River of Destiny (18 page)

Zoë went to bed early in the end. She had propped herself up against the pillows, her book against her knees, when she heard a strange sound from downstairs. She froze, listening. It was Ken. It must be. She had turned off all the lights when she came upstairs and he must have finally come out of his study and he was probably groping his way round looking for the switches in the dark. Dropping the book on the bedcover, she slid out of bed and reached for her dressing gown. It was stormy outside and she could hear the moan of the wind in the eaves. It was an eerie sound, cold and lonely. Tiptoeing across the room she pulled open the door and stared out onto the landing. From downstairs there was another sound – something dragging and then a stifled giggle. Everything down there was still in darkness.

At the end of the short corridor she could see the line of light under Ken’s office door. She crept down the passage and quietly reached for the handle, pushing it open. He was standing in front of his desk staring at one of the screens, the window in front of him a blank reflective sheet of glass. He never pulled the blind in here, never seemed to sense the awful emptiness outside or to wonder if anyone out there was staring in at him. He turned at the sound of the door opening and she put her finger to her lips. ‘There is someone downstairs,’ she whispered.

‘Not another bloody ghost!’ he retorted.

She shrugged. ‘I heard someone laugh.’

He sighed. Shaking his head, he came towards the door. They retraced their steps quietly and stood for a moment at the top of the stairs, then Ken reached out for the bank of light switches, flooding the whole area with light.

Two figures were standing on either side of one of the armchairs, in the act of pulling it round. ‘OK,’ Ken roared, ‘stop that right now!’

The boys dropped the chair and fled, racing across the floor towards the kitchen.

‘Let them go,’ Zoë said. She stood where she was and subsided into a sitting position on the top step as Ken ran down the stairs. She was cross to find that she was shaking.

‘Little buggers!’ Ken swore as he followed them out into the kitchen. ‘Straight out of the back door. I take it that they are those two little bastards from next door?’ She heard the door slam and moments later he reappeared.

Zoë nodded. ‘It was Darren and Jamie.’

‘Right. I’m ringing their father.’

‘Why not leave it till morning?’ She was amazed to find that instead of being relieved that they had been caught in the act, she was oddly disappointed. ‘What time is it?’

‘Eleven.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Not even late!’

‘They could see the lights were off. We should have done as Leo suggested and put bolts on the doors. I asked you, Ken!’

Ken walked over to the sideboard and reached for the phone. He carried it across to the window and stood staring out into the darkness. ‘What is their number?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve never phoned them.’

He gave an exaggerated sigh and threw the phone down on the table. ‘I’ll go over there.’

‘No, Ken, don’t. They are probably asleep.’

‘I doubt it! They don’t look the types for early nights.’ He strode back towards the kitchen and reached for his jacket from the back of the door.

‘I’m coming with you,’ Zoë called. She stood up.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll deal with it! And don’t bother to say I told you so. I forgot about the bolts, OK? And, yes, we ought to change the locks as well. I’ll do it tomorrow. We can’t all be perfect!’ He didn’t pause to wait for her. Dragging open the door he disappeared out into the night.

She followed him.

The Summer Barn was ablaze with light; the huge ground-floor windows were uncurtained and showed inside several members of the family clustered round an enormous TV screen. As far as Zoë could see, as she followed Ken towards the front door, Darren and Jamie were there, on one of the large leather sofas; there was no sign of either parent. With them was a motley selection of other young men, some older, some younger; there was no sign of Jade. As they headed across the damp grass the floodlights came on, adding to the daylight effect as Ken reached the door and began to hammer on it.

It was several seconds before it opened. A young man who appeared to be in his late teens or early twenties stood before them. ‘Yeah?’ The flaming hair and freckles identified him as Jade’s missing brother, Jackson.

‘I need to speak to your father.’

‘He’s not here.’ Behind him the others appeared in the hallway. Zoë felt a frisson of fear at the sight of them. They did not look friendly.

‘Then I will wait for him.’ Ken stepped forward. Zoë was impressed in spite of herself. It took courage to face up to this bunch. As it happened he was not required to prove his point any further. Jeff appeared in the hall with, behind him, Sharon. Both were fully dressed. Zoë pulled her dressing gown more tightly round her. She was shivering.

‘I am sorry to come this late,’ Ken said angrily, ‘but we caught two of your boys in our house, messing about with the furniture, pretending to be ghosts. As they assumed we were in bed and the lights were out I think we can assume they broke in. I understand it is possible they have keys to our house.’

For a moment no one said anything, then Sharon turned to face the boys. ‘Jamie! Darren! You bleeding little tykes! They only came back this evening,’ she yelled. She pounced. Darren managed to dodge out of the way but she caught Jamie by the ear. ‘What did I tell you? What? You thieving no-good scumbags!’ Her voice had reached a screech. ‘That’s it. You are going home! I will never ever bring you down here again.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jeff said to Ken. ‘I really thought we had fixed this.’

‘Fixed it?’ Ken said incredulously. ‘You mean they have done this before?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ He paused. Sharon had pursued her sons out of sight into the back of the house and they could hear each other more clearly. The other boys sheepishly retreated back into the large living room and reassembled on the sofa. Now, in the relative quiet Zoë noticed that Jade had appeared. She was wearing a T-shirt and knickers, which was presumably her sleeping attire. Her hair was standing on end and her eyes were dazed with sleep.

‘Did they do any damage?’ Jeff asked wearily. He reached into the hip pocket of his jeans and produced a wallet. ‘If it’s too much I might have to get some cash tomorrow.’

‘No. No, no. I don’t want any money.’ Ken shook his head. ‘I just want to make sure they don’t do it again. They have been terrifying Zoë. She thought the house was haunted.’

There was a long silence, broken only by a snigger from the sofa. Jeff looked up. He turned his gaze on Zoë, who was standing immediately behind Ken there in the entrance hall.

He’s going to say it is haunted, she thought suddenly, and she felt a wave of panic run through her. She was cold and very aware of her state of undress. He is going to say it always has been.

The sound of Sharon’s voice had died away and the house seemed unnaturally quiet now. ‘I am really sorry. Yes, they did do it before, to the poor blighters who lived there before you. I made them give back the keys. They must have kept a set. I will personally see to it that they apologise and that they don’t do it again.’

Ken shook his head. ‘Just the keys will do, mate. Please don’t worry about the apology.’

‘I insist.’ Jeff glared at them. ‘Now, come in and have a drink. To show there are no hard feelings.’

It was Zoë who shook her head this time. ‘I won’t, Jeff, thank you. I was in bed, and I am freezing and I just want to go home.’ She turned and walked away, aware almost at once that Ken had stayed. He had gone in after Jeff and the door had closed behind him, leaving her on her own.

She stood still for a moment, staring round the darkened lawns. She was just out of reach of the light sensors now and the great illuminating spots had gone out, leaving glowing bulbs, fading into the dark. The garden seemed very black and cold. The wind was still strong and she could feel it tugging at her dressing gown and her hair. There was no moon. The cloud was heavy, tinged to a strange muddy red as it streamed overhead. The branches of the pine trees were thrashing up and down and the wind in the wood sounded like the roaring of a train. She could see the gleam of water from the river. There were no lights down there, no lights on in Rosemary and Steve’s house, nor in The Old Forge. She wondered for a minute how they had managed to sleep through all the noise, but the barns were quite some distance apart and in the roar of the wind they would have heard nothing of the commotion.

Setting her face into the wind she began to walk home, feeling the chill damp of the grass striking up through her slippers as she headed back towards their own house. There too the lights were blazing; she could see the great room, empty of life. There was no TV on here, no kids, however badly behaved, ranged on the sofas. The place was deserted.

Letting herself in she closed the door behind her and walked through towards the stairs. The chairs by the window were still in disarray but she didn’t try to straighten them. All she wanted was to go upstairs and run herself a deep warm bath.

Halfway up the flight she paused and turned to look down at the room behind her. The shadows were there again, the echoes from the past; nothing the boys had done had caused this frisson in the air, the sound of a horse’s hoof scraping on the cobbles, the smell of dusty straw and the feeling that somehow in this great barn there was unfinished business awaiting its moment for resolution.

No one had stopped her working in the dairy. As she and Betsy worked, skimming the cream off the great flat bowls of milk they had talked easily about the coming baby, about the forthcoming wedding of Betsy and George’s daughter, Freda, to Sam the head groom’s son, Walter. Susan was making a lace collar for the girl, and Betsy was stitching baby clothes for Susan’s baby. The women were comfortable in their gossip. There was no mention of Dan or of Emily Crosby. They heard the skid and grate of hooves as two of the great shire horses hauled the cart down loaded with logs into the barnyard, and they heard the shouts of the men as they began to unload. All was as it should be and peaceful in the cold dairy.

The first yell went almost unnoticed by the two women as they worked. At the second Betsy looked up. She was a short, grey-haired woman, her complexion reddened by wind and weather, but still possessed of the startlingly beautiful eyes which had charmed and won George Roper all those years before. ‘Someone is calling for Dan.’

Susan straightened, her hand to her back. ‘If he’s not in the forge he’ll be with the mare in the old barn.’ There was a sinking feeling deep in her stomach.

Moments later she heard footsteps outside and George put his head round the door. A small wiry man, muscular, with a red neckerchief over his heavy brown work shirt, he had far-seeing clear grey eyes which missed little as he greeted his wife with a fond grin, then turned to Susan. ‘Do you know where Dan is? We’ve broken some chain on the trace harness out there. It needs to be welded soon as possible.’

Susan swallowed. ‘Did you look in the old barn?’

‘We did. He’s nowhere in the yard.’ There was a pause.

Susan saw man and wife exchange glances, and she groped for the stool near the butter churns and sat down heavily. ‘I don’t know where he is,’ she whispered.

‘All right. Don’t you worry yourself,’ George said. His voice was full of sympathy. ‘We’ll leave it till later.’

As he ducked out of the doorway Susan felt Betsy’s gaze on her. ‘Don’t worry, my dear,’ she said at last. ‘You’re the one he loves.’

‘Does everyone know?’ Susan’s voice was husky.

‘I dare say.’

‘She said she would see to it that I couldn’t work in the dairy any more.’ Susan didn’t need to say who she was talking about.

‘That’s up to Mr Turtill, not her. And he takes his orders from Mr Crosby and she’s hardly likely to tell him all this, is she?’ Betsy picked up her skimmer. ‘You take no notice of that, Susan. And don’t think about the other.’ She shook her head. ‘Whatever she makes Daniel do, he is still yours.’