A New Beginning

by A New Beginning (retail) (epub)

  ‘But how did it happen? You surviving, the others all gone?’

  ‘Stupid really. I’d gone with a neighbour to get us some fish and chips. The shop was closed and we went further afield, caught a bus to the next one and, well, we didn’t get our fish and chips that night, but we survived.

  ‘I dodged the wardens and went into the ruin of the house, hoping to find them, and I was hurt when part of a wall that was teetering fell on me.’

  He listened, staring at her in amazement, allowing her to talk about the night she had lost almost everyone she cared about. Then he said, ‘How do I tell Sophie?’

  They discussed the best way of breaking the news, both aware that Sophie would blame herself once again, this time for not going back to find out what had happened. Being unable to face the sight of that row of graves had deprived her of her grandmother for more than four precious years. When Ryan left he felt sadness at leaving her all alone, her sad memories revived by his visit – but at least he had given her hope.

  ‘I’ll see you very soon,’ he promised. ‘With your granddaughter.’

  *

  Gareth waited anxiously for an opportunity to speak to Owen – he had no wish for his parents to give away the fact that there was no real rift in the family. He found Owen in the hay barn tidying up the bales and said, ‘If there’s a way of getting money out of this place before next year, I’d take it.’

  He saw a tremor cross Owen’s face and knew he’d touched a nerve. ‘Like I suspect you have,’ he added, grabbing Owen’s arm.

  ‘Don’t talk rubbish! What could I do? I’ll be leaving this place with nothing more than the few hundred pounds I’ve managed to save.’

  ‘Don’t take me for a fool. You changed accountants, and solicitors, d’you expect me to believe there wasn’t a reason for that? Since when have you taken decisions like that?’

  ‘I saw a way to save a few pounds, that’s all. I do the accounts and always look for ways of saving your father’s money. It’s my job.’

  And although Gareth continued to press him, he still didn’t manage to get anything out of him.

  The next morning a letter came and Gareth picked it up as Rachel made the postman a cup of coffee. It looked official and bore the name of a firm of insurers. As the postmark was not a local one, he read it then handed it to Tommy and made his father promise to keep the contents to himself.

  He was smiling when he found Owen in one of the top fields. There were stone-built pens up there, which they used during the annual sheep-shearing and lambing, and he was sitting against a wall, eating his sandwiches.

  ‘How much d’you hope to get away with?’ Gareth asked conversationally.

  ‘What are you talking about now?’

  ‘Enough to buy a place in Somerset?’

  This time Owen failed to hide his alarm.

  ‘Unfortunate, you having an accident with the van, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Somerset? I’ve never been there. When do I go as far from home as Somerset? A visit to Barry Island feels like a safari! I never go anywhere. When did I last have a holiday? Answer me that?’ Owen replied, panicking, as he realized that the man must have reported the accident after all.

  ‘Your honeymoon, I suppose. Dad’s tried to persuade you to get away, offered to pay for a week somewhere of your choice, but you’ve never wanted to go. You preferred to stay around playing the part of the poor relation in some Victorian melodrama! Making yourself indispensable, hoping for a share of this place.’

  He handed him the letter with the insurance claim and saw from Owen’s drooping shoulders that he was ready to admit

  ‘All right, I did go, but it was to see a woman,’ he said. ‘I met her in the Ship and Compass, one of those tourists on bicycles, like Daphne. But she didn’t want to know, so I won’t be going there again. Now, satisfied?’

  ‘No, I’m not. Look, Owen, whatever you’re planning, you can count me in. I’m desperate too.’

  Gareth spoke quietly and after a few more threats, as he exaggerated what he actually knew, Owen said, ‘All right, I’ve taken out a small mortgage that your father doesn’t know about. You can have half of it. I’m entitled to something after all these years, aren’t I? I need something put away from my old age.’

  ‘How did you plan to cover it up?’

  ‘I deal with the accounts, don’t I? It would have been easy, once the farm is sold. The price they get won’t be what they’d hoped for and I’ll be long gone.’

  ‘To Somerset?’

  ‘No! Not Somerset. Why are you obsessed with Somerset? I want something on a larger scale. Yorkshire probably. North never south.’

  Gareth was convinced that Somerset was the place. He wrote to the insurance company, as the owner of the van, and asked for the exact details of the accident. If he knew where it happened, he might be able to learn something by going there.

  *

  Owen felt he needed someone to share his worries. He had always been a self-sufficient man, well able to cope with difficulties as they arose without the need to discuss every small problem, but this was different. He needed a family. Not for ever, just until he had settled into his new life.

  He knocked on Sarah’s door and smiled as it was opened by Bertie, who returned his smile with a frown.

  ‘Is your mum there?’

  ‘No, she’s at work, and I’ve just come back from work too.’

  ‘Work?’ Owen questioned.

  ‘I work with Mr Jennings, and Mr Jones, too, sometimes. Gardener,’ he added impatiently. He was given confidence by having Sophie there, unseen by Owen.

  ‘Oh, I see. Well done. Tell your mum I called, will you?’

  ‘If I remember,’ Bertie said, closing the door.

  Owen went to the ladies’ dress shop and asked to speak to Sarah. ‘I called at the little terraced place,’ he said disparagingly, ‘and found your son there alone.’

  ‘Sophie’s with him. She walked him home early as she’s helping him to cook a meal for me,’ she explained. ‘My son isn’t neglected.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t see her. I’m sorry. Can we meet when the shop closes? There’s something I want to discuss with you, in private.’

  They arranged to meet at five thirty and he would drive her home. He parked the van outside the house and switched off the engine.

  ‘I can’t stay long, mind, I don’t want to spoil Bertie’s meal.’

  ‘I want you to come with me when I move.’

  She turned to stare at him. ‘What?’

  ‘We haven’t divorced, we’re still man and wife, and we could try living under the same roof, with your son, see if we could make it work.’

  ‘We can’t! I know that without trying!’

  ‘There’s something else.’ He brought out some papers and tapped them. ‘I’m increasing the payment I make for you and your – and Bertie. I agree to pay the larger amount until he’s twenty-one.’

  ‘What’s the catch?’

  ‘There isn’t one. I want to do something more for you, make you think more kindly of me as well, if you think that’s a catch. All you have to do is sign here.’

  He opened the pages and she glanced at the legalese and nodded. ‘However we feel about each other, I won’t deprive Bertie of extra money. Where do I sign?’

  He folded the pages, keeping some of them out of sight, and handed her a fountain pen. She innocently signed the agreement to buy the farm near Portishead in the name of Sarah Grange.

  Through the window Bertie watched as his mother and Owen Treweather talked. He was impatient; the pie, which was golden brown with potatoes mashed and then patiently ridged with a large fork, was just perfect, so why didn’t she come in? Sophie had gone, leaving him to proudly present the meal, although she had warned him not to take it out of the oven.

  He knocked on the window but inside the van he could see them still talking, unaware of his anxiety. Opening the door he walked down the path, shielded by overgrown privet.

&nb
sp; Owen had tried again to persuade Sarah to leave with him, and the first thing Bertie heard was his mother shouting, ‘But it’s ridiculous, Owen. I can’t just walk away from everything here. Bertie has to be considered. I know you pretend, but you can’t really accept him, and I won’t go without him.’

  ‘Just think about it, and keep it to yourself,’ Owen said as she stepped out of the dirty old van. ‘He’d be all right – there are plenty of people to look after him while we get settled. Sophie loves him and he’ll be happy with her. I need you more than he does.’

  Bertie ran in and closed the door. He was sobbing as he grabbed a thick padded cloth, lifted the beautiful vegetable pie from the hot oven and threw it to the floor. As Sarah came through the door he pushed past her shouting, ‘I hate you!’ and ran, unseeing, towards Badgers Brook.

  Twelve

  Sophie was surprised to see Sarah running up the path, and she opened the door expecting to hear praise for Bertie’s culinary efforts. Instead, Sarah called, ‘Is Bertie there?’ When Sophie shook her head, she went on, ‘I think he’s very upset, and I don’t know where he’s gone.’

  Between sobs she told her friend what she suspected. ‘Owen came to talk to me and he tried to persuade me to leave with him. When I said I wouldn’t and that I knew he would never accept Bertie, he more or less admitted it and went on about my leaving Bertie and going with him. I refused, of course. I’d never do anything to hurt Bertie, and I would certainly never leave him, but I think Bertie was listening and got it all wrong.’

  ‘What made you think he’d overheard?’

  Sarah hastily explained what had happened.

  ‘We have to find him,’ Sophie said. ‘I’ll go to the places he went to with me and you go to Betty and ask if she can spare Daphne for an hour. Don’t worry – an hour will see him safely back home.’

  ‘Owen said to tell no one he’s leaving.’

  ‘It’s no secret, the farm is to be sold in a year’s time.’

  ‘Sooner than that! He wanted me packed and ready by tomorrow night!’

  Although Bertie was the priority that moment, Sophie took some coins with her and stopped at the phone box on the lane and managed to speak to Ryan, explaining about Owen’s plan to leave and about Bertie.

  ‘Finding Bertie is the most important but if you see Owen say nothing, and if Gareth phones, tell him to hurry home,’ Ryan responded.

  ‘I think Gareth’s gone away,’ she said.

  ‘No, he went to check on the area where Owen had his car accident, he’ll be back tonight.’ Before she rang off, he said, ‘Sarah would never go back to Owen, surely?’

  ‘Of course not. And she’d never leave her son.’

  ‘You’re sure Owen is planning to leave tomorrow?’

  ‘That’s what he told Sarah. Owen is cheating you in some way, but why is he leaving so soon?’

  ‘Thanks to you, my darling girl, we’re going to find out.’

  ‘See you soon,’ she whispered. She was shaking as she replaced the receiver. Was she his darling girl? Something inside her began to push away her doubts and she fervently hoped that she was. Most of her anxieties had been resolved, and she was beginning to feel capable of love again. Now she had to forget everything else and find Bertie.

  As she spent so much time with the boy, she thought she would know all his likely hiding places: the favourite spots in which he played, the many special places they had explored together. She crossed the stream using a stepping-stone bridge that she and Bertie had made and headed towards the old farmhouse.

  On the way she searched each hidey-hole and picnic place that she remembered, calling, becoming more anxious as there was no sign of him. The weather was closing in and darkness was approaching fast. She was afraid he’d be out all night unless she could find him soon and persuade him to go back home.

  The wind was rising, and black clouds warned of rain. He had to be inside somewhere. If he wasn’t, where could he be? The house looked uninviting and things began to move around the yard as the wind increased. Trees creaked, branch rubbing against branch; somewhere pieces of metal screamed a protest as they were pushed one against the other, the sudden gusts lashed against the stout walls of the old house.

  The door was tugged out of her hand as she pulled it open it and went inside, tugging it closed, relieved at the reduction in the noise of the storm. She stood for a moment and called his name. The silence was ominous. Her footsteps were an intrusion, tapping on the stone floors, and the stairs creaked disapproval as she climbed up to check the bedrooms; she had to force herself to continue up to the gloomy landing.

  She looked inside each room, but there was no sign of anyone being there. The door to one room, the small one at the back, didn’t give under her push, and she saw with surprise that the door was firmly padlocked. She pushed and called, half afraid Bertie had been locked inside, no matter how silly it seemed, but there was no reply even though she listened with care, and no sound except from the weird wailing of the wind whistling under the door.

  *

  Sarah and Daphne knocked at the doors of all the people Bertie called his friends. Stella and Colin offered immediately, and Kitty and Bob were already searching, having heard from Daphne of his disappearance. Several of his school friends offered suggestions of places to look. Even Peter and Hope went to the woods and fields, calling the boy’s name.

  Tearfully Sarah wished she had taken more interest in her son before she had decided to leave the factory. All the years she had ignored his chatter, which would have been useful now, giving a clue to where he might be. Ashamed and frightened, she ran once again towards Badgers Brook, his favourite place, and widened her search.

  Sophie walked back through the wood, despair wrapping her in its cloudy heaviness. Trying the farm, she met Tommy and he went with her. The wind was wild and several large branches had fallen. An old tree had given up the fight and had fallen, its saucer of roots like a huge wheel on the ground. Tommy increased his speed. ‘If Bertie is among the trees he might have been injured,’ he warned.

  Caught up in the urgency, the storm with its wailing seeming to join in their concern, they walked through the agitated branches and falling twigs and leaves. Tommy seemed to be following a definite route and Sophie followed without question. They found him crying, squashed inside the hollow tree.

  Knowing the facts, she said at once. ‘Bertie, your mother loves you and would never ever leave you.’ She took him in her arms, and, helped by Tommy, he struggled out of the tree. ‘Furthermore, she would never, ever do anything you didn’t want her to do, like going away with Owen. She puts you first every time.’

  ‘What d’you mean? Tommy asked curiously. ‘Where’s Owen off to?’

  ‘Oh, nowhere, Mr Treweather. It was a misunderstanding. Bertie heard his mother talking and got the wrong impression, that’s all.’

  Tommy lifted the boy and carried him a little way, holding him close, revealing his own fears for the child. Then he put him down, chatting to him about the storm that was still building to its crescendo, warning him there was worse to come, and led him back to the farm.

  The telephone rang and Tommy picked it up. Frowning, he handed the receiver to Sophie. ‘It’s Ryan, asking me to ask you to call him. He seems pleased that you’re here.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ Ryan said. ‘Look, I have an idea. D’you think you could ask Sarah to convince Owen she’s changed her mind and will go with him? The police can’t act on suspicion alone and we need to force him to make a move and at the same time know what he’s doing.’

  ‘She won’t risk upsetting Bertie.’

  ‘She mustn’t go with him, just convince him that she has reconsidered her decision, gain his confidence.’

  They talked for a while, and Tommy walked up and down, glancing at her, still wearing the frown. When she put the phone down, he said, ‘What’s going on, Sophie? Don’t say “nothing”. My sons are up to something and I want to know what it is.’
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br />   ‘Sorry, Mr Treweather, but it’s something private, between Ryan and me.’ She hated lying but knew that both Ryan and Gareth wanted to deal with Owen without involving their father, just in case they were wrong and Owen was doing nothing more than make plans for when the farm was sold.

  *

  In a lane some distance away from them, Sarah and Owen were arguing. Unaware that Bertie had been found, she said, ‘If you care as you say you do, Owen, help me find him.’

  ‘I can’t. He wouldn’t come to me. If he heard me calling him, he’d run in the opposite direction. I’d be a hindrance not a help.’

  ‘Stop making excuses and help me, please. It’s getting dark, the storm’s getting worse and he’s out there alone and frightened.’

  ‘No point,’ he said emphatically. ‘He’d hardly think I’m a friend, would he? Thanks to you.’ He touched her shoulders and pulled her to face him. ‘But that could change. We could become a real family if you’ll come with me. I have a place just waiting for us to move into – you’ll love it and so will Bertie.’

  ‘Go away, Owen. It would never work. Any hint of disagreement and you’d remind me how lucky I am to have been forgiven. To you, Bertie would always be a weapon, not an adorable, bright, intelligent child.’

  They heard someone calling and around the corner came Tommy and Sophie and, between them, Bertie. Bertie walked towards them, refusing to let go of Sophie’s hand, but as Sarah turned to him arms outstretched, sobbing in relief, Owen held her back. ‘Not a word about my plans, mind. You must keep it to yourself. We’ll talk soon – I have to have your answer today.’

  ‘There’s my answer!’ She pointed at Bertie now standing hesitantly near them. ‘My son is more important to me than you could ever be.’ Pulling herself free from his grip she hugged Bertie and offered her tearful thanks to Sophie and Tommy. With a brief nod for his uncle, Owen turned away.