**The Shadow of the Gypsy on White Snow**
The crisp, icy air of January seemed forever stained with the scent of burning candles from the Christmas tree and the bitter taste of Mums unshed tears. Those last days in the city had blurred into a single, painful memory. Alicethat was the girls name nowhadnt even made it to the school carnival. Mum, through trembling hands and tearful eyes, had still been sewing her a costume of the Queen of the Copper Mountain, stitching green glass beads onto the dress so they sparkled like real emeralds. But the celebration never happened. Instead, there was only the endless, rocking journey on the train, snowy fields flashing past like a giant patchwork quilt, and a frozen lump of sorrow lodged beneath her ribs.
Dad he just stopped being. Not physically, no. He simply dissolved, vanished from their lives as if hed never existed. And then came Grandmahis motherwith a face as sharp and hard as an axe. Her words carved into Alices memory, precise, honed, deadly: *We only put up with you for our sons sake. A tree must be cut to fit its stump. Go back to the village where you belong. Hell pay the child support, but no contact. None.*
And so they stood in the snow-covered yard before Grandmas crooked but cosy cottage, unloading their meagre belongings under the watchful eyes of curious neighbours. They had come out as if for a show. Some stared with silent, sour sympathy. Others barely hid their biting glee. Once, Alice remembered Mum saying, these same people had fawned over the city girl whod married well. Now they saw only a fallen woman, cast from her pedestal.
The holidays ended in a blink. The new school greeted her with icy silence and sharp, probing stares. She was an outsidera white crow in a city dress, with bows that now seemed absurd and naive. The girls, a cackling flock, pounced on the oddity the moment they saw her.
*Look, its Pinocchio in a skirt!* someone shrieked with laughter. *Look at those legslike matchsticks!*
Alice curled in on herself, wishing she could disappear, but their gazes burned right through her.
After school, the torment continued. The fresh, powdery snow that had seemed so inviting that morning had turned into a weapon. Hard-packed snowballs, weighted with hate, flew at her from all sides. Each strike was precise, cruel, knocking the breath from her lungs and drawing traitorous tears. She dropped to her knees, covering her head, ready to vanish, to melt right there into the drift.
Thensuddenlythe shrieks and laughter turned to yelps of pain.
*Bomb em, city girl! Come on!* A bright, reckless voice rang above her.
She lifted her tear-streaked face. A boy stood in front of her, shielding her from the assault. He shaped and hurled snowballs with machine-like speed, driving the bullies back in a panicked scramble.
*Run! Its the Gypsy!*
He turned to her. And yes, he *did* look like a gypsy from a storybooktanned skin, wild dark curls escaping from a battered wool cap, and eyes like burning coals, alive with mischief. He tried to seem rough, hands on hips, gaze defiant, but the smile tugging at his lips was startlingly kind.
*Youre the one from the city, yeah? Im Max. Well, to my mates, just Max. Cry again, theyll come back. Thats enough. From now on, youre under my protection. No one touches you.*
He said it with a solemn, almost rehearsed gravity, then flushed under his tan at his own grand words.
That was how their friendship began. Max wasnt actually a gypsythe nickname stuck because of his looks. They were oddly alike, both devouring books from the creaky, musty village library. Max had already torn through Jules Verne and Jack London. Travel was their shared obsession. Theyd sit for hours on the hill overlooking the River Thames, wind whipping their faces, watching colourful barges drift toward the unknown. They shared dreamshe wanted to sail the world in his own ship; she wanted to sing on a grand stage, her voice carrying across the ocean.
Years passed. Childhood friendship quietly deepened into something trembling and profound. Maxs father bought him a motorbike, and suddenly, they had freedom. They tore down country lanes, wind howling in their ears, Alice clinging to his back, screaming with joy. They fished in distant lakes, picked wild strawberries in the woods, rode *to the edge of the world,* as they called it.
*Alice, you look like a star today. Even brighter than yesterday.* Hed say it while staring pointedly away, but shed catch his sidelong glance. *Just dont let those city boys swarm you. Youre like a magnet.*
*Max, is that jealousy?* Shed laugh, her heart singing at his clumsy words.
And how could he not be jealous? The ugly duckling had become a swan. Her voicerich, velvety, powerfulmade her the star of every village concert. She won a regional talent contest. There was a magic in her now, an inner glowher plain grey eyes turned vivid green, her walk light and confident. And he he stayed the same, Gypsy Max, awkward and ordinary beside her.
Then came that sweltering, dusty June. Exams were done. All that remained were certificates and the leap to university. Both dreamed of journalism, imagined studying together. That day, Alice had her final rehearsal for graduation, while Max ran an errand for an elderly neighboura quick ride to the nearest town for medicine. He never said no to anyone.
On the way back, the sky split open. A biblical downpour. Lightning tore through the clouds, thunder shook the earth, rain fell in sheets so thick you couldnt see your own hand.
Alice was finishing her last song when a primal dread seized her chest. Something was wrong. The air *crackled* with disaster. She couldnt breathe.
Then the door to the hall crashed open. A classmate stood there, drenched, wild-eyed, sobbing.
*Max Alice, its Maxthe rainhe couldnt seethe lorry*
The world didnt spin. It *shattered*. Sound vanished. Only silence inside, and the raw, animal scream she couldnt even hear herself make.
There was no graduation ball. Only a black dress, a coffin the size of her universe, and silence. She never sang again. Her voice had died with him.
Every evening, like clockwork, she visited him. The cemetery became their new place. There, under rustling leaves or crunching snow, she talked to him for hoursabout her day, about Mum, about how much she missed him. She tortured herself with memories, replaying that day, searching for the moment she could have changed itif only shed stopped him, if only hed waited out the storm, if only
The years that followed were filled with study, then work. She became a brilliant journalist, then editor-in-chief at a regional broadcaster. Career, respect, comfort. She had everything. And nothing. Emptiness walked beside her.
Once, years later, she asked her mothergrey-haired, weary from the double blow of losing a husband and the boy shed loved like a son
*Mum, why doesnt time heal? Hes still with me. I feel him every second. He wont let go.*
Her mother looked at her with endless sorrow.
*Darling maybe its you who wont let *him* go.*
After a long, leaden winter, spring finally came. Sunlight warmed faces, and people spilled into the streets, hungry for warmth. Alice took a detour on her way home, wandering an unfamiliar neighbourhood, when she heard a voicepiercing, achingly familiar.
*Gypsy, over here! Go on!*
Her heart stopped. Blood roared in her ears. Slowly, afraid to scare the vision away, she turned.
A football match raged on a playground. And at its centrea tanned, dark-haired boy, maybe eleven. He dribbled past defenders with effortless grace, then slammed the ball into a makeshift goal with a strike far too powerful for his age.
Alice leaned against the cold chain-link fence, not daring to move. The boy noticed her staring. Their eyes met for a split second. Flustered, she turned and hurried away.
But the next day, she was back. And the day after. She hid behind old oak trees, drinking in his features. The three-storey building nearby was an orphanage. Her heart clenched with painful hope.
One evening, she arrived late. The playground was empty. Dusk thickened. Disappointed, she turned to leavethen saw him. He stood at the far edge of the fence, fingers gripping the wire, watching her. Waiting.
*I thought you werent coming today,* he said softly.
Alices breath caught
