‘Yes and no.’ She explained that Blake hadn’t been taken in by her performance, because he had already asked a work colleague if she had a boyfriend.
Callum swung his head round to look at her now, but with his eyes hidden behind sunglasses she couldn’t see his expression. ‘He sounds a persistent admirer, and if needs be, I’m happy to step in and play the part of boyfriend if you want. Especially,’ he added with a smile, ‘if it means I get to kiss you again.’
Jenna smiled too, relieved again that he seemed to be taking it so well. ‘Kind of you to offer, but Blake’s accepted I’m not interested in him other than as a co-worker and friend.’
‘Ah, the dreaded friend-zone, I almost feel sorry for the guy. Any particular reason why you resisted his charms?’
‘Don’t you remember I vowed I’d never have another office relationship, not after what happened last time?’
‘But where else are you likely to meet your future husband?’
‘Who says I want one?’
‘Partner then?’
‘Maybe one day. What about you, isn’t there a likely candidate here for you, or have you worked your way through the entire Broadland female population?’
‘Hey, thanks for casting me as the village tart!’
‘If the cap fits.’
‘Says the girl who snogged me to get one over on some poor bloke who made the mistake of fancying her.’
‘Ouch!’
‘You started it.’
‘You’re never going to let me forget this, are you?’
He grinned. ‘Nope! Not a chance. Here, why don’t you take over for a while?’ Making sure they were set on a straight course, he moved out of the way leaving her to steer the boat, which she was more than happy to do. From a young age all three children had been taught how to sail, as well as manage a motor boat. It was something Jenna loved to do, the slow meandering pace was the perfect antidote to life in London.
She could quite understand why Alastair and Orla had spent all the time they could here before making the move permanently from London a couple of years ago, and following Alastair’s retirement. Of course Orla had always spent significantly more time than Alastair at Linston End, the Broads and their abundant wildlife the inspiration for most of what she sculpted or painted.
Ahead of them, to the right was the narrow opening to Linston Broad. It was where Alastair had taught Jenna, Rachel and Callum to sail, and where they picnicked and looked for dragonflies. If they were lucky, they would come across an elusive swallowtail butterfly amongst the milk parsley, both of which were a rarity. In the spring, the woodland at the far end was home to bluebells and patches of yellow celandine, the trees full of birdsong – chiffchaffs and great tits. But now the waters, a little under thirty acres, no longer welcomed them as they once did: it was here that Orla had drowned. Mum and Dad said that Alastair had never ventured again into the broad since Orla’s body was found. Jenna could understand why. Was that another reason why he felt he had to leave the area, having this awful reminder so close to home?
As children, Orla had taken pleasure in telling them that Linston Broad was haunted by a young girl who’d drowned herself after her parents had died in a boating accident at the end of the nineteenth century. The story went that the orphaned girl never recovered from the shock of losing her parents and spent her nights with a lantern searching for them amongst the reed beds. Then one wintry night, when she could bear her loss no longer, she waded into the freezing water and drowned herself to join her beloved mother and father. It was said that at night her pitiful cries could be heard calling for them –‘Mama … Papa … where are you?’
In the telling of the typically gothic Victorian tale, Orla would add her own melodramatic spin to the child’s plaintive cries, and perhaps embellishing the story yet more, she would say that on some nights, when the smooth surface of the water was shrouded in a veil of mist, not only could the girl’s ghostly weeping be heard, but she could be glimpsed rising out of the water, a whitish spectre draped in weeds from the bottom of the broad. Orla claimed to have seen the ghost with her own eyes.
It was heady stuff for Jenna as a child and, as is often the way for children, the scary thrill of the story only existed at night when her imagination was at its most active. During the day, when the sun was shining and they were sailing on the sparkling waters of the broad, the drowned girl and her parents were forgotten.
Now, with Orla having drowned in those same waters, how could they think of that heartbreakingly sad story, true or not, and not shudder?
‘Do you ever sail in there like we used to?’ she asked Callum, noticing that he was staring in the same direction as she was as they passed the broad.
‘Now and then,’ he answered. ‘It might sound odd, but I feel I should.’
‘As a mark of respect?’
He nodded. ‘Something like that.’
‘I’m not sure I could.’
‘Are you accusing me of being ghoulish?’
‘No, it just gives me shivers thinking of Orla dying that way. I was thinking of the story she used to tell us about the little girl drowning herself. Do you remember it?’
‘Of course, it’s part of local folklore.’
