who looked around her and stood out by the fact of her sheer aloneness. Her confusion was exacerbated when she realised that she didn’t know who or what she was looking for.
Kate dashed over to her, holding her arm aloft, waving and trying to spare her the fear of the unknown as quickly as she could. The girl’s thin legs were clad in tight black jeans; her sneakers were worn and grubby and her skeletal arms dangled from the gaping sleeves of a T-shirt. Her red hair hung in two thin strips either side of her wan face, but her most outstanding features were her lips – blood red and full, a perfect ox bow. She reminded Kate of a delicate china doll.
‘Tanya! Hello!’
‘Hello.’
Tanya’s voice was small and came from a throat dry with either dehydration or nerves. Her eyes darted from Kate to the crowds around her, to the clear blue sky above her head, all too much to take in.
‘You made it okay. How was your journey?’
‘Long.’ She flashed a brief smile.
‘Yes, I’m sure. I’m Kate and you are very welcome here, Tanya.’
Then came the sideways glance from beneath the fringe, what was the catch? Why was this complete stranger being nice to her? What did she want?
‘Do you have any luggage?’
Tanya bent and retrieved the small sports bag at her feet. It was approximately thirty centimetres in length, yet big enough to hold everything she owned.
The two strangers walked together from the platform to the car park. Kate was careful not to overdo the friendly welcome, having learned that this could be just as off-putting as being unfriendly. Tanya wondered what she was doing in this place without buildings, cars, shops or grime and all the other things that made her usual surroundings familiar and safe.
‘You are arriving at the best possible time of year. The weather has been glorious and when the sun is out there is no place that you would rather be than the beach. We take little picnics down and sit on the sand and have great gossips, it’s lovely!’
Kate watched the girl glance at her from behind her fringe, trying to fathom her tone and energy, waiting for the catch. They drove the short distance in silence. Kate negotiated the lanes and the holiday traffic. Tanya stared at the hedgerows.
Pulling the car up onto the driveway, Kate killed the ignition and allowed the full splendour of Tanya’s new home to sink in.
‘Welcome to Prospect House. You are welcome here for as long as you want to stay, Tanya.’
The girl nodded.
‘What do you think? First impressions?’
‘Of you or the house?’
Kate liked the girl’s intelligence. ‘Both.’
‘The house looks like something out of an American film…’
Kate smiled and nodded. Yes, yes it did.
‘And I’m not sure about you. Are you a…? I mean, do you…?’
‘Yes?’ Kate wanted questioning.
‘Is this a Christian thingy or some religious sect? I’m just hoping you’re not a bunch of nut-job Jesus lovers, cos if you are I’m getting straight back on that train.’ She thumbed the direction over her head. ‘I think I’d prefer the nick to living with that.’
Kate’s laugh came loud and suddenly, making her eyes water.
‘Oh, Tanya! No wonder you look so worried! Is that what you thought?’
Tanya flicked away her fringe and tried making a hesitant smile in Kate’s direction.
Kate considered giving Tanya a speech about being a little fish, but decided against it.
‘No. No, love, nothing like that. I myself was released from prison just over four years ago; I served five years for manslaughter. Janeece, our counsellor, was a fellow inmate of mine, a wonderful girl who will tell you her story if and when it’s appropriate. Natasha is our art therapist—’
‘Art?’ Tanya interrupted.
‘Yes, art therapy. It’s where—’
‘You don’t have to tell me about that. I know how it works. I love paint and I love painting.’
Kate looked at the girl and noticed the widening of her eyes and the flush of colour to her alabaster cheeks.
‘Well then, it looks as if you are going to get along just fine.’
Tanya exhaled loudly and they both realised that she had been holding her breath for most of the journey.
‘Come on, let’s get you inside.’
Tanya trod the wooden steps to the terrace with her bag clutched to her chest, a bodily shield against the physical and mental blows that she always expected and often received. Best to be prepared.
The house was silent; everyone had scattered after lunch. Tom would no doubt be on one of his