by S J Bolton
Urgent shouting. Hooves skidding. A short smack of something that might have been pain but at the time felt more like outrage.
And then silence.
Evi was lying on the ground, staring at a piece of litter that had caught between two cobbles and wondering if she was still alive. A second later she got her answer. A drop of blood landed on the stone and she watched it tremble in the breath from her mouth.
She knew there was pain waiting for her, but the part of her brain that normally took charge was spinning away, leaving her behind. She was lost amidst cold, white softness, but feeling hot – so very hot – and watching a tiny stream trickle away from her, wondering why a mountain stream should be crimson and knowing, even in that first moment, that her old life was over.
‘Hold on, I’ll be there in a sec!’
Someone had called to her, that last time, in a language she couldn’t understand. Someone had yelled instructions at her in a Germanic tongue and she’d stared upwards, at the bluest sky she’d ever seen, and known that movement was beyond her. Might be beyond her for the rest of-
‘Don’t move. I’m almost done. Alice! Tom! Can you hear me?’
And then she’d been surrounded by tall, fair-haired men who’d smelled of beer and sun-cream and they’d sent words down to her, meant to comfort, to keep her calm, while they trussed her up and pinned her tight and sent her spinning away again, down the mountain…
‘It’s OK, don’t try and get up. I’ve caught your horse, he’s perfectly safe.’ A man was kneeling beside her, one hand gently on her shoulder, speaking to her in a strange accent. ‘I’m going to call for an ambulance but I’ve left my phone in the church. I can’t leave you in the road… Alice! Tom!’
Evi raised her head and moved it slowly from right to left, up and down. There was a pounding in her forehead but her neck felt fine. She flexed her right foot inside her boot and then her left. Both did what they were supposed to. She put both palms on the cobbles and pushed. There was a sharp pain in her ribs but she knew, instinctively, that it wasn’t serious.
‘No, don’t move.’ The voice was close to her ear again. ‘The Fletchers were here a minute ago. They can’t have gone far. No, I really don’t think you should…’
Evi was sitting up. The man kneeling beside her, though tall, looked too slightly built to be German or Austrian. And these hills all around her weren’t mountains. They were moors, just turning the soft, deep purple of a fresh bruise.
‘Are you OK?’ asked the fair-haired man, who was dressed in shorts and a running vest. Boys on bikes. Duchess panicking. She’d been rescued by a passing jogger. ‘Where does it hurt?’ he was saying.
‘Everywhere,’ grumbled Evi, discovering she could speak. ‘Nothing serious. Where’s Duchess?’
The jogger turned to look down the hill and Evi did the same. Duchess was tied to an old iron ring at the corner of the church wall. Her head was down and her huge yellow teeth were making short work of a nettle patch.
‘Thank God you caught her,’ said Evi. ‘Those stupid bastards. She had a nasty bruise on her foot a few days ago. Did she seem OK?’
‘Well, obviously starving to death, but otherwise fine. Not that I’m much of an authority on horseflesh, I’m afraid.’
Duchess was standing squarely on all four legs. Would she be eating if she were in pain? Quite possibly, knowing Duchess.
‘Are you sure you’re not hurt?’ asked the man, who, she noticed now, was wearing deck shoes. And the shorts weren’t running shorts. They were blue and white striped cotton, almost to his knees, and the hair on the back of his calves was blond and thick.
‘Quite sure,’ she said, taking her eyes away from his legs. ‘I’m a doctor, I’d know,’ she added when he looked uncertain. ‘Do you think you could help me get out of the road?’
‘Of course, sorry.’ The fair-haired man leaped to his feet and bent down, holding out his right hand for Evi, as if offering to help her up from a picnic rug.
She shook her head. ‘That won’t work, I’m afraid. I can’t stand by myself. If you don’t mind, can you take me under the arms and lift? I’m not that heavy.’
He was shaking his head, looking worried. ‘You said you weren’t hurt,’ he said. ‘If you can’t get up by yourself I don’t think I should be lifting you. I think we should call for help.’
Did he need it spelling out?
Evi took a deep breath. ‘I’m not hurt now, but three years ago I had a bad accident and seriously damaged the sciatic nerve in my left leg,’ she said. ‘I can’t walk unaided and my leg is certainly not strong enough to support my weight while I get up from these cobbles. Which are not very comfortable, by the way.’
The man stared at her for a second, then she watched his eyes fall to her left leg, unnaturally thin and ugly inside the crimson jodhpurs.
‘Does this road get much traffic?’ asked Evi, looking up the hill.
‘It doesn’t. But you’re quite right. Sorry.’ He knelt again and put his right arm under her shoulders. His left hand slid under her thighs and even though she’d been expecting it, had been quite prepared to be touched, she felt a shock running through her that had nothing to do with pain. Then she was upright, leaning against him, and he smelled of skin and dust and fresh male sweat.
‘OK, ten yards up the hill there is a bench for weary shepherds to stop and take succour on. I don’t imagine they’ll mind if we borrow it. can you make it that far?’
‘Of course,’ she snapped, although it was easier said than done. She had no choice but to wrap her arm round his waist. He was hot. Of course he was hot, it was a hot day and she was hot too and she probably smelled of horses. Evi moved her right leg, and her left screamed at her to stop this stupid moving business right now.
‘Bugger it,’ she muttered, trying without success to bring her weaker leg forward. Come on, you useless, bloody…
She stumbled and almost fell again, but her companion tightened his grip around her waist, bent lower and lifted both legs clean off the ground. Instinctively, she reached her free arm up to clasp him around the neck. His face had turned pink.
‘Sorry, didn’t want you going down again,’ he said. ‘Can I carry you to the bench?’
She nodded and a second later he was putting her gently down on a wooden bench close to the church wall. She leaned back gratefully and closed her eyes. How could she have been so stupid? Bringing Duchess all this way. She could have seriously injured them both. Why the hell did life have to be so bloody difficult? She waited, eyes closed, until the tears had slipped back where they came from.
When she opened her eyes again she was alone. He’d just left her? Christ, she hadn’t exactly been Miss Congeniality but even so…
Pushing herself forward, Evi looked all around. Across the street the windows were dark and empty. A heavy stillness seemed to have settled over the moors. The bike riders had disappeared – hardly surprising given the trouble they’d caused – but where was everyone else? So many houses, so many windows and not a soul in sight. It was Saturday afternoon, for heaven’s sake. Why was no one looking out to see what was going on?
Except, maybe they were. Behind one of those dark windows someone was watching her, she was sure of it. Without appearing to look, she let her eyes scan left and right. Not the faintest hint of movement that she could see, but there was someone there all the same. She turned slowly.
There it was. Movement. Way up high. Evi raised her hand to her eyes to shut out the sun. No, it was impossible. What she thought she’d seen was a shape scurrying along the top of the church. No one could be up there. She’d seen a bird. A squirrel maybe. Or a cat.
She unfastened the chin-strap and removed her hat. The pressure in her head eased immediately. She lifted her hair with her fingers, letting the air get to her scalp and soothe it.
She could hear footsteps. Her ginger-haired knight in shining stripy shorts was back, half jogging along the church path towards her, carrying a glass of wat
er.
‘Hi,’ he said as he drew closer. ‘I can do tea as well but that takes a bit longer. How’re you doing?’
How was she doing? She’d been harassed by feral teenagers who could move at warp speed, she’d fallen off a fifteen-hands horse, had to lie in the road like a beached whale, and then, just on the off chance that she had a shred of dignity remaining, she’d been hoisted off her feet by a ginger-haired twit who smelled like… like a man.
‘Better, I think,’ she said. ‘It’s always a shock, coming off a horse. Especially when you don’t land on soft ground.’
He joined her on the bench. ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to sound rude, but should you really be out on your own, with a weak leg and all?’
Evi opened her mouth and then closed it tight. He meant well. She looked at her watch, giving herself a second. ‘Well, it’s not likely to be happening again any time soon,’ she said. ‘The yard I ride from are very strict. I’ll be doing supervised trots round the manège for the next six months.’
‘Well maybe…’ He caught a look at her face and stopped. ‘How far have you ridden?’ he asked.
‘From Bracken Farm livery yard,’ she said. ‘It’s about four miles across the moor.’
‘Shall I phone them for you? I’m not sure if they can get a horsebox all the way up here, but I can walk-’
‘No.’ It came out louder and firmer than she’d meant it to because she had a feeling there was a battle imminent and, bruised and shaking though she might be, it was one she had to win. ‘Thank you,’ she went on, forcing a smile. ‘I’ll be riding back in a minute.’ Feeling far from ready to remount, she finished the water and put her hat back on, determined to make I’m going now signals, because she knew exactly what was coming.
He was shaking his head. Well, of course he was shaking his head. He was tall and strong, with full use of his limbs, and that made him the boss. ‘I’m not putting you back on that horse,’ he said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Sorry, pet, but you’re disabled, you’ve taken a nasty fall and you’ve probably got concussion. You can’t ride four miles across open moorland.’
Sorry, pet! She looked down at the road so she wouldn’t be able to glare at him, because the disabled aren’t allowed to be angry. If she’d learned one thing over the past three years it was that. Normal people who get angry are just pissed off and that happens to us all; when you’re disabled, any sign of temper means you’re disturbed, you need help, you’re not capable of…
‘Thank you for your concern,’ said Evi, ‘but, disabled or not, I am still responsible for my own actions and I don’t actually need any help to remount. Please don’t let me keep you.’
She handed back the glass and eased herself sideways on the bench. It would be better by far if he were to leave her alone now.
‘How?’ He hadn’t moved.
‘Excuse me?’ she repeated.
‘How, exactly, given that you couldn’t get out of the road by yourself and needed to be carried to this seat, do you intend to walk fifteen yards down the hill and remount a large horse?’
‘Watch and learn.’
She pushed herself upright. The wall was only two feet away, it would support her weight as she walked downhill.
‘Hold on a second. Let’s do a deal.’
He was standing right in front of her. Getting to the wall by herself was possible; negotiating her way around him first probably wasn’t.
‘What?’
‘If you agree to rest for another ten minutes and then phone me the instant you get back to the yard, I’ll help you mount and walk you back to the bridle path.’
So now she was bargaining for the most basic of freedoms with a man she’d just met. And if I don’t agree?’
He produced a mobile phone from his pocket. ‘I’ll phone Bracken Farm livery yard to tell them exactly what’s happened. I imagine they’ll be on their way over before you reach the end of the wall.’
‘Asshole.’ It slipped out before she could bite her tongue.
He held up the phone.
‘Get out of my way.’
He pressed a series of digits. ‘Hi,’ he said, after a second. ‘I’d like the number of a livery yard…’
Evi raised her hands in surrender and sat back down again. The man apologized to the operator and replaced the phone in his pocket. He sat beside her as Evi pointedly looked at her watch, knowing she was being childish and not giving a toss.
‘Cup of tea?’ he offered.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Another glass of water?’
‘Only if it takes you a long time to get it.’
The man gave a low, embarrassed chuckle. ‘Crikey,’ he said, ‘I haven’t had this much success with a woman since I got drunk at my cousin’s wedding and threw up over the maid of honour.’
‘Yes, well, I’m feeling about as thrilled to be in your company as she must have been.’
‘We went out for eighteen months.’
Silence. Evi looked at her watch again.
‘So what do you think of Heptonclough?’ he asked.
Evi was staring straight ahead, determined to look at nothing but the small flight of steps and the tiny street, hardly wider than the span of a man’s arms, that lay opposite. She had a sudden urge to remove her hat again.
‘Very nice,’ she said.
‘First visit?’
‘First and last.’
An iron railing had been fixed into the wall to allow older, less agile people to navigate the steps. Even using it, Evi would struggle to climb steps so steep. Four steps. They might as well be a hundred.
‘Are you sure you’re not concussed? People aren’t usually this rude when they first meet me. Later, quite often, but not right away. How many fingers am I holding up?’
Evi’s head shot round, already opening her mouth to tell him… he was holding up both fists, no fingers in sight. He made a mock start backwards. She raised her right arm to punch him right in the face and to hell with the consequences and…
‘You’re much prettier when you smile.’
… realized it was the very last thing in the world she wanted to do.
‘You’re very pretty when you don’t smile, don’t get me wrong, I just happen to prefer women when they’re smiling. It’s a thing I have.’
She didn’t want to hit him at all. She wanted to do something quite different. Even here, in the street, where the whole world could see…
‘Shut up,’ she managed.
He drew two clasped fingers across his mouth in a zipping motion, a silly, childlike gesture. His mouth was still stretched wide. She looked away before her own smile could become too… too much like his.
Silence again. Across the road a cat appeared. It sat on the top step and began cleaning itself.
‘I’ve always wished I could do that,’ he said.
‘Aah!’ She raised one finger.
‘Sorry.’
Silence. The cat raised one leg and began licking its genitals. The bench they were sitting on began to shake. It was hopeless. She’d be giggling like a teenager in seconds. She turned to him, because at least then she wouldn’t have to watch the cat.
‘Do you live here?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘No, I just work here. I live a few miles down the hill.’
He had light-brown eyes and dark eyelashes, which were really quite striking with that fair hair. Was it ginger? Given time to think about it, ginger seemed too harsh a word for a colour that in this soft September light seemed more like… like… honey?
Glancing down, Evi caught sight of her watch. The ten minutes were up. She twisted her arm around so the watch faced downwards and she couldn’t see it any more. ‘What’s with the two churches?’ she asked.
‘They’re great, aren’t they? Like before and after. OK, brace yourself for the history lesson. Back in the days when the great abbeys ruled England, Heptonclough had one of its o
wn. Building work started in 1193. The church behind us was built first and then the living quarters and farm buildings later.’
He spun round on the bench, so that he was facing the ruined building behind them. Evi did the same, although her left leg had started to hurt quite badly. ‘The abbot’s residence is still standing,’ he went on. ‘It’s a beautiful old medieval building. You can’t quite see it from here, it’s on the other side of the new church. A family called Renshaw live in it now.’
Evi was thinking back to school history lessons. ‘So was Henry VIII responsible for the abbey falling into ruins?’ she asked.
The man nodded. ‘Well, he certainly didn’t help,’ he agreed. ‘The last abbot of Heptonclough, Richard Paston, was involved in the rebellion against Henry’s ecclesiastical policies and was tried on a charge of treason.’
‘Executed?’ asked Evi.
‘Not far from this spot. And most of his monks. But the town continued to thrive. In the sixteenth century it was the centre of the South Pennine woollen trade. It had a Cloth Hall, a couple of banks, inns, shops, a grammar school and eventually a new church, built to one side of the old one, because the townsfolk had decided the ruins were rather picturesque.’
‘They still are,’ admitted Evi.
‘Then, some time in the late eighteenth century, Halifax emerged as the new superpower in the wool trade and Heptonclough lost its place at the top of the tree. All the old buildings are still here, but they’re mainly private houses now. Most of them owned by the same family.’
‘The new church doesn’t have a tower,’ Evi pointed out. ‘In every other respect it’s like a miniature copy of the old building, but with just those four little towers instead.’
‘The town council ran out of money before the new church could be finished,’ her companion replied. ‘So they built one small tower to house a solitary bell and then, because that looked a bit daft, they built the other three to even up the balance. They’re purely decorative though, you can’t even access them. I think the plan was always to knock them down and build a big one when the money was available, but…’ He shrugged. The money to build a tower had clearly never materialized.
