Beck le Street

by Tony McHale

  “I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone.” Jed’s eyes looked down at the ground and suddenly they were full of sad memories. He was thinking of something that had passed between Caroline and him, something that wasn’t easy for him to recollect.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore Jed, they’re both dead. It doesn’t matter …” Farrah reassured him with a sensitivity that Charlie appreciated, because in this moment he could see his father was hurting.

  Jed’s eyes came up and fixed his look on Charlie.

  “She wanted more children … you know.” It was a statement from Jed that to Charlie seemed to come totally left of field. It was also something he’d never even thought about. He’d always presumed that his parents had decided not to have any more children after him. The effort of bringing him up was far too great and they weren’t prepared to go through it all again. And now he’d just found out that wasn’t the case.

  “So after the accident ... Kyle attached himself to her and it was almost like a blessing,” his father continued. “She needed someone else apart from me in her life and you’d gone.”

  “So they became close.” Charlie ventured to move onto to what he was afraid of hearing.

  “Kyle started hanging around here more and more,” Jed’s voice faltered. “But it was years later that she found out the truth.”

  “She found out the truth?” asked Charlie suddenly wondering where this was going.

  Jed glanced briefly across at Farrah before carrying on. “The truth about him and his mother.”

  “His mother?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jenny Pearson.” Farrah clarified just in case anyone was mistaken.

  “Jenny …? You’re saying that Kyle had a relationship with his mother?”

  “That’s what he told Caroline.”

  “And she believed him?”

  “Ever since the accident you could never be sure what Kyle was saying. Half of it made no sense. But there was something about Kyle’s shame that made her believe him. She was in no doubt he was telling the truth.”

  Charlie didn’t know whether to feel relieved or horrified. Of course he was relieved that the rumour about his mother was untrue, but he was horrified that the rumour had foundation. In some bizarre Chinese whispery way the story had changed from Kyle’s mother to his mother.

  “How long had it been going on?” was all Charlie could ask.

  “No one’s quite sure. Your mother thought on and off since he was a kid.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “It was a difficult situation.” Jed knew how feeble this explanation sounded.

  “Why didn’t anybody report it?” was Charlie’s follow up question.

  “Kyle didn’t want it reporting. He still loved his mother …”

  “And he said it was their secret,” Farrah was giving support.

  “So nobody said anything.”

  “Caroline thought if she gave it time then Kyle would slowly realise he had to speak to the authorities, but she wanted him to reach that conclusion.”

  “From what I understand about Kyle he wasn’t capable of reaching Whitby never mind a conclusion.”

  Charlie ran his fingers through his hair, something he did when he was trying to make sense of a problem.

  “Do the police know this?” he eventually asked.

  “No and neither Farrah and I are going to tell them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s over. Finished …” Jed stated emphatically.

  “Jenny Pearson has no more sons. This is the end of the line.” Farrah was again supporting Jed’s stance.

  “But is it finished?” Charlie asked challengingly. “If Jenny found out Kyle had spoken to Caroline, then that would be a good reason to kill her and a good reason to kill him.”

  “No … Jenny couldn’t …” was all Jed could muster.

  “Why not? And if she thinks any of us three know, we may very well be next on the list. Then what? Do we take Jenny Pearson on to the moors and leave her there … hoping she will learn her lesson.”

  Jed and Farrah hadn’t considered the possibility that Jenny had anything to do with Beck le Street’s double murder. But now Charlie had thrown it out there, they couldn’t possibly ignore it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Charlie was looking directly at Jenny Pearson who was serving a couple of kids with some sweets off ‘the tray.’ They were taking their time in choosing, but Jenny wasn’t in any hurry, she never was. It had been the same when Charlie had bought sweets off ‘the tray’ when he was a kid. Jenny had never grown agitated or got cross with any of the kids; she always patiently waited for them to make their choice and then using a pair of tongs, dropped the sweets into the little paper bags. Nothing had really changed over the years, except the price of the sweets.

  As he watched the sweet ritual unfold, as much as he tried, his imagination wouldn’t allow him to see this little old lady as a killer. It was just too incredible.

  The two kids clutching their sweetie bags ambled out of the store and Jenny placed the tray under the counter in the place it had always occupied.

  “Charlie …” Jenny said with a warmth that, like the tray, had always been part of the shopping experience at Jenny Pearson’s. “How you holding up?”

  “I’m okay, thank-you,” replied Charlie politely. “What about you?”

  “So – so. I still can’t think why anybody would want to do that to Kyle. I know he had his problems … we all know he had his problems,” her voice was starting to crack, “but to do that to him. I just miss him so much … I really miss him Charlie.”

  And Charlie knew she wasn’t lying. The tears running down Jenny Pearson’s cheeks were genuine. Whatever her relationship was with her son, whoever the person was who stuck a knife in Kyle’s back, neither of these unknown facts stopped Jenny Pearson grieving for her loss.

  Charlie, despite what he’d recently found out about this woman, took her in his arms and let her cry.

  * * * * *

  Charlie came out of the shop. His intention had been to confront Jenny Pearson about her relationship with Kyle, then for her to admit it, which would naturally lead on to her admitting to the murders. But there was a good reason why Charlie was a photographer and not a detective, because any detective worth his salt would never even have considered this double confession as a remote possibility. However what Charlie had decided was that Jenny Pearson may not be the woman he thought she was, but he didn’t believe she was a murderer.

  So where now? What now?

  As he contemplated what to do he saw Farrah heading towards the church carrying some flowers. Curiosity got the better of him and he followed her at a distance.

  Charlie watched as Farrah entered the graveyard and headed for what Charlie could see at a distance was a newly laid tombstone. It was made out of marble, but had not been there long.

  Farrah cleared some old flowers off the plot, then laid the new ones there. She spent a few moments just sitting on the ground by the grave, before getting up to leave. It was then she saw Charlie watching her.

  Charlie felt he’d intruded on some personal private moment and wished he hadn’t been so inquisitive. But now she’d seen him, there was no point in pretending otherwise.

  Farrah approached him and as she drew nearer, her smile told him that she wasn’t finding his presence offensive.

  “Didn’t mean to …” he was going to say ‘intrude’ but it never came out.“It’s okay. I sometimes wish I wasn’t alone,” Farrah graciously confessed. “I change the flowers every week. I wish I could afford to do it daily … but I can’t.”

  Charlie was trying to think if he’d ever known Farrah’s parents, but there was no recollection of even a mention of them. That didn’t mean to say this
wasn’t one of their graves.

  “You won’t have seen it of course. Do you want to take a look?”

  Charlie just nodded.

  They walked back to the grave together and Charlie’s eyes went from the newly laid bunch of freshly cut roses to the marble headstone.

  BELINDA GREGORY

  1998 – 2012?

  BELOVED DAUGHTER OF FARRAH

  AND SISTER OF AARON

  ‘A shining light that was extinguished too soon.’

  “Your daughter?”

  “Yeah.”

  Then it suddenly dawned on Farrah that Charlie didn’t know Belinda, didn’t even know about her.

  “I knew you had a son … but …”

  “Sorry … I just assumed … your mum would have mentioned her …”

  “No. She never said … Things were pretty strained between us … I guess it wasn’t something that came up while we were trying to be polite with each other. What happened? Was she ill?’

  “It was an accident.”

  “Last year?”

  “Yes.”

  “I had no idea. What happened? Don’t tell me if you don’t want to.”

  “No … I still need to talk about it. I think I’ll always need to talk about it, but people round here, they’ve been good to me, but they’ve had enough. It’s not their problem.”

  Farrah took a deep intake of breath before continuing.

  “She was on her way home one night. They think she must have just slipped and fell in the river … probably banged her head, otherwise she’d have been okay. She was a strong swimmer.” The pain in Farrah’s voice and in her eyes was as affecting as if the accident had happened yesterday.

  “I’m really sorry,” was all Charlie could say, believing it sounded hollow, but knowing it was actually sincere.

  “It was terrible at the time. Aaron was distraught … felt guilty for not walking her home, felt it was his fault. As much as I tried to tell him he shouldn’t blame himself, he couldn’t help it and he couldn’t stop it.”

  “I can understand why he felt like that.”

  “So can I. Because that’s how I felt. But I just couldn’t take off … Couldn’t pack a rucksack and go travelling … much as I wanted to.”

  “Why not? It might have done you good.”

  “This is my home,” said Farrah resignedly. “This is where I live, besides I couldn’t leave her … I couldn’t leave her here by herself.”

  Farrah looked down at the grave.

  * * * * *

  They walked back towards The Black Dog together. For a while they were silent, but it was an easy silence. A needed silence. Farrah was thinking about Belinda and Charlie was thinking about how Farrah once saved him from the wrath of his father when he was nearly caught stealing cigarettes for him and Cassie. Without saying a word Farrah had made up the discrepancy in the till and never asked for repayment. She thought Charlie had learnt his lesson. He had and he’d never forgotten her kindness.

  As they passed Jenny Pearson’s shop it prompted Farrah to ask if Charlie had thought anymore about what he’d learnt the previous night. Charlie admitted he’d been into see Jenny and watched her as she doled out sweets to a couple of kids.

  “And?” Farrah inquired.

  “I didn’t have the balls to say anything.”

  “Join the club.”

  Farrah could see Charlie was disappointed with himself. He was the one that was going to sort this out and he’d fallen at the first fence. But Farrah wasn’t the sort of person to attack someone when they were on their back foot.

  “Maybe that’s not a bad thing. Not sure what it would have achieved.” She gave him a little reassuring smile.

  Charlie had always liked Farrah and he liked her even more in this moment.

  “Just don’t know what to do now,” bemoaned Charlie.

  “Again – join the club.”

  “I just can’t get past the will. I can’t help but think something was very wrong for her to leave it all to me.”

  “Like I said … there was tension. But what marriage doesn’t get tense now and then.”

  “She never mentioned anything to you about changing her Will?”

  “No. I saw the solicitor arrive, but at the time I didn’t know who she was. You know the person who might know something?”

  “Who?”

  “Barbara Bergin. She was the one that witnessed the signing. Perhaps she knows something we don’t.”

  For Charlie this was a lifeline … and boy he needed a lifeline.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Foxwood Farm was nearly as old as the village, but the main farmhouse was just twenty years old. Charlie remembered it being built by Barbara’s husband - James Bergin. He’d bought the farm when it was in a totally run down condition, for what everybody knew to be a bargain. James Bergin put his back into the place and very soon the farm started to turn a healthy profit, much to everyone’s amazement. Then in his fifties James met and married Barbara who was in her thirties, she was exactly twenty years his junior. They had five blissful years until James keeled over one day in the middle of getting the sheep ready for market. It was a massive heart attack and James died before reaching Scarborough General Hospital. Barbara, whilst still in mourning put the farm up for sale, but very soon had a change of heart. She knew how much the place meant to her deceased husband, and despite what the majority of people thought, she did love James. So she took on the challenge and became a female farmer.

  Since then the farm has had its ups and downs, but Barbara has always managed to pull through. The succession of men in her life in the guise of farm managers is not so much about the lack of feelings she had for her dead husband, but a testimony to her depth of love for him. None of them would ever match up to him, so she never kept any of her new men around for long.

  Charlie had been to the farm on various occasions when he lived in the village. He’d worked there a couple of summers helping out painting a barn and being a general labourer. He’d always liked James Bergin, but had left before he married Barbara, so when he pulled up in his Range Rover, he was unsure of the reception that might await him.

  At the sound of his arrival, Barbara Bergin came out of one of the outhouses. The weather was overcast, but quite warm and Barbara had on a vest which whether she realised it or not, drew attention to her breasts. She was wearing jeans and wellingtons and her hair was flowing out from under a baseball cap on which was written ‘Bloodbath The Rock Musical.’ Whatever her background, she wasn’t the image of a typical farmer.

  “Hi there.” Her greeting was welcoming with just that hint of a Yorkshire accent. “Can I help you?”

  “Hopefully,” smiled Charlie. “I’m Charlie …”

  “Ashton,” she finished his name for him. “I know who you are. When I first moved here, they couldn’t tell me quick enough the village had spawned a celeb. I’d go into Jenny Pearson’s place and the first thing she’d do was show me the latest photograph from the lens of Charlie Ashton in one of the tabloids.”

  “Never realised anybody here actually cared about what I did.”

  “That’s us Brits though isn’t it. They love boasting about someone until they’re actually there in front of them, then they do nothing but knock them.”

  Charlie smiled in agreement.

  Then changing track without a pause Barbara carried on, “Sorry about your mother. Any news? Have they arrested anybody yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Must have been a bit of a shock.” Barbara was one of those persons who had the ability to make complete strangers feel totally at ease within minutes of meeting her.

  “Yeah … yes it was.”

  Barbara looked at him for a moment. She understood how he was feeling. The shock when James died was d
evastating, so deep she expected everybody else to feel the same. Of course they didn’t and she could never quite understand why.

  “Do you want a drink of something?” Charlie looked at her, as if the question were something far more penetrating. “I’m going to have one,” she continued and headed into the house.

  Charlie followed her through the back door into a large, spotless modern kitchen with a table directly in the centre that could seat at least a dozen for supper. Barbara immediately sat herself down on one of the kitchen chairs and held out her right leg, complete with Wellington boot. “Do me a favour? I find it almost impossible to get them off if I’m by myself. It’s like some bad game show only I never win anything.”

  Charlie obediently pulled off both her boots and placed them on a mat at the back door. Barbara opened the fridge and extracted a bottle of white wine, a Sauvignon Blanc which was already half empty, then grabbed two large wine glasses from a cupboard.

  “This okay … or would you prefer something else?”

  “Bit early for me.”

  “Wuz.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You’ve obviously become a bit of a southern poncey wuz. I tell you I’ve got half a dozen blokes out on the moors trying to find some sheep and if I asked any one of them if they’d like a drink, they be necking it from the bottle before I’d even finished the question.” Barbara was pouring herself a glass as she was throwing out the challenge to Charlie.

  Charlie was beginning to see what James had seen in this woman. She didn’t take prisoners and she’d fair and squarely forced Charlie’s hand. She held up the bottle. The question was clear – yes or no?

  Charlie smiled again and nodded. Barbara let out a little laugh, poured the second glass of wine and slid it across the table to Charlie.

  “Cheers,” they said in unison as they clinked glasses.

  They both sipped the Sauvignon. It was cold and it hit the right spot. Charlie was glad she’d persuaded him.