The locals call her \u201cEighties\nKate.\u201d She drives a Ford Cortina, her hair a tangle of permed curls and her\nclothes the ultimate in retro-chic. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
But those who know Kate Archer\nwill know the sad story behind her vintage style. It isn\u2019t a fashion statement.\nKate is frozen in time because she has been waiting for her husband to come\nhome for thirty-two years.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Tom Archer has been missing,\npresumed dead, since he drove out to buy a late-night kebab just as the Great Storm\nof 1987 was gathering momentum. His car was found wrapped around the railings\nabove the arches of Brighton beach. His body was never recovered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
The following morning, with the\npoliceman\u2019s words ringing in her ears, Kate stood in shock on the doorstep,\nstaring at the litter-strewn street and uprooted trees. \u201cShe\u2019s like the wind\nthrough my tree. She rides the night next to me,\u201d howled Patrick Swayze through\nthe radio, as a white feather fluttered onto her feet. In that moment, she\nvowed never to give up hope of finding Tom alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Kate had met Tom at the Live\nAid concert in 1985. \u201cI followed this trail of rainbow feathers. Are you the\npot of gold?\u201d he\u2019d said, presenting her with a bunch of feathers that had\nfallen off her skirt, like they were flowers. Feathers became a symbol of their\nlove, later etched onto their wedding rings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the Tom Archer Foundation\nheadquarters, it\u2019s the end of a long day of tracing missing people, fielding\ncalls and liaising with police. \u201cThat\u2019s me done for today\u201d, sighs Kate,\nreaching for her stone-washed denim jacket, \u201care you two ok to lock up?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard and Pete look up from\ntheir paperwork. \u201cYep. See you tomorrow,\u201d says Richard. He gazes at her\nlongingly as she opens the door. \u201cKate, please consider what I said last night,\u201d\nhe adds. She nods without looking back, scuttling outside as fast as her faux-suede\npixie boots will carry her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI asked her to marry me\u201d, says Richard, once the\ndoor closes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Pete sprays his mouthful of\ntea over the table. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know it sounds crazy\u201d, says Richard, \u201cbut we have a connection. She just can\u2019t allow herself to move on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Across town, something catches\nKate\u2019s eye as she opens her front gate. The \u201cFor Sale\u201d sign is still up next\ndoor, with the estate agent\u2019s name, \u201cMove On,\u201d emblazoned in rainbow colours\nacross it. But now, attached to the sign, a white feather thrashes in the wind,\nindicating to the words. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMove On.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Inside, Kate picks up her rotary\ndial telephone. When Richard answers, she utters one word. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Somewhere deep in the English\nChannel, a wedding ring bearing an inscription of a feather, bobs up and down\non the sea bed in a silent nod of approval. Circling among the debris are the\ndusty remains of the bones of Tom Archer, now finally able to rest in peace.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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