by Ben Cheetham
His voice quiet with rage, Tom said, ‘I ought to kill you.’
‘Do it if you want.’ Graham got down on his knees, arms dangling at his sides. ‘I won’t stop you.’
As Tom loomed over him, Graham closed his eyes. Tom raised a fist. It trembled in the air for a few seconds, then dropped harmlessly. With an exasperated, ‘Gahh!’ Tom spun away from his brother. ‘You always do this!’
‘I’m not doing anything.’
‘Fuck you, Graham. You know what I’m talking about. Ever since we were kids, no matter what I do, I’m always the bad guy. Well, not this time! This time it’s you. You and that slut wife of mine.’
Graham opened his eyes, an uncharacteristic tremor edging his voice. ‘Amanda’s not a slut.’
Tom stabbed a finger at him. ‘You don’t tell me what my wife is or isn’t. If I say she’s a slut, then she’s a slut. Do you hear?’
Graham held Tom’s gaze and said nothing.
Tom laughed grimly. ‘Christ, you and she have got more in common than I ever realised. There’s no one better than you two at laying on the guilt. What did I do to make you hate me so much, Graham? You wanted the farm, you got it. Half the flock was mine by rights, but I never asked for a penny. So why? Why did you do this to me? And don’t you dare say it just happened.’
‘We make our own decisions and our decisions make us. Dad used to say that to us when we were naughty, remember?’
‘Yeah, so what’s that got to do with anything?’
‘So you decided to leave the farm, even though you knew Mum and Dad couldn’t manage without you.’
Tom’s eyes glimmered. ‘Now we get down to it. You’ve always blamed me for their deaths.’
Graham shook his head. ‘You blame yourself. I knew how much you hated the farm. I thought you did the right thing by leaving. What’s happening between Amanda and me has got nothing to do with you. I love her. I think I’ve always loved her, but I only allowed myself to acknowledge it when I saw how unhappy she was. I made the decision to be with her even though I knew it was wrong. I’m not sorry for what I’ve done, but I accept that I deserve whatever you do to me.’
‘Oh, how noble,’ Tom retorted sarcastically. ‘What a pity for you Amanda doesn’t feel the same way. You see, Graham, you may not have fucked her to get at me, but that’s the only reason she fucked you.’
Graham shook his head again, but the truth was written in the grimace that twitched at his face – he knew Tom was right.
An ugly smile lifted Tom’s mouth. ‘That’s the joke of it. She didn’t do this because she hates me, she did it because she loves me. Can you believe that? Sick, isn’t it?’
Like an animal wanting to be put out of its misery, Graham lowered his eyes. ‘Giving you a good kicking would be letting you off too easy,’ continued Tom. ‘I need you fit and healthy. You’re going to have to work twice as hard from now on to keep the farm going.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Like I said, half the flock’s mine.’
‘You know I can’t afford to buy you out.’
‘That’s not my problem. Now tell me why the police released you so quickly.’
‘Eric Parke was at the farm yesterday morning. I spoke on the phone to Amanda after he left.’
Eric was a vet who’d been looking after the Jackson flock for close to forty years. There was no one more respected than him in Middlebury. If he could vouch for Graham’s whereabouts at the time of Erin’s disappearance, then Graham had a cast-iron alibi. Conflicting emotions swirled through Tom. Relief that Graham didn’t have anything to do with what went down at the forest. Despair that it meant the solution to the mystery remained out of his grasp. He quickly turned his back on Graham and started walking. With Graham out of the picture, all he wanted was to put his eyes – and, if necessary, various other parts of his body – on Carl ‘Greenie’ Wright.
‘Wait, Tom,’ Graham called after him. ‘If you do this, you’ll bankrupt me. Think about Dad—’
Tom felt no triumph at the anxiety in Graham’s voice. There was nothing left to feel about him. ‘I have thought about him,’ he cut in flatly. ‘He’s the only reason I’m giving you any chance at all. And don’t call me Tom. Don’t call me brother. In fact, don’t call me anything. From now on you’re dead to me.’
DAY 2
10.51 A.M.
All morning Seth had avoided Holly’s eyes. He didn’t want her to see his longing and confusion. He didn’t want her to know she had that kind of power over him. Life had taught him to rely on no one but himself, to trust no one but himself. To let people see what was inside of you was an invitation for them to exploit your weaknesses. Not that he was sure what was truly inside of him. Sometimes it seemed that he was nothing more than a hollow container for other peoples’ thoughts and feelings. He wasn’t even sure that what he felt for Holly was real. Perhaps his desire was just the residue of emotions leached from someone else.
He realised he’d made a huge mistake getting involved in the search. He’d thought it would be fun, but now Tom and Henry were gone it was just as tedious as the factory job he’d walked out on to come to Middlebury. In fact, working ten-hour shifts packing food products had been more interesting. At least in the factory he’d been able to amuse himself by slipping an occasional pubic hair into a microwave meal. Out here, among the never-ending pine trees, there was no chance for any mischief. Especially not now he was leading this bunch of do-fucking-gooders.
He fought to keep his oh-so-grave expression in place. If he never saw another pine tree after this was over it would suit him just fine. But when exactly would it be over? He glanced at his watch. In nine or so hours he would have to make his excuses – feign illness or some such bullshit – and leave, no matter what. The only thing stopping him from doing so right away was his reluctance to draw attention to himself. At least that was what he told himself. But his eyes told another story as they stole a glance at Holly, tracing the soft curve of her waist and breasts up to her sun-kissed face.
He wrenched his gaze away. Nine hours. After that he could wave goodbye to this arsewipe of a country for ever. He could go wherever he wanted in the whole world, become a new person with a new identity. And the past could go fuck itself. Nine more hours of wearing someone else’s expression. That wasn’t so long. After all, he’d been doing it his entire life.
‘Seth!’ called Holly. ‘Come and have a look at this. I think I’ve found something.’
His face giving away nothing except dutiful interest, Seth approached her. She pointed to a tiny scrap of white material dangling from the sharp tip of a broken branch. ‘Erin was wearing a white T-shirt, wasn’t she?’
Seth nodded and got on the walkie-talkie to Sergeant Dyer. ‘Keep the area clear,’ came the policeman’s response. ‘I’m on my way.’
‘I’d say we’re about three miles from where Erin went missing,’ Holly said as they waited for the sergeant. ‘I wonder what she was doing all the way over here, assuming that came from her T-shirt?’
Seth could think of several possibilities – none of them good – but he made no reply. Holly sighed. ‘Look, about what happened before, it just didn’t feel right.’
‘I told you, I understand.’ Seth’s voice was tightly controlled, devoid of emotion.
‘No, I don’t think you do.’ Holly caught his gaze. ‘I wanted you to kiss me.’
His heart began to beat faster. ‘You did?’
‘Yes, just not right then.’
‘Well, when, then?’
‘I don’t know.’
Seth’s brow wrinkled. He felt like he was groping his way blindly through a maze with dead ends at every turn.
Holly smiled perceptively. ‘You’ve not had much experience with girls, have you?’
‘I’ve had my fair share.’ Seth was irritated by the defensive note in his voice. He’d told himself he would keep her at the same distance as everyone else, but she seemed to have the ability to slip past hi
s guard without even trying. Three words was all it had taken to knock him so far out of his comfort zone his head was spinning. I wanted you. No one had ever wanted him before. His grandma had needed him to bring in the rent money. But she hadn’t wanted him in her flat. Not really. He’d always been a burden. ‘It’s just that I’ve never met a girl like you before.’
‘Isn’t that a song title?’ Holly joked.
Seth felt a blush rising to his cheeks. He started to turn away, but Holly put her hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You’re not the only one who says dumb things when you’re nervous. I’ve never met anyone like you before either. Most of the lads I know look at me as if they’re eyeing up breeding stock or something. But when you look at me it’s like . . . like you’re looking past the surface.’ Holly’s mouth tilted knowingly. ‘Oh, I realise you’re not that different. I saw the way you looked at me when we first met. And to be honest, I thought you were just another idiot with his brain in his underpants. But since then, well, I realised I was wrong. There’s a lot more to you. You do a good job of hiding it, but I see it.’
Seth moved from awkwardness to uneasy curiosity. ‘What do you see?’
‘I see someone who doesn’t like talking about himself.’
Seth’s eyes sought refuge in the trees. ‘Maybe that’s because there’s nothing worth saying.’
‘I don’t believe that’s true.’
‘What if what I say makes you hate me?’
‘Then it makes me hate you. But even that’s better than feeling nothing, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ Seth had lived with hatred all his life. He knew how it could eat away at you like acid. It was better to exist inside other people’s feelings than deal with that kind of pain. He turned at the sound of footsteps. Sergeant Dyer, several constables and forensics officers were approaching.
Squinting at the fragment of material, the sergeant said, ‘I want a cordon around this entire grid. And let’s get some dogs over here asap.’ As the constables carried out his orders, he wagged an approving finger at Seth and Holly. ‘You two have a real knack for spotting things others might miss.’ He unfurled a map that looked like an oversized noughts and crosses grid minus the noughts. The north-eastern and southern areas of the forest were almost entirely filled in with red crosses. He pointed to an area bordering the moors. ‘I want your team to search this grid. If that material is from Erin’s T-shirt, it seems to me that’s the direction in which she was going or being taken.’
As they made their way to the new search area, Seth put a little distance between Holly and himself. From the looks she kept giving him, he could tell she was waiting for an opportunity to continue their conversation.
His grandma’s voice sniped at him again: Idiot! How many times have I told you? Don’t trust girls, especially the ones with innocent eyes. They’re the worst of all.
He’d never questioned the sense of those words – until now. He’d been telling the truth when he said he’d never met anyone like Holly before. She was the first person who’d made him want to risk opening himself up. There was a high probability that all he was opening himself up to was her contempt. But what if she accepted him for who he was? Maybe she was his chance for something he’d begun to think happened only to other people – happiness. Surely it was worth the risk. Wasn’t it?
No, it’s not worth it! She’ll stab you in the back the first chance she gets.
‘Shut up, you old bitch,’ he muttered.
But she wouldn’t shut up. She kept hurling the same old insults at him over and over again. You’re an idiot, a retard, a moron. He pressed his fingers to a splitting pain in his temples.
‘Are you OK, Seth? You’ve gone really pale.’
He saw Holly had caught him up. This was the perfect opportunity to duck out of the search, he realised. All he had to say was, I don’t feel well. But looking at her concerned face, he couldn’t bring himself to. From the recesses of his mind came more words his grandma had said to him loud and often: Why do I waste my time on you?
Seth forced his lips into a thin smile. ‘I’m fine. Do you mind if we don’t talk for a while? What you said before . . .’ He cleared a tightness in his throat. How did people ever get used to talking like this? ‘It kind of shook me up.’
He half expected Holly to be upset, but instead she smiled sympathetically. ‘Sure, Seth.’
She dropped back into the group, leaving him alone with the sneering echo of his grandma’s voice. Why do I waste my time on you? Why . . .
DAY 2
11.02 A.M.
Tom pulled over out of sight of the tree-house lookout. He got out and slunk along the hedge that enclosed the lower slopes of Maglin Hill. He studied the protest camp through a hole in the foliage. Life was going on much the same as the last time he’d been there. Several people were clearing the trestle table from a late breakfast. Tom spotted Greenie sunning his chicken chest in a deckchair. The eco-activists’ leader puffed on a cigarette, gazing around himself like a king surveying his little realm. Three hundred metres above the camp the Five Women wobbled in the sun, as if indeed swaying to some music only they could hear.
Tom wondered what would have happened if instead of stopping Amanda from attacking Greenie, he’d helped her. Maybe Greenie would have fessed up. Maybe Erin would be at home now. And maybe he’d be none the wiser to Amanda and Graham’s betrayal. Would it have been better not to know? The question was pointless. The genie was out of the bottle and there was no putting it back in.
His phone rang. He quickly silenced it and put it to his ear. ‘Have you seen Graham?’ asked Eddie.
‘Yes,’ whispered Tom. ‘And before you ask, he’s still walking around with all his teeth.’
‘Why are you whispering?’
‘I’m at Maglin Hill. How far away are the Geordies?’
‘That’s the other reason I’m phoning. They just arrived. Where are you parked?’
‘About a quarter of a mile before the quarry turn-off.’
‘We’ll meet you there.’
As Tom returned to his car, Eddie’s BMW climbed into view followed by a minibus. Eddie parked up and jumped out. ‘This is it, Tom. This is fucking it.’ His voice was ramped up with nervous excitement.
Fifteen figures filed off the minibus, looking like a bouncer’s convention on a day trip. A skinhead with a neck indistinguishable from his shoulders approached them. Eddie made the introductions. ‘Tom, this is Dave Simpson. Dave, this is my business partner, Tom Jackson.’
Dave held out a knuckle-scarred hand. ‘Sorry to hear about your daughter,’ he said in a heavy Geordie accent. Tom gave him the brown envelope. It burnt worse than ever to use Henry’s money. He would rather have pawned everything he owned if there was time. But there wasn’t.
Dave glanced at the wad of banknotes the envelope contained and nodded approvingly. ‘How many protesters are there?’
‘Maybe twenty-odd. I think a couple more arrived today.’
‘I reckon we can deal with twenty-odd lentil-eaters. We can do this one of two ways. We either give them fair warning to clear out. Or we just roll in there and flatten the place.’
‘No way are they clearing out without a fight,’ said Eddie.
‘The lads will be pleased to hear that. They didn’t come all this way to twiddle their thumbs.’
‘What are we going to do about the lookout tree?’ asked Tom.
Motioning for Tom and Eddie to follow, Dave headed around the back of the minibus. He opened the rear door, revealing an arsenal of baseball bats, axes, crowbars and bolt cutters. He patted a chainsaw. ‘I reckon that’ll do the job nicely.’
Tom thumbed an axe. ‘Jesus Christ, we want to scare them, not kill them.’
‘Relax. We know what we’re doing,’ Dave reassured him. He took out a pair of plastic zip-cuffs. ‘We’ll slap these on them before they even know what’s happening.’ He turned to his men. ‘Reet, lads, let’s tool up.’
Dave han
ded out the tools cum weapons, along with luminous tabards. ‘Saves any confusion about who’s on what side.’
Tom slapped a baseball bat into his palm. Frowning, he put it down. He didn’t trust what he might do with it if Greenie refused to cooperate.
‘If you’re not comfortable with this, feel free to wait here until the fun’s over,’ said Dave.
Eddie hefted a crowbar. ‘Bollocks to that. We’ve waited long enough to get our hands on these cunts.’
‘Don’t go hitting anyone with that,’ cautioned Dave. ‘Unless you want a GBH charge.’
Eddie pulled a face like a child warned away from a sweet jar.
Dave and his men got back on the minibus. Eddie ducked into the BMW, saying, ‘Bring it on.’
Tom sat silent next to him, lips compressed, eyes fixed on their target.
The minibus crept past them. When the quarry came into view, it put on a surge of speed. Its tyres spat stones as it skidded onto the quarry track. From up ahead came the clanging of the lookout alarm. For an instant, as if in suspended motion, the activists gawped at the vehicles charging towards them. Then, frantically directed by Greenie, they burst into action, dousing the cooking fire, ducking into tents, running for the barricade of tyres and tree trunks.
The minibus screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust. Dave and his men piled out. ‘Come on, lads!’ Dave brandished a baseball bat like a warrior leading his troops into battle. ‘Let’s show these dirty hippies we mean business.’
Several dogs hurdled the barricade, barking furiously. There was a dull crunch as Dave’s bat landed on the skull of the lead animal. It collapsed, yelping in agony. The rest skittered away. A young man with ‘NO QUARRY’ scrawled on his torso ran towards the Geordies, shouting, ‘You can’t do that.’
‘We can do what we fucking like, pal,’ retorted Dave. ‘We’re not the police.’
A couple of his men jumped on the activist, expertly wrestling him to the ground and cuffing his wrists and ankles. The rest charged the barricade, where more activists were in the process of chaining themselves to tree trunks. ‘Shame on you! Shame on you!’ chanted the activists as they were cut loose and dragged away.
