by Rachel Ward
By the time Bea had reached the start of that path, they had gone. Her heart was thumping in her chest from a combination of the exercise, the cold air and the thrill of the chase. She set off down the path, with Goldie at her side. Not far along, there was a gap in the hedge and a stile. The field on the other side of the stile was flat to start with and then dipped away into a river valley. There were clearly three sets of footprints in the frost leading away from the stile across the middle of the field – two people and a dog. There was no cover at all here. If she and Goldie carried on following, they were bound to be spotted. She didn’t fancy another confrontation with Dean and his mate.
A shiver ran through her. Although the sun was coming up, making the frost sparkle on the surface of the field, the path was in shade, and Bea could see her own and Goldie’s breath forming clouds in the air.
While she had been looking across the field, Goldie had lain down on the path. ‘Home?’ she said. Goldie wagged her tail in agreement.
They set off down the path. Before they reached the end, a figure appeared ahead of them, heading their way. Bea gasped. Although it was light now, the path felt closed in and she had a sudden flashback to a dark November night and the feeling of being followed. This isn’t the same, she told herself. He’s gone now. He’s behind bars. Even so, her heart was thudding in her chest. She shortened Goldie’s lead to bring the dog closer to her. As the figure got closer, she could see them do a double take as they spotted her and Goldie.
It was a middle-aged guy, in a sort of camouflage jacket with lots of pockets, and binoculars slung round his neck. He didn’t want to look Bea in the eye, but muttered, ‘Morning,’ as he squeezed past.
Back on the rec, and breathing easier now, Bea remembered the unhappy pile that still needed her attention. She’d go back later with a bag. Right now, she needed to get home and have a large mug of tea, to calm her nerves. And maybe a bacon sandwich.
10
‘She’ll need another walk, you know.’ Bob-on-Meat was in the back yard, tidying up his tools, having fixed a gate to the side of the house.
‘I took her out this morning, Bob,’ said Bea.
‘Two walks a day and let her out in the garden when she asks. Keep her fit and keep your kitchen floor clean.’
‘The floor? How do you know about that?’
‘Your mum told me.’
‘But I . . .but she . . .’
‘ . . .wasn’t born yesterday,’ said Queenie, standing by the corner in her slippers. ‘When’s the last time you mopped the kitchen floor before breakfast? Never, that’s when.’
‘Okay. Busted,’ said Bea, pleased to see her mum out in the open air, even if it was only two metres from the kitchen door. ‘I guess I’ll have to get up a bit earlier.’
‘You can just let her out now that this gate’s in place,’ said Bob. ‘Let her potter about out here while you have a cuppa. Then take her out for a proper walk.’
‘Yeah, the gate will make a big difference. Thanks, Bob. I’ll take her out now.’
‘That’s the girl. Talking about cuppas . . .’
‘That’s what I came to tell you,’ said Queenie. ‘The kettle’s on and I’ve just got some flapjack out of the oven. It’ll be cool enough to cut in a minute.’
Bea didn’t bother with the park but walked the path up to the allotments, heading for the field. There was a bus shelter near the allotment gate. Someone was sitting there, a hooded figure, bent over. She found herself thinking about the fuzzy image on the CCTV. Dean and his friend both had jackets with hoods on. This fella did too. Practically everyone did. How was she going to draw up a list of suspects, never mind narrow it down?
There was no danger of a bus coming, not on a Sunday, and it looked like whoever it was wasn’t waiting anyway, but was wrapped up in their own world. As she got closer, she saw it was Ant. There was something sad, closed up, about him. She wondered whether to stay on the other side of the road and walk past without disturbing him, but if he was sad it was better to help, wasn’t it?
She and Goldie crossed the road. She scuffed her trainers on the tarmac to give him some warning. He didn’t react, just stayed there with his head resting on his knees.
‘Hey, Ant. Whatcha up to?’
He raised his head a little and squinted at her. ‘Nothing.’
‘It’s a bit cold to be sitting out here.’
‘Mmm.’ He put his head down again.
Bea perched next to him, Goldie in front of them, her muzzle close to Ant’s face. ‘What’s going on, mate?’
‘Nthng.’ Then, ‘Jesus, what’s that smell?’ He raised his head again and came eye to nose with Goldie. Her breath plumed out, engulfing his face. ‘Wow, your dog has seriously bad breath,’ he said, sitting upright and fanning the air around him.
‘Not my dog,’ said Bea, ‘as you know. But, yes. She’s pretty smelly all round actually. She pissed all over the floor this morning as well.’
Ant snorted, then held his hands in front of his mouth and blew into them and rubbed his palms vigorously together.
‘It is cold, isn’t it?’ said Bea. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I just needed to . . .get out for a bit. Home’s just . . .I dunno . . .intense right now.’
‘You could’ve come to mine. You know that, don’t you? You’re always welcome. Even Queenie likes you and she doesn’t normally let anyone in the house. Except now Bob’s in favour.’
‘Bob-on-Meat?’
‘Yeah. He’s round there now. Put a gate up for us, and has stayed on for some of Mum’s flapjack. Do you wanna come with us on our walk?’ she said. ‘It’s too cold to sit here.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, all right,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Where are we going? Round the park?’
‘No,’ said Bea. ‘Down here. Bit of cross-country.’
‘Okay.’
She led the way along the path by the allotments. When they got to the stile she saw that there was a dog-sized gap at the side, so she got Ant to hold Goldie’s lead while she climbed over and then he passed it through to her with Goldie padding under to join her.
It was actually beautiful in the field. The path stretched out in front of them, curving down and away through close cropped grass. The sun had melted this morning’s frosty footprints from the part of the field nearest the hedge, but that didn’t matter. Dean and his mate had been following the path, so it should be easy to find out where they’d been heading.
‘You could let her off the lead,’ said Ant.
‘Do you reckon? I don’t want to lose her.’
‘I don’t think she’s that sort of dog.’
Bea bent down and unclipped the lead from Goldie’s collar. She expected her to take off running, kicking her heels up with the joy of her new-found freedom, but Goldie smiled at her politely and continued padding alongside them, matching their pace and line.
‘So, do you want to tell me about it?’ said Bea.
‘What?’
‘Whatever it is had you sitting in a bus stop.’
‘I dunno, Bea. I just feel as if we’ve been here before. My dad going away. But this time, he’s been painted as public enemy number one – we were on TV, for fuck’s sake – and my mum’s really upset, and she’s worried about the bills and, I dunno.’
‘That sounds like enough to me. Sounds like a lot.’
‘Yeah, and I couldn’t sleep last night. It wasn’t home stuff, it was that old bloke, Charles. I kept seeing his face, his eyes rolling back. I could feel his chest under my hands. I could . . .Jesus.’
Bea looked across at Ant and was dismayed to see him crying again. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘He’s all right. You saved him.’
He wiped his face on his sleeve. ‘I know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’
‘You’ve got a lot going on.’
‘Yeah.’
They were walking downhill now, the path leading towards a kissing gate in the corner of the field. They reac
hed the gate and threaded their way through it, facing a choice on the other side. One path went into the belt of trees and seemed to hug the riverbank. The other went diagonally across the next field, but the undulation of the land meant it disappeared over the brow of the hill. It had been so long since Bea had walked here (had she ever walked here?), that she didn’t know which one was more likely as a route for Dean and his friend.
‘River or field?’ said Ant.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, it’s not as if it actually matters.’
Bea bent forward and studied the ground where the paths diverged.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Looking for footprints, but the ground’s too hard.’
Ant screwed up his face. ‘What are you now? Some sort of wild woman of the woods?’
‘I’m trying to do a thing,’ she said, straightening up and looking across the field.
A broad grin spread over Ant’s face, the first time she’d seen him smile today. ‘You’re investigating again. Is it the cat thing?’
‘Yes! At least it could be.’ And Bea told him what she’d seen that morning.
‘Deano. That figures. Trying to think who the other one was. Tell me again.’
‘Tall. Built like a brick . . .outhouse. Shaved eyebrow.’
‘Sounds like Tank.’
‘Tank?’
‘Yeah, can’t remember his real name. He hangs around with Dean and some other losers in the Prospect sometimes.’
‘What else do you know about him?’
Ant shrugged. ‘Think he did a bit of dealing. Not sure. Sorry.’ He looked over the field. ‘I reckon that way. Come on.’
They set off again. The sun was getting lower in the sky, sending long shadows across the surface of the grass. There was hardly any sound – no traffic noise, just a few birds shouting at each other as they flapped about in the top of the trees at the field’s margins.
Through the sparse hedge on the river side, Bea could see the dark shape of a bulky figure. They were standing still. She got the eerie feeling that she and Ant were being watched, but by the time she had got further and was able to see through a bigger gap, whoever it was had their back to them and was looking across the river.
Ant and Bea walked easily together, in silence, and Bea found herself enjoying the rhythm of it. One foot in front of the other, heading up towards the sun. She was slightly breathless, but she didn’t mind. It felt good. This was the sort of exercise she could deal with.
At the top of the hill they paused. Ant turned around. ‘Look at that, Bea. K-town in all its glory.’
She turned too. It was a good view – the little town spread out before them, houses, the odd low-rise industrial unit and small blocks of flats and the tower of St Swithin’s church in the middle. Behind that there was a gaggle of cranes where the old factory was being redeveloped, and further still gentle layers of hills and woods and the promise of Bristol beyond.
‘Been thinking about that bloke on the bypass at New Year’s Eve?’ said Ant.
‘The jumper? Yeah, it was in the Bugle. Terrible, isn’t it?’
‘What a way to go, jumping off a bridge. Not the first one there either, is it?
‘It’s so sad,’ said Bea. ‘But New Year’s like that, isn’t it? Thinking about the last year, looking forward to another one. It can all seem a bit bleak. Too much.’
‘Hmm. Still can’t remember much about my New Year’s Eve, not even the girl I snogged. Must have been a good night, eh?’ He tried smiling, but it was a watery effort and Bea couldn’t help thinking about how sad he had looked, sitting on his own at the bus stop just now. Impulsively, she put her arms round his waist and gave him a squeeze. Caught off guard, he staggered backwards a little, taking Bea with him. When they regained their balance, Bea let go, wishing she’d left well alone and saved them both the embarrassment.
‘What was that all about?’ said Ant.
‘Nothing,’ said Bea. ‘Just want you to know . . .I dunno, that I’m here for you. If you need to talk or whatever.’ She couldn’t quite look him in the eye.
‘Daft cow,’ said Ant, mildly, but Bea could tell he was pleased.
‘Right,’ she said, turning around again. ‘What’s down there?’
There was another hedgerow ahead of them. Beyond it there was a group of buildings in amongst a clump of trees. They stumped down the slope and climbed over the next stile, then followed the path to the trees. As they approached, the hill behind them cut off the afternoon sun and the temperature dropped instantly. Bea’s shoulders hunched as a shiver ran through her.
‘I don’t know about this, Ant,’ she said.
‘Don’t be soft. We might as well look now we’re here.’
The path didn’t go right up to the buildings. Instead it veered off and skirted the edge of the field, but there was a five-bar gate in the corner of the field leading to the compound. There was a sign fixed to the gate: ‘PRIVATE LAND. KEEP OUT’.
Ant shinned over the gate quickly and stood looking back at Bea and Goldie.
‘I’m still not sure,’ said Bea.
‘There’s no one here. We’re not doing any harm,’ said Ant. ‘Come on.’ He held out his hand to help her up.
‘What about the dog?’ said Bea.
There was no purpose-made gap by this gate. A smaller dog could easily have got through, but Goldie was a little too statuesque to squirm round or even under.
‘We could lift her over,’ said Ant, doubtfully.
Bea breathed out, puffing her lips forward. ‘I don’t think so. Not unless there’s a winch in one of those buildings.’
Casting her own vote, Goldie lay down on the stubbly grass.
‘Tie her up, then,’ said Ant. ‘We’re only going to be two minutes.’
Bea tied the free end of the lead to one of the horizontal bars of the gate, then clambered over the gate and she and Ant approached the buildings.
There were three structures nestling among the trees; a tall open-sided barn with a corrugated iron roof, a large brick building, and a long, low brick-built shed. They enclosed a yard on three sides, with a track leading out of the fourth side. Ant and Bea made their way into the yard. It was a grey, dark space which felt closed in, even airless.
Bea stood in the middle and turned all the way round, taking pictures on her phone. There was nothing out of the ordinary here and yet it was giving her the creeps, big time.
Ant went up to the low shed. There were a couple of windows in the side, but they were either filthy or were blocked by something. ‘I can’t see anything,’ he called out to Bea.
‘Shh,’ she hissed. It felt wrong to be making a noise.
She walked over to the open barn. Some bales of hay were stacked up at one end and some machinery and old tyres and bales of barbed wire were littering the other. Nothing you wouldn’t expect on a farm. She made her way over to the big brick building. There were huge doors at one end, secured with a padlock. ‘There’s nothing to see really, is there?’ she whispered.
‘Nah,’ said Ant. ‘I’ll go round the back, though.’ He nipped quickly down the side of the barn and disappeared from view.
Bea walked towards the track. The yard was a rough patchwork of concrete, but the track was unmade, just frozen mud. She walked along it for a few metres and noticed how cut up it was, set into a mass of peaks and troughs, like a solid, stormy sea. It might be quiet here now, but at some point, before the temperature had dropped, there had been a lot of vehicles in and out of this yard.
She shivered again and walked back into the yard to find Ant. There was only a small square of sky visible in here and the light was starting to leach from it. She didn’t want to be walking back in the dark. She didn’t want to be here at all.
Ant appeared around the corner of the shed. ‘I reckon I can hear something in there. Something shuffling around,’ he said.
‘Or someone,’ said Bea, and immediately wished she hadn’t. That was it
. Her nerve was gone. ‘Come on, Ant, we’ve got to get out of here.’
‘Yeah, it’s getting dark. We’ll come back another day, shall we?’
‘Maybe.’
As they approached the gate, they could hear Goldie whining.
Ant vaulted over and untied her. ‘What’s up with you?’ he said, ruffling the fur round her neck. She stopped whining and got to her feet and started wagging, even though there were spasms of shivering running up and down her legs.
‘Aw, she’s cold,’ said Ant. ‘Me too. It’s freezing now.’
‘Look how bloody dark it is as well!’ said Bea.
The sky had clouded over, and the fields and hedges were reduced to solid shapes in shades of grey. They set off up the hill. When they got to the stile at the top, they heard a noise. Turning round, they saw headlights coming up the track towards the buildings they had just left.
‘Shall we go back?’ said Bea. ‘See who it is?’
‘Shall we buggery,’ said Ant. ‘I’m freezing cold, the dog’s fed up and I think it’s going to snow. Plus, I don’t want to get shot in the head by a farmer.’
‘All very good points,’ said Bea.
‘Come on, then,’ said Ant. ‘Do you think there’s any of Queenie’s flapjack left?’
11
Bea woke early, listening for the sound of the dog. It was still dark, but there was a strange quality to the streetlight seeping in through the gap in her curtains. She checked her watch and groaned: 5.45. Her bedroom was cold so she pulled the duvet up around her ears and snuggled down.
She was hoping to get at least another hour’s snooze in, but instead her mind kept ranging over the events of the day before – Dean and Tank, the cat in the box, and the creepy farm buildings. Was it the cat that Ant had heard in the shed? Should they have stayed and tried to get into the building? But there was that car, and then she remembered the mangled cat in Costsave’s cardboard, and the missing cats in the Bugle, and she felt a stab of anxiety mixed up with something else.
