by Rob Parker
And, for that matter, where were the Crooks? Their land, according to the developers’ map, was even more affected than the Loxleys’, and any plan going forward would have to rely on their agreement.
The fact that both the village’s most rooted families were absent suggested to Thor that he was missing something.
Thor glanced around the room. His boss was there, as was Ahmed. Of course they would be here—this kind of thing would hugely impact their businesses. They may even support it.
Thor turned back to the front. Clyne was speaking.
‘… jobs, of course. With increased amenities would come increased work opportunities. And with increased work opportunities comes improved overall prosperity in the region. Crook’s Hollow would become a better place to live because of it.’
The silence which greeted that statement led Thor to believe that not many people agreed with it. Thor knew the village and its people. Change wasn’t always greeted with open arms.
‘And if you think of the potential for improvement to the current local facilities—yes?’ Clyne was looking at someone in the centre of the room.
‘Can I ask a question?’
Thor recognised the speaker, he lived on the 1960s estate— ironically the last time major development was brought to Crook’s Hollow.
Clyne smiled broadly in response.
‘There was going to be a Q and A at the end, but of course, let’s hear it! I want to show that we are not just another set of faceless developers that you read about in the more hysterical tabloids.’
The man stood. ‘How many homes, in total, are you hoping to build here?’
Clyne glanced back at one of the suits behind him—the woman who had been in the field with him earlier. Her precisely coiffured hair jiggled once in a swift nod.
‘Approximately one thousand five hundred,’ said Clyne.
A gasp swept the room, as the gravity and scale of the proposal hit home for the first time. The man who’d asked the question, however, retained his composure.
‘And I assume you want to create a new road infrastructure, to cope with such a demand?’
Clyne answered immediately.
‘We believe the existing road structure will be just fine. The entrances to the site would be placed on the roads as they are.’
Silence greeted this, but Thor understood the implication. If each house was at least a one-car household, with many being two, you were looking at total daily gridlock across the entirety of the village. It would be day-to-day traffic bedlam.
‘What about the school?’ a woman’s voice all but shouted. It was the headmistress of the village primary. ‘We have only got a hundred and eighty pupils and that’s full as it is!’
‘We will look into extending it. It will all be taken care of,’ Clyne crooned. He gave a smile of impossibly pearly whites which suggested to Thor that taking care of any such thing was right at the back of his mind.
Voices began to erupt around the hall, and Thor could only pick out odd bleats in the hubbub.
‘Affordable housing? Does that mean council houses?’ ‘Will council tax come down?’
‘Will this mean the potholes will be filled in?’
The woman in front of Thor piped up: ‘We’ll need a bigger Sainsburys!’
‘What does the council say?’
Clyne opted to answer the last one, using an up-and-down motion of his arms to try to quiet the audience down.
‘The council know of the proposal, of course. And they are in full support of it. I can say that unequivocally. This is in partnership with them. Bringing affordable homes to the area is something that was promised by the council some time ago, and this has emerged as the most suitable site. It is win-win.’
‘Where are they then?’ someone shouted.
Where indeed? If the council were in on it, surely they would show their faces, or at least be represented. Thor felt sure that the reason for the no-show was a bottle job. They didn’t have the backbone to face the residents on a matter which they were both directly involved with and which affected their public so wholly.
‘Would you live there?’ someone else shouted, which was answered with a snort by one of the suits behind Clyne. Clyne glanced back sharply, but that told Thor all he needed to know about the whole sorry affair. He couldn’t wait to get out, and find his own answers.
14
As soon as Thor got outside, he threw caution to the wind. He found Roisin and held her tight to him. They didn’t care anymore, and as it turned out, neither did anyone else.
‘Did you know?’ asked Thor into her hair.
‘No,’ she whispered to his chest. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Where are our families? I can’t believe they are not here.’
Roisin was clearly on the same wavelength. ‘It could change everything, for them both. And us.’
Thor could only nod grimly, thinking about the one piece of Loxley land that would have to be sold for COMUDEV’s plans to move forward - his.
‘We need to see them. You go see yours, and I’ll go see mine,’ Thor said. He watched the people feed out of the parish hall. There was an overall tone that suggested Lionel Clyne was the harbinger of the end times. ‘How did you get here?’
‘Car’s parked on the other side of the church. Couldn’t park any closer.’
‘Could you give me a ride back to yours to pick up my car?’
‘Of course,’ Roisin said quickly, linking her fingers through his. It was the first time they had held hands in public. It felt really good; Thor just wished the circumstances were happier.
They passed through the graveyard, along the path that Thor had walked only that morning. He patted Ma Loxley’s grave just as a loud rumbling arose nearby. Thor looked around. He couldn’t see anything, but the roar was growing in intensity.
And then it happened.
A car smashed through the first row of tombstones, sending them tumbling like dominos in all directions. Chunks of turf sailed over the car’s windshield, obscuring identification of the driver. The engine’s roar was deafening as it careened straight at Thor, but Thor’s only thought was for Roisin. She screamed his name and he gave her one mighty shove to the side, just before Ma Loxley’s gravestone was upended and spat at Thor with so much force that when it hit him, he was catapulted out onto the grass, out of the direction of the careening vehicle.
He landed with an awful thud, the wind blasted clean out of his lungs, and the last thing he saw as he lay in the dirt, consciousness slipping away for the second time that day, was silver hubcaps tinged with rust as they pounded through the graveyard just a foot from his face.
15
Thor awoke to the sound of someone throwing up. His eyes inched open reluctantly, as if there were a harsh reality to accept on waking fully. His last thoughts before blackness hadn’t been good—what the hell had happened to him? And what about Roisin? All he remembered was flying dirt and flipping tombstones.
Like ripping off a plaster, he forced his eyes open in a quick burst. He was in near darkness, lying in a bed with a cream woolen blanket around him. The bed was completely encircled by floor-to-ceiling curtains, and he could hear snoring from somewhere off to his left, which was a welcome respite to the sound of retching. He looked down: two arms, two legs. He was relieved to appear to be in one piece. ‘Hello, Mr Loxley,’ said a man with such a deep soothing voice Thor thought he could well still be in dreamland. He turned to the direction of it and winced as something in his neck caught painfully. It felt like a thin wire down the centre of his neck was grazing a razor
blade.
‘Take it easy. You are in Warrington Hospital. You’ve had a bit of an accident.’
The voice was clipped by an accent Thor couldn’t place. ‘No shit,’ he said, in a weak, strangled voice. The man was sitting at the end of the bed, on a chair in the corner of the curtain box. ‘Is Roisin OK?’
There was a moment’s silence, as the outline of the
man came into better focus. He was a well-built black man in a blue three-piece suit.
‘Roisin Crook is fine. The women’s ward along the hall is where she’s resting for the night. She’s fine, just very, very shook up. I’m Detective Sergeant Okpara, Greater Manchester Police.’
Okpara pulled his chair closer and Thor could see him better in the low orange light of the glowing nurse call button. He was immaculately presented, carefully manicured. Wire frame glasses over expressive brown eyes, his hair a neat crop with a beard the same length, giving the impression of a precise wraparound balaclava of hair.
‘You sit watching people in the dark often, Okpara?’ Thor blustered—a growing habit of his in these ever more tense times. Despite his efforts, the police had now got involved, and it made him uneasy.
Okpara smiled and took out his identification, placing it on the bed next to Thor’s hand. Thor let his eyes flick to it, but nothing more. He saw the detective’s image next to a shield and that was enough for him. ‘The doctors assure me you will be fine, although you did take a
nasty bump,’ said Okpara.
‘Who was driving the car?’ Thor asked.
‘We were hoping you would know. The eyewitnesses we interviewed in the churchyard said that the car didn’t stop once, it just came off the road, ploughed through that corner of the graveyard, and bounced into the car park. Sprayed some people with gravel then sped back off down the drive.’
To Thor, it sounded less and less like an accident, but Okpara was ahead of him. ‘The witnesses did confirm, however, that the driver was wearing a full mask, with only the eyes visible. And that says to me that this was planned. So I have to ask you, Mr. Loxley, do you know of anyone who would try to cause you harm?’
The question that had dominated the last forty-eight hours. Thor had no real aversion to police, but it had been ingrained in him to deal with things without involving outsiders, especially law enforcement. What goes on on your own farm was your territory and your business. That’s how it has always been done in parts like these.
Now Thor had to decide whether to come clean about the incident the night before as well. But if Okpara had already spoken to Roisin, he might already know. It would all depend on what Roisin had said.
‘Mr Loxley,’ continued Okpara, ‘I understand that moments like these do carry a weight of shock. It’s important that you take the time to heal mentally, but it is equally important that if this was a deliberate attempt to hurt you, that we get the search for your attacker underway. So, if you feel up to speaking with me, then I’d like to help and I’m all ears. If you don’t, please take some time and we will find a more suitable moment. But, in my experience, waiting too long will make justice harder to come by.’
Okpara was so measured and steady, his actions and demeanour so calming, yet firm. They instilled confidence, hope, trust and calm. He was simply a magnetic presence.
‘Have you spoken with Roisin?’ Thor asked. ‘I have. Again, she is fine.’
‘What did she say? Did she see anything?’
Okpara smiled balefully. ‘I’m afraid the answer to both of those questions is the same. Nothing. She was desperate to help, but saw nothing and hadn’t a clue who would try to hurt you.’
Thor felt warm inside at the thought of Roisin’s loyalty. She had remembered he had left the police out of it, and had stuck to that line rigidly. He smiled despite himself.
‘I love her,’ he said.
Okpara smiled, more positively this time. ‘You both are very lucky. The distinct impression I get is that your feelings aren’t a one-way street.’
Again, Thor felt heartened and elated, amongst all sorts of warring thoughts. The attempted hit and run could have killed them both, and if it weren’t for Thor shoving Roisin out of harm’s way, and Ma Loxley’s tombstone effectively doing the same to Thor, neither would be here to have any feelings for each other at all.
There was a future there, if Thor was brave enough to take it. But there had already been two attempts on his life, and they had ramped up in intensity. He didn’t want to give his pursuers a third try, not now they were clearly happy to put Roisin in the firing line with him.
Thor would have to come clean with Okpara if he wanted to improve his chances of safety, and Okpara had won him round to
wanting to speak up.
‘Someone tried to kill me last night too,’ Thor said in a whisper. ‘In a field near my home.’
Okpara blinked once in surprise, but quickly regained his composure. ‘Please go on, Mr Loxley. Start at the beginning.’
Thor told him all about the attack the night before, and what he remembered from the attempt that afternoon, and the detective made the occasional note on a pad.
By the end, Okpara had a furrowed brow and his eyes were roving his notes fervently, flicking the pages of his notebook back and forth like a jumbled flip-book.
‘I’ll make some enquiries, Mr Loxley, but in the meantime this is the best place for you. I’ll get a uniform stationed on the ward, and see if we can have you moved to a private room. Thank you for telling me your story, and if you can think of anything else, the nurses’ station has my details.’
Okpara left and Thor slumped, numb for a bit, before relief slowly seeped in through his toes. He wasn’t shouldering the burden quite so alone anymore, and for the first time since yesterday, he felt optimistic and even safe.
Or so he thought.
16
The phone was answered before the first ring had even finished. ‘Yes?’ A whisper.
‘Are you alone?’ the caller asked.
‘I can be.’ A moment passed, over which the hissing void of the phone line carried the rustling of bed sheets. ‘OK.’
‘It didn’t work.’
‘Jesus. Loxley’s like teflon.’
‘No names over the phone,’ the caller said. ‘Sorry.’
‘At least now he’s in one place. We need another go. Can it be arranged?’
‘I’ll look into it.’
The caller’s voice grew urgent. ‘It needs to be soon.’ ‘Like I said, I’ll look into it.’
‘You do that. I’ve got to go.’
The line went dead. The person who’d been called stood there, listening to the dial tone, staring into space, contemplating the scale of their next challenge, before shutting the phone off.
17
The ward came to life at the stroke of dawn. Grey light beat through the windows as hard rain pummeled their panes. Thor kept the curtains around the bed shut, and just lay there, listening. For some strange reason, the steady drumming, blocking out interior sounds, was loud enough to give the illusion of privacy.
The doctor had been in at first light and confirmed that Thor had bruised ribs and a mild concussion. Thor told her about the neck pain, and she said that would soon dissipate with painkillers. Thor popped the few that she had prescribed him, and lay there waiting for them to kick in.
He felt alone, and, in a way he hated himself for, abandoned. A young fellow his age should have all sorts of family checking on his well-being, but there had been nothing. Again, he felt let down by his parents. Whether the police had communicated the incident to them or not, the village grapevine would have sown the information wide enough for them to hear. There were enough witnesses at the church, for crying out loud. If they gave a shit, he thought, he would have heard from them by now.
Unless, of course, they were behind the whole thing.
Thor eventually found out from the nurse that visiting hours began at ten a.m., just for an hour until eleven. Whether he would be allowed visitors or not was unclear, considering the ward was supposed to be under surveillance by a police officer.
In his mind, in between bouts of furtive sleep during the night, he had looked at his list of possible suspects again, and tried to work out who precisely would gain from his death.
Aside from the prospect of the land development, nothing had changed. The list was the same. But the bi
g money prospect of the value of his land and its importance in the overall picture of COMUDEV’s plans brought a new suspect to mind: Lionel Clyne.
Thor almost dismissed it out of hand, because the risk to Clyne was so great. But if Thor was out of the picture, the housing development could surely take one step closer.
Thor poured himself some water. The painkillers had worked, and his neck felt better with every passing moment, but that didn’t stop his head from pounding. He knew it wasn’t the concussion either. Since the meeting yesterday at the parish hall, everything looked different but somehow still the same. He felt he could cross a few people off his list, but he couldn’t be sure. It all depended on what the Crooks and Loxleys knew of the housing development plans on their land— something he intended to find out. He couldn’t picture that either family would allow it, and it would be a case of such things happening over certain people’s dead bodies. And if they were against the project, then Thor was far more useful to them all alive. As long as he was alive and refused to sell his land, then the development couldn’t progress regardless of how much Clyne blustered.
But that left Clyne looking ever more like being the main beneficiary of Thor’s death. Then again, he stood as the party with the most to lose. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
On the other hand, maybe the attacks had nothing to do with the land at all. You should have got on with it. What did it mean? Was the land issue a smoke screen for something else entirely?
Thor could hear the breakfast trolley being wheeled to other patients. He still hadn’t opened the curtains since he woke to Okpara last night, opting to relieve himself in the little cardboard bottle by his bed instead. He didn’t know how many other patients were in the ward with him.
He knew very little about where he was, save for the fact that he knew it was Warrington Hospital, but ground floor, top floor, what wing, what ward—all that was a mystery to him. As the questions mounted inexorably around him like sandbags of doubt, he began to feel more and more trapped, and increasingly wary.