Lost and Found

A breeze picked up in the heart of Mayfair. Powering through Berkeley Square, Alayna gripped the handle of her tartan umbrella so tight her knuckles turned white. It was her favourite; she was not about to lose it to the elements. But the breeze had shifted gears, turning decidedly into a rather strong wind. Fat raindrops pelted onto the umbrella, splashes of which buffeted straight into Alayna's face. She flinched, and as if on cue, the wind transformed into a gale, and THWAP! For a breathless moment, Alayna struggled with her upturned umbrella before it was wrenched from her grasp.

"Oh!"

She watched despondently as it lurched with each gust before tangling in the canopy of a nearby plane, its flailing branches ripping through the canopy of tartan.

"Bother."

Turning her face to the ground, Alayna hugged her coat tighter and began the muddy trudge back to Soho. She had barely taken two steps when THWIP— a sharp pain in her cheek; she brought her fingers to it and they came away sporting a drop of blood. Alayna frowned. Beyond her fingers, on the pavement by her feet, was a little ball of paper. She crouched down, then as if in a daze, reached out. Her stomach did a flip.

The paper was dry.

In fact, Alayna realised, her jaw slackening as her gaze fell upon the still branches of the tree that had stolen her umbrella, the gale had stopped. Even the rain had been reduced to a drizzle, and, as she watched, a mere sprinkle, before vanishing entirely.

Fingers shaking, she smoothed the paper out. It was small, its edges rough, torn. On it were a few grey squiggles, a sparse few red rectangles surrounded by large patches of green. A map. Squinting, Alayna was barely able to make out tiny black words in a serif font, some spaced through the green patches, others cramped into the corner, above a cluster of white and red. Moor Hill. Moor Hill Clocktower. Moor Hill Markets. But something else had caught her eye- a small, red circle, near the centre of the scrap of paper; it didn't quite look like it belonged. Looking closer, she noticed that it contained a tiny red rectangle, smack in the middle of a large patch of green—

Sudden brightness, and Alayna blinked hard. The clouds had shifted, sunshine pouring over her huddled form. Eyes watering, Alayna squinted back down at the map, and gasped. Something new had appeared— no, not appeared, but had been made visible by the sunlight— three red words shining through. Hardly daring to breathe, Alayna turned the paper over.

COME FIND ME.

The paper fell to the ground, Alayna's hands leaping to her mouth.

She'd know that handwriting anywhere.

Images flashed behind her eyes. The family of redheads moving in next-door when Alayna was five. The girl with the golden eyes peeking out from behind her parents. Sitting side-by-side in Alayna's room, drawing pictures in silence. Using both houses to play hide-and-seek once they'd become friends. The near-nightly sleepovers once they'd become best friends.

The kiss they'd shared on Alayna's fifteenth birthday when they'd realised they were, in fact, something more.

The tears in both their eyes the next day when they hugged for the last time, come find me, the last words Clara had said to Alayna the day the family of redheads moved out without a hint at a new address, leaving Alayna to cry alone in her bed every night for a month, and miss her every day for the next fifteen years.

In Berkeley Square, Alayna snatched the paper from the pavement, ran to the nearest street, and hailed a cab.

*****

Two hours later, the cab came to a halt outside Moor Hill Clocktower, the closest mapped landmark to the little circled rectangle. She stepped out onto the street. It didn’t seem like too long of a walk, but without a scale to go by, there was no way to be sure. Just in case, she paid the driver — Mary, she'd learnt not five minutes into the drive — extra to wait for her by the clocktower.

It was about fifteen minutes before a small red structure appeared on the horizon. Another five minutes for Alayna, practically running, to reach the red-bricked cottage. Panting and clutching a stitch at her side, she knocked on a forest green door. She'd barely caught her breath when it swung open, her heart leaping into her mouth—

It sank right back down to her feet at the sight of a blonde woman in the doorway, smiling expectantly at her.

"Can I help you?"

"Um, hello, uh-" Alayna's cheeks burned. "Does a, um, Clara live here? The Nights? Her parents' names are Michael and Gabriella—?"

"Not anymore I'm afraid," the blonde woman replied. "I bought this place from them about ten years ago."

Alayna's stomach turned to lead. "Oh. Right."

"I'm sorry. Did you know them?"

"I did, yes. A long time ago. The daughter, Clara, she was my… a friend of mine. I—" she fingered the scrap of paper in her coat pocket— "I thought I might try and reconnect."

The blonde woman straightened. "Oh, well, in that case— wait here."

"Wh—"

She disappeared into the house.

"Oh."

Alayna took a deep breath, then took the opportunity to get a better look at the cottage. Vines had made beautiful patterns against the red bricks, lush potted plants adorned ornate green window ledges, blooming with flowers of rich pinks and oranges and reds. If this was where Clara had lived for five years after escaping Brixton's tiny houses and adjoining walls, she was really rather lucky.

The blonde woman finally returned, a small box cradled in her arms.

"They left this in the attic. I found it a few months after I bought the place. I guess they must've totally forgotten about it." She handed it to Alayna. "And they didn't leave a new address, so…"

"Sounds like them," Alayna muttered, using one hand to open the box.

"They're photo albums," the woman said, peering inside as well. "Quite sweet actually. Maybe if you can find them, you can return it for me."

Alayna nodded. "If I can find them, I most certainly will. Thank you."

*****

Twenty-five minutes later, Alayna was seated in the passenger's seat of the yellow cab.

"Look. That's us." She pointed to a black and white photo of two children sat at a plastic table, crayons scattered around them, smiling for the camera. Mary peered over and smiled.

"This who you're looking for?"

Alayna nodded, flipping through the pages. "If I can find something more recent, maybe I'll be able to track her down."

Clara and Alayna in Clara's backyard. Clara and Alayna coming home from school. Clara and Alayna, faces wet with tears, smiling shakily with a mover's truck in the background. Clara in front of the cottage, puffy-eyed, the corners of her lips turned downwards. Clara in a new school, surrounded by smiling faces Alayna didn't recognise. Clara and her parents in their huge new backyard. Clara, taller, lankier, her face sharper, in a leavers hoodie. Clara, in colour now, and in a black gown, striking red hair flowing over her shoulders, grinning on the arm of a boy in a matching black suit, identical corsages on her wrist and his jacket pocket—

A pang in her heart, and Alayna faltered.

This was insane. She was being insane. Fifteen years had passed. Clara had probably moved on, married this boy she took to prom and forgotten all about Alayna and the bond they'd shared as children.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Mary, when Alayna put this into words. "The universe must want you two together. How else would you explain that little map finding you after all these years?"

Alayna blinked. She had barely given the map's arrival a second thought. She reached into her pocket and drew it out, the little scrap of paper that had defied all odds, staying bone dry whilst riding a storm to find her, fifteen years later and a two hour's drive away.

With a newfound sense of determination, Alayna picked up the least yellowed of the albums and flipped to the last page of photos. Clara, pointing to a small billboard, stood in front of what appeared to be an open garage, two cars propped up to eye-level within. Another of her peeking out from under a car, face smeared with oil, a wide smile plastered on her face. Clara holding the corners of a piece of paper in front of the same garage, a grinning middle aged woman holding the other side of the sheet.

"This could be something."

Mary leaned forward, squinting hard. "Moor Hill Mechanics," she muttered, pointing at the billboard.

"That should be around here somewhere, shouldn't it?"

Mary started the ignition. "Let's find out."

*****

Ten minutes and a single, astonishingly convoluted street later, Alayna was stood outside Moor Hill Mechanics, heart thudding wildly.

"Go on, then!" Mary called out the cab window. "Or I'll charge you extra!"

Alayna swallowed, then started forward, heading past the raised-up cars to the desk at the back of the shop. She reached out, and for a long moment, her fingertip hovered over the bell, then, squeezing her eyes shut, she let her finger drop. A tinny ring echoed against the metal walls, followed by the emergence of an older woman from under the car closest to Alayna. She wiped her hands on her pants and gave a wide grin as she headed over.

"How can I help, love?"

She stopped behind the desk and Alayna's jaw dropped. "You're— you're the woman from the picture!"

The woman frowned. "What picture?"

Alayna was already pulling the album out from her coat pocket. She opened it to the last photo and slid it across the desk. The woman frowned, slipping on a pair of glasses to peer down at the photos. Much to Alayna's relief, a smile spread onto her face.

"I remember this. Clara, right? Clara Night."

Alayna's heart pounded. "You remember her!"

"Course I remember her! Lovely girl. And a terrific mechanic."

"Is she here?" Alayna craned her neck around, searching under the cars for a tangle of red hair. "Does she work here?"

The woman — Tracy, according to the badge on her shirt — studied Alayna over the rim of her glasses. "I'm afraid not. She finished her classes with us about ten years ago. Did so well she decided to open her own place… in Mayfair if I remember correctly." She chuckled, gazing wistfully down at the photos. "Hotshot. Said she wanted to work on those big old expensive cars that only rich people had. You know. Antiques and the like…"

But Alayna had stopped listening.

Mayfair.

It couldn't be… could it?

The walk from Alayna's bookshop in Soho to Berkeley Square in the heart of Mayfair was hardly ten minutes long.

Could it really have been, that for the past ten years, Clara had been living and breathing and running a garage in the town next door? A mere stroll away from where Alayna had been living and breathing and running a bookshop… and missing her every single day?

"What's it called?"

"What's what called?"

"Her shop. In Mayfair. What's it called?"

Tracy shook her head. "Sorry, love, I haven't the foggiest. I'm not even a hundred percent sure she's in Mayfair."

But Mary's words were ringing in Alayna's ears. The universe must want you two together.

"Thank you, Tracy," she said, bundling up the album and dropping it back into her pocket, barely able to contain the smile on her face. "You've been— this is— thank you."

*****

The cab careened down the narrow country road, Alayna clutching the grab handle, knuckles white.

"Slow down, Mary! You'll kill someone!"

"Do you want to find your girlfriend or not?"

Alayna's face flushed. "She's not my girlfriend—"

"If she wasn't your girlfriend neither of us would be here right now. Listen—" she hissed, when Alayna opened her mouth to object— "we've got a long way to Mayfair. If you want to reach her today, we've got to go fast."

"I would rather reach her in one piece— MARY SLOW DOWN!"

The cab swerved around a corner, the right-hand side wheels lifting off the ground.

"Drama queen," Mary muttered as they thudded back onto the tarmac.

Alayna gripped the map fragment in her pocket, and prayed to whoever might have been listening that she made it to Mayfair alive.

*****

They reached Mayfair in just over an hour — record time. Alayna launched herself out of the cab before Mary even had the handbrake up, steadying herself against a nearby fire hydrant and gasping for breath.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Mary called through the window. "That's the first garage in Mayfair." She was pointing past Alayna, who spun around. Tire Shop.

"How many are there?"

Mary shrugged. "Fourteen, fifteen?"

Alayna groaned.

"Buck up! Maybe she'll be in the first one you check!"

She wasn't. Clara wasn't in the first shop or the second shop or the eighth shop or the thirteenth shop Alayna checked. And now it was dark, and the morning's storm had returned, buffeting the tiny cab as Mary parked at the north end of Mayfair.

"These have got to be the last few."

"She isn't here."

"There are still two more to try."

"Mary, she isn't here."

"Giving up already are you?"

Alayna couldn't meet her gaze. "I tried."

"Well, try harder. Two more shops. That's it. And if she's not there, then you have my full permission to give up."

Alayna raised an eyebrow. "Your permission?"

"You've dragged me across the country and back to find this girl. I'm invested. So invested, in fact, that if you don't get your arse into those last two garages, I'll go do it myself." She unbuckled her belt, cause enough for Alayna to jerk into action.

"Okay. Alright. I'm going."

Mary winked. "Go get her."

Alayna rolled her eyes, then, taking a deep breath, opened the cab door—

—and immediately mourned the loss of her tartan umbrella. She was drenched within seconds, the wind yanking her in all directions; it was all she could do to make her way across the pavement to the closest garage. The door had just begun to close. In a moment of panic, Alayna ducked inside.

"What do you think you're doing!" A short man with close-cropped black hair emerged from the back of the garage. He slammed his palm against a button, and behind Alayna, the garage door jolted to a halt. "We're closed!"

"You're not Clara," Alayna said, backing up.

"Clara—?"

"Sorry!"

Alayna ducked back under the door and was immediately dragged forward by the wind. One shop left. She could barely make it out at the end of the street. The garage door, Alayna noticed, her heart growing heavy, was already closed. But there was a smaller door, next to it, the mechanic's office, perhaps? If she could just peer inside…

The wind pushing her along, she stumbled the last few steps to the door. There was a small sign pasted on the inside of the window. C. N. Auto. Alayna froze. C. N. But it could have been a coincidence. It could have been nothing—

The door swung open, and Alayna's heart stopped.

There she was, standing in the doorway, all grimy shirt and smeared face and flowing red hair and golden eyes.

Golden eyes wide open, staring at Alayna, jaw slack.

"Alayna?" she breathed, and the sound of her voice jumpstarted Alayna's heart.

"Clara…"

"You found me."

Alayna wanted to laugh. "Of course I did. You left me a map…"

Clara frowned. "A map? I- I sent you that fifteen years ago, the day we moved into the cottage. I sent it to your address in Brixton."

Alayna stared at her. "Fifteen years ago?"

"Yes!"

"I got it today!"

"Today?"

"This morning in Berkeley Square! It was blowing in the wind. Hit me in the face. It gave me a papercut!" Alayna pointed at the tiny cut on her cheek, and her brain promptly whirred to a halt because now Clara's hand was on her cheek, her thumb grazing the skin right under the cut. But then her thumb froze, and Alayna watched Clara's face redden to match her hair.

That beautiful face, with those little orange freckles… Alayna had the sudden, familiar urge to count them. Perhaps new ones had emerged in the past fifteen years—

"I missed you." Clara's breath ghosted across Alayna's face. She blinked, snapped out of her stupor. Clara didn't meet her gaze, her eyes remaining glued to the papercut. "I thought about you every day."

Alayna's breath hitched in her throat. "So did I."

"Really?"

Alayna nodded. "I thought I'd never find you. I thought, maybe, you'd moved on—"

"Moved on?" Clara shook her head. "With who?"

Alayna spluttered, her face growing hot. "The— the boy from the prom photo—"

Clara laughed. "A boy? Really? Alayna." Her voice was soft. She leaned forward, locking their eyes. "Really?"

Alayna's heart raced. Those honey-gold eyes— she had forgotten just how striking they were… and now they were getting closer as Clara stepped through the doorway, closer still as she surged right out into the storm… and for the second time in their lives, she pressed their lips together.

It must have been magic, because within seconds, the gale had stilled, the rain had stopped, and the clouds had shifted, dousing Clara and Alayna in an unexpected but rather welcome warmth.

Clara pulled away, jaw slightly agape as she stared up at the sky, now a vibrant sunset orange that made her hair glow like fire and her eyes shine like gold. Alayna smiled.

"I guess the universe really did want the two of us together."

Clara stared at her, incredulous.

Alayna kissed her again.