Ravens Gathering

by Graeme Cumming

  Martin? Martin? He didn’t recall a Martin being mentioned before, so this wasn’t likely to be an old work colleague or university friend who just happened to call in.

  Martin was shaking his head. “No thanks.” He gestured to the sink. “Perhaps a glass of water, if that’s all right.” His questioning gaze passed between the two of them.

  Well, he was polite, Ian thought. He’d give him that. A handshake, a humble request for water and not a raid on the drinks cabinet. Was that meant to throw the cuckolded husband off the scent?

  “Help yourself,” Tanya told him. “The glasses are in the cupboard above the drainer.”

  Ian didn’t know whether to commend him for making himself at home so quickly, or rage at him. His indecision took away his options.

  “You won’t believe what we’ve just seen.” Tanya pulled a chair out and sat at the table. She looked at Ian expectantly. He wasn’t sure what she was expecting: for him to look at her wide-eyed and beg her to impart her wondrous news, or for him to simply sit down. He opted for the latter, and she took it as the equivalent of him having done the former. “We’ve seen the reason for the village getting its name.”

  It was fair to say that she still had the ability to surprise him. He acknowledged that to himself as he gazed back at her in bewilderment. Was this just an elaborate distraction technique, he wondered.

  As his brain fought to process this apparently off-the-wall revelation, he was aware of Martin sitting down as well. He sat with his back to the hallway, while Tanya had hers to the dining room and he, Ian, was facing her.

  Clearly not happy with the response she was getting from her husband, Tanya turned to Martin. “Tell him,” she urged. “Tell him what we saw.” Ian realised that there was something different about the way she was talking. One of the great attractions Tanya had always held for him was her energy and enthusiasm. It had waned in recent months, though he could understand that. Even so, she seemed to have a natural inclination to be forceful in her words, voice and actions. Some of that was coming across now, but Ian recognised that there was an edge to it somehow. He couldn’t put his finger on it but, for the first time since he had spotted the pair of them in the yard, he stopped thinking about himself and how he was reacting, and began to consider her.

  “It was probably nothing,” Martin said dismissively.

  “That’s not what you said on the way back.”

  “I’ve had a bit more time to think. I probably over-reacted.” There was something about the way he spoke that Ian found unconvincing.

  The look on Tanya’s face suggested she was thinking along the same lines. But instead of arguing with him, she turned to Ian. “I’ll tell you then.”

  He wasn’t sure whether she was too wrapped up in her experiences in the woods, or if he was managing to hide his feelings better than he thought. Whatever the truth, she seemed to be oblivious to any concerns he might have been showing about her turning up with this stranger in tow. Oddly enough, as she related her story, the concerns about Martin’s designs on his wife – or, more importantly, hers on him – started to fade. And as she explained in vivid detail about the appearance of the ravens, he became so engrossed in her words that any jealousy or suspicion rapidly disappeared.

  It was certainly very strange. Ian had spent many hours – probably the equivalent of weeks over time – roaming through the woods. It was one of the great pleasures he’d gained from moving up here. The knowledge that it was his own land, and he could walk for miles on it was a great satisfaction to him. When Tanya described the clearing, he knew exactly where she meant. He’d seen the tyre swing himself several weeks ago, and the remains of the fire. His initial reaction had been one of annoyance, though he recognised that it was fuelled in part by concern for the kids that had lit the fire. What if it had got out of hand? What if it had spread and they’d been hurt? He’d had a strong urge to cut the tyre down. That’d let them know he was on to them. Hopefully it would make them wary of coming back and doing something stupid again.

  When he’d calmed down, he’d realised he was over-reacting. He was thinking like a father – something he wasn’t used to. But he thrust that idea away, afraid of where it might take him. Instead he focused on the positives. Hadn’t he lit fires in woods when he was a boy? No one had died then. They hadn’t even burnt their fingers on the matches. It was all part of growing up. And if there was an accident... Well, things like that happened in life. And if it didn’t happen here, it could just as easily happen somewhere else. In centuries past, it had been part of Sherwood Forest. The forest might be a fraction of the size it had been, but there was still plenty of woodland in these parts.

  So he’d left things as they were, and hoped the kids would come back and enjoy themselves out in the fresh air instead of sitting at home watching TV. He’d also mentioned his findings to anyone he bumped into in the village. It wouldn’t do any harm for the word to get around, and for parents to be a little more attentive. Then he’d made a point of walking up that way at least once a week in the mean time.

  So he’d been up at the clearing only a few days ago. No sign of ravens, though. It did briefly cross his mind that Tanya might be making it up. Especially when she went on to explain that she had felt so frightened she’d needed to hold Martin’s hand for comfort as they walked back. Was that just an excuse? Her face suggested not, and he clung to that hope, pushing all thoughts of her infidelity from his mind.

  Getting to his feet, he went round the table and sat at her side, his arm around her shoulder, holding her tightly. “I’m sure Martin’s right. It was probably just one of those quirky things that happen. When you’ve had some time away from it, the chances are you’ll wonder what the fuss was about.”

  She looked up at him, and he knew his words could have been misinterpreted. She was still processing them, so he had time yet. He leaned in, pressing his lips to the side of her head. They were just above her ear, close enough for her to hear him clearly.

  “I love you, Tanya. I won’t let anything hurt you.” He squeezed her for emphasis, and was surprised to feel her hand stroke the back of his.

  “Thank you, Ian.” She pulled back and smiled at him. “Now, I suppose you’re wondering who our guest is.”

  The tenderness of the moment had passed, but Ian was grateful for it all the same. He looked expectantly at Martin, although he knew it would be Tanya who explained things. Which she did, of course. He felt himself torn again by his emotions. Annoyance that Tanya had made a decision to let the room without consulting him; relief that they would receive some income from the transaction; surprise that Patrick had another son; and gratitude when Martin offered to take them to the pub for something to eat.

  “It’s getting on a bit now,” he told them. “It sounds like you’ve both had a trying day. You’ve been good enough to offer me a place to stay, and it seems like the very least I can do.” He looked Ian in the eye. “I really am very grateful for your hospitality.”

  Perhaps, Ian thought to himself, I’ve misjudged him. There had been times recently when he’d wondered if he was becoming paranoid. He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost seven o’clock and he was feeling hungry. Outside, it was growing very dark.

  Fourteen

  When Matthew returned from The Major Oak, he and Patrick had tried to focus on their work, but it soon became clear that neither of them could concentrate. If they carried on as they were doing, they realised they’d have to knock the wall back down and start from scratch. So they did the sensible thing: they packed up and went home.

  Colin was excited. An ambulance and the return of a long-lost brother were almost too much for him. Twice they had to steer him to the bathroom before he had an accident. It was like dealing with a small child. Frustrating. And all the more so because you want them to have the best life they can. Unfortunately, the best life Colin could have would fall way short of anything they could possibly hope for.

  They learnt very litt
le from him. The vague references to his meeting Martin at the pub gave no clues as to what had been said between them. Of more concern was what Colin might have told Martin. The chances were that he had said nothing of consequence, but they couldn’t be sure. There was no indication that Colin had experienced the verbal abuse Martin had referred to.

  That was to be expected. Most of the time it went straight over Colin’s head – and the rest of the time it was forgotten about ten minutes later. Just like a child that falls over and hurts himself. The shrieks of pain suggest a red hot blade has sliced into him, and yet minutes later he can be playing happily with his Lego or Matchbox cars as if nothing has happened. So it was with Colin – whether the pain was physical or emotional. In a sense, it was to be welcomed. The lad didn’t suffer the anguish others might if they were subjected to the same levels of regular abuse. But it also meant that he didn’t know enough to avoid it happening again.

  “Do you think I should go down to The Oak and find out what happened?” Matthew asked his father during one of Colin’s toilet breaks.

  Patrick shook his head. “No. You might bump into Martin.”

  “Norma said she’d tell him she had no rooms.”

  “That doesn’t mean he won’t be there. He might decide to stay until the last bus, and the pub’s as good a place as any to stop.”

  Technically, the licensing hours were such that the pub should have closed between two-thirty and six, but Norma often kept it open throughout the afternoon. It was quiet, and the locals didn’t cause any trouble. The police turned a blind eye on the very odd occasion they passed through the village. Some coppers liked a pint outside of normal hours, so it was useful to keep a few landlords and -ladies onside.

  Norma had been happy to go along with Matthew’s request. She hadn’t been very happy about Martin’s behaviour at lunch time. Though she sympathised with his defence of Colin, she also recognised that he wasn’t likely to stay around, whereas the people he had upset in the pub were. The most important thing was to keep the punters happy.

  But it was one thing to tell him he couldn’t have a bed for the night. Quite another to bar him from the pub altogether. So Matthew realised that it was possible his brother could be in the pub. He didn’t pursue that idea any further.

  Anne and Janet came in from work just after six. It wasn’t unusual for Patrick and Matthew to be back before them. They started early in the morning, and they only worked down the road. It was unusual to find dinner on the table. So they knew something was wrong.

  Fifteen

  Outside it was already getting dark. In the barn it was gloomier still. That was good. He liked it that way. It made him feel comfortable. At home.

  The farmhouse had been an option. When he arrived earlier in the day, he had considered using it. But there were things he would need to conceal, and the barn offered much more opportunity for that. From what he had seen of the farm’s residents, they were unlikely to even wander in the direction of the barns, let alone come along and inspect the contents. Not like the Sullivans. They were real farmers, and probably spent more time on the land or in these outbuildings than they did in their home.

  He was disappointed about the Sullivans. He’d hoped they were still living here. They’d been such good sports when he was last in the village. He smiled to himself. It wasn’t an attractive smile. In the wrong company, it could be terrifying. A fact he was well aware of.

  The McLeans were a different matter altogether. They were soft, bound only by the material trappings they had acquired. It would be too easy to break them. No challenge at all. He doubted he would even bother with them. They provided a place to rest. A place to hide things. That would be their main purpose. He did contemplate using the woman. She was attractive, and she knew it. He was in no doubt that she was used to getting her own way. There would be significant entertainment value in having her squirm as he used her body to satisfy his needs, and made her realise that she wouldn’t always get her own way. He hadn’t completely dismissed the idea yet, but having studied her for a while today, he wondered whether she might actually be aroused by him physically abusing her. If she felt that in only a small way, it would defeat the object.

  Overhead, there was a rustling noise. His sharp eyes pierced the darkness and he saw the ravens. Thirteen of them perched on a beam in the roof. They waited patiently, occasionally shifting uncomfortably.

  His arrival in the village had been noted. Whether the villagers fully appreciated the implications of his arrival was yet to be established. But it wouldn’t take long. No more than a couple of days. By then it should be time for him to move on. He had important work to do while he was here, and that work would start soon.

  He had business to attend to in the village tonight. It had been years since he was last here. They had felt his presence before. They would feel it again this time.

  Sixteen

  “How’s Peter?”

  It was a question on a lot of lips, but Norma got it in first.

  Bob Lambert had just walked in and was standing at the bar. Medium height, slightly overweight, and with a mop of curly hair, light brown, but generously sprinkled with grey. His ruddy face looked strained. He’d obviously been home and changed before coming here, but his clothes had clearly been selected because of their proximity rather than their coordination. Green Barbour jacket over a purple jumper and black shirt, the tail of which was covering the front of his jeans. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that the buttons of the shirt were probably not lined up properly either.

  He shook his head despondently. “I don’t know. I had to leave him there. His mum and dad are at the hospital, but there was nothing I could do.” He looked sheepish as he added: “And the cows needed milking.”

  Norma smiled reassuringly. “No one’ll think badly of you for dealing with that. Least of all Peter.”

  “It doesn’t seem right, though.” He glanced around the pub. It was busier than it had been at lunch time, though still quieter than Norma hoped it would be later. “I can’t say it seems right being in here when Peter’s still in Intensive Care.”

  “What can you do, though?” Norma pointed out, partly to continue with her reassurance, but also to improve the chances of him staying and buying a few drinks. She was already pushing a glass up to the optics, ready to give him his usual tipple. “If his parents are with him, that’s all he’s going to need. Having you hovering in the wings is just going to make him more anxious.”

  “If he’s even aware.”

  “That’s nothing new.” Apart from regular trips to the Gents, Walter hadn’t moved since lunch time. He was still in the corner of the bar, and yet again he was cackling to himself.

  “Ignore him,” Norma said quietly as she placed the whisky in front of Bob.

  “I have been for the last forty years,” Bob told her. “I’m not likely to change now.”

  “Is he in a coma then?” Gregory Williams asked. He was further along the bar, perched on a stool. Like everyone else in the pub, he had taking a keen interest in Bob’s arrival. “I mean, you said: ‘If he’s aware’.”

  The farmer looked witheringly at him. “Don’t be daft. He’s had his legs run over. Or is that where you keep your brain?” He gestured in the general direction of Gregory’s thighs.

  “’Bout right,” someone said, raising a few chuckles.

  Ignoring the laughter, Bob turned to take in his audience properly. When he was sure he had their attention, he spoke again. “Peter’s lost both his legs. They’re keeping him sedated to block out the pain, and I reckon he’s just been unconscious most of the time because he’s lost a lot of blood.” Norma watched him as his eyes roamed around the bar. He clearly wanted to get his message across. “I’ve seen a lot of shit over the years, but nothing like this. Believe me, you wouldn’t want to have to see it.” He glared in Walter’s direction. “And I don’t want to hear anyone making fun out of it either.”

  Walter grinned back at him, the ga
ps between his teeth giving him a macabre appearance. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes mocked all the same.

  Scowling, Bob turned back to the bar and took up his drink. He was tense, and it wouldn’t take much to set him off, Norma reckoned. She added a measure to a fresh glass and put it in front of him. “Have this one on me,” she said. It was an investment. If he drank, it’d soothe his nerves. Then he’d calm down and stay for a few more.

  The pub had two entrances. One was at the side of the building, to the right of the bar as you stood facing into the room. This was the door you used if you came in from the street, as Bob just had. It was only a few steps away from the pavement. If you arrived by car, it was more likely you’d use the door at the back of the building, which led straight in from the car park. That door was just beyond the corner of the bar where Walter was sitting.

  She assumed it was because she was preoccupied with Bob that she didn’t notice anyone come in through the back door. It was only when she heard a polite cough that she realised someone else was at the bar. Instinctively, she turned towards the new customer, the smile forming on her lips faltering as she recognised him.

  Adam Hawthorn was tall. She guessed nearly six and a half feet. He had sandy-brown hair that was long enough to cover his ears, but didn’t come anywhere near his shoulders. It lay flat on his head, strangely lifeless and yet not unattractive. He was slim, carrying no sign of extra weight. His jaw was strong and quite long. Not square, but borderline rectangular. He wore a canvas jacket, jeans and a loose fitting shirt. It was difficult to tell his age. He could be anything between thirty and fifty.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. She just didn’t see him that often and always felt there was something odd about him. He rarely came into the village, and she couldn’t recall when she’d last seen him in the pub.