"They've seen enough of fighting and death," June said to Tate as she was packing up their things. She was referring, of course, to the kids having witnessed Clive's brutal demise — something they'd probably never get over as long as they lived. "After everything they've been through, even before Hope, they need some kind of stability." He'd tried to talk her out of it, saying that one day Gwen would return, he felt it in his bones, but it was a half-hearted protest at best. Deep down Tate realised June was right: Sally and Luke should be away from this place. He hoped they were living a peaceful life somewhere.
Strangely, Gwen had not asked about them when they'd both recovered after the battle. And when he'd told her anyway, she'd nodded as if taking the information in, but had been more concerned about the baby she was carrying inside her. Tate liked to think she felt the same way as him, that she wished them happiness wherever they were. It was what Clive would have wanted. But there was always that niggling feeling — and again, he hated himself for it — that she was okay with them being somewhere else, because now she had a real child that belonged to Clive. Sally and Luke must have seemed like something from another lifetime, after her trials at the castle.
They'd driven into the village and it seemed like a ghost town. Nothing much had changed in the time since Tate had been there last. The cottages still had pock-marks on the walls where the bullets had struck, and there were charred sections of road where grenades had gone off.
Gwen had parked the jeep and climbed out. Unlike Tate, this had been the first time she'd returned since Clive's death. Leaving the Reverend behind for a moment, to look after Clive Jr, she'd wandered down the street as if in a daze. When she reached the bit of the road where Clive had fallen, she'd knelt.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all, thought Tate. Like the castle, there were too many memories here. They should have sought out another village to start again, dedicated it to Clive — somewhere his ghost wasn't on every street corner.
There was a clacking sound, and Tate leaned forward in the jeep's front seat. Gwen had heard it too and was rising, pulling something out from under her jumper; something she'd tucked in her jeans without telling Tate. It was an automatic pistol, another parting gift from the previous tenant of Nottingham Castle. Gwen held the weapon like a professional, just like she had the machine gun she'd used during that last battle in the city.
"Come out, whoever you are," shouted the thin, auburn-haired woman. "I'm not messing around." The more Tate saw of Gwen like this, the more he realised how she'd changed — or rather how circumstances had changed her — and how much he didn't care for it.
Behind him, Clive Jr began to cry.
Then, at the side of one cottage, Tate spotted a figure. It was Andy Hobbs, another resident of the old Hope, standing with a hunting rifle — aiming it at Gwen's head. She'd spun on him in a heartbeat, bringing her pistol to bear.
"Gwen, no!" called Tate. But she'd already spotted who it was… and so had Andy.
"It can't be," said the man, lowering his gun. "Gwen? Is that really you?"
She began lowering her pistol, though not letting her guard down quite as quickly as Andy. Gwen approached him, eyes darting left and right. "How have you been, Andy?" Tate heard her ask.
"Never mind about that, come here." Andy went to give her a big hug, but Gwen pulled back before he could get anywhere near her. This was Andy, who'd once tended the fields, who'd sat and laughed and joked outside the local pub with Clive and Gwen on balmy summer evenings. She recognised him; she'd even said his name. But the trust was gone — maybe Gwen's trust in all men except Tate. It would take time, but she'd need people like Andy if she was really going to fulfil Clive's dream.
"Andy!" Tate called, in an effort to take the embarrassment out of the situation.
"Reverend? I can't believe it. I never thought… Well, I didn't think I'd see either of you again to be honest."
Clive Jr. was crying louder and Gwen returned to the jeep. Andy called the all clear, and other familiar faces appeared: Graham and Darryl, along with a few others Tate had never seen before. They gathered round, old friends swapping hellos, introductions being made.
"I still can't believe you're really here," Andy said again to Tate. "It's so good to see you."
"You too, my son," Tate replied, leaning on his stick.
"We heard snatches about what happened in Nottingham, but nothing concrete."
"Something about a big fight?" Darryl added.
"We figured something big must have happened because no more men came to take our food."
"We were ready for them anyway, even if they did," Andy said, holding up the rifle.
Tate grimaced. "I wouldn't have thought that was your style."
"Neither is being hit in the back of the head with a rifle butt."
"Granted," said Tate.
"So, you went off to join Hood's men?"
"Not intentionally," Tate pointed out. "But I suppose I did end up getting dragged along for the ride. That's a story for another time, though."
Gwen was standing by the jeep, cradling Clive Jr, feeding him a bottle of milk. Darryl came over and smiled at the little one. "So who's this then? He's really cute."
"This is Clive's son."
"Clive's…" Darryl frowned. "But I thought-"
"Darryl, Darryl." Tate interrupted, limping round the side of the jeep. "Enough of your questions. We've been on the road a while and there's still food and drink in the back of the jeep. Enough for a celebratory dinner, I'd suspect."
So that's how they'd spent their first night back; inside The Red Lion, filling their bellies and swapping stories about what had happened in the time since they'd all last seen each other. The remaining members of what had once been Hope had carried on with their lives, but lived in fear that the soldiers might return. That was one of the reasons why they hadn't cleaned up the place much.
"It was a reminder of what could happen again," Graham told them. "A reminder not to get taken unawares again."
"That's why when we heard your jeep… well, you know," said Andy, now feeling slightly foolish.
"De Falaise is no more," Tate assured them, nursing a brandy. "His men have been defeated, his legacy replaced by a new law in the land."
Gwen pulled a face at this and Tate caught it out of the corner of his eye. As far as she was concerned, she'd got herself out of the mess at the castle. Robert Stokes had been far too late to save her, in every sense of the word.
"Do you really think he can protect us?" asked Darryl, also seeing Gwen's expression.
Tate nodded. "I think he'll try his best."
"So what now?" asked Graham, putting his feet up on one of the tables.
It was Gwen who answered, rocking the baby in her arms. "We start again. We turn this back into the place Clive always wanted it to be. With one or two exceptions."