In the Moors by Nina Milton Read Free Book Online

greatest surprise was the one still hiding up Gloria’s sleeve. Because to my amazement, my exam results after the evening courses gained me a place at Bangor University, up in North Wales. While I’d been trying to work out if I could afford to study there, Gloria had presented me with a cheque for all the rent I’d paid her over the last three years. She had me weeping all over her soft, warm, loving shoulder.
    I had thought it might be nice to stay in a bedroom like the one at Gloria’s, so I’d phoned a few landladies, eventually speaking to Rhiannon Howell. “It is just me and Bren here now.” The slow richness of her North Welsh accent had powered down the phone line. “Both our girls have babies of their own, and we miss all the mess and loud music, we do.”
    â€œHonestly?”
    I heard her give a throaty chuckle down the phone and immediately warmed to her. “I hope you like countryside, Sabrina. We’re out of the town. Out in the wild, like.”
    â€œI’ll be okay, I’ve got my Honda bike.” I had imagined that I’d be spending most of my time in the campus pubs. “Oh, and I’m Sabbie.”
    I hated my full name back then. It reminded me of the mother who’d chosen to die rather than look after me. Plus I thought it was a stupid name to give a baby. I used to imagine that she’d looked down into the cot and called me the first thing that had come into her drug-fuzzed brain. I wanted to forget my earliest years, and I dealt with that by never answering to the name Sabrina.
    The plan was that Philip would drive all my things up in the car, and I’d follow closely behind on my Honda. I’d been whizzing around Bristol for a couple of years and felt confident of the trip north. But we’d only just crossed the border into Wales when the rain started to bucket down in sheets.
    Bloody typical , I thought, and then I saw the brake lights on the lorry in front of me, and that thought was my last for a long while.
    My first memory of recovery was a song in my head.
    Later, Gloria had told me I’d been rushed straight to the operating theatre to relieve the haematoma that had caused pressure on my brain. The surgeons did everything they could but were cagey about the outcome. They wouldn’t promise when I’d come round, or even if I would. My family sat round waiting. My first response was a lifted hand, as if I was reaching for something. The following morning, I opened my eyes and began a slow recovery.
    That was the outside world’s version of events. My internal story was quite different. I swam in a dream world. I had no knowledge of time or space. I heard a woman’s voice. She sang, sweet and light, of waves and tides, although I never could remember the words or tune. Her song was accompanied by the rush and babble of water. I was floating in that water, high banks on either side, drifting along as if I was a piece of riverweed. No other thoughts were in my head at that time. I couldn’t remember my past life and never once imagined any sort of future. I was in limbo, buoyed up by the woman’s sweet humming.
    Just once, I saw a face: a man’s features, an older man, with salt-and-pepper hair that drifted down to his shoulders and a beard that drifted down to his chest. I still remember how his speedwell eyes caught my attention. When he smiled, I saw his teeth had a wide gap at the front and a gleam of gold at the back. Finally he spoke:
    â€œYou return to us, Sabrina. Make the effort, love. We’re all waiting for you. It’s going to be a good life, Sabrina, you’ll see. You’ll see.”
    He went on whispering and smiling, and I know I tried to reach him, hang on to him because he was the only thing in my universe at that moment and I didn’t want to lose him. I didn’t even care that he called me Sabrina. I’d forgotten my name, and the word seemed enchanting on