by Graham West
He loved Josie, but sometimes she could be a little intolerant of his opinions. He’d happened to mention that as a ten-year-old boy, he’d had a crush on a male teacher. Then he’d got himself fixated on a boy in the year above. “But no one suggested I was gay,” he’d concluded. “Those were just schoolboy crushes. Sometimes, when the body goes through changes, these things happen. So maybe we shouldn’t be putting labels on kids when their hormones are rattling around like lottery balls—”
Josie didn’t allow him to finish. “Okay, Jenny is not a kid, so don’t start with that biphobic shit.”
Rob had dropped the subject and raised his hands in mock surrender; Jo had apologised later that evening. “I’m sorry, hun,” she’d said, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I’m just worried about those two. Jenny belongs with Jake, but both girls needs our love and support right now.”
Rob sighed. “I know, and maybe that’s why I took off when Flash Gordon called. Jenny did the right thing, but it’s up to Jake now. Their future is in his hands.”
***
“I guess this means we’re a proper item,” Maddy said, sliding out from under the duvet.
Alex blushed. “Yeah, I guess.”
She pulled on her sweat top and caught him staring at her. “Well, you’ve seen me naked now,” she said with an impish grin, “so I take it you’re not after curvy women with big boobs.”
Alex grinned back. “You’re perfect. And I like being with you. It doesn’t matter what shape you are.”
Maddy laughed. “That’s very tactful!”
“It’s the truth. Although, if we carry on eating pizzas and stuffing down burgers, you might end up curvy anyway, and I’ll just be a blob.”
Maddy pulled up her top, flashing her breasts. “What you can’t get in your hand is just a waste. Isn’t that what blokes say?”
Alex didn’t answer, and Maddy didn’t wait for one.
“Be back in a minute,” she said, disappearing into the bathroom.
He could have made some kind of smart macho comment, but he hadn’t wanted to cheapen the moment—a glorious moment that followed several minutes of fumbled foreplay. It hadn’t been Maddy’s first time, but they were both inexperienced, and that was a good thing. They would learn together. They would become more adventurous as time went by, and if Maddy could tell what he was thinking then she’d know exactly what he wanted. But it bothered him. It wasn’t that he planned to deceive her, but sometimes a white lie could diffuse an argument.
He waited until Maddy returned from the bathroom. “You know that stuff we were talking about before?” He tried his best to sound nonchalant.
Maddy frowned. “What stuff?”
“The mind-reading thing.”
“It doesn’t happen all the time,” she assured him, flopping down onto the edge of the bed. “I just get flashes. I can’t control it. I can’t just look at you and decide to take a peek inside your head.”
“So how often does it happen?”
Maddy shrugged. “It varies. Maybe it’s more to do with the vibes someone is giving off, how powerful they are.”
Alex grinned. “Well, see if you can guess what I’m thinking right now.”
Maddy giggled. “Does it involve taking this top off?”
“Wow! You’re amazing! That’s exactly what it involves!”
Chapter Fifty-Five
The next day, Alex sat on the bench under the old oak tree looking out across the grounds. He’d not felt this happy for as long as he could remember. Maddy sat next to him, her eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.
“I used to sit here after I’d visited Nan,” she said. “Even in the winter. I’d wrap up in a winter coat and meditate.”
“About what?” Alex asked, wondering if she was reading his thoughts at that very moment.
“Life. I’d often wonder what it’s really like on the other side.”
“You mean after death?”
Maddy nodded. “If we really believed—if we really knew what lay ahead—would we actually look forward to dying?”
It was something Alex had never considered, and barring illness or an accident, it would not concern him for some time.
“But we don’t look forward to it, do we?” she continued. “So maybe we’re not convinced that it’s so wonderful after all.”
“Death scares me,” Alex admitted. “It’s fear of the unknown. I mean, whatever Liam saw in that cottage, it wasn’t happy.”
“I think we can dismiss the idea that we all get wings and fly off to heaven the moment our hearts pack up,” Maddy said. “If you die with unresolved issues then it looks like you’re pretty much stuck here.”
Alex laughed. The idea that St. Peter would be waiting outside the golden gates clearly irritated her. “Don’t you ever meditate on happy stuff?” he asked, placing his arm around her shoulder.
Maddy grinned. “Oh, sometimes. When there’s a blue moon.”
Alex was about to pull her towards him when they were interrupted by a voice coming from behind them.
“Well, hello there, Miss Maddison!”
They both spun around.
“Mr. Matthews!” Maddy exclaimed.
The stocky man with grey, slightly tousled hair, approached, his eyes fixed on them. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. What brings you to this place?”
Maddy smiled. “Alex. He’s a ranger.”
Matthews gave him a cursory nod. “The place has changed a bit since your grandmother was here,” he remarked, turning back to Maddy.
Alex felt uneasy. The guy was looking at her in a way that suggested he might have something to say—something Alex wasn’t supposed to hear.
“Is everything okay, Mr. Matthews? Did you want to speak to Maddy?”
Matthews smiled. “No, everything’s fine. I’ve got to go and speak to Mr. Blakely about the forest. This time, I hope he’ll listen.” He headed off towards the house.
“That was weird,” Alex said, “the way he was looking at you…”
Maddy sighed. “He’s probably worried in case my nan told me about the witches and I’ve blabbed to you.”
“Well, you have, but what’s he going to do about it?”
Maddy laughed. “The Tabwell Mafia will be placing a horse’s head on my pillow, I guess. That’s before they throw me into the lake with a pair of concrete boots.”
Alex should have found it funny, the whole idea of an underworld existing in a town like this, but he didn’t. Even now, looking across the sun-drenched grounds, there was an atmosphere, an invisible cloud hanging over the whole place. Maybe it was time to start looking for a new job.
Maddy turned, lowering her sunglasses. This time, he was confident she really did know what he was thinking.
***
Blakely groaned inwardly. He caught sight of Matthews in his peripheral vision as the ex-councillor made his way across the reception floor. “Not now,” he muttered. He’d taken a call from his father only an hour ago and was busy wording some ads for The Mosswood Hotel online. Tabwell wasn’t exactly on route to a major city, but plenty of people passed through and might be looking for somewhere to stay—somewhere a little more upmarket than the bed-and-breakfast establishments littering the outskirts.
“The park might be closed,” his father had barked, “but you can open up the hotel, for God’s sake!”
Resistance would have been futile, and besides, it wasn’t such a bad idea. But wording ads wasn’t his forte, and he’d called on Jenny Adams, who had completed three years at art college. Arty people were usually pretty good at knowing how to catch people’s eye, and she’d promised to come down once Isaac had eaten something.
“Mr. Blakely,” Matthews growled, standing over him, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his baggy, beige trousers. “How are you? Well, I hope.”
“I’m a bit busy, to be honest.” Blakely briefly glanced up from the screen of his laptop. “How can I help you?”
Matthews sh
rugged. “I think you know why I’m here, sir. I just wondered if you’d come to a decision?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s not my decision to make. I don’t own the park. My father does.”
Matthews looked exasperated. “Then maybe you should stand up to him!”
Blakely slammed down the lid of his laptop and stood, confronting the councillor and catching a whiff of whisky breath. “Look, I’m getting a little fed up of all this nonsense. I’ve got enough on my plate—” He stopped short as Jenny seemed to materialise at his side with a sleeping boy in a pushchair.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Is this a bad time?”
“No. Mr. Matthews was just leaving!”
Jenny stared at him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Matthews, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
They weighed each other up for a few seconds before Blakely cut in. “This is Jenny Adams. She’s the one who discovered the body of Amelia Root.”
Matthews looked delighted. “Really? You’re the girl who had those dreams?”
Jenny nodded with a half smile.
“Well, that’s fascinating.” Matthews extended his arm and shook her hand. “I’m only here to try and talk sense into Mr. Blakely.”
“Oh? About what?”
“About closing the woodland. It’s got too much history—”
Jenny raised her hand, cutting him short. “Okay, what exactly happened?”
Matthews shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t say. But you have to believe me, it’s—”
Jenny interrupted him again. “Twelve people died there, Mr. Matthews. Who were they?”
Blakely felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. The councillor’s eyes widened. “Wh… How… How do you know?”
“That doesn’t matter right now. Just tell us what you know.”
Matthews looked irritated. “It’s that girl, isn’t it? Maddison.”
Jenny frowned. “Maddison? I’ve never heard of her!”
Matthews’ face reddened. “I saw her a moment ago. She was sitting on a bench under a tree with a lad.”
Blakely had seen Alex hanging around with a girl last night and guessed she’d stayed over, but with all that had gone on, Blakely had turned a blind eye.
“Well it wasn’t her who told me,” Jenny said. “And, to be honest, that’s all I know—twelve people died. If you know who they were and how they died, then you should tell us now.” She paused. “If you don’t, I’ll go to the papers with this whole story and let their vultures pick over the scraps you’re leaving us.”
Matthews huffed loudly, looking defeated. “Okay, if I tell you, you have to promise—”
“Our lips are sealed,” Blakely interrupted, beads on perspiration trickling down his neck. “Let’s go somewhere quiet and get ourselves a drink. Then you can give us all the gory details.”
***
Rob sat in the corner of The Keys with a long glass of soda and lime as sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the table’s surface. He squinted, scrolling through the newsfeed on his phone. An old guy in a cloth cap sat nearby with his pint and a newspaper: the last of a dying breed keeping the printing industry alive. There was something comforting about a paper, though. There was something comforting about a pint of beer too, but that was another story.
The old guy caught his eye and tipped his cloth cap. An elderly northern gent who would probably be glad to escape this screwed-up world when his time came. Rob acknowledged the man with a nod and went back to his phone just as it rang. Jenny’s face flashed up on the screen. He accepted the call but didn’t get a chance to speak.
“Hi, Dad. You okay?” There was an urgency in her voice. “I’m not supposed to tell you this,” she began without waiting for a reply, “but some bloke has just told us exactly what went on in that forest.”
Rob took a sip from his glass. “What bloke?”
“He used to be on the council. He’s warned Dennis not to open up the rest of the woods, but he wouldn’t say why until today.”
“Jesus! That sounds serious. So what did happen?”
The was a pause as he heard a door closing. “You’ve heard of what happened at Pendle Hill in the Middle Ages?” she asked in a whisper.
“Yeah. The witch thing.”
“Well, this place is just as bad—maybe even worse.”
Rob felt a tightening in his chest and an icy chill that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. It was the same sensation he’d had as he’d walked through the thickening undergrowth with Darren.
“It’s pretty awful, Dad.” Jenny’s voice cracked with emotion. “What they did to those poor women… It was evil. It happened way back in the 1700s, but people are still paying the price. People are still dying.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Jenny left with Isaac as Matthews paced the floor, his face crimson with rage. “You promised!” he bellowed. “You promised this would go no further, and now you want to tell the fucking world!”
“It’s the right thing to do,” Blakely replied defiantly.
“Build a monument in the forest? Tell all your guests how our ancestors murdered twelve innocent women? This place is supposed to be for families—for kids—not some gruesome history lesson!” Matthews ran a hand through his shock of grey hair, leaving it standing on end like some kind of crazy old professor from a Hollywood comedy. “I’m going to fight you on this one, Blakely. I’ve still got some influence in this town, and believe it, you don’t want me as an enemy.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Yes! Yes, it is. I’m not having some kid dictating to me about morals, and frankly, I’m surprised you’re even entertaining the idea.”
“Jenny’s not a kid. She wants to help.”
“And she thinks putting a stone slab in the middle of a forest is the answer? That place has been off limits for hundreds of years. Do you think that will put a stop to all this?”
Blakely took a step forward, jabbing his finger at Matthews’ chest. “Right, I’m going to say this once and then you are going to leave. Firstly, this is my park—my forest. I can do what I like. Secondly, Jenny is right. Those women deserve a proper grave, just as Amelia Root and her father did. Somewhere in that forest are the bones of innocent human beings who were taken there, without a trial, and murdered, screaming for mercy.”
Blakely took another step forward, close enough to smell the alcohol on Matthews’ breath. “No one can change what happened, but we can show some respect.”
Matthews looked flustered. “But what about the people in this town? Their ancestry will be sullied by all this. Why can’t we let sleeping dogs lie?”
“Because they aren’t dogs!” Blakely roared. “They’re women! And they won’t lie. They won’t rest!”
A look of resignation settled on the ex-councillor’s face. He had lost the fight. “Sometimes I wonder what God thinks of us in this town. We have a beautiful church, wealthy parishioners with nice houses and posh cars…and a history that would shame the devil himself!”
Blakely almost felt sorry for the man. “And that is exactly what it is—history. It’s in the past, in a country where kings had their wives beheaded, people were placed in stocks in the town square and whole villages would turn up to watch a man being hanged. Tabwell is probably no worse than half the other towns in Britain.”
Matthews sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I just think the elders in this place are sensitive about the whole witch hunt thing. We would rather go down in history as one of the more civilised places—a place that didn’t hang a woman just because she had a wart on her face.”
Blakely laughed and, for the first time, Matthews smiled and stretched out his hand. “Build that memorial if you must. But I am going to distance myself from this. I’m sorry, I have to. I’m sure you understand.”
“I won’t even mention your name,” Blakely assured him.
Matthews nodded. “I hope it works, Dennis,” he said. “I believe it worked for Amelia. I hope those twel
ve women find peace as well.”
In the silence of the empty restaurant, Blakely stared into an empty cup. Matthews’ swift change of heart had pleased and baffled him at the same time, but now he had to run the whole idea past his father. Then Blakely, along with anyone else who was brave enough, would have to venture into the forest and find the bones. How the hell were they going to do that? Jenny was right. Everybody deserved a decent burial. Every life was precious. But right now, it seemed easier to build that wall and forget the whole godforsaken place.
***
Jenny sat by the window of her hotel room while Isaac played happily with his pop-up play tent and a couple of toy trucks. He had stopped briefly to take a look at what his mother was drawing but lost interest quickly. There were no Disney characters on the page, just a square stone with a cross on top.
Jenny tore out the page and screwed it up. The memorial had to bear the names of twelve women in letters large enough to be read from two or three metres away. Maybe a pyramid shape with a cross on either side? She had tried to visualise the memorial, standing in a clearing, surrounded by shrubs and flowers, but what would their epitaph be? What could she possibly say about those wretched souls? Was this enough to appease them and bring some kind of peace to their vexed spirits?
She glanced at her phone. There were still no messages or missed calls from Jake. Maybe he had hooked up with someone else. Jake had the looks and the body to turn a girl’s head, and she’d never know if he caught the attention of someone at the gym. Her eyes filled with tears as she turned away, anxious that Isaac should not see her crying and grateful for the interruption from a knock on the door. She opened it to find Dennis Blakely holding aloft a bottle of wine.
“Fancy a glass? It’s a thank-you for backing me up today.”
Jenny waved him in. “There’s no need,” she said, conscious he could probably tell she’d been crying. “There are too many crusty old farts like him in this town.”
Blakely laughed, and she saw a genuine warmth in his eyes.
