Lucy Charlton's Christmas by Elizabeth Gill Page A

Tyne. There were lawns and shrubs, big trees and, as the garden descended to the river, there were little places here and there where it was bliss to play hide and seek which she had done as a younger child.
    At the bottom of the path there was a big playing field for hockey, and further over were tennis and netball courts and beyond that was the river and to the side huge horse chestnut trees. When it was windy in the autumn the girls would gather beneath the trees and wait for the conkers to fall in their spiky green coats.
    The younger girls were not allowed down the hill unless there was a teacher or a prefect with them, but the older ones could do as they pleased so Lucy passed small groups of them as she wound her way down the path, looking for Shamala.
    She was not there. Lucy was slightly annoyed, she had not thought that finding her would be the first problem.
    She didn’t like to ask any of the girls whom she passed where Shamala might be because that would arouse their curiosity, so she just went on by passing the big areas of grass,shiny with ice, and following the path to the very end where it hit the far wall. There, near the gate which led out to the river, she saw the girl standing as though she longed to escape. She was alone and looked lonely, and though her face was not turned toward Lucy, Lucy could almost smell the longing to unlatch the gate and step out into freedom. The gate of course was padlocked in case any silly junior girl escaped to the river, so Shamala stood there imprisoned. She turned as she heard Lucy, soft-footed, behind her.
    She was a beautiful girl, her colouring not unusual in Newcastle particularly –people from different cultures and places had long come up the river to do business and trade, and there was a big population of dark skinned people from various countries. It was however unusual for such a person to be accepted into a private school as this one was. This was not necessarily that such parents could not afford it – though it was expensive, she knew – it was that schools tended to be for a particular religion and this school was Church of England, so girls from other cultures would not be there. Lucy had never spoken to Shamala and had no idea what to say.
    ‘I’m Lucy Charlton. Would you like to come inside?’
    Shamala glanced briefly at her and then went back to watching the river or whatever else it was she found so fascinating beyond the gate. This was most unusual. Younger girls usually did as they were told.
    ‘It’s a lot warmer there.’
    Shamala didn’t move.
    ‘I love the river,’ Lucy said. ‘Did you live by the river where you come from?’
    The girl nodded. ‘I loved it too,’ she said.
    ‘And you miss it?’
    ‘Every day of my life.’
    She didn’t move and Lucy decided to stay with her.
    ‘I just wondered if you were all right, you seem to spend a lot of time alone.’
    ‘My English is not good.’
    This was not true, Lucy knew. She had seen Shamala pretending that she didn’t understand, but she thought the girl was bright and knew exactly what was being said, even though her accent was very strange.
    ‘Are you happy?’ Lucy prompted, but all she gained from this was a shrug. Shamala went on watching the river as though it was her last hope. ‘I live just along from here. My father’s a solicitor,’ Lucy offered. ‘Where are you from?’
    ‘Malaya.’
    ‘I don’t know anything about Malaya.’
    A dreamy look came into the girl’s eyes and her face was full of sorrow.
    ‘It was my home.’
    To Lucy, she sounded so sad – as though she had no home any more, any other place where she could be something she wanted to be.
    ‘My mother died there when I was small. My father more recently.’
    ‘I’m so sorry about that.’ Lucy had no idea what it felt like to have your parents die, but she couldn’t think of anything worse. ‘It must be awful for you.’
    ‘I don’t remember him very well. I left there when I was seven. I