UNCONSECRATED GROUND

by Mark Woolridge

‘Gosh,’ Penny said. ‘That’s a tricky one this early in the morning. Can I ask you a question before I think up my answer? Would you be cross if I was your new mummy?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t be cross,’ Becky replied. ‘I really want you to be our new mummy. Please say you will.’

  ‘What about you, Sandy? Would you mind?’

  ‘I’ll always miss Mummy. But I really want you to be our mummy as well. Please say yes.’

  ‘Jamie wants it too,’ said Becky as an afterthought.

  ‘Well that makes four of us,’ Penny said. ‘It’s up to your daddy, of course, but if we all want it enough, perhaps it’ll happen. Now, run along and get ready. I’ll come and help Jamie after I’ve thrown Daddy out of my en-suite.’

  The girls scurried giggling back to their rooms. Geoff went back to the shower cubicle, sticking his head under the spray before turning it off. When Penny opened the door he was drying his hair, as if he’d only just finished.

  ‘Oh hi,’ he said. ‘Has anyone ever told you, you look great naked?’

  ‘It has been mentioned. And you don’t look bad either. But keep your hands to yourself. We’ve kiddies to sort out.’

  He squeezed her thingies in passing, making her giggle like the girls. ‘Later,’ she said, pushing him away.

  ‘One o'clock,’ he countered. ‘Be ready.’

  * * *

  Hunters Farm had used the same firm of accountants for eighty years, through thick and through thin. Or, as John’s dad used to say, thin and thinner. Their current chap, Greaves Junior, was early forties and had been there since he’d left school. Like all his colleagues, he’d be there until he retired. You could set your watch on it. Everything about the firm was old-fashioned and trustworthy. It was a pleasure to visit.

  At least it was nowadays. In the past John only seemed to go there to get bad news and a mild-to-medium bollocking. Nowadays he went for good news and a bit of a gossip. In fact nowadays the financial review took all of a minute. He’d already cut down from monthlies to quarterlies. Should probably make them annuals. Not yet, though. Not while being solvent was still a novelty.

  And not while he secretly enjoyed the drive back to the place he’d been born, for all its faults and failings.

  ‘No plans to start farming?’ Greaves Junior smiled from behind his bifocals. ‘Off your own bat again, I mean.’

  ‘No. I’m happy as I am, although I’m ashamed to admit it.’

  ‘Can’t say I blame you. I seem to be hearing nothing but gloom lately.’

  ‘You heard about Hal, then?’

  ‘Yes I did. How tragic. Such a waste.’

  ‘He told me he was deeing a while back,’ John said bluntly. ‘Liver, it was.’

  ‘Is that why he . . .’

  ‘He’ll have done it because things were getting worse. He had so long to go, but summat was apt to crop up. I reckon it did.’

  ‘What a shame.’

  ‘Talking about Hal, did you make those enquiries?’

  ‘I did.’ Greaves Junior produced a blue ring binder and placed it on the latest pile of positive bank statements. ‘You do realize this is . . . ah . . .’

  ‘Confidential. Course I do. It’ll go no further.’

  ‘Thank you. Not that we’ve done anything wrong. It’s just, in the circumstances . . .’

  ‘Better kept confidential.’

  ‘Right then: the land search.’

  Greaves Junior pulled apart the clamps and removed a few pages of A4. The top sheet included a map with Hal’s farm outlined in marker pen.

  ‘The farm wasn’t registered until a couple of years ago,’ he said.

  ‘Because it hadn’t been sold since God was a lad.’ John nodded. ‘I had the same thing with Hunters Farm. Had to register it to sell.’

  ‘That’s quite common with farms.’ Greaves Junior laughed. ‘A lot of them have been around longer than the Land Registry.’

  ‘Who did Hal sell it to?’

  ‘A company called RRPP24 Ltd. Ring any bells?’

  ‘No. Who are they?’

  The accountant passed over a few more sheets, stapled together this time. ‘That’s the latest credit report. It says they were formed three months before Hal sold up. Two pounds share capital. Registered office a PO Box in Manchester. Listed directors are formation agents. Not filed any accounts. Recently threatened with striking-off action.’

  ‘What does all that mean?’

  ‘It means the company was just a vehicle to get hold of the farm and sell it on, I’m afraid.’

  ‘And we don’t know who’s behind it?’

  ‘No. It’s the sort of company that’s been bought through the post.’

  ‘Who did they sell Hal’s farm on to?’

  Greaves Junior said a name.

  ‘I’ve heard of them.’ John took a second, much thicker credit report as it was handed across.

  ‘They’re one of the biggest house builders in the country,’ the accountant said, ‘as you’ll see from the rating.’

  ‘That’s in millions?’

  ‘Yes. They’re similar in size to the builders who bought your farm. And just as respectable. There’s no question of them being involved in anything underhand. Not knowingly. They will have paid full market price.’

  ‘Does the search give us prices?’

  ‘No. So I had a word with a local expert. He said RRPP24 sold at a good time, when all the big concerns were rebuilding their land banks. They should have got upwards of seven-fifty.’

  ‘I got a lot more than that. About the same time, too.’

  ‘Hunters Farm was much bigger, and in an ideal position. Hal’s was halfway onto the moors. That’s why it was bracketed at seven-fifty to a million.’

  ‘Hal told me he saw thirty thousand,’ John said, ‘after clearing his debts.’

  ‘How much did he owe?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it could only have been in tens, not hundreds. He can’t have got a hundred all told. No wonder the silly bugger shot hissen.’

  ‘I thought he was ill.’

  ‘He was.’ John sighed. ‘That’s what the inquest will show. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘John,’ Greaves Junior leant forward, his expression sombre. ‘Do you think someone set out to con Hal? And that he committed suicide over it?’

  Did he think it? No, John had had doubts at first, but now he bloody-well knew it. He couldn’t see any way of proving it, though. What’s more, he didn’t want to prove it. Not when he had his own family to consider.

  ‘Hal made a bad deal,’ he replied. ‘But he probably never knew how bad it was, so it doesn’t really matter. Let’s leave it at that.’

  * * *

  The kids were in high spirits when Geoff delivered them to his mum who was, for some strange reason, happy to see them.

  ‘I do miss it now they aren’t here every day,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah.’ Geoff winced as he heard them running riot through in the sitting room.

  ‘I’ve got all my little jobs done,’ Mum went on. ‘So I’m all theirs. We’re going to feed the ducks first. Then we’re going to do some baking. We’ll see if the weather brightens up before we decide what to do this afternoon. I have to cram in as much as I can now they’re hardly here. It’s so much better.’

  ‘I thought you said you missed them?’

  ‘I do. And sometimes I don’t.’ Mum chuckled. ‘I suppose absence makes the heart grow fonder. But never mind that; how’s Penny?’

  ‘Enjoying her day off.’ Geoff considered the delights ahead and tried not to look too guilty.

  ‘The children love her to bits,’ his mum continued. ‘Sue says they’re wonderful together.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Geoff examined his shoes. He was used to Mum’s constant worrying; this sudden cheerfulness was unsettling. ‘It’s going very well.’

  ‘What about you and Penny? Sue says you make a lovely couple.’

  ‘For Goodness’ sake, Hilary, leave the poor lad alone.’ Dad was a
t the kitchen table, head over the Daily Telegraph crossword, avoiding rioting kids.

  ‘We all get on fine,’ Geoff said, edging for the door, ‘couldn’t be happier.’

  He stopped at the first telephone box and rang in to book some holiday. Although it was short-notice Henry agreed in a flash. He was a very understanding boss, was Henry. Besides, the top of Geoff’s desk wasn’t like the Himalayas anymore; it was more like Lincolnshire.

  Freedom, he thought, I never realized it could come so easily.

  The idea of going straight home did cross his mind, but he decided not to. There were a couple of errands he had to run before he dragged Penny back to bed; major errands.

  Shouting, yelling and the world’s biggest and best thingies would have to wait.

  The public car park on St Ives Estate only had two other vehicles on it. Geoff parked next to a fancy Jeep and collected the cylinder from the BMW’s boot, weighing it in his hand. The sheer volume of Samantha’s ashes still amazed him. He’d been expecting a diddy-sized container, like the urn English and Australian cricketers squabble over. Instead, a few days after the funeral, he’d been handed this thick, foot-long tube that seemed to be completely full. It had been in the back of the car ever since.

  He took the long route, walking halfway round Coppice Pond then uphill, passing Lady Blantyre’s Rock before leaving the estate and heading towards Druid’s Altar. That bit of moor was deserted apart from someone in a red cagoule about a hundred yards away, exercising a dog. Geoff stood on the flat crag and looked out over the Aire Valley. From where he was standing there were magnificent views up and down the course of the river, but he hardly saw them.

  It had been September and gloriously sunny when he’d first brought Samantha here, both of them sixteen with lifetimes ahead, packed with possibilities. And it had been an even finer day two years later when, on this very spot, he’d told her he wasn’t joining the Army after all. Hugging him and laughing, she’d said in that case Durham University could go whistle as well. They’d married not long after, as soon as they’d saved up, and he hadn’t regretted a single second of any of it.

  Today it was drizzling heavily and almost horizontally. His shoes and trouser legs were already drenched. But even seen at its bleakest, he knew this was the right place. Samantha had other favourite places, mostly on Cornwall’s beautiful north coast, but this was the one they’d always come back to.

  ‘Excuse me, but are you all right?’

  It was the dog-walker in the cagoule. She was in her sixties and was peering at him, obviously concerned.

  ‘Me?’ Geoff nodded. ‘Yes, of course I am.’

  ‘You just look a bit upset, that’s all.’

  Geoff, with something approaching wonder, realized tears were streaming down his cheeks. Rain was streaming down his cheeks too, but so definitely were tears. The dam that had held from that terrible spring day had finally broken.

  ‘My wife,’ he held up the cylinder. ‘We’re just saying goodbye.’

  The dog-walker understood immediately. ‘A bientôt,’ she said kindly. ‘Not goodbye.’

  Geoff waited until she moved on then took the lid off the container. The near gale took the top inch or so of ashes but didn’t want to know the rest.

  ‘Trust you to be awkward,’ he muttered, before sniffing loudly.

  By steadily shaking the cylinder he found he could feed the ashes out onto the wind, which quickly scattered them. He supposed the rain would ensure what was left of her came down close to the Altar, and that felt good. He’d know where she was when he needed her.

  ‘I’ll always love you, sweetheart,’ he said softly. ‘And I’ll do my best for you. Just let me know if ever you don’t approve.’

  Utter silence.

  The cylinder was empty. She was gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Penny dabbed on perfume and slipped into a sheer black negligee, purely to give Geoff the fun of taking it off again. She was waiting in bed by twenty to one.

  Thinking how a man wanted his woman to be a cook in the kitchen, a lady in the parlour and a thingy in the bedroom.

  Thinking about Geoff’s early-morning thingy, hoping he wouldn’t be late.

  Naughty, naughty Penelope, surely it’s not that much better when Old Faithful’s back at work!

  To be honest it was better, but a hard thingy was not the be-all and end-all; not in their case, anyway. Geoff claimed he’d only had two proper girlfriends before Samantha. He’d been Penny’s twelfth proper boyfriend, making her seem ridiculously over-qualified. Yet anything Geoff lacked in experience he more than made up for in quality. Even during a strike she’d choose his loving before anyone else’s.

  Honestly!

  And it wasn’t about sex, was it? She had admired Geoffrey “Dreamboat” Rodgers years and years ago when, along with all the other older boys at school, he’d seemed totally unaware of her existence. Admired? No, not admired: she’d had a desperate adolescent crush on him right through the Fourth Form. She’d even written poems, depicting their love as deep and true, airbrushing out his ever-present, obviously devoted girlfriend. Then he’d collected his A-levels and vanished into the grown-up world, leaving her heartbroken and unrequited.

  Their paths had crossed again later, in a roundabout way, when she’d gone out with Rick. But by then Geoff had left home and married and she’d outgrown crushes. By then she was twenty and only interested in bonking as much as humanly possible. That had made her a good match for Rick, who was eighteen with identical interests. In the few weeks they were together they must have burnt off a million bonking calories.

  Just thinking about Rick made Penny’s body glow. She hadn’t been attracted to him because of the Geoff connection, not consciously, anyway. No, the attractions had been much more basic: stamina, rippling muscles, the fact he was significantly younger . . .

  Rick had been a one-night cradle snatch who’d lasted three months. The training he’d been doing! It brought out the best in both of them. By the time he actually joined the Army she could have passed all the fitness tests herself.

  And she could have instructed the instructors . . . in all sorts of intriguing ways.

  Penny still counted Rick as a friend, despite being dropped in favour of the Queen. In fact she still found him devilishly attractive. In different circumstances she wouldn’t have hesitated after Samantha’s funeral. But circumstances hadn’t been different; she’d been so right to hold back. When she looked at where she was now, compared to where she’d been then . . .

  Oh Geoff, come home soon. I want you so badly.

  The miracle had come to pass last summer, after she’d hooked up with Lee, who happened to be on the same Sunday football team as her old Dreamboat. No scheming or plotting, it just happened. It had been the only one hundred per cent good coincidence in all of her life. And this time Geoff had noticed her existence. This time the attraction had been two-way. She’d known from the very first second of their opening exchange, back in the pub after a pre-season friendly. Wait for it: not only did he remember her as Rick’s last commitment before Her Majesty, but he’d said he remembered her from Bingley Grammar! She’d nearly spoiled everything by telling him about the poems, but somehow managed to stop herself. Instead she’d stood there, happily chatting away until Samantha arrived with the girls running amok and Jamie snoozing in his carry cot.

  Marital interruptions aside, a wonderful gravity had sprung up between them. It had affected Geoff most, drawing him before Penny could work up courage to make her own approach. And it kept on drawing. When his wife wasn’t about he would join her as if it was expected. When there was a disco or karaoke (spoilsport Samantha attended all the footballing functions!) they always managed to snatch a slow dance together.

  Usually two or three . . .

  Penny checked the clock again. Twelve minutes to one.

  That gravity had thrilled and frustrated her. She hardly knew Samantha, had definitely been envious but would nev
er, ever, ever have tried to steal her man. And she simply couldn’t have let Geoff be physically unfaithful, however great the temptation. The most she’d done was that night she’d seen Samantha dancing with one of the other players, stealing a few kisses, letting him squeeze her bum. Penny, dancing with Geoff, had taken that as her okay to steal a few kisses and have a good-old squeeze herself. But that was as far as it would have gone.

  If Samantha hadn’t so tragically died.

  Nine minutes to one.

  Maybe the minutes will go faster if I stop looking at the clock?

  Penny was aware she was being talked about. Some people were calling her a gold-digger. Others were saying she was chasing a ready-made family. That wasn’t a worry because the people who really mattered knew she adored Geoff’s kids and didn’t need gold. And her own well-to-do mum and dad weren’t a problem . . . unless they considered Geoff to be the gold-digger and weren’t saying.

  Who gave a fig about some people anyway? Fiddlesticks to some people. What did some people know about the way things were?

  For Penny the situation was straightforward. Money didn’t come into it and nor did the kids, although her feelings for them were as pure as could be. No, it was all about Geoff. Thanks to a simple accident of birth, Samantha had had a four year start on her first time around. When Geoff became free again the playing field had been levelled. And nobody, absolutely nobody would get a start on her this time.

  Not four years. Not even four seconds.

  It was five to one.

  A car door slammed and moments later the front door opened and closed below her. Nerves jangled. They’d never had a stolen afternoon together. How should she greet him? With a seductive: Come and see what I’m wearing under this negligee? Or a domineering: Get in here, big boy?

  Before she could decide Geoff was running up the stairs, calling, ‘Just grabbing a shower. I’m a bit bedraggled.’

  And I’m more than a bit ready, she thought. Hurry up, for Goodness’ sake.

  Geoff came into the bedroom at one precisely, covered with a towel and grinning widely.

  ‘Here I am. Sorry to keep you waiting.’

  ‘You will be sorry if you don’t stop messing about.’