‘I’m not that good! Hell, I haven’t been further than Scotland. And where we are now is hardly hostile,’ he said. ‘Though this kind of place can be very unforgiving to the unwary. People have died out here…’
‘That’s reassuring,’ she said, giving a mock shudder.
‘But that’s mainly been in winter. They can get it pretty bad up here. Mind you, even in autumn the weather in these hills can turn on a sixpence. One minute bright sunshine, the next the rain is lashing down, or fog and mist obscures everything, disorientating you. It’s not for the casual tourist, that’s for sure.’ He looked at her. Her face was clouded with concern. ‘I hope I haven’t scared you. Don’t worry; I’m here with you, aren’t I? And that’s what these little excursions are about: teaching you how to read maps, to use a compass, to read other environmental signs like the moon and stars, and even the trees themselves. See that tree there…’ he said, indicating a stunted, wind-blasted oak standing hunched and alone. She nodded. ‘See how its canopy of branches is thick on one side, almost sheared off at the other?’ He waited till she nodded again. ‘That stunted side is the one that doesn’t get as much light so it doesn’t grow as strongly, tells you where the arc of the sun is during the day if you know how to read it, you can use trees like a compass. I first read about it in one of my annuals as a boy and it fired my interest in the land, nature, the places where people aren’t.’
She glanced up to the brooding sky, the tumbling black clouds gathering far away in the heavens like a massing army.
She shuddered and didn’t know why. She wasn’t cold.
‘Let’s find that stone circle,’ she said, linking arms with him again, appreciating his warmth and nearness.
‘The first rule, though, is to never give up,’ he said with authority.
‘Never give up?’
‘In every account of people who had to survive against all odds, it’s those that never gave up, those who never stopped trying that came through alive. Those who give in, well, they’re as good as dead.’
‘Now you are trying to scare me!’ she said, pinching his arm through his thick waxed coat. ‘You mean, mean thing!’
He laughed and held her close. ‘Never,’ he said. ‘You’re impossible to scare. You survived my parents! But there’s one thing all intrepid explorers need.’
‘Oh yes, and what is that?’
He fished in his pocket and said: ‘Hold out your hand.’
She rolled her eyes and did as she was told. He placed something small and metallic in her open hand.
‘A penknife!’ she said. ‘This little thing?’
‘Size, as you know, isn’t everything,’ he grinned. ‘You’ll thank me for giving you that one day, just you see. Could be the difference between life and death.’
She shoved the penknife into the pocket of her jeans. ‘God, you’re so dramatic – ever thought about going on the stage?’
‘Yeah, first stage outta town!’ he said. ‘Come on, before the weather turns.’
2
That’s Life
They reached the top of the hill and, thankfully, thought Trudy Garner, the ground levelled out somewhat. The cold wind raged across the open expanse of shuddering grass, beating at their red cheeks. She lifted the hood of her kagool and turned away to shelter her face from the sudden onslaught.
Below them the undulating land stretched away into the murky distance, the various valleys and hills in all directions both impressive and frightening in their bold immensity. She scanned the horizon: there was not a single sign of anything living except the tiny white specks of sheep clinging to the side of a hill like dust on frayed green cloth. No sign of villages, a road, nor a single house or cottage. It felt like they were completely alone in a strange, alien landscape, and once again she shivered.
‘Are you cold?’ her husband asked, stray locks of hair forced to dance a jig on his forehead to the morose piping of the wind.
She shook her head. ‘No, I’m warm enough,’ she responded, eyeing the bloated black clouds far away and the streamers of grey that trailed from them to the ground. ‘Rain is on its way,’ she observed.
Josh Garner felt the direction of the wind on his face. ‘Maybe. It might miss us yet.’ He smiled at her. ‘Another rule – stay dry and find or make a shelter. We have the tent if we need it,’ he said, shrugging his backpack to emphasise it. ‘I never go anywhere without this little thing, my primus, a pot of Bovril, water and a packet of tea. All together, I’ve found it’s all you’ll ever need!’ He grinned. ‘Don’t look so concerned. Look, if you like, we’ll turn back now.’
‘What, and miss the pleasure of seeing your little face light up when you show me your special stone circle? We’ve come this far and we’re almost there now; it seems silly to abandon it just because of a few spots of rain. I’m made of harder stuff than you realise, Josh. I’m not the delicate little wallflower you’d like me to be, you know.’ She marched off.
‘I don’t want you to be a delicate little wallflower,’ he said, catching her up. ‘That’s not why I married you. I want you to stay just the way you are.’
‘Which is?’
‘A feisty little beggar!’
‘Feisty? Hardly.’
‘You are compared to the other women I’ve known.’
She stopped, raising a brow. ‘Other women, Josh?’
‘You know what I mean. Do you know how many girls my mother introduced me to? How many daughters of friends that just happened to call round to the house? Now they were delicate little wallflowers, every last one of them. I didn’t know why, but I knew none of them – pretty though they were – were meant for me. I didn’t know why until I saw you on that dance floor, dancing with that skinny guy, and from that moment I knew you were the one. It had to be you.’
‘I didn’t think much of you,’ she said, a gentle smile playing on her lips.
He laughed. ‘You said I was an obnoxious bighead.’
‘Your first words to me when you so rudely interrupted my fun with Charlie were “I’m going to marry you,” and I thought that was a very lame chat-up line. I’d heard it so many times.’
‘And you didn’t like my hair.’
‘Or your clothes.’
‘But you liked the idea of me having a car.’
‘To start with, but you didn’t tell me it was an old Ford Pop, and it really belonged to your father. Not exactly cool, was it? Now Charlie, he had a Lambretta scooter...’ She looked wistfully into the sky.
‘Ah, but I won you over in the end,’ he said. ‘It was me you married, not Charlie and his battered old scooter.’
‘Are you still jealous of poor Charlie?’ she said.
‘Jealous?’ He cocked his head. ‘Of that skinny little thing? Never!’ He looked at his map, the corners being teased by the wind.
‘I believe you are, Josh Garner. I think you’re still jealous.’
He allowed a smile to settle on his mouth. ‘Charlie wouldn’t have shown you these places, would he? He worked in a fish-and-chip shop and went to Scarborough every year for his holidays. He’d never have been able to give you the adventure you need.’
‘You think I need adventure?’
He nodded. ‘Oh yes, in one form or another. You like to be tested. You like to see and do new things. You’d have soon gotten bored of Scarborough and fish and chips. You’re as ambitious as me, if you’d only admit it. We were made for each other.’
‘I don’t know, I like fish and chips quite a lot,’ she said.
‘And you’d have become fat and old before your time, what with all that mental stagnation and lard.’
‘So you don’t want me to get fat,’ she said. ‘You want me to stay slim and pretty, like a wallflower.’
Josh frowned. ‘You’re twisting things again and putting words into my mouth. You’re going to be one hell of a fine lawyer one day!’ He pointed. ‘We’d better get a move on.’
She laughed. ‘You’re a strange one, Josh Gar
ner. I’ve never loved anyone but you, and never will.’
‘I don’t know, Trudy – the lure of fish and chips might be too strong a temptation for you. If all a man has to do is flash his haddock at you…’
She thumped him on the arm. ‘Get away with you, Josh! And show me this stone circle before the romance wears off.’
They trudged across the seemingly barren expanse of fields, following a barely visible track that took a steep course downwards, into a small wooded valley. From there the track climbed steeply again. They saw the group of farm buildings ahead of them, almost cowering at the top of the small hill, long before they approached the wooden fence which bordered the property. A large gate blocked the scar of a path, which continued underneath and on into the farmyard. They stopped at the gate, Josh lifting the heavy links of a rusted chain that bound it to a stone gatepost, fastened together with what looked to be a new padlock.
‘The path goes right through the farmyard?’ said Trudy.
Josh nodded, eyeing the padlock with disdain. ‘Yes. I didn’t see the farm marked on the map. It appears the old path cuts right through the middle of it.
She looked at the gloomy old farmhouse, built of sombre grey stone, topped with the same grey Welsh slate, as if it had shunned all colour. The small square windows were black and uninviting. Its outbuildings were constructed of the same materials, and one of the old barns appeared to be in a terribly dilapidated state, a tree apparently growing up through its roof. Rusting farm machinery sat in clumps of grass, and other pieces of rubbish littered the large stone yard: a broken chair, broken glass bottles, part of a corrugated tin roof, a stone sink. A massive oak tree grew by the side of the farmhouse, almost denuded of leaves and teetering on the brink of collapse, its large, aged, knotty and weathered bones reaching to the ground as if to support its tired frame. The entire place looked completely deserted; no sign of people or animals, giving the impression that it had been abandoned some time ago and left to its own devices, to gradually melt unloved and uncared for into the Welsh countryside. Sitting under a shroud of bleak sky, the farmhouse made Trudy feel immensely sad. She wanted to leave the place.
‘Perhaps we can go round,’ she offered.
‘Go round?’
‘Well, it’s someone’s property, and there’s a sign over there saying “Keep Out”, so they won’t welcome people tramping all over their land.’
Josh Garner looked down the length of fence as it snaked across the fields. ‘For one thing, to go round would take us ages, and we haven’t got ages. For another, this is an ancient thoroughfare and the landowners can’t block it off.’
With that, he took off his rucksack and tossed it over the fence.
‘What are you doing?’ she said.
‘Climbing over. We’re not being stopped by a gate. This path belongs to all of us.’ He clambered over the gate and dropped to the other side. ‘Your turn,’ he said, holding out his hand.
‘I’m not sure, Josh. This is private property…’
‘Ah, come on, you scaredy-cat! Look, there’s no one around, and it’s plainly obvious this place hasn’t been used in a long while.’
‘You can’t assume that.’
‘What harm are we doing? We’re passing straight through, that’s all. I’m sure the farmer, if there even is one, will understand when we tell him where we’re headed. They’re a nice friendly bunch, these Welshies. And there’s always a welcome in the hillsides, don’t you know.’
‘Let’s find a way round,’ she said.
‘No.’ He shouldered his rucksack. ‘Come on, or I’ll leave you there.’
‘There might be a dog or something. All sheep farmers have sheepdogs.’
‘I can’t see any dog, can you? Can’t hear one either. It’s deserted, I tell you, or the farmer’s somewhere out there in his fields, tending his flock and all that.’
She gave a groan and dropped her rucksack over the fence. ‘Well we’ll have to be fast. I don’t like trespassing.’
He waited till she caught him up. ‘I tell you, it isn’t trespassing. How can it be trespassing when it’s a public right-of-way? We’re well within our rights here. Trust me.’ He chuckled. ‘I take it all back: you’re not as adventurous as I thought you were.’
The farmyard was eerily silent. Trudy looked to the left and right of her as they hurried across the stone-flagged yard. As they passed the crumbling old barn on their right, they heard a voice call out.
‘Hey, you there, what the hell do you think you’re doing?’
The sudden noise caused Trudy to start, and her heart raced. Josh stopped and turned.
Out of the barn came a young man – smallish in stature and perhaps no more than nineteen or twenty years of age. He wore city clothes, Trudy thought – a casual jacket and trousers, a pair of muddy black shoes unsuited to the dirty yard he crossed. His face was round, almost cherubic, punctuated by fiery acne, a tangle of flaming red hair poking from beneath the flat cap he wore. He had his hands buried deep in his baggy jacket pockets. As he came over to them, his forehead collapsed into a dark frown.
‘Get the hell out of here,’ he growled. ‘You’re trespassing. Didn’t you see the sign?’
His accent wasn’t Welsh, Trudy noticed as she backed off a little before him when he moved even closer. There was something in his icy green eyes she did not like.
‘We’re just passing through,’ said Josh, facing the young man.
‘Like shit you are,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t be here. Didn’t you see the bloody sign?’
‘Yes, we saw the bloody sign,’ said Josh calmly.
‘What’s the matter? Can’t you read or something? Clear off. This is private land.’
‘And this is a public right-of-way,’ said Josh.
‘Right-of-what?’ said the young man, his frown deepening.
‘You heard,’ said Josh. ‘You can’t stop us from using it. We’re cutting through. Don’t worry, we won’t trouble you long.’
He made as if to carry on walking but the young man stepped in front to block his path. ‘You deaf? I said clear off, back the way you came.’
‘Josh, I think we should…’ said Trudy.
‘I know my rights,’ said Josh. ‘It’s people like this that really get up my nose.’
The young man put out a hand to stop Josh. His palm flattened out against Josh’s chest.
‘Get out of here,’ the young man warned. ‘Or else…’
‘Or else what?’ said Josh, smirking. ‘Is that a threat?’
‘Josh,’ said Trudy anxiously. ‘We don’t want any trouble.’
‘At least your little lady talks sense,’ said the young man. Trudy could smell stale cigarette smoke wafting over from the young man’s clothes in the breeze.
Josh pushed by the man. ‘Come on, Trudy, we’re not being talked to like this, especially by some jumped-up little upstart.’
‘Please, Josh,’ said Trudy, watching as the young man’s cheeks burned puce with escalating anger. She went to catch her husband up, noticing as she did so the dark-green army truck parked close to the side of the barn, its loose canvas cover flapping in the wind. ‘Let’s do as he says. We can find some other way to the stone circle.’
‘To hell with that,’ Josh said, his ire up. ‘This is a public right-of-way and that’s final.’
The loud retort close to her face took Trudy by complete surprise and she gave a little squeal as she flinched and put a hand to her ringing ear. As if in slow motion she saw Josh stagger momentarily, and then fall forward, collapsing to his knees. A red circle opened up at the base of his neck and spouted blood. A quick sideways glance by Trudy revealed the revolver, its barrel still smoking, held out rigidly in the hand of the young man, his face expressionless.
She screamed, flinging herself onto her husband just as he fell face down in the mud.
‘You’ve shot him! You’ve shot him!’ she cried disbelievingly, trying to raise Josh’s head from the ground. Blood pump
ed out in a scarlet geyser, smothering her hands.
The young man lowered the revolver. ‘Yeah. Serves the bastard right. He should have turned round and gone back.’
‘Josh!’ Trudy wailed. ‘Speak to me, Josh!’ She turned her fearsome glare onto the young man. ‘Telephone for an ambulance! He’ll die!’
He shrugged. ‘There ain’t a phone here, lady.’ He appraised the attractive young woman kneeling on the ground. Then he sighed. ‘Jesus, why didn’t he just turn round?’
‘He’s dying!’ she yelled, rising to her feet, tears streaming down her cheeks ‘Do something!’
Slowly shaking his head, the young man raised the revolver again, his finger tightening ever so slightly on the trigger as he aimed it directly at Trudy’s face. ‘He should have turned back. It’s his fault I’ve got to finish you too. It’s a shame I’ve got no other choice, you being pretty like you are, but that’s life, I guess.’
3
Everything’s Just Dandy
‘Jimmy!’
The young man turned round. The tall, straight figure of a man hurriedly crossed the yard. His face was shaded by the brim of a trilby.
‘Callum…’ the young man said, swallowing and lowering the gun. ‘The bastard tried to push his way through…’
‘What the bloody hell have you done, you young fool?’ said the man.
He was an older man, in his late thirties, and he wore a long khaki trench coat that flapped stiffly in the wind. His face was long, or appeared to be so with his serious, almost gloomy expression. He came to the young man’s side and looked at Trudy, who was standing open-eyed in shock, staring hard at the cold metal of the drooping revolver. She sobbed uncontrollably.
‘They were trespassing,’ said the young man, licking his dry lips. ‘I tried my best, Callum. I didn’t have a choice.’
The man called Callum grabbed the revolver out of the youth’s hand and punched him squarely in the jaw. The young man staggered, clutching the point of contact. He glowered up at Callum, but accepted his punishment.
ARCHANGEL HAWTHORNE (A Thriller) Page 2
