Chapter One Friday, 7th July He had found exactly the right spot in the woods. A little clearing, green and dim, encircled by tall trees. A magical, mystery place. He would bring his lovely Helen here, and no-one would ever find them. No-one would hear her when she screamed and begged for mercy, and no-one would come running to rescue her, like they’d tried to with the first Helen. This time it was going to be perfect. A sacrament - something holy. He was looking forward to it so much. He’d first noticed her in the village shop last weekend. She was buying bread and fruit, and he’d even helped her when she dropped an orange and it rolled down the aisle towards him. He’d picked it up and handed it back to her, and just for a second their eyes had met. In that brief moment he’d known. He had found another Helen. She had Helen’s brown eyes, Helen’s long dark hair; even the shape of her body was Helen. Slim, but with delicious curves in all the right places. Of course he hadn’t said anything then, just ‘you’re welcome’ when she smiled a quick ‘thank you’. Her eyes were dark and troubled, and a sudden rush of sweat prickled all over his body. He went and hung around behind the shelf with the soap powder until she’d paid and left, and then he asked old Mrs Mullen at the check-out who she was. Mrs Mullen was the biggest gossip in Lower Banford, and usually he was very careful not to start her off. He didn’t want to be seen chit-chatting about the village people in their local shop. Now, however, he listened gratefully as she prattled on. ‘That’s Alicia Bryson, Bob Logan’s daughter. She’s up for the day to see poor Bob after that last little stroke he had, his fifth one I hear and he’s not doing so well. Margaret Cairns¬ – his sister, you know, she looks after Bob but it’s getting too much for her, she’s nearly seventy herself after all – was saying yesterday that Alicia and her little girl were coming for the summer too. I suppose… ’ He hadn’t listened any more. Alicia Bryson? No, she was Helen… his Helen. And she’d be in Lower Banford all summer, that was all that mattered. He would find her and make her his own darling love. And there was a child, too, another Helen? Little Helen? How perfect.
The Paradise Trees by Linda Huber