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briefly and then her expression grew serious. She hugged her knees, not looking directly at him.

      ‘Adam … can I ask you something? Have you ever had sex?’

      ‘No. Have you?’

      She shook her head. ‘Sometimes though, I feel as if I want to. With you I mean. It’s just … I want it to feel right. I want it to be special. Does that sound silly?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘There are girls in my class at school who’ve had sex with their boyfriends. They make it sound so casual. I don’t want it to be like that.’

      ‘Neither do I,’ he said.

      She picked a stem of grass and began shredding it. ‘Let’s wait. Can we?’

      ‘Of course.’ He reached for her hand. ‘As long as you like.’

      She smiled and they lay down side by side. He felt closer to her somehow. They linked hands and the warmth of the sun and the drowsy hum of insects lulled them into a languorous daze.

      ‘This is so beautiful,’ Angela murmured. ‘I don’t think I ever want to live anywhere else.’

      ‘Never?’ he questioned.

      She opened one eye. ‘Why would I?’

      ‘Don’t you want to travel?’

      She thought about that. ‘I suppose so,’ she said at last. ‘I’d like to go to America.’

      ‘What about somewhere closer? France.’

      ‘Paris. I’d love to go to Paris. I want to see the Eiffel Tower and all the glamorous shops. And I’d like to go to Italy. But I’d always want to come back here.’

      He pondered what she’d said and then abruptly Angela sat up. ‘I’m hot,’ she announced. She stood up and went down to the river’s edge and waded into the water until it reached just below her knees while Adam sat on the bank watching her.

      ‘What’s it like?’ he asked.

      She turned around and grinned. ‘It’s freezing.’

      A dragonfly skimmed the surface of the water, and the sun shining through the branches of the willow made shimmering patterns of light. Where the bottom was stony the water was clear, the colours of the stones bright and hard, sandy browns and darker reds, but further out towards the far bank the river grew deep and dark where it was shadowed by overhanging branches. As Angela bent to scoop water in her hand, her long hair fell across her shoulders and as she stood she pushed it back and splashed her face. Adam felt his throat tighten. He wanted to capture this image of her and store it away in his mind, to absorb the detail of the light and the reflections on the water, of a green weeping willow and a girl whom he thought he was falling in love with.

      When she came back to sit beside him again, she gestured to the paperback he’d shoved in his back pocket and asked what it was.

      ‘Cider with Rosie. It’s by someone called Laurie Lee.’ He showed her the cover. ‘It’s about a boy growing up in Gloucestershire before the war.’

      ‘Is it good?’

      ‘Yes.’ He started to tell her about it. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chin as he described the sense of another time that the book evoked.

      ‘Who’s Rosie?’ she asked.

      ‘A girl.’

      ‘What’s she like?’

      ‘She’s nice,’ he said. ‘He thinks about her all the time.’ An insect landed in Angela’s hair, and he reached out and brushed it away. She smiled and then turned to look at the water and for a while neither of them spoke.

      It was evening by the time they walked back towards town. The light had grown soft and hazy, turning purple in the dusk. They passed the gypsy camp and heard the sound of voices from behind a caravan. The smell of wood smoke filled the air. Close to town they crossed the water meadow near the now quiet sawmill. On the other side of the river Adam glimpsed two figures in the trees. He stopped.

      ‘What is it?’ Angela asked when she saw where he was looking.

      The figures had gone, however, slipped back among the trees as if they didn’t want to be seen, though not before Adam had formed a fleeting impression of a boy and a girl, the boy tall with thick brown hair, the girl slender and dark. For a moment he was sure it had been David. He was on the verge of saying so, but in the end he didn’t.

      ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Thought I saw something that’s all.’

      There had been times over the last few weeks when Adam had seen the gypsy girl in the trees across the river from the sawmill. She appeared to be waiting for somebody and she always hung back in the gloom as if she didn’t want to be seen. When he thought about it he hadn’t seen so much of David lately, though he’d been spending time with Angela so maybe that was it. Besides, if David was seeing the gypsy girl he probably wouldn’t want his dad to know about it, which might explain why he hadn’t said anything. And maybe it hadn’t been David anyway.

      But if it was, he wondered as they walked on, had David told Nick?

      Two days later, on Monday, the Courier was buzzing with rumours of a big story. For once Findlay turned up and went to the editor’s office where the two men were seen talking for almost an hour. When Findlay finally emerged he disappeared for the rest of the day, but he returned late in the afternoon and spent an hour at his desk hammering at his typewriter. Adam was proofing ads for the following weekend’s edition when Findlay surprised him by appearing at his side.

      ‘Working late I see, Adam.’

      ‘I thought I’d just get this done.’

      Findlay glanced at the ads. There was something different about him, a kind of gleam in his eye. ‘Where is it you live, Adam? Over Brampton way somewhere isn’t it?’

      ‘Just outside Castleton.’

      ‘Aye, I thought it was. Do you know anything about the gypsies that are camping over there?’

      ‘I’ve seen them,’ Adam said uncertainly.

      ‘One of them’s gone missing. A girl. She hasnae been seen for a couple of days now. Do you ever talk to any of them?’

      ‘Nobody does much.’

      ‘No, I suppose they don’t. They’re not much liked, eh? Still, this wee lassie is a good-looking girl I’ve heard. Mebbe she just met some local lad, eh? And the two of them have eloped.’ He chuckled, but his gaze was penetrating. ‘If you hear anything, will you let me know?’

      ‘Alright,’ Adam said.

      ‘Thanks. Anyway, I expect she’ll turn up. Don’t work too late, Adam.’

      In the morning the story was all over the front page of the Courier. The missing girl’s name was Meg Coucesco. There was no photograph, but the police had provided an identikit and Adam recognized her as the girl from the disco. He read the story through with growing unease. She was seventeen years old and had last been seen late on Saturday afternoon when she had left the camp alone. She had never returned. There was little detail in the story other than a description of what she’d been wearing, and a statement from the police expressing concern for her safety. A search of local land had been organized for that day involving local police and volunteers, and anyone who had visited the camp over the summer, or who knew the girl, was asked to come forward and speak to the detectives on the case. The final quote was from a unnamed senior officer who said that at this stage the actions they were taking were merely a precaution. There was always the chance that the girl had simply chosen to run away of her own accord.

      Adam wondered about that. If the police thought she had run away, why were they conducting a search and asking to speak to anyone who knew her?

      At the end of the day he was glad

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