**The Shadow of Gypsy on the White Snow**
The crisp, icy air of January seemed forever steeped in the scent of burning candles from the Christmas tree and the bitter taste of my mothers unstoppable tears. Those last days in the city had blurred into a painful haze. Alicethat was the girls name nowhadnt even made it to the school carnival. Through tears and trembling hands, Mum had still sewn her a costume, dressing a green gown with beads that shimmered like real emeralds. But the celebration never came. Instead, there was the endless sway of the train, snow-covered fields outside the window like a giant quilt, and a frozen lump of sorrow lodged in her chest.
Dad he just stopped being. Not physically, no. He simply dissolved, vanished from their lives as if hed never existed. Then his mother arrived, her face sharp and hard as an axe. Her words carved into Alices memory forever, precise, lethal: “We only tolerated you for our sons sake. A tree must be felled clean. Go back to your village where you belong. Hell pay child support, but no contact. None.”
And there they werestanding in the snow before a crooked but cosy cottage. They unloaded their meagre belongings under the gaze of dozens of curious eyes. Neighbours. They watched like it was theatre. Some with silent, sour pity. Others with barely concealed glee. Yet Alice remembered, from Mums stories, how those same people had once fawned over the “city girl” whod married well. Now they saw only a fallen woman, cast from her pedestal.
School began in an instant. The new one greeted her with icy silence and sharp, probing stares. She was an outsidera white crow in her city dress, ribbons now absurdly naive. The girls, a flock of crows, descended at once.
“Look at Pinocchio in a skirt!” someone shrieked. “Legs like matchsticks!”
Alice folded into herself, willing invisibility, but their stares burned through her.
After school, the torment continued. The pure, soft snow that had charmed her that morning became a weapon. Snowballs, packed with hate, flew from all sides. Each hit stole her breath, tears betraying her. She fell to her knees, shielding her head, ready to vanish into the drift.
Thenthe jeers turned to shouts of pain and fear.
“Get em, city girl! Harder!”
She lifted her face. A boy stood over her, shielding her, hurling snowballs with such speed and fury their tormentors scattered.
“Run! Its Mad Gypsy!”
He turned to her. And yes, he did look like a gypsy from a storybookdark skin, wild black curls escaping his old wool hat, eyes like burning coals, alive with mischief. He tried to seem rough, hands on hips, gaze defiant, but his smile, breaking through, was startlingly kind.
“Youre the one from the city? Im Max. Cry again, and theyll come back. Stop. From today, youre under my protection.”
He said it with solemn, boyish gravity, clearly borrowed from some film. Then flushed, embarrassed by his own dramatics.
So began their friendship. Max wasnt a gypsyjust dark-skinned, unusual for the village. They were alike in odd ways: both devouring books from the creaking, musty village library. Max had read every Jules Verne and Jack London. Their shared obsession was adventure. Theyd sit for hours on the hill above the Thames, wind whipping their faces, watching boats drift toward the horizon. He dreamed of sailing the world; she, of singing on a stage across the ocean.
Years passed. Childhood friendship melted into something deeper. His father bought him a motorbike, and it became their freedom. They raced down country lanes, wind stealing their words, her arms tight around him. They fished at distant lakes, picked berries in the woods, rode to “the edge of the world,” as they called it.
“Alice, youre blinding today. Prettier than yesterday,” hed say, staring anywhere but at her, though his gaze always flickered back. “Just stay away from those city boys. They stick to you like nails to a magnet.”
“Max, is that jealousy?” shed laugh, heart singing at his clumsy words.
And how could he not be jealous? The ugly duckling had become a swan. Her voicerich, velvetfilled the village hall at every concert. She won a county talent show. There was magic in her now, a glow: her grey eyes turned emerald, her walk sure and light. And he he stayed just Max, “Gypsy” Max, who felt plain beside her.
Then came that sweltering June. Exams done, only graduation remained. They dreamed of university, studying journalism together. That day, Alice had her final rehearsal; Max ran an errand for a neighbourmedicine from the nearest town. He never refused anyone.
On his way back, the sky split. Rain fell in sheets, lightning searing the dark. Thunder drowned all sound.
Alice finished her song, but dread coiled inside her. Something was wrong. The air hummed with disaster. She couldnt breathe.
Then the door crashed open. A classmate stood there, soaked, sobbing.
“Max Alice, Maxthe rain, he couldnt seethe lorry”
The world didnt tilt. It shattered. Sound vanished. Only silence inside, and her own screaming, unheard.
There was no graduation ball. Just a black dress, a coffin the size of her universe, and silence. She never sang again. Her voice died with him.
Every evening, like clockwork, she went to him. The graveyard became their new meeting place. There, under rustling leaves or crunching snow, she spoke to him for hours. About her day, her mother, how she missed him. She tortured herself with memories, replaying that day, searching for the moment she couldve changed itstopped him, waited out the storm, called. A futile, agonising labour of grief.
Years filled with study, then work. She became a brilliant journalist, then an editor. Career, respect, money. She had everything. And nothing. Emptiness was her constant companion.
Once, years later, she asked her mothergrey, weary, never recovered from losing both 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 infinite sadness.
“Or is it you who wont let go of him?”
After a long, leaden winter, spring came at last. Sunlight warmed faces; people spilled into the streets. Alice, walking home, turned down an unfamiliar laneand heard a voice, sharp as a knife.
“Gypsy, over here! Go on!”
Her heart stopped. Blood roared in her ears. Slowly, afraid to scare the vision away, she turned.
On a football pitch, a game raged. At its centrea dark-haired boy, maybe eleven. He weaved past opponents, struck the ball hard into makeshift goals.
Alice gripped the cold railing, afraid to move. The boy caught her stare. Their eyes met. Flustered, she looked away, hurried off.
But she returned the next day. And the next. She hid behind old oaks, studying his face. Learned the building nearby was an orphanage. Her heart ached with painful hope.
One evening, she arrived late. The pitch was empty. Dusk thickened. Disappointed, she turned to leavethen saw him. At the far fence, fingers curled in the mesh, watching her. Waiting.
“I thought you werent coming,” he said softly.
Her breath caught.
“Lets introduce ourselves. Im Alice. And you?”
“Max. But everyone calls me Max. AndIm not a gypsy. Just dark.” He smiled. That smilekind, shy, crinkling his eyes. Her Maxs smile.
The next day, Alice sat in the orphanage directors office. Her decision was absolute.
“I want to adopt Max.”
The director, an exhausted woman, raised her brows. Boys his age were rarely taken. His story was simple: parents dead in a crash, raised by a grandmother whod also passed.
When the papers were signed and Max crossed her threshold, he told her one last thing.
“My gran she read cards. People came to her. Before she died, she took my hand and said, Dont fear, lad. You wont be here long. A woman will comebeautiful, kind. Wait for her.” He met her gaze. “And I did. When I saw you at the fence, I knew. It was you.”
**Epilogue**
Twenty years passed. Max grew tall, strong, a man with a wife and a mischievous son who carried traces of them both. He called Alice “Mum”the only mother hed ever known. He often took her back to the village. Shed sit by the old grave, face peaceful, lit from within. Hed leave her there, tactfully, then return to take her
