‘Do you think there’s an afterlife?’
The question took Ruth by surprise and she choked a little on her drink.
‘Pardon?’
‘Heaven,’ James said. ‘You know, some place where we all go to after we die. Do you think there is one, up there, or wherever?’
Ruth stared at her father as he raised his eyes a little as though looking heavenward.
‘I really don’t know,’ she said, a little taken aback to be asked such a deeply personal question about belief and spirituality by a person she’d known to never hold much truck with anything spiritual beyond a good measure of whisky. ‘Can’t say I’ve thought about it much, to be honest.’
‘But do you think there is?’ James asked pressing for an answer. ‘Or could be? Do you think your mother’s there now, looking down on us?’
Ruth took another sip, to give her time to think of a reply that wouldn’t be trite.
‘Well, I don’t see how we can just end,’ she said finally. ‘That just doesn’t seem right, really. Impossible almost. And I’d like to think that we go on, somehow. It seems only fair, doesn’t it? Otherwise, what’s the point?’
James nodded, sipped his tea. ‘What’s the point indeed,’ he said.
Silence descended again, but James didn’t let it last too long this time. ‘I prayed, you know?’ he said, his voice quiet and soft. ‘After the crash, in the field, holding your mum in my arms, I prayed. I begged for God to help, to save her, to save Helen, and to take me instead, but he didn’t.’
‘She was gone, Dad,’ Ruth said. ‘There was nothing anyone could do.’
‘Not even God?’ James replied. ‘Then what’s the point of being God if you can’t even do what I asked, what I prayed for, with all my heart and soul?’
Ruth shrugged, because she had nothing that she could say that would help and was worried that anything she managed to say would only make things worse. And talking about whether God would kill her dad to save her mum was, she was fairly sure, something that would only make things worse.
‘Anyway, I don’t think she can be gone, not completely,’ James said. ‘Because I can feel her, inside me still, in this house, everywhere.’
‘Me too,’ Ruth said.
‘So, you don’t think it sounds weird, then?’
‘No, not at all,’ Ruth said, and she genuinely meant it. ‘She loved this house. She poured her heart and soul into turning it into a home, didn’t she?’
‘I’ve tried to talk to her,’ James continued, his voice quieter now, Ruth noticed, almost conspiratorial. ‘Just to ask if she’s okay, if she’s in pain, or if everything’s okay. And I’ve told her that I love her as well.’
‘That’s nice, Dad,’ Ruth said with a gentle nod and soft smile. ‘And I’m sure that if she’s out there, somewhere, then she’s smiling down on you, on all of us actually, asking us to not be too sad, to remember how wonderful she was, and what a great life she had.’
‘It was cut short though, Ruthy,’ James said, the words a hammer slamming down on an anvil.
‘I know it was,’ Ruth replied, her mind whispering, and it wouldn’t have been if you’d been driving, would it, Dad? And the sound of those dark thoughts frightened her more than a little, because she knew that they were wrong, that it wasn’t her dad’s fault, but they were so hard to dislodge, like they were strangers who had pushed themselves in through the cracks opened up by the darkness now inside her where her mum had once been.
‘I’ve asked for proof actually,’ James said. ‘That she’s out there. From her, I mean, from Helen.’
At this, Ruth couldn’t help keeping the shock from her voice. ‘You’ve what?’
‘Because if she is,’ James continued, almost as though he hadn’t heard Ruth’s interruption, ‘then she has to be able to show me, don’t you think? I mean, I know I’ve not seen the ghost that supposedly haunts this old house, none of us have, but others have, right? Previous owners? So, why shouldn’t I be able to see Helen? Why shouldn’t she be able to come and see me, just to let me know it’s okay? Does that make sense, Ruthy? Does it? I’m not sure it does. I’m worried I sound mad. But I’m not. I’m sure I’m not.’
No, it doesn’t sound mad at all, Ruth thought, it sounded completely insane. Desperate then to say to her dad, ‘you’re a retired army colonel, the most no-nonsense person I’ve ever known in my entire life, and here you are, just a few hours after the tragic death of your wife, talking about trying to see her ghost?’ But she didn’t. It just didn’t seem fair. Because she knew that grief did different things to different people and that everyone coped with it and dealt with it in their own way. And perhaps this was Dad’s, as surprising as it seemed to her right then. Maybe it was because he felt responsible, to blame even. And that little voice inside her called out then, just loud enough for her to hear, that he was.
‘I don’t think anything makes sense right now,’ Ruth eventually said, doing her best to ignore her internal dialogue. ‘And I don’t think anything will for a very long time.’
‘No, neither do I,’ James agreed. ‘But do you see what I mean? What I’m saying? I don’t want to sound crazy, because I’m not, I’m really not. I just need to know that she’s alright, wherever she is. That’s all. That’s all I want, all I’m asking for right now.’
‘What about giving the minister a call?’ Ruth suggested, half because she wanted to stop her dad from talking the way he was, but also because it might genuinely help. ‘He’s already been in touch anyway, after he heard. And he’s popping over later, isn’t he? So, might be worth talking things through then, maybe?’
‘Rawlings, you mean?’ James said. ‘That young Methodist minister chap? I don’t know . . .’
‘It might help,’ Ruth said. ‘Just to have someone else to talk it through with. This kind of stuff is all part of the job for him, I’m sure. He’s trained for it. It’s what he does for a living.’
‘I’m not sure it would help,’ James sighed. ‘I don’t want people to think—’
‘Think what?’ Ruth said. ‘That you’re suffering after Mum’s death? That you don’t know how to deal with it? What’s wrong with any of that? It’s normal, Dad! I feel it, too. Anyway, we’ll need to speak to him . . .’ Ruth paused, the next words ones she could hardly bear to mutter. ‘. . . to sort out . . . the funeral.’
‘And you say he’s coming out later on today?’ James said.
Ruth gave a nod over her mug of tea.
‘Perhaps I will, then,’ James said. ‘It can’t do any harm, can it?’
‘No,’ Ruth said. ‘It really can’t, Dad.’ Then, as she took another sip of tea, she said, ‘Pat said that she’ll be here as soon as she can tomorrow, once Dan has finished whatever project or contract he’s on with right now. Oh, and I’ll be heading off later as I’m on night shift over at the care home.’
‘They’re coming, then?’ James said. ‘Well, that’s something. It’ll be good to see them.’
Would it though, Ruth thought, because when had Pat and Dan ever visited unless they wanted something? But she said, ‘They are, yes,’ recalling the brief phone call she’d had with Pat, declining to say anything further about her somewhat distant older sister.
‘They don’t need to,’ James said. ‘But it is nice of them to come.’
‘Well, you know what Pat’s like,’ Ruth said. ‘She’s not one for taking no for an answer once she’s decided to do something.’
‘I’ll be fine, though,’ James said. ‘Just need some time, that’s all. We all do. And you’re next door, aren’t you? So, I’m okay, really.’
Yes, I am, Ruth thought, which is where I’ve always been. But she said, ‘You’re not okay, Dad. And none of us will be, not unless we lean on each other for a while.’
Tea finished, and with a few jobs to do before she headed off to work that afternoon, Ruth pushed herself to her feet, the aches still there, in every bit of her, inside and out.
‘Thanks,’ James
said. ‘And I’m pleased you’re here, you know. I know I’m lucky to have you so close, you and Anthony, and I’ve always appreciated it. And for what it’s worth, I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t. And I’ll always look after you, you know that, don’t you? Even when I’m gone. You’ve done so much.’
‘I’d have come over regardless,’ Ruth said. ‘That, and the fact that Anthony and I live next door is beside the point.’
‘Thanks, anyway,’ James said, then he added, ‘I’ll be out in my shed if you want me for anything.’
Ruth wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. ‘It’s a bit cold for that, isn’t it, Dad?’
‘I’ll get the stove going,’ James explained. ‘Get it all nice and cosy. Just like your mum used to like it when she’d come over and fall asleep in that chair with a book on her lap.’
Ruth left her father to himself in the kitchen and headed on into the house. The place seemed so silent and empty, as though the absence of her mum was enough to make the walls turn even the smallest of sounds into the meanest, coldest of echoes. Then she was outside, having not made the conscious decision to find some fresh air, but glad that she had.
She walked away from the house, heading down the lawn at the front, towards the road. When she turned back to stare up at it, the overly grand dwelling glared back, as though conscious of its broken shell and that Ruth’s pain was a mirror to its own.
Ruth’s eyes swept left, to where a large gap sat between the main house and what was now a smaller cottage, the one she and her teenage son, Anthony, lived in. Seeing the gap, and the thick shadows which hung inside it like vast blankets of darkness on an invisible washing line, she thought back to what her dad had said, about the ghost that had caused the then owners, many, many years ago now, to have that section pulled down, turning a once-grand place into the two houses it was today. True or not, the tale of death breaking a home quite literally in two, spoke to her in that moment. And as she stared up at that empty, gloom-filled space, her own brokenness came at her in the shape of a million memories of her mother.
Her tears flowed then, even though she was sure she had no more to cry, and she let them fall, wrapping herself up in a blanket of sorrow, wishing, like her father, that the ghost of her mother would come to her and tell her that everything was going to be okay.
Chapter Five
Back outside, Harry breathed in the day good and deep. The rain had subsided and the air was now somehow even more alive than ever. He thought back to Bristol, how the air there had its own distinctiveness; a city it was, but London it most definitely wasn’t. His memory brought back the air of the place, rich in a way that was filled with scents and tastes designed to make you want to stop and eat. Cafes and bars and restaurants sent out inviting aromas to dance together along the streets, twisting themselves around passers-by, tempting them to stop, to sit, to feast. And rather too often, Harry recalled, he had done exactly that.
Dales’ air, though, well that was another thing entirely. Yes, there was a clear and present danger of walking through Hawes marketplace to trip up on thin tendrils of taste drifting from cafes and bakeries. And Harry had succumbed often. However, it was what came blowing off the hills that now had him, and he paused just for a moment to enjoy it, as it whipped around him as cool as the water of a lagoon in deep shade, and heady with scents of grass and fern and herb.
‘You alright, Boss?’
Harry saw Jadyn staring at him from over where Matt had parked the car, though ‘parked’ was probably far too polite a way to describe how the detective sergeant had skidded the thing to a halt in a spray of grit and water.
‘And why wouldn’t I be?’ Harry asked.
‘Well, you look . . .’ Jadyn began, but then he paused.
‘I look what?’
‘It’s nothing,’ Jadyn said, then held up the PPE from the car. ‘Shall we go?’
‘We will,’ Harry said, ‘but first, you’ll finish what you were going to say.’
‘Relaxed,’ Jadyn said, suddenly blurting the word out. ‘Peaceful, even. And you don’t usually look like that. Not ever, if I’m honest, almost like you can’t, I mean—’
Harry watched with amusement as Jadyn’s eyes grew wide with horror at his own words.
‘No, I mean, you look fine,’ Jadyn said. ‘I didn’t mean like the, you know, the scarring was . . . oh, crap . . .’
Harry smiled. ‘There’s a shovel over there against that wall if you want to try and dig yourself a bigger hole.’
‘Sorry, Boss,’ Jadyn said, walking over to Harry. ‘Didn’t mean to sound like such a pillock.’
Harry took the PPE Jadyn had in his hand.
‘Can’t see that there’s anything to apologise for,’ Harry said. ‘A face like mine could curdle milk, I reckon.’
Jadyn laughed then.
‘Yeah, you’re not wrong!’ he said, then once again the horror came back into his eyes. ‘Oh, God, sorry, Boss, I don’t know what’s wrong with me! My mouth just runs away with itself sometimes, and then my feet catch up and throw themselves in there good and proper. I’m sorry.’
Harry stared at the police constable just long enough, then winked. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s have a look around.’
As they made to head off, the sound of an approaching car had them pause. Harry turned back to the entrance to see a smart looking metallic blue BMW pull in.
‘Who’s this, then?’ Jadyn said.
The car stilled, fell quiet, and from the driver’s side emerged a young man, around the same age as Jim, Harry guessed, dressed smart casual, more town than country, sunglasses on as well, regardless of the fact that summer was all but a distant memory. He had a cigarette lit and in his mouth.
‘Is Jim in?’ the young man called over, removing the cigarette then dropping it to the ground and grinding it into the dirt.
‘And you are?’ Harry asked, walking forwards to put himself between this new arrival and Jim’s house.
‘Hoggy,’ the young man said. ‘Neil Hogg, Jim’s mate. Is he in? He texted earlier, told me what had happened, and I came over as soon as I could.’
It took a moment for Harry to realise who he was talking to.
‘Oh, right, you’re who he was out with last night, right? Old school friend, yes?’
‘That’s me,’ Neil said, reaching a hand out to Harry as the back door opened and Jim appeared.
‘Now then, Hoggy,’ Jim said, calling over. ‘You didn’t have to bother coming over, you know.’
‘Yes I did,’ Neil replied. ‘I know there’s nowt I can do, but still, I felt that I’d best come over, just in case.’
Harry watched Neil walk over to Jim and give the PCSO a manly hug, then they both headed into the house. That done, Harry turned back to Jadyn.
‘Right, where were we, then?’ he asked.
‘About to have a look around the farm I think,’ Jadyn said.
Harry walked away from the house, on the way stopping to pick up the cigarette stub left by Jim’s friend, Neil. It wasn’t something he’d usually do, go around cleaning up after others, it had just struck him as a little disrespectful.
Just as Harry had expected on seeing the farm when they’d driven in, and on having been inside the house, the yard and its buildings was a place of careful order. There was clearly a place for everything, and everything was very much in its place.
‘So, what do you know about farming, then?’ Harry asked as they walked through the yard and down to the barn.
‘Not much at all,’ Jadyn said. ‘Probably less than you.’
‘That’s saying something.’
‘I’m a Bradford lad,’ Jadyn said. ‘Closest I got as a kid to farming was buying milk.’
‘So, why are you here, then?’ Harry asked.
‘Used to come up here on holiday a lot with my family,’ Jadyn said. ‘Not one for holidays abroad, my parents, not that they wouldn’t like to, it’s just a simple case of economics. You know, those kinds of holi
days cost a lot of money and they haven’t got much to be splashing about. Always liked the place, because it’s pretty special, isn’t it? So, when the opportunity came up to get placed up here, I took it. Thought I’d broaden my experience, if you know what I mean. I know the city well, like. Up here is different.’
‘I’m impressed,’ Harry said. ‘My experience of new constables, in which I include myself, is that it’s all about being in the city, right in the thick of it.’
‘Rural police work has that, too,’ Jadyn explained. ‘And I needed to get out, you know, see the world a bit?’
Harry smiled to himself then, at the idea that Jadyn thought going to work in the dales qualified as seeing the world. But then, why shouldn’t it? In many ways, he would’ve been hard-pressed to find anywhere more different to Bradford, or any other major town or city for that matter, than the dales.
‘This is the barn, then,’ Harry said, walking up to a metal gate to look inside. ‘Notice anything?’
Jadyn stood beside Harry and peered in.
‘No sheep?’
‘It’s always best to start with the obvious,’ Harry smiled. ‘And that covers something which should be here, but isn’t.’
‘What about forensics?’ Jadyn asked. ‘Shouldn’t we be calling them in?’
‘That’s what we’re here to decide,’ Harry said. ‘Right now, it’s hard to say if we need to call in the Scene of Crime team, and I don’t want to be dragging them over here if there’s bugger all to see. And even if we do, this is hardly going to be high on their priority list, is it, an empty barn and some missing sheep?’
‘We called them CSI in Bradford,’ Jadyn said. ‘The SOC team, I mean.’
‘Well, it’s the same thing, just a sexier name, that’s all,’ Harry said. ‘And it’ll be a while, I think, before it takes over completely.’ He opened the gate. ‘After you.’
Jadyn walked into the barn and Harry followed, noticing how the air changed from the fresh, crisp outdoor smell, to one richer, deeper, more earthy.
Once inside, Harry paused, Jadyn coming to a stop at his side. The barn, like the farm, was ordered and clean. The floor was covered in straw, with feeding and water troughs dotted about. Around the walls of the barn were dotted wire cages filled with hay. The smell of it in the air grew stronger the further in they walked, mixing with the tang of lanolin from the fleeces of the sheep filling the space beneath the roof overhead.
Restless Dead (Harry Grimm Book 5) Page 4