The Key to Flambards

by Linda Newbery

  She peeped into one room, then the next. In both, large windows faced the tree-lined drive that led to the stableyard. The rooms were simply furnished, made up ready for next week’s guests: each had a white bedspread, a cane chair with a red cushion, a wardrobe and a desk with a reading lamp. Christina must have looked out of these windows, wondering if it would be a fine day for riding.

  Standing there, Grace had the odd feeling, just for a second, that she was Christina, and that if she let herself believe it she might see herself – Grace, years into the future – walking round from the yard. What would Christina think of her?

  She went back to the landing. The space of the house stretched around her: high ceilings, the generous width of the staircase, and the stillness of air that felt timeless, but vibrant with echoes of the lives lived here. She walked slowly down, running her hand along the curve of the banister rail. Christina must have done this, countless times.

  With a jolt she saw that Irina was standing by the notice-board, looking up at her and smiling.

  ‘Exploring?’

  ‘I couldn’t resist. While no one’s here.’

  Irina nodded. ‘I do that sometimes. Pretend I live here. It’s so different from home.’

  Irina lodged with someone in the village, but Grace guessed that home meant Germany.

  ‘What’s it like, at home?’

  ‘In Leipzig? We live in a flat in the city centre. I like that better – it’s too quiet for me here.’ Irina turned towards the kitchen. ‘Time for a break. Pam made chocolate brownies yesterday – want to try them?’

  Half an hour later, walking past the cottages and greenhouse, Grace noticed to her surprise that the yellow Fiat was parked there. Strange – she thought Mum had gone out in it, with Sally.

  She was heading for the lake, intending to take the path that looped back to the woods. Beyond the cattle grid, the sheep were out in the field beside the track, and she saw that they were alert, all looking in the same direction, towards the farm buildings. When a black-and-white collie shot out from behind the barn they huddled together, bleating, shifting anxiously.

  Flash.

  On his own? She couldn’t see Marcus, or anyone else, but the dog seemed intent, circling behind the sheep, panicking them by running from side to side. This wasn’t like the shepherding she’d seen on Countryfile, with the dog obeying orders, calm and watchful. Flash was excitable, skittish, doing this only for himself.

  ‘Flash!’ Grace yelled, and hurried over, her leg and foot awkward on the uneven ground. Would he come to her? He often did, but only if he felt like it.

  The sheep crowded towards the corner of the field nearest the barns, jostling, front runners jammed against the fence while some of those behind reared on to the backs of others in an effort to get away from the threatening dog. The flock divided as she approached, a small group peeling away from the rest in their fear of her.

  She heard a shout of anger. A dark-haired man – Adrian – darted through the gap between the buildings and vaulted the fence by the water trough.

  ‘Come here, you!’ he yelled, more roar than shout.

  Flash, enjoying his game, bucked and leaped. For the sheep it was not a game; Grace saw ears flicking, eyes rolling back, mouths bleating in fear. Next moment she was rolling on the ground, barged off-balance in the surge of what she realized now were quite hefty animals. Hauling herself up she heard Adrian shout again. As he reached the dog, his face contorted in fury, he kicked out hard, shouting something incomprehensible. Flash cringed and whined as Adrian kicked him a second and third time. He shouted something incomprehensible, kicking again and again.

  ‘Stop! Stop it!’ Grace cried, appalled. She heard another yell: ‘Get off him! Get back!’ and saw Marcus sprinting to the fence.

  But she was nearer.

  Though frightened of Adrian, aware that he was a fit, strong man gripped by anger, she lurched over and tried to grab his sleeve, to give Flash a moment to run free. Adrian shook her off and for a moment their eyes met before he turned back to Flash, ready for another blow. In the same instant, in desperation, she swung her right leg forward with all the strength she could summon.

  He gave a yelp as her artificial foot slammed into his shin, the shock enough to stop him. The impact of her prosthetic, solid and metallic, shuddered through her, wrenching her knee and hip. Losing balance she flumped down hard on ground, trampled into clods and tufts by the cloven hooves of sheep. She lay there for a moment too winded and shaken to move. Adrian looked at her in astonishment, clutching his leg, his face screwed up in pain.

  Marcus flung himself over the fence. Ignoring his father he ran to the dog, who lay whimpering on his side. As Marcus crouched, touching him with gentle fingers, Flash raised his head and stirred his tail feebly. Only now did Marcus turn towards Adrian, in a fury to match his father’s.

  ‘Don’t touch him!’ His words were forced between clenched teeth. ‘I hate you! Don’t you dare touch him ever again!’

  As father and son faced each other Grace saw how alike they were: thick black hair, dark eyebrows drawn low over flashing eyes. For a second she thought Marcus was going to hurl himself at his father. Then, all at once, Adrian seemed to come to himself, gazing horrified from Flash to Marcus to Grace and back to the cowering dog. He dropped to his knees, slowly raising both hands to cover his eyes.

  Grace was trembling, stunned by the savagery of Adrian’s attack on Flash, and almost as much by the violence of her own retaliation. She watched Adrian uncertainly. He looked likely to collapse in tears, while Marcus turned away, giving all his attention to Flash. The sheep had run back and now stood in a wary, shifting semi-circle, waiting. Someone needed to take charge, but there was no one around: just the stricken man, the furious boy and herself.

  Before she could think what to say or do, Adrian let out a wail, jumped to his feet and ran, colliding with the fence as if not seeing it. He heaved himself over and stumbled on, passing between the buildings. Marcus was crouched over Flash, talking softly. An engine started up, and Adrian’s white van sped off down the farm track towards the lane.

  ‘Marcus!’ Grace wasn’t sure he’d even noticed. ‘Marcus! Where will he go? He shouldn’t be driving, not in that state. Can you call your mum?’

  He showed no sign of having heard; he was all concern for the dog, hatred for the man who’d hurt him. Flash seemed too shocked to do more than lift his head, showing the whites of his eyes and flattening his ears.

  ‘Flash, Flash! Good boy.’ Marcus’s voice was soft, crooning. ‘You’re all right, all right now.’

  ‘Does he need a vet?’

  ‘Not sure. But if I take him, and say he’s been kicked …’

  Grace thought she understood. If a vet examined Flash she would surely ask how he’d been injured, and Marcus would either have to lie, or say that it had been a vicious attack from his father. Maybe the vet would report that to the RSPCA or the police. Marcus, it seemed, still had some loyalty left for his father, even if it was fiercely divided.

  Flash lurched to his feet and stood trembling. Marcus ran careful hands over his sides, his back, his jaw, while the brown mournful eyes looked up at him for reassurance.

  ‘I think he’s OK,’ Marcus said. ‘He’s not flinching when I touch his ribs and back. Thank God.’

  ‘But your dad. Where will he go?’

  Marcus’s mouth twisted. ‘Don’t know. Don’t care.’

  ‘Has he done that before?’

  ‘To Flash? No, or I’d kill him.’ Marcus glanced up wildly for a moment; then the anger left him and he drooped over the dog, shaking his head. ‘It’s my fault! I should have seen it coming, kept him away from the sheep, or on his lead. He’s been getting too full of himself. He could be shot for that – if a farmer saw him worrying sheep. It happens. I should have been more careful—’ He broke off, looking at her properly. ‘Are you OK? He knocked you over, didn’t he?’

  ‘I think I knocked myself over. Lost my
balance. Your dad didn’t shove me or anything.’

  ‘But you went for him. You kicked him. Made him stop.’ He met her eyes for a moment then looked down, shaking his head. ‘That was—’

  ‘A bit mad.’

  ‘No, awesome, is what I meant.’

  Grace was still shocked, even a little impressed, at the strength of the impulse that had overtaken her. ‘I’ve never kicked anyone before. With – with my leg, I mean. Well, why would I? It hurt, but it must have hurt him more.’

  ‘Your bionic leg! It’s a secret weapon! Don’t ever kick me, will you?’

  The tension of the incident had dissolved into shaky laughter, but only momentarily.

  ‘I promise not to,’ she said. ‘But shouldn’t we tell your mum or something? About what happened, and your dad driving off like that?’

  ‘Yes.’ Marcus was serious again. ‘She’s over at Flambards. I’d better go and find her. I think Flash is OK now. We’ll see how well he can walk.’

  They began to make their way, slowly, for the dog’s sake. What to do next, Grace wasn’t sure, with her mother not around.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ she said, remembering. ‘Hasn’t your mum gone out with my mum?’

  ‘No – she’s working today, doing the lawn edges. I helped her move some sacks of compost this morning.’

  Puzzling over this, and the Fiat still in the yard, Grace concluded that her mother must be spending her day off with Roger, not with Sally. And without having mentioned it. But there was no time to examine that thought, in the urgency of finding Sally and telling her what had happened.

  And there Sally was, just as Marcus had said: in her sun hat, jeans and checked shirt, working along the edge of the lawn outside the dining room with long-handled clippers. Grace waited on the terrace while Marcus went to his mother and spoke to her. She heard Sally’s cry of alarm; the shears fell to the ground as she clapped both hands to her mouth. She took Marcus’s arm and gazed into his face in concern; she bent to examine Flash, who was by now looking quite pleased with the attention. Then she put her arm round Marcus and they moved off together in the direction of the cottage, while Grace dropped back out of sight, not wanting to intrude into this new family crisis.

  What now? Should she tell someone? Get help?

  After several minutes’ dithering she sent a text message to her mother, receiving a quick reply: OK. Sally phoned Roger just now. We’re on our way. Mx

  This latest episode couldn’t be contained or smoothed over, Grace knew.

  She was battered and sore from falling over twice, and especially the impact on her leg from having kicked Adrian so hard, but more than that she felt dazed by the speed at which an ordinary quiet Saturday had overheated. How could this awful situation ever be put right? It was frightening, out of control. If Adrian wasn’t helped in some way, he’d do serious harm to someone. Possibly to himself.

  But she remembered the moment back there when he’d stopped, appalled, as if he were two separate people: the one who lashed out in anger and the one who watched, pushed to the sidelines, helpless.

  Which of them was in control now? And could he actually be blamed, if he was mentally ill, as surely he must be? Now, even Adrian couldn’t pretend that nothing was wrong. No one could.

  At last Mum and Roger arrived, shortly joined by Ian and Jamie, who had been searching the lanes in response to a call from Roger, but without result. They all spent some time discussing what should be done now, and whether the police should be called: Grace and her mother both thought yes, Ian thought no, and Roger said they should wait longer to see if Adrian returned either to the cottage or to the farm. While they were still debating, Sally came in to tell them that she’d had a phone call: Adrian had driven to the house of an ex-Army friend, Phil, in Maldon.

  ‘It was Phil who rang. He says Adrian’s in quite a state. He’ll stay the night there and Phil says he’ll bring him back tomorrow. I offered to go over, but Phil thought best not.’ She collapsed on a chair, exhausted. ‘I can’t think straight, what to do for the best. I can’t face telling my parents all this – it’d upset them terribly. But how can I not?’

  It was a strange evening. Mum took Sally up to the Hayloft, and at Ian’s suggestion Grace went over to Marsh House, with Jamie, Marcus and Flash.

  No one said much when they got there. Charlie was out with friends; Marcus sat quietly in a corner of the kitchen with Flash, while Jamie hung around nearby. Grace went down to the field to see the horses. When she came back, Ian and Gail were putting together a meal for everyone, trying to be bracing and ordinary.

  A car pulled up outside, and Grace saw Marcus’s startled look. Jamie went to see, and came back a few moments later, followed by a tall blonde girl.

  ‘I forgot about Skye coming over,’ he told his parents. ‘It’s all right, isn’t it? Her dad’s waiting outside in case it isn’t.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Ian said. ‘Come on in, Skye!’

  Grace looked with wary interest at Skye, who was long-legged and slim in Lycra shorts, trainers and an outsize sweatshirt with pushed-up sleeves.

  ‘Sorry.’ Skye gave a quick smile. ‘Bad timing, Jamie says.’

  Ian went out to speak to her dad and invite him in for a drink, while Jamie gestured awkwardly by way of introduction. ‘Er, Skye, you don’t know Grace, do you?’

  ‘Hi, Grace! Jamie’s told me about you.’

  Unsure as ever what that meant, Grace smiled back. She suppressed a twinge of envy of Skye’s smooth tanned legs, that looked as if they did a lot of running; she remembered for a moment how that felt, the surge forward, legs pumping strongly, full of go. Skye’s face was open and friendly, with greenish eyes that looked at Grace with genuine interest. Her straight pale blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was a good-looking girl, Grace saw, who seemed not to place much importance on her appearance.

  Skye’s arrival had broken the tension. Soon she was asking Grace about riding, and how she managed with her leg, and whether she’d get a running blade. ‘That’d be cool!’ Her frankness was infectious, and soon they were chatting quite easily, Grace telling Skye that in a few months she was hoping to get a general purpose athletic limb, rather than a running blade. ‘Because those are only for running. Have you seen how the blade runners can’t stand still on them while they’re waiting for a race? How they have to keep moving about? The limb I’m getting will have a springy ankle and a foot, so I can move in all directions, and stand still. And wear trainers.’

  Jamie and Marcus talked quietly together, Flash lying at Marcus’s feet. Grace saw Jamie ask a question and Marcus lower his eyes, with a quick shake of his head. She longed to talk to him, but perhaps it was best to leave that to Jamie.

  Skye’s dad ended up staying for the whole evening. Late-ish, he dropped Grace off at Flambards; Skye waved goodbye and called out, ‘See you again soon!’ and Grace went indoors, surprised that something good had come out of this strange day.

  Sally had gone. Grace found her mother alone in the flat, tidying the kitchen.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Nothing. Sally and I talked, and looked at some websites, then Roger came over and I got us some food. That was about it.’

  ‘What about when he – when Adrian comes back?’

  Her mother shook her head, lips pressed together. ‘I don’t know. Sally doesn’t know. It’s complicated.’

  ‘But if he doesn’t come back, where will he go?’ Grace thought of the horrified expression on Adrian’s face when he saw what he’d done.

  ‘There’s no easy answer to that,’ Mum said. ‘But Sally told me she’d given him an ultimatum, after he hit Marcus. Either he gets help, or …’ She shrugged.

  ‘Or it’s all over?’

  ‘I can’t really tell you any more, Gracey. Sally told me lots of things in confidence.’

  ‘OK,’ Grace said; then, remembering, ‘Why didn’t you say you were going out with Roger today? Where did you go?’


  ‘To Hyde Hall, a place with lovely gardens the other side of Chelmsford.’ Her mother seemed glad to change the subject. ‘We wanted to get ideas – look at their programme of events and special days.’

  ‘To copy?’

  ‘Well, not copy exactly. Get some ideas and adapt them to what we can do here. A craft fair, for instance. We could think about holding a craft fair.’

  ‘So it was work, then? On your day off?’

  ‘I suppose we could call it that. But it was a nice kind of work.’ She smiled; a rather smug, secretive smile, Grace thought. ‘We’d have stayed longer if all this with Adrian hadn’t happened.’

  A pause; then Grace said, ‘Mum? You like Roger, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Don’t you?’

  ‘Yes! But I mean like like. And he likes you, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Her mother coloured up, pretending to busy herself at the sink.

  ‘More than possibly! He does! And he’s not married or anything, is he? He went a bit funny that time you were talking about weddings.’

  ‘No, he’s never been married. He was going to, but his girlfriend pulled out at the last minute and went off with someone else. It’s taken him a long time to get over that.’

  ‘You mean he hasn’t had another girlfriend since?’

  ‘He has, but no one special.’

  So he’d told Mum all about that. They were close enough for confidences. And she’d probably talked to him about Dad. Grace knew well enough that Roger was a good person to talk to, a listener and careful considerer.

  ‘Maybe you two could … ?’

  Mum laughed. ‘No, Grace – no. I’ve no intention of marrying again. Once was enough. I may be a Russell, but I’m not planning to follow Christina.’

  Grace hadn’t meant marrying, exactly. ‘Will you still see Roger when we go back to London, though?’

  ‘Perhaps. If he wants.’

  Later, in her room, she messaged Marie-Louise: Guess what? My mum and Roger are a Thing. And pretending they’re not.