play.
She had been, at the time, thirty and alone. No siblings, her mother long dead of an embolism, her father remarried and vanished from her life, wholly indifferent to her by then. Her own flawed
psychology buried deep along with her past sufferings, leaving her, she felt, as a blank canvas on which these children –
her
children, as she had begun to think of them –
could paint with personal creativity, gradually bringing her, as Ralph, to life alongside them.
A secret life, of course. One which would, had it been discovered, have brought her dismissal, perhaps worse. But the fact was, she had felt truly alive and filled with potential for the first
time in her own sad existence, and nothing could have made her want to give that up.
There seemed a purity about it all then which she had no idea would change.
She never expected to lose herself in her new identity as their leader.
Chief.
Never expected to guide them into the mire, to taint their souls, ruin their lives.
Not to mention her own.
Kate
C aisleán – Gaelic for castle, so Rob had told her when he’d chosen the name for their converted barn – was less than an
hour’s drive from home but small and isolated enough for tranquillity.
All Kate had wanted, on leaving her father and Delia’s place in Maidenhead, was to reach the retreat as rapidly as possible. But by the time she’d got back to the cottage to pack a
weekend bag and her laptop, it was after three; and then she’d had to go back to Reading to pick up some notes at the
News
– and luckily, Fireman was in his Friday afternoon
meeting, so there was little risk of an encounter, though she had mustered the common sense to shoot off a swift email telling him she was going to the barn to rewrite her Christmas column –
and Lord knew she needed a few brownie points after her awful tantrum.
After that, she’d stocked up at Waitrose in Church Street – more than enough ready meals and bread, cheese and wine for the weekend, plus some Belgian chocs and mince pies
and
cream – but by then it was ten past four, which was a pity because winter darkness meant she’d be deprived of the beauty of her journey – half the pleasure of going
up there – and also because if she was on her own, she preferred arriving at Caisleán in daylight, being settled and cosy, with a nice fire lit, before dusk fell on the Downs.
Leaving that message for Fireman meant – she reflected, leaving behind Reading’s built-up area and bright lights – that she was now committed to working for at least part of
the weekend, but she’d remembered to stick her new Anne Tyler in her bag, and a couple of classic DVDs, too, in case there was nothing that appealed to her on TV, and the Radio Berkshire
weekend forecast was colder, which suited Kate too, because there were few things she liked better than walking in the wind over the Downs before snuggling in front of the fireplace.
Few things, of course, except doing that with Rob.
‘So stupid,’ she said to herself, regretting yet again her own idiotic temper.
Missing him more than ever.
Darkness was already straining her eyes and creasing her forehead, though traffic was unusually light for a Friday afternoon as Kate, still on the A329 nearing Streatley,
allowed her concentration to wander into a swift fantasy in which Rob arrived at Caisleán determined to win her back.
‘Grow up,’ she told herself sharply.
Even if Rob did want to see her, it wouldn’t be possible this weekend, because he’d told her that Penny had asked him to have Emily, and that hadn’t happened in a long time,
and since there was, quite rightly, no one more important to Rob than Emmie, Kate would not dream of disturbing their—
The bang as her car’s front offside tyre burst was as loud as a gunshot.
‘Jesus!’
The Mini veered lethally into the oncoming lane, terrifying the driver of the small Mercedes coming the other way, then zigzagging for what felt to Kate like
She had been, at the time, thirty and alone. No siblings, her mother long dead of an embolism, her father remarried and vanished from her life, wholly indifferent to her by then. Her own flawed
psychology buried deep along with her past sufferings, leaving her, she felt, as a blank canvas on which these children –
her
children, as she had begun to think of them –
could paint with personal creativity, gradually bringing her, as Ralph, to life alongside them.
A secret life, of course. One which would, had it been discovered, have brought her dismissal, perhaps worse. But the fact was, she had felt truly alive and filled with potential for the first
time in her own sad existence, and nothing could have made her want to give that up.
There seemed a purity about it all then which she had no idea would change.
She never expected to lose herself in her new identity as their leader.
Chief.
Never expected to guide them into the mire, to taint their souls, ruin their lives.
Not to mention her own.
Kate
C aisleán – Gaelic for castle, so Rob had told her when he’d chosen the name for their converted barn – was less than an
hour’s drive from home but small and isolated enough for tranquillity.
All Kate had wanted, on leaving her father and Delia’s place in Maidenhead, was to reach the retreat as rapidly as possible. But by the time she’d got back to the cottage to pack a
weekend bag and her laptop, it was after three; and then she’d had to go back to Reading to pick up some notes at the
News
– and luckily, Fireman was in his Friday afternoon
meeting, so there was little risk of an encounter, though she had mustered the common sense to shoot off a swift email telling him she was going to the barn to rewrite her Christmas column –
and Lord knew she needed a few brownie points after her awful tantrum.
After that, she’d stocked up at Waitrose in Church Street – more than enough ready meals and bread, cheese and wine for the weekend, plus some Belgian chocs and mince pies
and
cream – but by then it was ten past four, which was a pity because winter darkness meant she’d be deprived of the beauty of her journey – half the pleasure of going
up there – and also because if she was on her own, she preferred arriving at Caisleán in daylight, being settled and cosy, with a nice fire lit, before dusk fell on the Downs.
Leaving that message for Fireman meant – she reflected, leaving behind Reading’s built-up area and bright lights – that she was now committed to working for at least part of
the weekend, but she’d remembered to stick her new Anne Tyler in her bag, and a couple of classic DVDs, too, in case there was nothing that appealed to her on TV, and the Radio Berkshire
weekend forecast was colder, which suited Kate too, because there were few things she liked better than walking in the wind over the Downs before snuggling in front of the fireplace.
Few things, of course, except doing that with Rob.
‘So stupid,’ she said to herself, regretting yet again her own idiotic temper.
Missing him more than ever.
Darkness was already straining her eyes and creasing her forehead, though traffic was unusually light for a Friday afternoon as Kate, still on the A329 nearing Streatley,
allowed her concentration to wander into a swift fantasy in which Rob arrived at Caisleán determined to win her back.
‘Grow up,’ she told herself sharply.
Even if Rob did want to see her, it wouldn’t be possible this weekend, because he’d told her that Penny had asked him to have Emily, and that hadn’t happened in a long time,
and since there was, quite rightly, no one more important to Rob than Emmie, Kate would not dream of disturbing their—
The bang as her car’s front offside tyre burst was as loud as a gunshot.
‘Jesus!’
The Mini veered lethally into the oncoming lane, terrifying the driver of the small Mercedes coming the other way, then zigzagging for what felt to Kate like
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