by P. R. Black
Then the edge of a rope hit her on the top of her head.
‘Grab on!’ shouted the man above.
She needed no further invitation. She had no other choice. Georgia gripped the thick, knotted hemp with one hand; finding the tension to its satisfaction, her other hand joined it. She scrambled up with a nimbleness she would never have credited herself with even five minutes beforehand. She rose fast, out of the lip, over the edge, and then she was gasping, scrambling and sobbing, on her knees, then on her feet, her entire body quaking.
The man at the edge of the ghyll had tied a rope around the base of a thick tree, about five yards away, and then hauled her up once she’d taken a grip. His dog was big enough to put its paws on Georgia’s shoulders – and it did, licking her on the face. She did not mind; she even braced herself against its weight, until the man stepped forward into the light and drew it away.
‘Bad girl!’ he said, seizing the dog by its collar, dragging it down. ‘Not you, I mean,’ he said, patting Georgia on the shoulder. ‘Are you all right? Did you get hurt?’
Georgia shook her head. She felt the side of her face and her ear; her fingers came away spotted with blood, but not much of it. ‘I think I’m OK… maybe tore a muscle in my arm. I guess I’ll know soon.’ She laughed, an odd sound, a hysterical sound. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
‘Not the first time I’ve had to do that,’ the man said. In the light, his features took shape – he was tall, broad without being particularly athletic, with a weathered face and high cheekbones. His ears stuck out, and there was something in the curve of the nose, the narrow chin and the thick brows and the delicate blue eyes that made her think he had some Irish blood in him. It was a friendly face, the face of a farmer – although his green wellies, dark green jacket and working trousers were a large component of this assessment. ‘What were you doing at the lip? Didn’t you read the signs?’
Georgia didn’t answer him. She glanced around, at the gently swaying trees, and the gaps in between. ‘Someone pushed me,’ she said. ‘I’m fairly sure of it.’
The man who’d rescued her looked around. ‘Shoved you? There’s no one here, love.’
Then the dog strained at the leash, and barked.
‘Who’s there?’ the man said.
No one answered. The dog barked, cocking its ears, in the direction of the thicker forest, leaping up once. Then it abruptly turned and began to jump up at Georgia again.
‘No one there,’ the man said. ‘Saoirse here’s just a bit agitated. Come on, I’ve got a car just up the road. Come with me and I’ll get you a cuppa tea at my hut. Let’s get you warmed up. That’s what I call a cliffhanger, love, and no mistake.’
‘Someone’s just tried to kill me!’
‘If they did, they’re long gone. Come on, let’s get out of here.’
Georgia was too tired, too sick, too frightened to disagree. After he unlooped his rope around the tree and fed it back into his own bergen, he led her up the hill and out of the treeline, into bright sunshine.
9
HUNDREDS ATTEND CANDLELIT VIGIL FOR MISSING STUDENT
By Peggy Hoffman, BBC News
Students, staff and local residents have turned out at a candlelit vigil for missing teenager Stephanie Healey.
The 19-year-old vanished after going for a walk during a storm just outside Ferngate on Friday 20th March. Stephanie is a first-year English student at the university there.
The chancellor of Ferngate University, Sir Oliver Chessington, led the proceedings outside Ferngate town hall, which was lit up by hundreds of candles as an estimated 200 people took part in a minute’s silence.
‘I would appeal for everyone in Ferngate to think back to that night.
‘There was a storm – in a lot of ways that’ll help jog people’s memories. It was a wild night, very difficult conditions to be out in. No one knows where Stephanie went, but we do know she travelled up the A928, on foot, alone.
‘If anyone remembers passing Stephanie on that road, please get in touch with the police.’
English language and literature student Stephanie’s face is visible the length and breadth of the town, in a number of missing posters arranged by volunteers, led by Stephanie’s boyfriend and classmate, 20-year-old Martin Duke.
‘We haven’t given up hope,’ Mr Duke said. ‘It’s possible she has decided to take off on her own somewhere. If you’re out there, Stephanie, please get in touch – with the police, with your family, with anyone. We just want to know you’re safe.’
Stephanie’s mother, 50-year-old Georgia Healey, said: ‘I know my daughter. She isn’t the type to take off somewhere on her own. She wouldn’t do something silly, either. I would appeal for anyone who knows anything, or even thinks they might have seen something, to get in touch.
‘It doesn’t matter how insignificant they think it might be – a door unlocked, or a strange car they didn’t recognise parked up in their street… anything. We’re desperate for information. We need to know where Stephanie went.’
The Rev Stacey McAllister of St Eunan’s Church, who helped co-ordinate the vigil, said: ‘Stephanie Healey’s family are desperate to find out what happened to her – you can see and hear what this means to them. It’s heart-breaking.
‘We have no idea what happened to her – there could be a perfectly reasonable, innocent explanation. But if someone does know what happened, I would ask them to examine their conscience and help ease the suffering of Stephanie’s family and friends.’
Rod Healey, Stephanie’s father, said after the vigil: ‘This is a sad situation and we have to get to the bottom of it.’
When asked what message he had for his daughter if she was watching, he said: ‘Get back home. Your mother’s worried to death.’
(Online report, dated 31st March)
I went into the church one morning, on my own. I made sure I went early to watch the old ladies lighting candles. There was a man there, middle-aged, Catholic, something out of HE Bates. I took a shine to him. He was very pious; the pews groaned under him. It was around about this time I noticed the girl, staring at me.
From the diary of Stephanie Healey
The Land Rover appeared through a clearing, off the road, parked at an angle on a slightly sloped dirt track through the trees. It could have packed two versions of Georgia’s first car inside, at a push.
Saoirse the dog had taken to Georgia. Not quite wanting to throw herself into her rescuer’s arms, she had thrown herself into the dog’s, delighted by the contact.
Her rescuer had been wryly amused by this scene. ‘She’s supposed to be a killer, you know,’ he said. ‘Big softie when you get down to it. She knows when someone’s in trouble. By the way, I’m Jed, Jed Mulrine. I’m the gamekeeper.’
She knew the name, of course. She swallowed, then said: ‘Gamekeeper? This is private land?’
‘Yep – this is Sir Oliver’s estate. There’s a public path through it, of course – you’re not trespassing or anything.’
‘I didn’t think I was.’
‘You sure you don’t need a doctor? You must have taken a bit of a beating down the ghyll.’
‘I’m fine – and I guess that’s official. I am a doctor.’
‘Ha!’ Jed’s laughter was a little like the dog’s bark, she thought. Half-surprise, half-enthusiasm. ‘Then – heal thyself!’
Georgia let Saoirse lick her once more, before they reached the Land Rover. The dog snapped to attention after Jed had clicked the key fob, and the doors snicked open. There was a caged section at the back of the vehicle, and the dog leapt into its allotted space after its owner released the back door. It sat, contentedly, and chewed on a length of thick hemp rope identical to the one he had used to pull Georgia out of the ghyll.
‘In you get,’ Jed said. ‘I’ve got some of the perfect medicine inside.’
In the expanses of the passenger seat, all her cuts, bruises and abrasions raised their hands and made themselves known. Her bicep throbbed, but
Georgia was now sure she had simply strained it, without tearing the muscle tissue. Her hands still shook as she took off the backpack and laid it in the well at her feet. Threads had been picked away on the waterproof material, unpicked by the rock much as a cat might have worried an old sofa.
So close, she thought. If I hadn’t been wearing the backpack, I’d be down there now. Or God knows where.
Maybe I’d have ended up in Stephanie’s arms.
Jed got into the driver’s seat, then pulled his bergen off his back. Reaching inside, he brought out a silver flask. ‘Now, don’t worry – there’s no alcohol in this. But I do have to warn you that there’s some of the strongest tea in existence. It might draw the teeth out of you – I let it stew in the pot.’
‘It sounds perfect to me.’ And it was. He unscrewed the cap and poured her a measure, still steaming hot. Strong, invigorating, its warmth reaching her very fingertips.
‘I’ve got some antiseptic wipes, if you want to take care of those cuts,’ he said, indicating her scratched hands.
‘That’d be great.’ She accepted these, thoroughly cleansing the wounds, wincing a little at one section where the skin had been pared back at the edge of her thumb.
‘Now I’m going to ask you the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question… What brought you to the ghyll?’
‘I’m having a look at the area. I’m on a project.’
‘Project, yeah?’ A certain sourness had crept into his voice. ‘What kind of project, if you don’t mind my asking?’
‘I don’t mind you asking. My daughter went missing in Ferngate, two years ago. Her name was Stephanie Healey. You must have heard of her?’
Jed’s face fell. ‘Stephanie Healey. The girl who vanished on the A-road. Of course I remember her. I’m the guy who spoke to her before… I spoke to her on the road. I saw her. I offered her a lift, in the rain.’ He suddenly looked stricken. ‘I helped out in the search. We scoured the woods, the ghyll, everything.’ He suddenly clutched her hands; the gesture was meant to be a comfort, but it was too abrupt, and Georgia’s heart leapt as he lunged forward. ‘I thought your face was familiar. I remember you, at the time. I was at the vigil.’
‘I don’t remember a gamekeeper… I do remember Sir Oliver, though. He was very kind.’
‘Spent a fair bit of time on the ground, himself. With the search and that.’
‘I’m hoping to be able to speak to him. But he’s busy around about this time, it seems.’
‘Aye – he’s got a lot on. Not just with the university. Busy man. I have a job of getting hold of him myself.’
‘The hall is miles away from here… I had no idea that the grounds stretched so far out.’
‘Oh, the family’s owned the land around here for generations. Name’s in the Domesday Book, or so they tell me. Old, old money.’ He started the car, and reversed the Land Rover back up the way it had come, before it reached a passing place buttressed by limestone walls. Georgia was alarmed at how quickly he turned the Land Rover in such a tight space, instinctively recoiling as the jagged tessellations of the walls surged towards her in the mirror. But Jed Mulrine must have done this hundreds, if not thousands of times; without the vehicle lurching or coming to a sudden halt, he spun the wheel confidently and soon had the Land Rover heading back up the uneven road. ‘Be a bit bumpy here – though you’ll be used to that, given what happened this morning!’
Georgia nodded, taking in the rest of the capful of tea so as not to spill it. She screwed the top back on the flask. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I’ve got a shepherd’s hut just up the road a-ways – you can get your breath there, then I’ll drive you back.’
‘I don’t need to stop, really. It’s fine if you take me back.’
‘It’s totally up to you – I can’t get onto the A-road back the way we came; we’ll have to head back up this way. My shed’s on the way. If you like, I might even be able to call in at the hall, see if Sir Oliver can see you.’
Georgia failed to keep a plaintive note entirely out of her voice. ‘Really? That would be good, if you could manage that.’
‘Then we’ll call the police. About the person shoving you in.’
‘No…’ Georgia hesitated. Would Hurlford even waste time sending someone up here? Would it point to some instability on her part, chasing phantoms that weren’t there? She was sure of it, though. She was sure she had been pushed. ‘Maybe I was wrong. It seems strange that someone could do that… The fall, the shock…’
‘I understand. Still. I’ll also have to make note of what happened in the ledger. Health and safety – sorry, them’s the rules. I am responsible for the land.’ The jocular note was gone from Jed’s voice, all of a sudden. It brooked no argument, and Georgia did not offer one.
‘I understand. If you could call through to the hall – I wanted to speak to Sir Oliver only briefly.’
‘There’s a do on up there, soon,’ Jed said. ‘He is around, but you’ll be lucky. He takes a hands-on approach to most things. Some of the time I’m having to check something out in the woods, and he’s in there before me with the dogs. Sometimes I wonder why he bothers paying me…’ He grinned. ‘I shouldn’t have said that out loud, should I?’
‘I wouldn’t mention that at your next appraisal,’ Georgia said, smiling. ‘I don’t even know if I said thank you, back there. I guess you saved my life. That’s no exaggeration.’
Jed raised a hand. ‘You’d be surprised the number of times I’ve done it. Some of the time, they even do it deliberately. I’ve found bodies, there. I guess you don’t need to hear that.’ He flushed suddenly. ‘Anyway, you’re lucky. I was only there because I was told a deer had gotten itself stuck there, would you believe. No sign of any deer. Then Saoirse must have heard you calling – she set straight off. I didn’t hear a thing. If you need to thank anyone, thank the dog.’
‘I already have. She’s obedient, isn’t she? A monster, but obedient.’
‘Yep – she was part of a litter that was meant for the cops. I kept her for myself, though – bit naughty of me, but she was clearly the best of the bunch. Got to have a dog, in this job. Three years old, would you believe?’
‘Still more growing to go? Christ, on her hind legs she’s nearly as tall as you are.’
‘Yep! I could put a saddle on her, I reckon. Save me the petrol in this wagon.’
The hilly road levelled off, and the ground flattened again, revealing sparse farmland with flocks of sheep within. There was no sign of another human being out there. Even the trees seemed less civilised in their form, out here in the open – stunted against the wind, misshapen somehow. It was a warm, bright day, but a sharp wind rocked the Land Rover.
‘Must be about two years now since that girl of yours went missing,’ Jed said, almost too quietly to be heard over the engine. ‘To ask a silly question… you bearing up?’
‘Kind of. In a manner of speaking.’
‘Can’t be easy. I can’t imagine what it’s like… I don’t want to imagine what it’s like. I’ve got a boy myself. Probably round about the same age. The idea of him going missing… You got other kids?’
Georgia swallowed. ‘No. She’s my only daughter.’
‘Shocking. I can’t say…’
‘Say what?’
‘Well, there’s something about it doesn’t fit right with me. I’ve heard the stories – and stop me if this upsets you – I’ve heard the stories about, you know, her maybe having taken her own life.’ He swallowed, and narrowed his eyes into the road ahead.
‘Of course,’ was all she said in reply.
‘They searched the ghyll. I was there, advising the cops. Hurlford – that’s the detective’s name, isn’t it?’
‘One of several. They had hundreds of officers working on that case. So he told me, anyway.’
‘I could believe it. Hurlford, that was the lad, though – he coordinated the search. We didn’t find anyone in the ghyll. Had you fallen, you’d have most likely ende
d up in the cavern below.’
‘But the two potholers, who died – they were caught in the tunnel leading to the beck, weren’t they?’
‘They were – but that was by design. I haven’t been down there, but I saw the footage they broadcast – it’s a narrow path, but some people like to go into those caverns, those tight spaces. It’s a hell of a space to end up in by accident. You know this, I’m sure.’
Georgia paused. ‘Go on,’ she said, finally.
‘It’s possible, I conceded that. Totally possible that your girl, somehow, chose to walk up that hill, in the dark, in the middle of a storm. And maybe she went into the ghyll, and maybe she ended up being washed into the river, with the rain and all. It is possible. But it’s not bloody likely.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Not saying anything. I have no idea what happened.’
‘So, why say it’s unlikely she ended up in the ghyll, then?’
‘Because it’s something that bothers me… and you’re not from here, are you?’
‘No. We live in Manchester.’
‘So, I’m guessing you’ve come here for a look around. To find out a few things.’ Mulrine took a deep breath. ‘Look, this is my way of saying – I don’t think your daughter ended up in the ghyll. I don’t think she went into the woods. I think something else happened to her – on that road, back there.’ He jerked a thumb behind him. ‘I think she might have met with some harm.’
‘What do you mean by harm? What do you think happened? Don’t hold back – tell me. I’ll listen to anything, any idea anyone has. It’s not like I haven’t gone through every scenario.’
‘What I’m saying is I think someone took her. From the road. Probably in a car. Whatever happened to her, it happened far away from here.’
Georgia said nothing. In the back, the dog snorted in its sleep.
‘We’re here,’ he said. ‘Just up ahead.’
10
Turns out, she knew Cornfed, too. From the party. I was thrilled at the discovery. We clung to each other like sisters. Or what I imagine sisters are like. Then she told me there was a job going.