The surroundings are very different now, we’ve moved from vast warm, light openness into the cool, damp, darkness with the path gradually turning into a claggy mire as the sunlight very rarely penetrates through the high tree canopy to dry out the ground below. After a quarter of a mile the path splits off to the left for the Waterside Walk or straight-ahead for the Woodland Walk, we continue south along the Woodland Walk. Not much further on the path narrows to a small wooden bridge over a shallow ravine.
We sit on the handrails on either side of the bridge facing each other.
‘So, come on what have you got to tell me?’ Jill asks.
‘I should never have come; I should have spent time thinking about the implications of coming back rather than rushing over. You see Jill, my coming back has started a chain of events that can’t be stopped and I’m not sure this is going to end well for either of us.’
‘I don’t know what has happened to you, Joe. You’re not the person I once knew; you’ve become so negative and paranoid. What exactly do you mean it’s not going to end well for either of us?’
‘Since we were split up as children all those years ago, I have had a longing to see you again; first and foremost, because you have always been my soulmate.’ Stumbling over my words, I continue, ‘I was there on that night your Dad disappeared, and I need to tell you about it.’
Jill has a deeply inquisitive look on her face. ‘What do you need to tell me and what brought you back to the pub on that night?’ Jill pauses for a response but then carries on before I can give her one.
‘...because all I remember about that night was your Dad coming around and taking my Dad away, I remember them leaving and my Dad coming back up the steps to kiss me goodbye, what else is there to tell?’
I shrug my shoulders and look up to the sky. ‘A week ago, when I was sat in my apartment, all of this; England, Greater Manchester, our town, it was all history, all of it; the people, the memories - the place itself. When your email dropped into my inbox it was easy to see things clearly from a distance. I could picture us together sat in the meadows of Wildgoose Heys as we put right all the wrongs done to both us and those we care about. Then I arrive back here and my head becomes clouded again. Then this morning to add to the confusion my Dad turned up at the hotel.’
‘Really? I didn’t see him.’
‘He came to our table whilst you were on the phone to your Mum, let’s just say it didn’t go well. You see, he likes to be in control and he thought he could continue where he left off, but I’m not a child anymore and he can’t beat me into submission like he used to. I’m sorry to tell you this Jill, but he used you. He knew that I would come running back here if you contacted me and that part of his plan worked, but his attempt at intimidation failed.’
‘So, let me get this right; he used me to get you to fly all the way back from America just so he could bully you? A little unbelievable, but hey, if you want something real to be paranoid about, we were followed from the hotel by a man in a black car, so you’d better watch your back!’
‘Were we really?’
‘No Joe we weren’t, I just thought I’d join in on your insane conspiracy theory... well, actually... joking apart there was a car behind us that happened to be going the same way as us, but it continued up Long Hill towards Buxton when we dropped down to the valley.’
I had a choice to either continue being vague and watch Jill slowly but surely distance herself from me, or, to tell her everything from start to finish about the real reason why I’m back and the reason my father wanted me silenced - whether that was because of the implications of me revealing that Mick was my real Dad or, to stop me revealing where Mick is buried along with the incrimination that would bring.
No matter which choice I make, I fear I will lose Jill forever.
Chapter 15
Jill jumps down off the handrail of the bridge, she takes my hand and pulls me to her, ‘that’s enough of the past I want to enjoy the time we have left together before you head back to the States.’
She links arms with me as we set off walking again away from the clearing of the ravine back into the depths of the densely packed pine woodland. The new spring growth fills the air with a heady aroma of sweet pine and a gentle breeze causes each tree trunk and bough to creak and crack. The atmosphere has taken on a different aura now we’re fully enveloped by the trees. The air is cooler again and an eerie sensation that the ghosts of displaced souls who had once lived in the flooded valley below, are lurking, watching, from the darkness beyond the first couple of rows of trees that line the pathway. As we head back down towards the bank of the reservoir the trees start to thin with a broader spread from native oak allowing more sunlight through to the valley floor. The warmth in the air returns along with the sound of children playing by the water’s edge. Our path merges back with the Waterside Walk and we continue along it until it climbs away once more, up the steep hillside to take us to the top reservoir higher up the valley.
As we reach the top of the climb, we leave the woodland behind. Through the gate there are open fields offering an uninterrupted view of the upper valley and reservoir. To our right is a field on the hillside with a stony outline where a farmhouse once stood, we make our way up to it before stopping to admire the rolling hills and the valley below. We spend quite some time here as we bring each other up to date with events from our years apart, interjected with the reminiscence of some of our happier childhood memories.
As we talk, I remember why we are so good together. Being soulmates makes us more intense in our relationship, both good and bad, so even when things don’t work out or we don’t see eye to eye, we work tirelessly on resolving the problem, we did as kids and as it turns out, we still do! We sit there, joking, laughing, recalling the good and sometimes embarrassing events from our lives, the contentious morning now well and truly, behind us.
We continue our walk making our way down to the road that runs alongside the reservoir. Jill wants to show me the ruins of the old hall built in the 1800s for a rich Manchester merchant and his family, set high on the hillside nestled in amongst rhododendrons gathered from all over the world.
After ten minutes we turn right, just before the bridge spanning a ravine that was once the entrance drive leading up to the hall. The drive, along with most of the valley, now flooded and long gone. The path climbs steeply up the hillside, flanked on one side by the ravine and by woodland on the other, before dropping back down to a stream. We cross a small wooden bridge over the stream and take the path off to the right up the steps.
We follow the path round to another stony outline, this time it is the remains of the cottage that housed the estate manager and his family. Directly opposite is the walled garden where the greenhouses, large enough to keep the hall supplied with fresh fruit and vegetables, once stood. These too are long gone just outlines that serve as a reminder of what once was. Further on still we pass between two large stone gate posts on the final leg of our walk to the ruins of the hall.
As we round the corner the remains of the hall come into view. We stand on the steps that drop down to a quadrant of former flower beds.
I survey the ruins of the old hall and then turn to Jill. ‘There’s more here than I was expecting.’
‘Indeed, they never fully demolished the hall, most of it was dismantled to make it safe.’
Eagerly I walk the ruins; first around the perimeter before returning and entering through, what was once was the front entrance, using my imagination to picture it in its full grandeur.
Jill is laughing at me. ‘What on earth are you doing you lunatic! You look like a child at Christmas.’
‘This is it, Jill, this is the project I’ve been looking for.’
‘No, no, no city boy. You’re not coming here and destroying all this beauty.’
‘That’s not my intention, I merely want to re-establish what was here. This could easily be developed into a sustainable rural community. I’d only build where bu
ildings once stood, well okay, maybe one or two more, but they would be built using locally sourced materials you would never know they were new builds. This hall would be first, it is majestic. This valley needs life, it needs its people back.’
‘So, you can make yet more money? Stick with Manhattan, we don’t need any developments here in the valley.’
‘It’s not about me Jill, it would be developed as a co-operative, not for profit, affordable housing. The whole place has a feel of oppression and that the community has been forced out. I bet the young people can’t get on the property ladder around here, they need homes in their own area too.’
‘You’d never get permission, the whole reason they moved everyone out was that they feared that the reservoirs would become polluted.’
‘Rubbish! That wasn’t a go at you Jill by the way; there are drinking water reservoirs in both urban and suburban areas. Whoever came up with that must have been misinformed or have had an ulterior motive, there was no need to remove people and demolish their farms, homes and this hall.’
Jill looks me directly in the eye with a mischievous look. ‘Well, there is the myth of why the valley became deserted. A good old tale of good versus evil, you don’t want to be messing with unseen forces, Joe!’
‘Go on then, let’s hear this superstitious nonsense!’
‘Over there,’ Jill turns and points over to the far side of the hall, ‘on the moors there is a small shrine built in the middle of nowhere and it still stands to this day and the main part of the myth passed down through the generations...
Tucked away in this valley there was a small community and the owners of the estate, devout Christians, who lived in this very hall. Over the ridge is a place called Thursbitch, a name derived from old English that means demon valley. The stories passed down from generation to generation tell of an evil presence in Thursbitch, one so strong that even professional people such as doctors, clergy and vets wouldn’t visit the farm there. One morning, the people of the two valleys woke to a blood red sunrise, the daylight that followed throughout the day had a strange hue, followed by another blood red sky, this time at sunset. That night there was a fierce thunder and lightning storm with rain so hard that the flash flood that followed destroyed everything in its path before hitting a town further downstream. The following day on the moorland halfway between the two valleys a mighty Oak tree, possibly centuries old, was found split in two from top to bottom and the ground around it scorched to bare earth. The oak stood where the battle had taken place. The demon was defeated. Following his defeat, he put a curse on all the inhabitants for them to be driven out from both valleys, for if he couldn’t have them, neither could they.
A shrine dedicated to St Joseph was built on the site where the Oaktree had stood, in fact, the solid Oak door to the shrine is made from the wood of that very same tree.
The shrine had been built to represent the victory of good over evil, although others felt that it was built to be a defence against the curse of the demon. Now both valleys are - apart from day-trippers - empty, desolate, and uninhabited just as the story had foretold... but do you know what Joe? It is said, that one day in the first year of the new millennium, a beautiful girl will return with a tall dark handsome man, they will free the valley of its curse and people will return.’
I’m so engrossed by Jill’s story that I naively comment, ‘You’re joking?’
Jill stares at me in disbelief and pulls her face to mock my stupidity. ‘Yes Joe, it’s all true, it really happened...’ She shakes her head, before finishing her sentence, ‘yes, of course I’m joking... you fool!’
I stand up and walk to the three arches on the south wall of the hall. I guess they were once glass doors that opened out to the quadrant of flower beds, my eyes focus on the centre and a circular raised patch, maybe a former fountain? I picture the hall in all its glory and long, warm, summer nights gazing out onto the garden nestled away from the outside world. I’m totally immersed as Jill joins me in the middle arch.
‘So, what’s your plan, how are you going to get around strict planning regulations and the obvious outcry when you try and wrestle all of this away for yourself?’
I just stand there staring straight ahead, I’ve heard Jill and it has made me realise that I’m being selfish. Even if I could - would I want to? This place of beauty is meant to be enjoyed by everyone.
She carries on. ‘You’ll need all of your four to five million to buy this estate, probably more.’
‘Four to five million?’
‘At the hotel, you said you had four to five million dollars, didn’t you?’
‘Forty-five million!’
Jill sits down in the archway stunned. ‘Forty-five million, you must have sold your soul to accumulate that much money in such a short period; what has it been, four years?’
‘Yes, four years. No, I haven’t sold my soul, just the opposite. I acquire properties, in lots of different ways. I sell and rent high to those who can afford it, but that’s not the whole story. You see what I’ve found is the more generous you are the more rewards you reap, of course you need to be a good steward in all you give and do, but all in all I think I’ve got it right.
My money is made through opening doors of opportunity to others, not by fleecing people. One of my first property development projects was in a forgotten about area, rife with drugs, gangs, crime, unemployment and derelict properties. The company I work for took on, and bought out, pretty much the whole neighbourhood. To say we faced hostility is an understatement.
The battle for the streets was out of my remit. I was more than happy to find the groundwork had already been done by the time I got involved; both with the people and physically with the neighbourhood. However, the battle for hearts and minds, now that was my remit. Apparently, my English accent, overly polite and non-confrontational demeanour went a long way in getting and then keeping people onboard with us.
At first, I thought we were going in to help these people, how wrong I was!
Very quickly I realised how tough and resilient these people are, they don’t need help, they need hope and opportunity.
Anyway, I won’t bore you with the details, but to cut to the chase. One day on my travels through the neighbourhood I spot this lad on a side street basketball court on his own. I stopped and tried to talk to him through the chain-link fencing. The sad fact of where we are is that by his age most are on drugs, dealing drugs, in gangs or in prison, so to see him there was unusual.
Anyway, he didn’t respond so I joined him on the court. We ended up shooting hoops for a good hour or so, his every shot from every angle was near perfect. Eventually we got to talking.
His name is Jamal, a straight-A student, but because of the neighbourhood he is growing up in, he can’t get any employer to take his job applications seriously. After another fifteen minutes Jamal leaves to go to his Church where he volunteers, they have an outreach teaching program for residents who have dropped out of the education system and he does his part by teaching maths to them. I take the details of the Church and we part ways. Over time I gain the trust and have built up a good working relationship with both the community and the Church. I manage to open a few doors for Jamal, through a friend, down on Wall Street. He secures himself an internship. He excels... I knew he would... he now has full paid employment after just twelve weeks.
We stay in touch, more than that he helps me with my investments. Thanks to him I have amassed what I have today.’
‘So, he made you a load of money and you’ve just pocketed it?’
‘No, it’s a two-way street, Jill. When I first moved to the States with Mia, we lived over in Brooklyn close to a big Jewish community where she had grown up, her friends from the Jewish faith subsequently became my friends and taught me all about Tzedakah.’
‘So, what is this Tzedakah?’
‘Roughly translated it means ‘an obligation to do what is right and just’ or in other words charity. I liked the conce
pt so much I adopted it myself. So no, I haven’t just pocketed the money, I use my time and money for good... but anonymously, that way I know I’m doing it for the right reasons, not for show.’
‘Do you have a pen? I need to give you my bank details!’
‘It would hardly be anonymous now would it?’
Jill looks blankly at me with a confused look on her face. ‘I’m sorry who are you... Joe, who...? If you could make a cheque payable to me for... let me say... four million, that should be enough, Mister anonymous!’
Jill looks straight ahead to the steps we came down to get to the hall, just as a group of walkers appear at the top of them and make their way towards us.
Still watching them she says to me, ‘I suppose asking you out now would make me look like a full-on gold digger?’
‘Asking me out? I know you’re only joking, but even if you weren’t, we couldn’t be in a relationship with each other,’ I say in a despondent tone, stopping myself from saying any more.
Turning to face me she says, ‘and what is that supposed to mean?’
I desperately want to avoid this conversation, but something inside my head is driving me on as if I have taken leave of my senses.
‘We couldn’t have a relationship, well not an intimate one... because...’ My heart is thumping, I can feel the pulse in the side of my neck as if the artery has tripled in size, desperately fighting it... too late my mouth is spouting out words I’d vowed to keep to myself.
‘There’s a reason why we can’t be together, there’s a reason my Dad came for your Dad on that night when we were kids; there’s a reason why your Dad is missing and there’s a reason why my Dad used you and your Mum to lure me back here.’
Jill stands up to face me. ‘You better start making sense, and fast.’
‘Your Dad, Jill... is my Dad, we’re Sister and Brother... well... half Sister and Brother.’
The Truth We Chase Page 11
