Trespass: A Tale of Mystery and Suspense Across Time (The Darkeningstone Book 1) (15 page)

2010

“WHEN YOU’VE
FINISHED YOUR BREAKFAST
, can you put your things in the dishwasher and turn it on?”

“Uhuh,” I said, concentrating on scooping up another spoonful of cereal.

Mum put her hands on her hips. “Are you listening?” she said.

I looked up. “Yeah,” I said. “Dishwasher—got it.”

She smiled. “OK,” she said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound grumpy.”

I looked at her as she checked her reflection in the mirror on the wall. She ran her fingers over her eyes and frowned. Even I could tell she looked tired. But then it was Monday morning.

“Right,” she said. “I’m off to work. You won’t forget to lock up, will you?”

“I won’t,” I said.

“And have a good day at school.”

“I won’t,” I said.

“OK,” she said as she grabbed her handbag. Now who wasn’t listening? And then she was rushing out of the front door. “Bye,” she called. “Take care.”

“Bye,” I said as the door slammed shut. I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally she was out of the way. Mum made a fuss if I was “messing about on the computer” before breakfast, and I was very keen to check my email.

I scraped up the last of my cereal and headed upstairs. As I switched on my laptop I remembered I hadn’t put my things in the dishwasher. Oh well—I could do it later. While the laptop booted up I checked my school bag. It all seemed OK. Soon I had my emails. “Cool,” I said. Dad had replied. He’d sent it late the night before. But the first few lines made me squirm. It looked like Dad was sharper than I gave him credit for:

Listen. What have I told you about that quarry? I need to talk to you about this. It’s too late to phone now. In a way that’s just as well—give me time to calm down a bit. You’ve still got me worried though. You know that quarry is an illegal tip. There could be all sorts of dangerous stuff down there—toxic chemicals, pesticides, asbestos, anything. Do NOT go in there, OK?

Had he guessed I’d already been into the quarry? I wasn’t sure. At any rate, the rest of the message was more helpful:

I haven’t heard anything about a dig. It doesn’t seem likely. There’s not much chance of finding anything interesting in there now. The place was an active quarry for years. They would have found anything worth having by now. And anyway, I’m afraid you and Matt were both wrong. The quarry was there long before the Romans came to Britain. Some people say the quarry is part of the reason there’s a settlement here in the first place. If that’s true, then it could be Neolithic or even earlier. End of lecture! But don’t feel bad, you were right about one thing—I do know where to find out more. It’s getting late now, but when you come around at the weekend I could show you some good websites—that’s if you really are interested.

I’ve got to sign off now and get some shut-eye.

Work hard at school. Take care of yourself. Look after Mum.

Love you.

Dad ;-)

Well, my plan had sort of worked hadn’t it? Dad was suspicious, but he couldn’t
know
I’d been in the quarry. I read the part about the dig again and sighed. What about Cally? Had she really made all that up? Perhaps it had made her feel safer to invent a bunch of friends, or maybe she was just messing with me—just like the KFC girls. “Girls,” I muttered. But Cally wasn’t like the girls I knew; she’d seemed so nice. No, not nice, she was fantastic. And she was clever too. All that stuff she’d said about magnetometers—she couldn’t have made that up. I nodded to myself. “Looks like you got it wrong, Dad,” I said.

I looked at my watch. Time to go. A couple of clicks to shut my laptop down, and I was on my way.

* * *

At lunchtime, Matt was waiting for me when I came out of maths. We were in the same group for most things, but Matt was in a different maths set from me. We never talked about it, but I was in the top class, and Matt wasn’t. It didn’t bother him. It was me that had a problem with it. I’d have given anything to be in his group. And not just to be with a friend. I didn’t belong in the top group. It was a constant competition, a struggle. It just wasn’t me.

But it didn’t stop us from hanging around together every lunchtime. And there he was, leaning his shoulder against the corridor wall and trying to look cool. What was I going to say? I’d been thinking about it all morning, trying out lines in my head and trying to guess Matt’s response. It hadn’t done any good.
I’ll just have to wing it
, I thought.
The main thing is not to look too worried
. I took a deep breath. All I had to do was be my usual self. And that shouldn’t be too difficult. Our routine was pretty much the same every day.

I rolled my eyes, puffed my cheeks out. “Thank god that’s over,” I said. “You been waiting long?”

Matt smiled. “Nah. Few minutes. We packed up early. Played a game till the end. Soon as the buzzer went, we were gone.”

I smiled. This was good. I could carry this off. “Huh,” I said. “Old Taylor sprinting off to the pub again, is he?”

Matt laughed at that. “Well, he reckoned
it was ‘cos we’d all worked hard, but now I come to think of it, he was screwing running spikes into his sandals.”

We both sniggered. Mr Taylor was semiretired, and in the afternoons the mints he sucked didn’t quite cover the smell of beer on his breath.

“He’s in training,” I said. “For the teachers’ triathlon: the pub dash, the sarcastic putdown and…what’s the other one?”

“The freestyle nervous breakdown.” Matt put his hands on his cheeks and did his famous impression of
The Scream
.

I cracked up. And it felt good. Everything was back to normal. Maybe I’d just keep quiet about the quarry. Forget the whole thing. All of it. Write the phone off as a loss. See if Mum or Dad could wangle a new one on their insurance or something. It happens. People lose things all the time. Yeah. That was a very, very good plan.

I grinned. “Come on, Matt,” I said. “Stop trying to look cool. I’m starving. Let’s go and get some chips.”

Matt snorted and put on his best Californian accent. “Whoa,” he drawled. “Thanks for the, like, compliment, dude, but who said I was, like, trying?”

I chuckled as we set off down the corridor. “Oh, man,” I said. “You kill me, you really do.”

Later, I wondered if that was the moment things went so wrong. I stopped worrying about the quarry and my phone and the Brewers. I shrugged it off. The whole thing was just a story I’d tell my friends. And they wouldn’t even believe me. But that didn’t matter. It was all just a joke. You see, that was when I let my guard down. And in a way, that led on to what happened in the end.

1939

A SHOUT
ECHOED
around the quarry. It startled Vincent, and his hobnailed boot slipped on the narrow step. He grabbed hold of an exposed tree root and steadied himself, but that didn’t stop him cracking his shin on the sharp edge of a step. He grunted. He knew how to take a knock or two. True, a few harsh words came into his head, but he’d keep those for Bob’s benefit. What was he doing, shouting like that? Mr Burrows might come looking for them at any moment, and Vincent wasn’t accustomed to making excuses. He kept climbing.

A few more steps. There.
Well
, he thought,
who could’ve known?
The ledge was much bigger than he’d guessed, and, even though the surface was covered in long grass, his mason’s eye judged the sides to be dead straight. How could he have worked so long at the quarry and never known about this place? He could tell the ledge couldn’t be natural. So if it had been worked once, then why not now? Did anyone know about it? Surely the whole quarry must’ve been surveyed, mapped out, but he’d never heard mention of a ledge. “Typical,” he muttered. The management made the decisions. They didn’t bother to explain. The workers went where they were told and did what they were told, or they were out. Simple as that. Like it or lump it.

But where was Bob? The work-shy little blighter. Vincent set his jaw. The lads liked to play practical jokes on each other, though not often on him. Still, Vincent knew the “best” part of the joke was seeing how the victim took it when he realised he’d been fooled. The more you lost your temper, the harder everyone laughed. He wouldn’t call out to Bob, and he wouldn’t stamp around getting irate. He’d take a quick look around and then leave without a word. That way, he could always claim he’d known it was a joke all along.

Vincent walked cautiously across the ledge, keeping a watch from the corner of his eye, while trying hard not to appear nonplussed. He was convinced Bob was watching from somewhere nearby. There were plenty of bushes to hide behind on the slope above, but the ledge itself was almost featureless. Almost. It was hard to see among the grass, but there, toward one end of the ledge, was a small bank. Vincent approached it carefully. Some stones had been removed from the bank and piled onto the ground, flattening the grass. What did Bob think he was playing at?

But then Vincent raised his eyes to see where the stones had been moved from, and for a moment he forgot about Bob completely. The bank was topped with a slab of stone, and despite the scattering of soil and rock dust Vincent could see it was smooth, flat, and the darkest, purest black he’d ever seen. It was beautifully finished, the work of a skilled craftsman. Vincent whistled softly. The proportions were perfect. Vincent took a step closer. He estimated the slab to be six feet long and two feet wide. He wondered how deep the piece was. Its top surface was about two feet above the ground, and its sides were obscured by stones and grass, but it had to be at least a couple of inches thick. It must have taken a long time to prepare, a very long time. And it struck Vincent that it must have been made by a dedicated mason. It must have been made by someone like him. But after all that effort, what was it doing up there on a ledge? In all his years he’d never seen anything like it. It would be worth…Vincent let out a low whistle. So that was it. Bob thought he’d found something he could make a few quid from. Well, he was a fool. What did he think he was going to do, stick it up his jumper and walk out with it? “Huh,” Vincent said. The daft lad couldn’t even appreciate what he’d found. Everything was just a lark to him. He could never understand the sweat that went into a piece of work like this.

Well, Vincent did understand it. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. Slowly, reverently, he walked toward the dark slab. Then he stopped. What was that sound? And there. Again. Someone breathing, ragged, wheezing. And it was coming from behind the stone slab.

Of course, the raised bank was high enough to conceal a man if he lay flat on the ground. “You can come out now, Bob,” he said. “Joke’s over.” There was no answer. So that was his game—hide and seek. Well, he’d get a good hiding all right. “You little waster,” he muttered. He clenched his fists. Vincent wasn’t a man to lose his temper, but he’d gone beyond strong words. He’d set Bob right about a few things. He’d wipe the smirk off his face soon enough. He strode toward Bob’s hiding place, gathering speed, ready, expecting Bob to spring up at any second.

And he was right—partly. Bob was down there, lying in the grass. But he was in no state to spring out at anybody. Vincent could only stand and stare. Bob lay hunched on his side, his knees drawn up together, his arms pressed close to his chest. He looked like a small child in a cold bed. But he was certainly not asleep. In fact, it would be some months before Bob would manage anything like a good night’s sleep. His eyes were wide open, staring, unfocussed. He wasn’t aware of Vincent standing over him. Vincent opened his mouth, searched for words, but then he saw something that made him stop, shake his head in disbelief. There was a dark stain spreading from the crotch of Bob’s trousers. Whatever had happened, it had scared the living daylights out of Bob. And it was going to take some sorting out. Vincent didn’t know where to begin.

2010

OUTSIDE THE
CHIPPY
, I posted a hot chip into my mouth and tried to chew it up and swallow it before Matt got to the punch line. We’d just discovered Monty Python and today, we were on
Life of Brian
.

“All right,” Matt said. “Apart from the sanitation, medicine, education, wine, public order, irrigation, roads, the freshwater system and public health…”

I joined in. “What have the Romans ever done for us?” I laughed so much I nearly dropped my chips.

“That’s more like it,” Matt said.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands. “What?” I said.

“You,” Matt said. “You’ve been a bit…I don’t know…quiet.”

I looked at the ground. I said, “Well…it’s just…you know?”

“No,” he said. “Not really.”

I looked at Matt. He gave me a concerned smile. I shrugged. “It’s just…stuff…nothing really.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “None of my business.” He crumpled his chip carton, aimed it at the bin and missed. I went over and picked it up, put it in the bin with mine.

“Rotten shot,” I said.

Matt put his hands in his pockets, looked around. “Hmm.”

“Look, are you coming over later?” I said. “I’ll lend you that
Meaning of Life
DVD.”

He looked at me. “Yeah, OK,” he said. “Your dad won’t mind, will he?”

“No,” I said. “He won’t know, will he?”

Matt smiled. “True.”

“Got to be some advantages, eh?”

“Yeah,” Matt said. “Come on, time to get back.”

We headed off back to school. “Can you remember?” Matt said. “Was it the People’s Front of Judea or the Judean People’s Front?”

“One thing’s for sure,” I said. “It wasn’t the Popular Front.”

“No,” Matt said. “He’s over there.” He nodded toward an old man across the street. The guy’s bushy, grey beard was perfect. We laughed, and the man shot us a look. “Come on,” Matt said. “We’ll be late.”

We picked up the pace, and soon we were going back through the school doors. At least we’d had a good laugh and we’d agreed to meet up later. The afternoon would go by much faster now I’d got something to look forward to.

* * *

It was nice to get home—a bit quiet on my own but warm and familiar. I grabbed a glass of juice and a cereal bar and took them up to my room. If I got my homework finished I’d be able to hang out with Matt later. It was just a science write-up so it wasn’t too boring. Half an hour later I was booting up my laptop, searching for clips of Monty Python and losing track of time.

“Hi, I’m home at last. Give me a hand with the shopping, will you?”

“OK,” I called. I left my laptop on and went down. Mum was struggling through the front door, struggling in with too many carrier bags.

“Oh, thanks, love,” she said. “There’s a load more in the boot.” She put the bags down and slipped her shoes off. She closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. She looked tired.

“It’s OK,” I said. “I’ll bring the shopping in. And I’ll take these through as well.”

“Ooh, thank you,” she said. “My feet are killing me.” She smiled. “Good day at school?” she asked.

“Yeah, OK,” I said. Mum looked like she was waiting for more, so I said, “Me and Matt went to the chippy at lunchtime.” She was still looking at me expectantly. “I’ll get the shopping in. You go and…sit down or something.”

“You’re a star,” she said. “I’ll go and get changed.” And she went upstairs.

I looked at my watch. I’d have to get a move on if I was going to eat before Matt turned up. I went out to the car. “Oh my god,” I muttered. “She’s gone mad.” The boot was crammed.
It must be time
, I thought,
to stock up the freezer
. I picked up as many bags as I could and started ferrying them into the kitchen.

As I took the last of the bags through to the kitchen, the microwave beeped.

“Dinner’s ready,” Mum said. It was some sort of pasta bake, and Mum had opened a bag of salad. We ate in front of the TV, trays on our laps. We had the news on so we didn’t talk much. When the weather forecast finished, Mum took her tray back to the kitchen, and I stretched out my legs and closed my eyes. I could hear Mum shutting cupboard doors as she put the shopping away, and judging from the muffled strains of middle-of-the-road rock ballads, she was listening to Radio 2. But something was different. I opened my eyes. She was singing along. I smiled. She was always not quite out of tune and not quite out of time.
I haven’t heard her singing for a while
, I thought.
Not since Dad left
. Mum always used to sing along to music, and Dad used to join in, though he was usually even more out of tune than Mum. Embarrassingly, they didn’t necessarily stop just because you had a friend around.

But Mum singing by herself—it just wasn’t right.
So this is it
, I thought.
This is normal life now
.
No Dad. He hasn’t just stayed on at work for a meeting or popped out for milk—he’s gone. And Mum and me, we’ve changed our lives around to fill the space he left behind
. Well we’d tried, anyway. Now Mum had Joel, but what did I have? Mum might find a new partner, or even a new husband, but I’d only ever have one Dad. And he was gone.

The doorbell rang, and I rushed to answer it. Mum called out, “Who is it?” I thought she sounded hopeful. Was she expecting Joel? I hoped not. I wasn’t in the mood for his attempts at being matey. So it was good to open the door and find Matt waiting with a huge, wicked grin on his face.

I started to ask, “What –”

But Matt just shook his head and said, “Get your jacket.”

I didn’t need much prompting. I grabbed my old denim jacket and called back into the house: “Mum, it’s Matt. We’re going out.”

“OK,” she called back. “Don’t be too late.”

“OK, bye.”

I’d almost made it out the door when she added, “And take your phone.”

I winced. I’d have to tell her about my phone eventually. But not now. “Yeah,” I called. “Sure, bye.” I shut the door as quickly as I could.
Damn
, I thought.
I’ve left the tray on the lounge floor. Should I go back and pick it up?
If Dad had been there, he would’ve gone mad with me. He was always nagging me about putting things away, which was a bit rich when he left books on every available surface. But he wasn’t there. And he wasn’t coming back.

Suddenly I just wanted to be away from the house. I wanted to stop thinking about everything. I wanted to go and muck about with my mate and have a laugh. I forced a smile.

“Come on,” Matt said. “I’ve got something to show you.” And he patted his jacket pocket. We set off down the street at a good pace. Matt was still grinning. What was he up to? And why was he so pleased with himself?

“What?” I asked. “What’ve you got?”

He lowered his voice. “Smokes. Half a packet. I got them off Dan.”

“Hey,” I said. “The advantages of having an older brother.”

“Huh!” Matt said. “I suppose there’s got to be one good thing about it.”

I shrugged. “I dunno,” I said. “He plays guitar in a band; he’s even got a nice girlfriend.”

“Huh,” Matt said. “He ignores you, and he treats me like pond life. Believe me—you’re better off.”

“I guess Dan didn’t
give
you his cigarettes then?”

Matt smirked. “Not exactly. But I found out where he hides them. He won’t mind if we pinch a couple.”

“Are you sure?” I said. “It doesn’t sound like Dan.”

But Matt acted laid back. “Oh yeah,” he said. “What’s he going to do about it? He swore to Mum he didn’t smoke. If he makes a fuss I might
accidentally
let something slip.”

“Hmm,” I said. “Sounds a bit dodgy.”

“Aw, come on,” he said. “Don’t be such a child.”

There was no need for that. I was just trying to help him. If Dan thumped him, it wouldn’t be the first time. I shot Matt a look. But he just smirked.

“I’m up for it,” he said. “All we need is a good place to try them.”

He was so smug, so self-satisfied. But I knew something he didn’t, something that would pull the rug out from under him, make his half a pack of cigarettes look small and sad.

“All right,” I said. “I know exactly where we should go.”

Matt looked at me, but before he could speak I said, “If you’re up to it.”

“Oh yeah?” Matt looked a little put out, but he was interested.

“Yeah,” I said. “Follow me.”