Becky thought for a moment. ‘Okay.’ She checked the time on her phone. ‘It’s just after five. We light the fire at half past, and then the band starts at six. We give people an hour to enjoy the music, and call the police at seven.’
I nodded. Surely two hours wouldn’t make that much difference?
Becky hadn’t finished, though. ‘On one condition. No, actually two. We ask Mum and Luke to keep an eye out for anyone they don’t recognise. Between them they must know just about everyone in Ferrington. And…’ She took hold of my hand. ‘This is how close you’re sticking to me until I can hand you over to a police officer. Seriously. This close.’ She waved her other hand between us to confirm the distance, which I estimated as about sixteen inches.
‘Okay.’ I attempted a smile, but before I knew it I was bawling.
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ Becky wrapped her arms around me. ‘It’s going to be fine. I’m being overly cautious because that’s my job as your friend.’ She rubbed my back as she spoke. ‘Honestly, it’s fine.’
‘I know,’ I sobbed, leaning into her shoulder. ‘I know it’ll more than likely be nothing. I’m not even crying because I’m upset, or I’m scared.’ Though I was, of course, both those things, my overwhelmingly predominant emotion was something different altogether.
‘I can’t remember the last time someone had my back. That you’d insist on sticking this close to me…’
‘Well, maybe notthisclose.’
‘That you’d stay anywhere near me at all… the only person who I could ever rely on like that was Charlie. And to be honest, she meant well, but in practice, being reliable wasn’t really her forte.’ I did a big sniff to avoid getting snot on her top, which under the circumstances was the least I could do. ‘Thank you.’
Becky squeezed me even tighter for a second before pulling back and handing me a tissue. ‘You’re very welcome.’
‘I think I love you, Becky Adams.’
She winked. ‘That’s good, because IknowI love you. Now, a funeral pyre awaits. I’ll message Luke and my mum once we’re safely surrounded.’
34
I tried not to think about how easy it would be to slip a knife into someone’s back while hidden in a crowd. If this stalker was here, I knew they would want to confront me rather than remaining anonymous. As we made our way over to where the bonfire was safely cordoned off in one corner of the meadow, my eyes continually scanned the remaining few people wandering up to join the crowd. The villagers were waiting solemnly in an arc around the pile of wood about six feet high, and we deliberately positioned ourselves well away from Nora, typing away on her phone. Daniel, standing on the far side of the rope fence, waited for the last few stragglers before calling everyone to attention.
‘Good evening, good people of Ferrington!’
Everyone hooted and cheered.
‘I’d like to start by thanking you wholeheartedly for joining us on this historic day. I know how much it means for some of you to have come, given our history. For most of us, this is the first time we’ve attended a village event where all of us are welcome. I know that for those of you who remember the days before the feud, this is even harder. I’m so grateful that you’ve made the difficult choice to start healing the rift that’s blighted us for so long. I know this won’t be simple, or something that happens quickly, but together we took a step of faith in saying that it’s valuable enough to try.’
He walked over and took Hope from Billie’s arms, carrying her back to his original position. ‘We take this step in letting go of the past, not to diminish the hurt and the hardship that so many of us faced, but so that our children can have a better future.’
He might have had more to say, but there was no chance anyone would hear it. The roar of support and affirmation from the crowd was spontaneous, and heartfelt.
While the cheers continued, three men stepped forwards and set the bonfire alight. Daniel called Caris Smith and her four adult children forwards. They were each carrying a stick. Caris turned to face the onlookers, reading the word she’d written on her stick in a loud voice: ‘Loneliness.’ She threw the stick onto the flames.
Each of her children called out what they’d written on their branches:
‘Grief.’
‘Anger.’
‘Being broke.’
Into the flames they went.
One by one, various others stepped forwards with their sticks. They burned bitterness, hate and hunger. Sickness and sadness. Violence and vandalism. Hardship and loss. One person had written ‘self-service checkouts’, but we cheered them anyway.
When the last stick was ablaze, Frank and Eddie declared in a loud voice that the Ferrington Feud was officially dead. Some of the villagers embraced their neighbours from the other side of the river. Many of the men who had once pickaxed together deep below the ground held each other as they wept. Women who had once worried about their men together, shared gossip and advice and childrearing, until turning their backs on one another, gripped hands and began catching up on thirty-six missed years.
Not all of them. Some kept their distance, frowned and shifted uncomfortably but they were here, and that was an enormous step, to be celebrated not judged.
Daniel then called Becky forwards.
‘Crap!’ She glanced at me, holding tight to my hand. ‘I’m doing a speech.’
