Ravens Gathering

by Graeme Cumming

  Her recovery was quick, and the smile returned easily. Fortunately, he didn’t appear to have noticed. Nor did he seem to be aware of the interest his presence was causing among the other regulars. It was surreptitious, but it was there all the same.

  “I’ll have a pint, please, Norma.” He didn’t have a loud voice, or a quiet one. It seemed very neutral. Like his accent really – or lack of one. Although she knew he lived locally, she didn’t know if he came from these parts originally or if, like her, he was an outsider.

  She gestured to the three pump handles. “Any preference?” Inside, she felt uncomfortable. There was obviously something about his presence that was making her feel that way. But she hid it well, keeping her smile in place as she asked him.

  He paused, studying the options carefully. It was almost as if he was unfamiliar with the process. Eventually he gestured to the nearest pump. “That’ll be fine,” he said at last, giving her a shy smile.

  Pulling the pint felt awkward. Under ordinary circumstances, Norma would use the time to have a chat with a newcomer. It was a good chance to get to know a bit about them, make them feel welcome, and gauge whether they were likely to spend much money while they were in. Instead, she found herself watching the beer dribbling into the glass and wishing it would hurry along. An occasional glance up at Adam was as close as she got to dialogue. The fact that the noise level in the pub had also gone down since his arrival made her feel even more self-conscious.

  When she finally handed him his pint and he’d paid, it was a relief to see him wander over to a table in a quiet corner of the bar and sit down.

  For the next few minutes, she was distracted by customers who needed refills. Each one seemed to use their moments at the bar to ask about the visitor. They didn’t come right out and say anything. They would just give her an inquiring look and roll their eyes in the direction of the corner table. And her response was equally silent but expressive. Like them, she hadn’t got a clue what Adam was doing here.

  Because the more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that Adam Hawthorn had never been in The Major Oak. Certainly not in the sixteen years of her tenure.

  Adam was from a farm that was just outside the village. Norma had never had cause to visit the farm, and didn’t know anyone else who had either. For that matter, she had no recollection of even seeing it. She just knew it was out there somewhere. For most of the time, the farm and the Hawthorn family were largely forgotten about. On the very rare occasions when they put in an appearance, talk did start, and it could last for a few days. But interest would dwindle, and they slipped from people’s consciousness.

  Now their consciousness had been provided with a reminder, though, Norma could be confident of how much talk there would be for the next few days. And she could understand why. Unlike the other three farms, theirs appeared to be run only by the three members of the Hawthorn family – Adam, his wife Jennifer and his sister, Claire. The lack of outside help only served to make them more of a curiosity.

  So they were a strange bunch, and she couldn’t help wondering what had brought Adam in tonight.

  A glance over at the table, and she could see he was leaning back against the nearest wall, apparently staring into space. His height made him an awkward looking figure, his knees bent upwards, his shoulders well clear of the back of the chair. The pint was virtually untouched, as if he had no real interest in it.

  Around the bar, conversation had picked up a little. The regulars seemed to be getting over their initial reaction to his arrival. She couldn’t help but compare it to the incident at lunch time. The quiet descending over the pub when Martin Gates had come in. Odd really. Two similar instances in the same day. A bit like buses. You wait for one for ages. She wondered when the third might turn up.

  At seven o’clock, her barman, Andy, arrived. “Good day?” Andy asked her as he nodded greetings to a few familiar faces.

  “So-so,” she said distractedly.

  He took an order and started to pull a pint. “Heard about the accident at Lodge Farm?”

  She saw Adam’s head lift slightly, as if he was responding to Andy’s words. He suddenly seemed to pay more attention to the people around him.

  “I think you’ll find everyone has,” Norma told him. She gestured towards an unusually dressed figure. “Bob’s over there. He’ll give you chapter and verse on it when he’s had a few more whiskies.”

  “Bit buttoned up at the moment then?”

  “Yeah, but you know what he’s like. Makes out he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders at the best of times. Get some drinks down him and he’ll lighten up.”

  “Not exactly light entertainment, is it?” Andy pointed out.

  “No.” She made a discreet signal towards Walter. “Not that everyone sees it that way.”

  Andy nodded his understanding. “I’ll keep an eye on that. Don’t want any trouble.”

  She hesitated at that, wondering whether to mention what had happened at lunchtime. Then the decision was taken from her hands as the back door opened again and Martin Gates walked into the room.

  Seventeen

  “It’s like The Slaughtered Lamb in here.”

  Martin looked at Ian. “Like what?”

  “The Slaughtered Lamb,” Tanya repeated for him, shaking her head. “I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about the first time he said it.”

  “You make it sound like I say it all the time.”

  “Only when you come in here, or if you’re talking about having been in here.” She seemed to be speaking patiently, but Martin sensed that it was put on. He was aware of tension beginning to return.

  They’d been in the pub for five minutes now, and were sitting at the table Martin had used earlier. Drinks were in front of them, and food was ordered. The evening menu was only marginally less limited than at lunchtime, so it hadn’t taken long to reach decisions about what to eat.

  “Well put me out of my misery,” Martin prompted. “The Slaughtered Lamb?”

  “Haven’t you seen American Werewolf in London?” Ian seemed almost incredulous at this idea.

  “American what?” Whilst he had nothing against cinema, he wasn’t exactly a connoisseur.

  “...Werewolf in London,” Ian repeated.

  “In the film,” Tanya went on briskly, “two Americans go into a pub on the Yorkshire Moors called The Slaughtered Lamb, and when they do everything suddenly goes quiet. All conversation stops, and the locals just stare at them.”

  Martin grinned and nodded. Tanya might be fed up with the comparison, but hearing it for the first time, he completely understood where Ian was coming from. He let his gaze drift around the bar, taking everything in. The locals were talking to each other again, but it was very subdued. There hadn’t been complete silence when they first came in, but the drop in volume had been almost tangible.

  “And much as I find it irritating that Ian keeps coming up with the same comment time and again,” Tanya continued, “I have to agree with him. It was just like this the first time we came in. What would that be now, Ian? Three years?”

  “Close enough. It nearly put us off moving.”

  “You, dear. It nearly put you off moving. I didn’t want to come to this dump in the first place.” Martin noted that she was complaining, but not loudly enough for any of the other customers to hear. She was clearly happy to put Ian in his place, but not to upset the locals.

  Ian looked down, clearly stung by her words, and possibly embarrassed at being spoken to like this in front of a stranger.

  Their table was circular, and they were seated in a triangular formation, so each of them could see the others without turning their heads. That said, Martin was aware of Tanya looking directly at him while her husband’s attention was on his navel. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. For now, he didn’t really want to confront it either.

  “Surely things must have changed since you moved here,” he said.

  “You’re jo
king. You saw what it was like when we came in.”

  “I thought that was because of me.”

  Ian looked back up at this. “But I thought you were Patrick’s son.”

  “I am. But I’ve been away for a long time.” He caught the landlady looking at him, and smiled back at her. She moved her head as if she was simply scanning the room, pretending not to notice. “My reception at lunchtime was pretty similar.”

  “Looks like we’re all outsiders then,” Tanya suggested. Or was it more a case of her being suggestive. There was definitely something still there in her eyes.

  “Give it time,” he said. “They’ll grow to accept you.”

  “What about you?”

  “I doubt I’ll be here long enough.” And he didn’t want them to pursue that, so he shifted the conversation to Ian. “You said it nearly put you off, but I take it there were still plenty of attractions. Tanya told me you’d moved up from Oxford. I’ve never been, but I understand it’s a nice part of the world.”

  “It is, yes. But I needed a change.”

  “You definitely got it here.” Tanya’s bitterness was barely below the surface.

  Ian’s eyes flickered towards her, but he continued to speak to Martin. “I did think it’d be nice to settle in and become part of a local community.”

  “And it hasn’t worked out that way?”

  “Like Tanya says, we’re still outsiders. You can see what it’s like here. Surreptitious looks, no eye contact, and a sort of no-man’s land between us and them.”

  Until he said it, Martin hadn’t realised, but Ian was right. There was a definite gap between them and anyone else in the bar. The distance to the nearest other customer was around five feet, and the same space applied with a number of people so there was a theoretical corridor that arced its way around them.

  “The thing is, it’s the same in the Post Office, and even in the street. People cross the road when you’re approaching, or rush to get in their cars, anything just to be off the street by the time you get near.”

  “You don’t think you’re being paranoid, do you? They might just be shy.” Martin was playing with him. He knew exactly what Ian was talking about. “Besides, that’s village life. Most of the people who live here have never lived anywhere else. They don’t know any different, and anything that is different can be quite scary to them.”

  “I know what you’re saying. And I did come prepared for it to a certain extent. But I never expected it to be this bad. There’s something else as well.” He hesitated, and Martin watched him apprehensively as he searched for the words. “It’s not just about us. I think it’s something to do with the farm.”

  “The farm?”

  “It’s got a history.”

  “A history nobody bothered to tell us about until after we’d bought the bloody place,” Tanya put in. “I still think we should sue the estate agents. It could be our way out.”

  “We don’t have a leg to stand on,” Ian said with a firmness Martin suspected was truer to his character than the comparatively subservient role he seemed to play with Tanya.

  “So what...?” Martin started to ask, but was interrupted by the barman arriving with two plates of food.

  “Steak and chips?”

  Ian gestured to the empty space in front of himself.

  “Scampi and chips?” Which went to Martin, before the young man darted back to the kitchen to collect Tanya’s food.

  “What are you having with your chips?” Martin asked drily.

  “I know, it’s bloody limited here, isn’t it?” But she smiled at him, in spite of her irritation. He had to admit, it was a very attractive smile.

  When the barman was sure they had everything they needed, he left them to their meal. Satisfied he was out of earshot, Martin went back to the question he’d been about to ask.

  “What’s this about the farm having a ‘history’?”

  “I assumed you’d know,” Ian said, between mouthfuls of what he later described as cardboard rather than meat. “Unless you’ve been away for twenty-five years.”

  “I was young when I left, but not that young. I was eight twenty-five years ago. I left when I was eighteen.”

  Ian gave him a puzzled look. “Surely you know about the suicides then?”

  Eighteen

  “Suicides?” Martin was careful to keep his voice down. He didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention. “How many?”

  “Two.”

  “And these happened twenty-five years ago?”

  “Well, one of them did. The other was a couple of years later.”

  Martin hadn’t realised there was tension building up in him until it started to ease. “When I spoke to my dad this afternoon, he mentioned that one of the Sullivans had killed himself. I hadn’t realised there was more than one.”

  “Oh yes. Husband and wife. Him first and then her, both in the same house.”

  Unexpectedly, Martin felt the tension coming back. There was something about the scenario that seemed familiar. He just couldn’t put a handle on it yet.

  “What else do you know about it?”

  Ian took a long look around the room while he chewed on his meat. As he did, Martin realised the story must also involve the living, and he was checking to see if any of them were present. Apparently satisfied they were safe, he swallowed and started talking again.

  “Maybe you’ll remember Phil Sullivan?” It was more a question than a statement, so Martin shook his head. The name was vaguely familiar, but as his dad had worked on the Sullivan farm since before Martin was born, that was only to be expected. “What about David or Paul?”

  “Only because my dad mentioned them this afternoon.”

  “They owned and ran the farm until I bought it. But they inherited it from their dad, Phil. He killed himself in nineteen sixty-four. Shotgun, apparently. Both barrels.”

  “That’s enough detail,” Tanya complained. “I am trying to eat, you know.” She looked at Martin. “He watches too many films,” she explained. “Just loves the blood and gore.”

  “Any idea why he did it?”

  Another furtive look around the bar, then Ian leaned forward and spoke even more quietly. “Apparently, he found his wife in bed with their son-in-law.”

  Something prickled in Martin’s head.

  “How do you know this? If the locals won’t talk to you.”

  “They seem to be a bit more talkative in Long Clayford and Thornberry.”

  “Try any of the other villages and you’ll find they’re a lot more talkative,” Tanya added tartly.

  “If we’re going out for a pub meal, we tend to go elsewhere,” Ian said awkwardly. Martin guessed he didn’t want to seem ungrateful for his offer of a meal in The Major Oak. He chose to ignore it, and let Ian deal with his own hang-ups.

  “To be honest it seems even stranger that people from other villages are talking about it. I’d’ve thought the Sullivans would have kept all this to themselves, wouldn’t you?”

  Ian shrugged. “I don’t know. I can only tell you what I’ve been told. Maybe it came from the police? They’re not noted for keeping things as quiet as they should be. And it’s a juicy piece of gossip.”

  “Unless you have to live in the same house,” Tanya pointed out.

  “What happened to the wife and son-in-law?”

  “Don’t know about the son-in-law. The rumour is that he disappeared.”

  “Suspiciously?”

  “Probably not. If I was in his shoes, I’d just want to get as far away from here as possible.”

  “I’ll second that...”

  They ignored her.

  “What if it was true love?” Martin doubted it, but nothing could be discounted.

  “She was old enough to be his mother,” Ian pointed out.

  “Stranger things have happened,” Martin commented, but Ian didn’t bite.

  “True enough,” he acknowledged. “I doubt we’ll ever know what really happened to him. But we
know what happened to her. She was the second suicide. Nineteen sixty-six.”

  “Shotgun?”

  “Overdose. The general consensus was that she couldn’t live with the guilt of what she’d done. To her husband. Her daughter. Even her grandchildren.”

  “Jesus!” Martin said it softly, but with feeling. At first he’d thought only of the sexual triangle between husband, wife and lover. Ian spelling it out like that made him realise just how far-reaching the damage had been.

  “From what I can gather, the experience had an impact on the whole family. David and Paul found their mum and brother-in-law standing over their dad’s body.”

  “In a state of undress.” Tanya seemed to enjoy the scandalous aspect of that.

  “Was it definitely suicide?” Martin was thinking of how it would look to the Sullivan sons.

  “Apparently, the initial suspicion was that he’d been killed by his wife or the son-in-law.”

  “Rumour is that some people still think it’s the case,” said Tanya. Definitely liking the scandal, Martin thought.

  “That may be the rumour,” Ian said patiently, “and there may be people who do think like that, but I’ve been told on several occasions that the police found enough evidence to support the suicide theory.”

  Martin mulled it all over for a few moments, before saying: “I know it must have been a shock to find his wife with the other bloke. But, even if it was his son-in-law, it’s still a bit extreme to top yourself, isn’t it?”

  “I agree. But I’m sound of mind - ”

  “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  “ – and who knows what state he was in? He might have had a load of other things on his mind, and this was just the last straw.”

  “You’re right,” Martin nodded. He forced a smile. It was time to leave this for now. He didn’t want to raise any suspicions. “We’ll never know the truth, will we?”

  “Not at all. But it doesn’t help when you live there.” Ian dropped his cutlery on to the plate with a clatter. He hadn’t cleared it, but Martin couldn’t blame him for leaving the gristly bits of meat or the world-weary peas.