah had been collecting the wild roses to tuck into Sabrina’s big bouquet, and came hurrying over to give them to her.

“The flower people delivered the rest of the bouquets as well,” said Suzie. “Come and look.”

They led her away, followed by an admiring crowd of little girls, including Whitney Jade, who’d spent the night with her hair in rags so that she could have ringlets as well. When I was all on my own, I turned slowly round and round, listening and looking for any more of McCloud’s men who might be watching.

Hudson’s Subaru had followed us home. It was now parked on their driveway, so that it was in view of the field. He would be in there watching me. I turned my back. And came face to face with Beryl. She grabbed hold of me, her hair in big heated rollers. She looked stressed.

“Thank God you’re back, Sammy-Jo. Don’t tell Sabrina, but we’ve lost Granny Kate.”

My first thought? McCloud had got hold of her.

Beryl pointed to the road. “I’ve got the men going along there in case she’s decided to walk into town for some reason. And I’ve been searching the trailers, but she’s nowhere. I’m at my wits’ end. I didn’t need this, not today. This is going to hold up all the arrangements.”

“I’ll go check the fields next to ours,” I said.

She dashed off, but before I could move, Bartley appeared from nowhere and was standing in my way.

“’Scuse,” I sez.

He didn’t move, just carried on looking down at me like he was trying to read the thoughts in my head. I didn’t like this.

“Outta my way, Bartley. I’ve got to find Granny.”

Still he didn’t move. Just nodded. “I think the poor old girl’s losing it,” he said. “She was talking about all sorts of weird things this morning. Going on about magpies. About there not being the right number.”

“That’s just an old superstition.” I skipped round him and started walking. “She won’t be far,” I called back.

“Wait.” He caught me up and gave me a sharp glance. “What’s up with you?”

I kept going. “Nothing?” I summoned up a big smile. “I’m fine and dandy, thank you, Uncle Bartley.”

“So why do you keep looking over there?” He pointed back to International Express.

“You’re imagining it.”

Bartley’s not an easy man to fool. He grabbed me arm. “You haven’t been irritating anybody there?”

“No. I don’t care about them.”

He frowned. “Not even that skinhead boy who tried to beat you up?”

“No. Now let’s look for Granny.”

He wouldn’t be put off. “She’s wandered off, that’s all. Not like you to be worried.”

That was because I suspected McCloud might’ve got hold of her. But I couldn’t tell him that.

“Beryl’s worried. And when she’s worried, everyone suffers.” As I got closer to the gap in the hedge that led to the next field, I saw a figure in the distance, leaning on a gate. A wave of relief swept over me. “Oh, there she is!”

Before he could question me any more, I trotted thankfully away. It didn’t take me long to reach her. She was enjoying the sunshine and leaning on the gate that led down towards Langton House. She wasn’t alone. On the other side of the gate was the old fella, Gregory’s great-grandfather. His scrawny neck stuck out of his collar and tie like a turtle’s out of its shell. He’d stuck his walking sticks in the ground and was leaning on the gate as well. It seemed Gregory’s dad had been looking for him too, because he was walking towards them from the other direction. He didn’t look happy, unlike Granny Kate. She’d got her precious bottle of blackberry wine with her, and there were two little glasses balanced on top of the gate.

“We were worried about you, Granny,” I said as I reached her. I smiled at the old fella. “Nice to meet you again.”

He chuckled. “Don’t you look lovely! I’ve been telling this lady here how I remember when she looked like you, with all that long, dark hair!”

This made Granny Kate smirk like a cat. “Aye. Those were the days.”

“See how we can all be friends,” I said to Mr Langton as he walked up to us.

He ignored me. He wouldn’t even meet me eyes. He held out his hand to the old man. “Come on, Pops, let’s get you home. We didn’t know where you’d got to.”

“Stop fussing!” said the old fella, waving his hand away. “What sort of trouble could I get into at my age? I’ve been tasting this lady’s special wine.” He twinkled at Granny Kate. “A bit too sweet for me nowadays, a sip is enough. It’s a long time since I first tasted it. During the war, wasn’t it?”

Granny Kate nodded.

“So you remember each other?” I said, trying not to smile because Mr Langton looked horrified.

“We do!” he said.

I’ve seen a photo of Granny Kate when she was young. It was faded and crumpled, but you could tell she had the Smith looks back then, with her dark hair hanging down her back, big hoop earrings and long skirts. She was standing in front of a wooden vardo, just like the one she said would be coming to get her when she died.

I looked at them now, as they basked in the sunshine, on either side of the gate, not caring what me and Mr Langton thought of them. And I wondered if she and the old man had ever looked into each other’s eyes like me and Gregory did. Would she ever have been allowed to hold hands with him, like I had with Gregory? My heart gave a few quick beats as I remembered the feel of his hands in mine, and later his arm around my shoulders holding me close as he helped me from the club. But that was over. It would never happen again. Not so much had changed in all those years.

Langton was scowling and still trying to persuade the old man to get hold of his sticks and come away. He must’ve been annoyed that his grandfather was being so friendly to the people who were making life hard for him. The old man wasn’t bothered, though.

“Kate’s family came round every year to help with the fruit picking on the farms. But during the war they stopped here and didn’t move away. All the men were gone, you see. All the stopping places ploughed for food.” He smiled at Granny. “That’s why I remember the Smith girls.”

“We over wintered on this piece of ground,” said Granny. “We should’ve been travelling on, but the war changed everything.” She gave Mr Langton a sharp look. “The farmers didn’t mind us hanging round in them days.”

Mr Langton had had his fill of their reminiscences. “That’s enough, Pops, let’s get you home.”

The old fella ignored him.

“I remember looking out of the window and seeing the wooden caravans—”

“Vardos,” said Granny Kate.

“That’s right. First there was the pea picking.”

“Then it were the fruit – apples, pears, raspberries.”

“And lastly the potatoes.”

“Oh, I hated tater picking,” said Granny Kate.

They both started laughing. I was wondering how much of Granny’s potent wine they’d had. Mr Langton kept sneaking glances at me. I supposed he’d never seen a girl wearing a crystal tiara, with highly styled hair and a pair of ripped jeans.

“Come on, Granny, we’ve got to get ready for the wedding,” I said. “And after that we’ll be leaving here.” I looked down at the old fella. “Sounds like it was nicer in your day. We’re not so welcome now.”

He patted Granny Kate’s hand. “This lady’s welcome any time.”

You should’ve seen Mr Langton’s face! But before I could get Granny moving, she insisted on pouring the old fella another small glass, and one for herself. He held up his glass.

“Here’s to the bride.”

He took a dainty sip compared to Granny, who swigged it back, and then they clinked glasses, an old gypsy woman and an old gorjer man. Maybe when you get that old you can’t be bothered to worry about where people come from or how much money they’ve got. After that last toast I managed to get her moving. She was a bit wobbly. I suspected she’d had too much of her brew, even though there wasn’t much missing from the bottle. As we walked back through the fields to Gypsy’s Acre, she stumbled a couple of times. This wasn’t like her at all. I linked my arm through hers and made sure she didn’t fall again. She seemed fragile today, more like a little bird than her usual self.

“You all right?”

She clutched at my hand with her thin, knobbly one. “Bit dizzy. Nothing to worry about, chavvy.”

Even the smell of the blackberry wine made my head spin. It was a good job that it would only be served in small glasses at the reception. I think Granny had made a potent brew.

Everyone was relieved to see her back, and Beryl took her off, still clutching her bottle, to get changed into her wedding outfit. There was no rest for me. I only had time to sneak a look at the red Subaru before Sabrina hollered from our trailer.

“Sammy-Jo, come on! It’s time for me to get me dress on!”

I swear, we nearly needed a crane.

It took four of us, me, Sadie-May, Star and Queenie, to get Sabrina into her wedding dress.

First she had to stand on a chair in her pants and bra while we tied the big padded beanbags around her waist to make the dress stick out far and wide. That created the first panic, because Sabrina’s got a tiny waist and the beanbags were too big. I was beginning to doubt that she would be able to walk down the aisle at all, but finally we got them pinned around her.

Next came three separate underskirts and the huge puffball skirt of the dress, glittering with Swarovski crystals, that had to be tied tightly. Last of all was the boned bodice, which we had to lace up at the back and pull so tight that Sabrina would have an even tinier waist by the time we’d finished. As we arranged the huge skirts, we looked like Victorian maid servants dressing her ladyship. And when we’d finished, Sabrina looked like the richest girl in the world. The only problem was that she couldn’t sit down now, not without disappearing into a great cloud of silk and tulle.

Queenie told her to stand still and not move.

My dress was a lot easier to get on, and a lot more comfortable. I wriggled into it while no one was taking any notice of me. I didn’t want anyone seeing my bruises from last night. Star laced it up the back for me and pulled it tight. I looked at myself in the long mirror on the back of the wardrobe door.

It was quite a transformation.

No more little lycra shorts and tiny crop top. No more half-gloves to protect my knuckles. I was head to toe white silk and crystals, tight all the way down from the boned strapless bodice to where the dress flared out into its froth of net skirts so that I could walk.

Think Pippa Middleton but with more swagger, more tulle and lots more crystals.

I looked very different to the girl Hudson had spotted crouching in the brambles. But all the dresses in the world couldn’t change the state of my mind. I just wanted the wedding over and for us to go home. I’d left my phone in my jeans, but I went and got it. It wasn’t going to leave my side today. There was only one problem: there was nowhere to put it, not in a dress this tight. In the end I breathed in deeply and managed to tuck it down the front of the bodice.

By now the photographer was here and wanting to take our pictures, so we squeezed Sabrina out of the door and through the rose bower. We posed beside the satin-trimmed patio table and chairs. The whole site had come to watch us, but I couldn’t stop myself glancing over towards Langton House. No one was watching from there. Gregory was nowhere in sight. Good, I told myself, as I smiled and smiled. I’d wanted to drive him away, and it looked like I’d succeeded.

When the photographer had taken about a hundred photos, I forced myself not to check on Hudson and got on with my chief-bridesmaid duties. These seemed to consist of keeping the little flower girl, Whitney Jade, from getting chocolate down her dress and getting Thomas Hamilton to stop riding on his quad bike, because he was getting oil all over his little pageboy suit. I bet Pippa Middleton didn’t have to stop any of her pageboys riding a quad bike round and round a field.