Crook's Hollow

by Rob Parker

  ‘Ah, it’s alright, Thor. This must be hard for you too. I saw where they want to build, and I understand how it will affect your family.’

  Thor didn’t want to correct him by swapping the word affect to

  devastate.

  ‘Have you seen them?’ Ahmed asked. ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘Good. Family is everything. We send money home all the time to our family, but so much time has passed now that most of the family we send money to, we don’t even know. But it’s still important. We let you stay here in the hope that one day you’d make it back to yours.’

  ‘Thanks Ahmed. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘Go on. Get cleaned up. And I saw that leak in your bedroom radiator—I’ll have someone come and take a look at it.’

  All Thor could do was smile with gratitude, before easing up out of the car to clamber up the steps. The cold iced through him again after the heat of the car, slowing his climb.

  When he got to the top and opened the door, he saw two things, only one of them benign.

  The first was a note lying on his tattered door mat. It was from DCI Okpara. Assume you discharged yourself. I have some background information that might help. Call me ASAP. A mobile number followed.

  Second—his flat had been ransacked. Every drawer, box, container, even down to the Tupperware in his tiny kitchen had been upended and emptied. Someone had been here, probably some time between the police’s visit and Thor’s returning home. Someone who obviously knew where he lived, and was looking for something.

  23

  Any hopes of a relaxing bath and a nap—or an honest-to-God real sleep—were off the table, and Thor had to face ever more compelling realities. The person who was after him wasn’t done yet, nor were they scared of the police. Every time he felt he had turned a corner, the tide swung again and he was under siege. And his escapes were getting ever narrower.

  In the bathroom he stripped, adding his clothes to the smelly bin bag by the sink. He took out what he was carrying, which amounted to a soaked wallet, his keys, and a water-logged, broken phone. He must have dropped the vape cartridge in the wagon cab, or into the bursting brook, and cursed his luck. That might have been a valuable piece of evidence, now gone.

  He showered, got dressed, and picked up Okpara’s note. He had no landline to ring him on, but would have to get in touch with him soon, if only to report the break-in. Glancing around his flat, he surveyed the wreckage that once comprised his belongings. He tried to think if there was anything of any value that he might have kept here, but could think of nothing that would point him to what his visitor was looking for.

  He felt less sure with every minute, and his thoughts ebbed to Jason. Jason’s attack on Thor could have been the result of many things. It could have been a message to Thor to back off. It could simply have been one of anger at being accused yet again by Thor, just when they seemed to be sorting things out.

  But the available evidence still pointed to Jason being involved in the initial attack. His theory that Jason was the puppet on strings, controlled by a bigger party, still held a degree of weight, and that pointed two ways. Clyne, and the Crooks.

  And in that, somewhere, was Roisin, who said she knew nothing about the development, which would seem to preclude her knowing about any plots to kill Thor. But he didn’t know enough about her relationship with her brothers and parents, what they shared and what they didn’t.

  But Thor believed her. She said she knew nothing, and he was not inclined to second-guess her now. He felt safe nowhere, but he had to get Roisin’s thoughts on things. On whether she felt her family was capable of such a thing. On whether she could see her family accepting Clyne’s proposition. Plus, he could use her phone to call Okpara, and find out what he now knew.

  He’d have to head straight into the vipers’ nest. Crook’s Farm seemed to be the only place he would get answers.

  He left his flat, this time grabbing an old golf umbrella he had been given by one of the regulars in the pub; not a local, but a tourist who had stuck around long enough to challenge the convention.

  He went around to the front of the post office and entered. The office was busy in a weird way: half of it was empty, the other half had a queue containing nine or ten people. There were two cashier points, and the queue was all at one. Thor couldn’t understand it, but behind the empty desk sat Mo. He looked just the same as his brother, except that his hair was that bit longer, his beard that much shorter, as if Ahmed was just that bit more precise in his appearance.

  Thor beckoned him over with a discreet gesture, and Mo came from behind the cashier’s glass and met Thor at the door.

  ‘Good to see you’re OK,’ he said with a smile. ‘I didn’t fancy chasing up a dead man for rent.’

  ‘Thanks. What’s going on here?’ Thor asked.

  Mo spoke quietly. ‘They are all queuing up to put money on their electricity meters. This weather’s got them thinking the end of the world is nigh, but they don’t seem to see that if the power lines go down because of a flood, we are all buggered for leccy, regardless of how much cash they’ve put in the meter.’

  Thor nodded. ‘Look, I know this is a bad time, but any chance of a ride up to Crook’s Farm?’

  Mo turned and looked—Ahmed was swamped.

  ‘His till’s the only one that you can do the electricity accounts from.’ He turned back to Thor with a mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘He’ll be fine for five minutes.’

  24

  If there was a sun up there, high above the greys of the bulging clouds, it would have been starting its gradual tilt to the western horizon. All it meant in Crook’s Hollow was that the darkness got darker. Soon, it would be nightfall.

  Mo had dropped Thor off at his car, had asked no questions, and then turned back. Thor gave his car the once over, saw that everything was as it should be and that it hadn’t floated off, and made the walk to the Hollow under his umbrella. The sheep were nowhere to be seen, and as Thor approached the dip in the land that signaled the start of the Hollow, he could see why.

  It was flooded, and the water was moving steadily downhill to fill the woodland at the bottom. It must have been two or three inches deep, and tufts of longer grass the sheep hadn’t yet reached were poking up through the surface.

  Thor had to take the more difficult higher route along the drystone wall, some thirty feet above the Hollow floor. As he got to higher ground, he saw that the water continued to flow along the floor of the shallow vale, right up to where the Hollow bent right slightly— and he could see no more.

  Higher up the rise, he saw the lights on in Roisin’s caravan, and the sight warmed him. He hadn’t seen her since he shoved her out of danger in the churchyard, and their respective trips to the hospital had been and gone. There had been so much happening, and time had flown, but he needed her now.

  When he knocked on the flimsy door, he heard footsteps as she crossed the floor, then the door creaked open just enough for her to peek out. When she saw Thor, she threw the door wide and pulled him in.

  ‘Thor!’ she cried. She showered him in kisses, but in his abrupt entry his umbrella had got snagged in the door. He let go of it, and it tumbled away outside. He pulled the door closed and kissed her hard.

  ‘You saved me,’ she gasped, ‘in the graveyard you saved me.’

  The living room was warm. Roisin’s small TV was showing Granada Tonight, the local news bulletins. A variety of throws had been used to cover the threadbare old upholstery, with different colours and cushions, giving the impression of the world’s smallest Moroccan boudoir. A votive candle burned on the side table, and a mug of tea steamed next to it.

  Roisin was wearing an old university hoodie and fleece lounge pants, with thick striped walking socks. Her hair was up in a lazy bun, with stray strands snaking down her neck. She wore glasses, as she always did when she watched television. It was a look that Thor thought nobody else in the world could pull off but her—let alone carry off as smou
ldering. And yet here Roisin was doing it, and at a canter, too.

  If he could have married her there and then, he would have.

  They kissed, as they fell onto the sofa, and Thor felt all his fears and concerns about Roisin’s family fall to the back of his mind. His hands found their way into the back of her hoodie, and gripped her warm, soft hips.

  ‘I love you,’ she said.

  ‘I love you, too,’ he whispered, and it felt like the most natural, right, correct thing in the world.

  They wound further into each other, the tensions of the last day unravelling. Desire soon caught up with them both, and when it could be held back no more, they turned the lights off but left the candle burning. The rain drummed an urgent beat on the roof, masking the sounds of all else.

  A couple of moments later, Thor’s mind seemed to get stuck changing gears. He felt there would be time for this later, but he hadso much he wanted to ask, to check on, to get out. Roisin sensed his engine stall.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m fine. There’s so much to talk about, and… I can’t concentrate.

  I’m sorry.’

  ‘That’s OK. It’s been a mad couple of days. Shall we have a cup of tea and a snuggle? Talk for a while?’

  Thor couldn’t have wished for anything better.

  ‘We’ve got plenty of time—and you are staying here tonight with me. There’s no discussion there.’

  Thor nodded and smiled.

  ‘Let me make them,’ he said, and hopped up. He went into the adjoining kitchenette and boiled the kettle. ‘My head is just fried, there’s so much going on.’

  ‘I know,’ said Roisin, pulling a blanket around her. ‘The Hollow just got so much weirder.’

  ‘We never got a chance to talk about it, before…’ He squeezed the tea bag against the side of the mug with a teaspoon—a technique Ma Loxley would have hated, bless her soul. She was a teapot lady through and through, a characteristic Rue now carried.

  ‘The plans, you mean? I know. They would change everything around here.’

  She plucked nervously at the frayed edges of the blanket she was swaddled in. Thor felt there was more she wanted to share, but didn’t want to push her. But still, he needed to know what she knew.

  ‘I went to my parents’,’ he said, bringing the mugs over.

  ‘You did?’ exclaimed Roisin, as she took a tea, scalding herself slightly as it sloshed over the sides.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She swapped the mug to her other hand and sucked her finger. Her nerves seemed to be bubbling, but she was gamely doing her best to stay strong in the face of everything. ‘How did it go? I wish I could have been there with you. Would like to have helped.’

  ‘Thanks, but it was OK. Really, they had way more on their minds than any old trouble with me. The kitchen was flooded.’

  ‘Flooded? How?’

  ‘The well had given in.’ Thor looked away from her for a second, trying to organise how to bring up the next part. ‘The plans affect both our families, right? And their land—you saw that on the map.’

  Roisin straightened. ‘How could I miss it?’

  ‘When I saw my family… they said your family had agreed to it.

  That they had agreed to sell Clyne what he needed.’

  Roisin stared into her tea like the answers were stored in its depths.

  Her bottom lip began to quiver.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ Thor said, ‘I know this is weird for us, but we need to talk about it. Please. Do you know what your family are going to do?’

  Tears started to roll from under her glasses, but she didn’t give in to sobbing.

  ‘They made the decision without me. I had nothing to do with it. Thor, you must believe me, I didn’t know until I saw the plans yesterday, and I certainly didn’t know they were going to go along with it until Mum picked me up from the hospital this morning.’

  ‘So they are going through with it?’ Thor sat close, facing her, but she still wouldn’t look up.

  ‘That’s what Mum says, but I’m still not ready to believe it. It’s huge pieces of the farm, gone.’

  Thor asked the big question. ‘Who owns the land—the land that Clyne wants to buy?’

  ‘Mum and Dad,’ she replied, but she looked up hurt. ‘I won’t be getting any of it, don’t worry about me doing better because of it. I won’t see any of that money.’

  Thor placed a hand on her knee. ‘Hey, I didn’t mean that. I just want to know what we are dealing with, that’s all.’

  Roisin’s voice began to quiver. ‘I’ll have to leave. They’ll pack up the farm because they’ll have made all they’ll ever need to. I’ll be left with nothing and nowhere to go.’

  ‘No, you won’t, I’d never let that happen.’ Thor shifted around to sit behind her, and she lay back against his chest. He spoke softly. ‘The same thing will happen to me.’

  ‘What do you mean? They only need a little bit from your family,

  don’t they?’ She wiped her tears away with a sleeve.

  ‘If they build where they say they are going to, the natural drainage of the land will be changed for the worse. My family’s farm would be flooded. You, me, they—we’d lose everything together.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ whispered Roisin.

  This was stick or twist time for Thor, the moment when he could reveal his hand. He just didn’t know which way it was going to go. His land, and his ownership of it, held the key to it all, and could decide the fortunes of both their families, in different ways. If he were to sell, he’d condemn his own family’s farm. If he refused to sell, Roisin’s family would miss out on the deal of a lifetime, assuming Clyne had made them an offer relative to the one he made to Thor.

  Roisin beat him to it. ‘We have to stop them,’ she said.

  It was a good job, Thor thought, considering he had already ripped up the cheque.

  ‘What can we do?’

  ‘I think I’ve already done it,’ said Thor. ‘What do you mean?’

  Roisin was wide eyed how Thor explained that the piece of land Clyne needed was a land gift from his parents, that it belonged to him. She was dumbfounded when he told her about Clyne’s offer and the cheque, which was now in scraps.

  Thor had come clean about the land, the reason for the family falling-out, the reason for his outcast state, and it felt amazing.

  ‘I think as far as the development is concerned, it’ll be OK,’ he finished. ‘As long as the police catch who has been trying to kill me and I can stay alive long enough to stop the development going forward.’

  ‘You wonderful, brave man,’ said Roisin, as she clambered onto him, kissing him. ‘I love you.’

  This time, no talk came between them. Thor didn’t stall. The candlelight was all the light they needed.

  25

  He was awakened at just gone twelve by Roisin shaking him. She was silent when she did it, and somehow that told him to remain quiet too. As his eyes focused in the gloom, he was met with hers: urgent and insistent. She mouthed something, he shook his head, and she tried again. This time she used just a little breath, so the words were no more than scratched air.

  ‘Someone is in here.’

  He hopped up immediately, wearing just his boxer shorts, and Roisin tangled on a t-shirt. He crouched by the door, listening.

  Nothing.

  All he noticed was that the rain was softer. Roisin joined him on the floor, poised, cat-like. They listened.

  The softest thud could be heard from the lounge. They looked at each other as if to ask, Did you hear it too?

  It came again, an almost imperceptible sound, but it was all the proof they needed. Roisin was right.

  Someone was in the caravan with them.

  Thor realised his error—being here with Roisin and no one knowing where he was—but as soon as the thoughts surfaced he smothered them immediately with a more urgent idea, namely survival, for the pair of them. A third attempt on his life would
surely leave nothing to chance.

  He glanced around the room, checking for anything they could use to defend themselves.

  The thud again. Closer. Heading for the bedroom.

  ‘Get under the bed,’ Thor whispered to Roisin, but she shook her head. She picked up the lamp from her bedside table; it was nothing more than a small wooden block with an Edison bulb embedded in its surface. Thor had always liked it, and thought that in a pinch it would at least slow down their attacker. The room was so tiny that Thor couldn’t think of what else to use, save for a coat hanger, some books, and a string of flimsy fairy lights. His hands would have to do.

  Thor focused on the door, and held his breath.

  Thud, again. Just by the door. Whoever it was, had stopped just beyond the door. A squeak of the flooring suggested a shifting of weight, and in the darkness, Thor could just make out the door sagging very slightly under the weight of their visitor.

  Whoever it was was leaning against the door, listening.

  Thor threw himself at the door, shoulder first, putting every ounce of his weight behind it, an explosion of movement that caused Roisin to gasp.

  The door buckled and its hinges gave way. The intruder’s weight was on the other side, but unbalanced, and Thor dug in and pushed as hard as he could, forcing the intruder to stagger back. As Thor shoved harder, his adversary seemed to trip, and Thor fell forward onto the door.

  They crashed to the floor, the door sandwiched between them.

  Thor hadn’t yet seen the intruder’s face. ‘Call the police, Roisin!’ he shouted.

  ‘Thor!’ she shouted back, just behind him, but he heard nothing else as his skull felt crushed by a dense impact.

  His last thought before the blackness came for him again was his certainty that there was not one but two intruders, and that he could do nothing to stop them from harming Roisin.

  26

  It wasn’t raining any more.