Читать книгу One Minute Later - Susan Lewis - Страница 9

‘… and I’m the one who has to name him, because he’s going to be my pig, isn’t he, Daddy?’

‘He is indeed,’ Jack cheerfully confirmed, while glancing in the rear-view mirror to where all three of his children were framed like a small family portrait – Hanna aged eight, Zoe seven next week, and four-year-old Josh, soon to be the proud owner of one small pig. Josh was a miniature version of his father; the same untameable dark hair, deep blue eyes and a smile that was as infectious as his laugh – apart from in his sisters’ opinion, but he didn’t worry too much about that.

Shelley checked the wing mirror on her door of the old Land Rover, making sure Jack’s brother, Nathan, and his wife, Katya, were still in close pursuit. This was going to be Nate and Kat’s first visit to the Dean Valley County Fair, and while the children were thrilled to have them along, their aunt and uncle’s most important task today was to tow the trailer that would later carry home any new livestock they purchased, most importantly the piglet.

Behind the Land Rover was another trailer, this one transporting Milady, the imperious, overweight and highly coiffed sheep that Zoe was entering into the children’s Best in Show competition. Zoe had done most of the grooming herself – post shearing, which she’d watched closely with her inexpert eye to make sure a good job was done – and had only just stopped short of mascara and lipstick. She’d also persuaded Jack to join her for a camp-out in the barn last night to make sure no rival competitor tried to steal the potential prizewinner. (There had been no reports of rustling in their area, but someone had put the idea into Zoe’s head and so all precautions had to be taken.)

‘I’m going to call him Alan,’ Josh announced for the twenty-eighth time, bouncing up and down between his sisters. His excited little face was as flushed and eager as it always was at the prospect of a newcomer to his personal menagerie. He’d been collecting, studying, doctoring, releasing and sometimes burying wildlife since he was old enough to know what it was, and his enthusiasm for all creatures great and small was only surpassed by his incredible, even instinctive understanding of their peculiar habits and needs.

‘Everyone thinks Milady is going to win,’ Zoe informed them confidently. ‘Mummy, you remembered to bring the camera, didn’t you?’

‘I did,’ Shelley assured her.

‘Stop jerking about,’ Hanna protested as Josh knocked into the cress sculpture she was holding. She’d grown it into the shape of a cookie monster over the past few weeks in preparation for the show, and Josh’s life wasn’t going to be a long one if he bumped it again. ‘Daddy, did I tell you that Lydia Harris has made a horse with her cress, but it doesn’t really look like one?’

‘Yours does,’ Josh informed her loyally.

‘It’s not supposed to be a horse!’ she cried furiously. ‘It’s a monster, you idiot.’

‘Well it looks like a horse to me,’ he argued, ‘a bit of a weird one, though.’ After a beat he added, ‘Actually if it doesn’t frighten anyone I expect you will.’

Jack and Shelley choked back their laughter as Hanna thumped her brother, regarding her artistic endeavour with an unsteady mix of anxiety and pride as they jostled along the rutted track and into the field that was hosting vehicles for the show’s tradesmen and competitors.

It was a hot June day with no more than a few wisps of clouds in the sky, and the sour, sweaty stench of livestock doing its best to overpower the perfumed cocktail of flowers, cakes and sizzling hot dogs that floated about between trees and stalls. This was the Raynor family’s fifth show in a row (Josh’s third), and each year they’d gone home with a small clutch of awards and souvenirs, assorted foodstuffs, several chickens, a couple of ducks, and many cases of locally brewed cider. Last year they’d snared a prize for the Scariest Scarecrow, which they’d modelled on Lord Dregg of Ninja Turtle fame and who, Shelley had secretly felt, bore an uncanny resemblance to their roguish neighbour, Giles. In fact, it was possible Giles had recognized himself, for she’d spotted him shooting baleful glances at the straw-stuffed effigy as though not entirely sure if he was being wound up or not.

Much had changed during the almost five years since they’d taken over Deerwood. The farmhouse was now almost fully renovated, some of the outbuildings had undergone serious repair, and as of last week they’d become the proud owners of no less than twenty-seven ewes and six neutered rams. However, the greatest excitement since their arrival – next to Josh being born, of course – was the fact that Nate and Kat had decided to build a large, rambling stone cottage on the acre of land that Shelley and Jack had gifted them. It was set back from the main-road end of the mile-long track up to the farmhouse, barely visible to passers-by in spite of the delightful welcome gate cut into the hedge. Nate was now a firefighter with the Kesterly service, and Kat helped to run the local nursery school.

‘Look at him,’ Jack sighed, sliding an arm round Shelley as they strolled towards the entrance and Josh zoomed off to join a couple of friends he’d spotted. ‘I haven’t seen him this excited since … yesterday?’

Shelley had to laugh. ‘Let’s hope we find a pig,’ she declared, ‘or he’s going to end up as disappointed as Steven.’ Steven was Josh’s pet lamb, a sorry little creature who’d apparently decided that he’d rather have a piglet as a friend than another lamb. They knew this because Josh had told them, and apparently Steven had told Josh. Steven had been helped into the world by Josh a few months ago, and was now a part-time resident of the farmhouse, along with Petunia, Zoe’s three-and-a-half-legged lamb (grown into a sheep), who’d popped into the world on the same February night that Josh had made his own speedy debut.

Jack still enjoyed teasing Shelley about her horrified disbelief that he’d actually left her to give birth alone that night, when what he’d actually done was dash into the barn for the car, leaving Harry and the girls to deal with Milady’s lazy efforts to rid herself of twins. Sadly the first one out had perished, causing many tears. However, happiness had been restored when Milady hadn’t shown any interest in becoming a mother to the second arrival, so Zoe had taken on the role. Meantime, Jack was delivering Josh in the car halfway down the drive with the nearest phone box more than two miles away (if it was working and it usually wasn’t); and since they were still on their own land there had been no chance of passing traffic to come to the rescue. In the end, with the newborn in Shelley’s arms, he’d driven to hospital at breakneck speed in order to get mother and child separated, cleaned up and checked over. An hour later all three had been on their way home again.

Jack had felt very proud of himself that day, and Josh never tired of hearing the story of how his daddy had single-handedly brought him into the world, as though Jack were some sort of magician who didn’t bother with rabbits and hats, because babies out of mummies was much more impressive, especially when that baby was him.

‘Daddy!’ Zoe shouted from somewhere. ‘Milady’s dragging me … Stop! I said stop! Daddy! Help!’

Laughing, Jack went to the rescue, and when he realized that Milady was trying to make a beeline for Roger, the ram who’d come to service the ewes these past two years, he was helpless with mirth as he tried to drag her back on track.

‘It’s not funny,’ Zoe complained. ‘She’s naughty. You’re a very bad girl, Milady. Dodgy should be here,’ she told her father. ‘He never takes any nonsense from her.’ Dodgy was in fact Dodgy Two, who’d come to join them fresh from training, after the original Dodgy had gone to round up sheep angels earlier in the year. By then dear old Dodgy had lost all sense of time and purpose, often chasing in the small flock only minutes after Jack or Shelley had let them out, or circling hikers who came along the public footpath, as though they needed sorting out too. Jack had wept for days after sending the beloved old collie off to new pastures, and Shelley had been no comfort for she’d been beside herself too.

‘We shouldn’t be farmers,’ she often declared, ‘we love animals too much.’ And we’re not even close to making enough money to live on, she never added, for it didn’t seem anywhere near as important as how happy they all were.

In truth, if it weren’t for Jack’s income from his three days a week as a vet, added to the small rent they received from Giles and other neighbours for thirty of their seventy-five acres, and the meagre government subsidies, they wouldn’t be managing at all. Buying and selling sheep, rearing and grazing them, shearing them, and sending them for slaughter in September usually left them with a grand total of next to nothing at the end of each year. The bright side of that, of course, was that they never had to pay any tax.

Throughout the frenetic and frequently hilarious day full of morris dancing, showjumping, local bands playing, and assorted auctions, they shopped the various food stalls, and stopped to chat with the many friends they’d made since moving to the area. By the end Milady had won runner-up at Best in Show, Hanna had howled in justified fury when some contemptible toff had stubbed a cigarette out on her cress creation, and Josh had struck a deal with Terry Yarwood, a local farmer, two piglets for the price of one. So now Steven would have Willy Wonka and Charlie Bucket to keep him company. No Alan in sight.

‘We should call your dad on the way home,’ Shelley said, as they piled children and animals back into cars and trailers. ‘He’ll be wanting to know what time to expect us.’

‘If he’s still out on the road selling eggs,’ Jack replied, ‘we won’t get hold of him, but you’re right, we should try.’ Ever since Jack’s mother had suddenly passed two years ago his father, David, had virtually moved in with them, which Shelley didn’t mind at all. He was as helpful and easy-going as her own father, and it was a big relief to Jack and Nate to know that he wasn’t grieving silently at home on his own in London. Moreover, his passion for growing vegetables was starting to come into its own, for they’d lately begun selling spring onions, cabbages and carrots along with eggs and home-made jams at the end of the drive. And if things carried on the way they were, David’s green-fingered talents were likely to earn him an occasional stall at the Saturday farmers’ market in Kesterly.

With everyone on board, Josh travelling with his aunt and uncle this time in order to be close to Wonka and Bucket, they set off down the track towards the main road where they stopped at the first phone box they found. Discovering they only had one 10p coin between them, Jack dialled the number and started the conversation with his father,

‘Everything all right there? Quick, before the money runs out.’

‘Just made myself a fortune of six pounds and forty-two p,’ David replied cheerfully, ‘and I was about to go and feed the chickens. What time shall I expect you?’

‘In about an hour. Two piglets on board. Did the plumber come to find out why the water’s not getting through to the sheep trough?’

‘Yes, apparently there was a leak about ten yards out, but he’s fixed it, so no bucket line tomorrow. Tell Shelley I thought I’d make a salad for tea that we can eat outside with the weather being so nice. The lettuces are lovely and crisp and the early-ripened tomatoes are as sweet as peaches. I made some bread, tell her, and I was thinking about baking a cake but then I thought you might have bought one.’

‘Try six,’ Jack responded wryly. ‘We’ve also got a mountain of cheese, a ton of different pâtés, half a Wiltshire ham and that’s just for starters. Nate wants to know if Perry’s all right?’ he added, referring to his brother’s two-year-old son, who loved nothing more than being number one assistant to his grandpa.

‘Fast asleep on the dog’s sofa,’ David replied. ‘The dog’s on the floor. Oh, before I forget, Giles came over. He seemed a bit worried about something. He wants you to call when you get back.’

‘Did he mention what it was?’ Jack asked curiously.

‘No. I thought maybe he needed a vet, but that’s not what he said.’

‘OK, I’ll try him now, and if I don’t get an answer …’ He broke off as the pips went and, remembering he didn’t have any more coins, he pushed open the heavy door and returned to the car.

‘Mm,’ Shelley muttered after he told her that Giles wanted them to be in touch.

Jack glanced at her, puzzled, until, realizing she didn’t want to say anything in front of the children, he put the car back in gear and started up a lively rendition of ‘One Man Went to Mow’ as they continued the drive home.

Something was wrong. He could feel it now; Shelley had just got there before him.

By the time they turned into the dirt track that wound through many fields and a bluebell wood to Deerwood Farm the girls were half asleep in the back, but Shelley still didn’t voice her concerns about Giles’s visit. Instead she kept them to herself, hoping she was wrong, and gazed around at their undulating patchwork of fields that stretched in both directions as far as the eye could see. Some were dotted with fat, woolly sheep and their fast-growing lambs, while many of the gates between hedges were wide open to allow them to roam freely. She and Jack had worked harder than they ever had since coming here, and she was more than happy to know that they would continue to. Even the winter months were fulfilling in their way, especially when the lambing season got going for there was something truly exhilarating about helping their ewes to bring new little creatures into the world. It seemed to bond the family even tighter together and make the daft and lovable flock even more a part of it as time passed.

Less enjoyable at that time of year was the pruning of fruit trees and brambled hedgerows in freezing winds, and poring over accounts that never added up. However, there was always the roaring fire to come home to and gather around on stormy nights, and an endless number of games to play and movies to watch now they had a new VCR. (It had taken Jack almost a week to figure out how to connect it, and his normally mild temper had been tested many times since by the machine’s refusal to obey the handbook.)

‘Is that Giles’s new Range Rover?’ Shelley asked, as they crossed the humpback bridge at the end of the drive, and the farmhouse in all its summer glory came into view. Its many windows and doors had been carefully repaired, refitted and painted a gleaming white, while the centuries-old grey stone walls had been livened up by demossing and repointing. The old, Grade II listed roofs now lay snugly under the protection of the brand-new non-leaky red tiles that Jack and Nate had helped to lay. It was, in her opinion, a dream home that always seemed to smile when they came into view, as though wanting them to know how thrilled it was with the rose-covered porch they’d installed around the white front door, and the colourful beds Shelley was bringing on each side of it. The fact that it overlooked a scruffy, cluttered yard full of potholes, tractors and all sorts of rusted paraphernalia simply honoured its status as a farmhouse. As did the barns that faced it, and the creaking iron gates that opened into the fields.

‘Yep, that looks like it,’ Jack murmured, as they pulled up next to the Range Rover. ‘Seems like he couldn’t wait for us to ring.’ There were several other cars around too, which wasn’t a big surprise, for over the past three years Deerwood had gained a reputation for being a place where everyone was welcome. Hardly a day passed without someone dropping in, or ringing up to ask if they could come. Jack, with his irrepressible good humour and eagerness to listen and laugh at stories long and tall, was always at the centre of things, while Shelley kept the food and booze coming, or hit on someone for advice on whatever farm problem was bothering her that day.

As they came to a stop the children woke up and leapt out of the cars, ready to start unloading the squealing piglets and prize-winning Milady. Dodgy wasted no time in coming to help sort things out, and was ably assisted by Nate and Kat, while Jack and Shelley went into the house.

After the blazing sunlight outside, the flagstone entrance hall where a newly constructed oak staircase rose between the kitchen and family room seemed dark at first, but Shelley’s eyes soon adjusted to find the place empty of people, but nevertheless welcoming. It was stuffed full of the charm and quirkiness that she loved. There was a brand-new Aga now, black, powerful and all-dominant in a vast inglenook fireplace where copper pots and pans hung from a thick wooden lintel that was almost as high as the ceiling. The battered rectory table at the centre of the room was, they’d been told at a local flea market, as old as the house, and had once belonged to a duke. As if they’d ever know if that were true, and as if they’d care. It suited them perfectly, as did all the other second-hand furniture scattered about the place that some would call antiques, but they considered new old friends. A magnificent triple-fronted beechwood sideboard that Shelley had found under a pile of junk in the main barn and lovingly restored stood against one wall. Its convenient surface had become resting places for various keys, animal treats, junk mail, stray jigsaw pieces, hair combs and even a couple of baby teeth. In pride of place, in a specially constructed niche above the sideboard, were the precious bronze figurines that belonged together as surely as if they were actually attached. Shelley often recalled the night she and Jack had first placed them there, almost reverently. Then they’d danced, romantically and effortlessly, to Nat King Cole’s ‘Unforgettable’, as though they were continuing the fluidity of movement the sculptor had captured.

‘That’s my mum and dad,’ Hanna would often say if anyone asked about the figures, and neither Jack nor Shelley corrected her, for in a way it did feel like them.

Hearing voices in the back garden, Shelley followed Jack out of the kitchen stable door onto the cracked and weedy stone patio where David was sharing a beer with Giles at a large wooden table under a dilapidated gazebo. There was still plenty of work to be done out here, but it didn’t stop them enjoying the rambling garden with its ragged hedges and overgrown shrubs, or the pond at the far end (home to the ducks), and the various climbing frames, swings and slides for the kids.

‘Everything all right?’ Jack asked, grabbing a handful of sheep nuts as Steven and Petunia trotted from the shade of a weeping willow and across the lawn to greet him.

‘I don’t know,’ Giles replied gravely. ‘I’ve sent a couple of my lads to check up on it, but I’m still waiting to hear.’ He nodded towards the walkie-talkie that would connect him to his farmhands as soon as they had some news to share.

‘Is it travellers?’ Shelley asked worriedly, realizing that the extra vehicles out front must belong to Giles’s workers. ‘I heard there were some in the area.’

Giles’s eyes were steely. ‘If it is then it’s not the ones we know,’ he replied gruffly, ‘because no one’s been in touch to ask which field they can use – and they’re on your land, not mine. I went up there earlier, but no one was around. No caravans yet, but a dozen or more tents. I’ve sent a couple of the lads to check it out now, see if anyone’s turned up yet and find out what it’s all about.’

Unsettled by Giles’s concern, Shelley was recalling the stories she’d heard about clashes with the Gypsy fraternity, the kind of damage to land and property they inflicted if crossed, the violence and threats to children and animals. ‘If they don’t turn out to be your regular travellers, is there anything we can do to make them leave?’ she asked.

Giles tipped back his head and drained the bottle of beer. ‘One step at a time,’ he cautioned. ‘For all we know it could be a bunch of hippies aiming to set up some New Age cult for nudists and nutters. But if they are pikeys of some sort we definitely don’t want to start off by upsetting them.’

Shelley turned to Jack and felt another twist of unease when she saw the determined look on his face. She wanted to remind him that the top fields were a long way distant from the house – at least a mile and a half – so this unexpected settlement surely wasn’t anything to get too worked up about, but he was already addressing Giles.

‘Come on,’ he said, putting down a beer he hadn’t yet touched. ‘Let’s go take a look.’

Minutes after Jack and Giles had taken off on foot across the fields, heading for the ancient forest and beyond, the children came thundering in demanding food. Nate and Kat were close behind, a sleepy Perry in his mother’s arms. Catching Shelley’s worried expression, Nate glanced from her to his father.

‘What’s going on?’ he wanted to know.

David nodded to where Jack and Giles were clambering over a stile at the far end of the nearest field, a trail of sheep trotting along in Jack’s wake.

Clearly sensing he might be needed, Nate took off at a pace to catch up with them.

Kat’s eyebrows were raised as she looked at Shelley. ‘Later,’ Shelley murmured, aware of the children watching them.

‘Where’s Daddy gone?’ Josh demanded, unused to his father going anywhere on the farm without him.

‘I want him to hang up Milady’s rosette,’ Zoe protested.

‘You’re all so mean,’ Hanna snapped at them. ‘Grandpa’s made lemonade and you haven’t even said thank you.’

At that the younger ones threw themselves at David, who took them inside for drinks and snacks before tea.

‘What is it?’ Kat prompted Shelley.

Shelley was still watching the men’s retreating backs. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied quietly, ‘but I have such a horrible feeling about this that I wish I knew how to bring them back.’

By the time dusk started to settle over the fields there was still no sign of the men, and as Giles had left his walkie-talkie on the table, and neither Jack nor Nate had taken theirs, Shelley had no way to get hold of them. She rang Giles’s wife, Cathy, but Cathy hadn’t heard from them either, and she was just as worried, which wasn’t like the usually sanguine Cathy at all.

In the end, unable to stand doing nothing, Shelley told Kat to stay with David and the children while she went down to the basement and took a key from a box on the topmost shelf of a wall cupboard. She used it to unlock the cabinet where Jack kept his shotgun. She’d never fired it in her life (nor had he, since learning how to handle it), but mindful of the premonition she’d had as the men had left, she needed something to bolster her courage if she was going out to look for them. Obviously she wouldn’t shoot anyone, that wasn’t her intention at all, but venturing out alone in the dark with nothing to help make a point, if necessary, didn’t feel like a good way to go.

Twenty minutes later Shelley was in the Land Rover, driving gingerly through the narrow country lanes at the furthest perimeter of their land and keeping her eyes peeled for any signs of Jack and the others. The car’s windows were open to let in some air, along with any number of insects to buzz around her face like the irritating pests they were.

The shotgun was on the passenger seat beside her.

She was close now to where their fields joined with Giles’s, but there was no sign of anyone. The night was black; hedgerows and trees rolled in from the wings and disappeared again as the headlights passed by. A fox darted across the road in front of her and was gone almost before she hit the brakes.

Quite suddenly, the road flooded with light. A car came speeding towards her, headlights blazing; blinding her. She swerved frantically into a ditch, but needn’t have worried – the other driver skidded into a hard left turn and disappeared through an open gate (that should have been closed), bumping and revving into one of their top fields. It was followed by another car, and another … She counted six in all, each with its headlamps blazing and music blaring.

Quickly backing up onto the road she killed her lights and edged forward in a low gear, her heart thudding and ears straining as she pulled in close to the hedge. The music had stopped, but she could see torch beams moving about wildly in the night air and then she heard the sound of voices, shouting, threatening. With an unsteady hand she reached for the gun, got out of the Land Rover and moved silently into the field.

The cars had been abandoned, some doors left open and interior lights still on. Ahead of them was an encampment of a dozen or more tents, all shapes and sizes. The voices were louder now, but she still couldn’t see anyone, so she crept closer, keeping to the shadows and praying that no one would spot her. She didn’t want to think about what would happen if they did; all sorts of scenarios were flitting into her head and none were good.

As she peered round the edge of a tent towards the commotion, her stomach gave a lurch of fear. A truly ugly scene was under way with Jack, Giles and Nate at the centre of it, yelling, waving fists and threatening violence if the travellers didn’t move off now.

Except they weren’t travellers, she realized, they were a bunch of drunk, arrogant youths who’d apparently set up camp in the field and were now showing off in front of their girlfriends, watching from the shadows, by refusing to budge.

Recognizing the ghastly Bleasdale twins from Dean Manor, Shelley moved closer still, and as one of the obnoxious oiks began yelling threats that could (or should in her opinion) get his head blown off, she raised the gun, pointed it straight at him and yelled, ‘Get away from my husband or I’ll shoot.’

To her dismay no one heard; so directing the gun skywards she pulled the trigger and almost came off her feet as the explosion tore through the night.

Everyone froze.

She took another step forward, aiming the gun at any yob who moved. She could hear voices muttering, ‘What the fuck?’ ‘Madwoman’ ‘Get out of here.’ Jack was gaping at her in astonishment, then ran swiftly to wrest the weapon from her trembling grasp before any real harm was done.

An even uglier scene immediately flared up, with Shelley joining in the yelling and no one seeming ready to give way, until a couple of Terry Yarwood’s farmhands turned up with a trailer packed full of farm waste. As they dumped it over the tents Jack’s party roared with laughter, while the Bleasdales and their fellow yobs began gagging and spluttering obscenities that could still be heard as they pressed the protesting girls back into the cars and disappeared into the night.

‘What the hell were you thinking, bringing the gun?’ Jack laughed, as he and Nate followed Shelley to the Land Rover.

‘I was expecting travellers,’ she reminded him. ‘And you’ve been out here for so long.’

‘We were waiting for them to show up,’ he explained. ‘We’d already guessed it was kids so we decided to have ourselves some sport.’

Rolling her eyes as if to say men! she returned to the driver’s seat, while he stowed the shotgun in the boot and Nate climbed into the back.

‘What are you going to do with all those tents?’ she asked as Jack got in beside her.

He was grinning widely. ‘That’s a very good question,’ he told her, ‘and I do believe I have the answer.’

He said no more, but the following morning around seven o’clock he took off in the farm’s forklift to meet up with Giles and Terry Yarwood in theirs. By eight they had shifted the stinking mass of an abandoned campsite over to Dean Manor’s gates, where they dumped the lot before returning to the farmhouse for one of Shelley’s scrumptious full English breakfasts.

It was just after ten when Sir Humphrey Bleasdale rang. ‘I want that filth moved off my land,’ he roared down the line at Jack.

‘Speak to your sons, they’re the owners,’ Jack told him.

Shelley could almost hear Sir Humphrey gnashing his teeth like some pantomime villain. ‘You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Raynor,’ he growled, ‘but mark my words, you’re going to find out.’

In his usual insouciant way, Jack wished the old puffball a good day and put the phone down. It wasn’t the first time Humphty Dumphty, as the kids called him, had threatened Jack, or Giles, or any of the other farmers who didn’t pay obeisance to his superior status, and Shelley knew without doubt that it wouldn’t be the last.