Very briefly, the man’s eyes flickered to his right. Martin followed his gaze and saw two more people he recognised from the farm.
The tall man was moving away from the bar, looking for a seat. Behind him, the woman he’d also seen at the farm came into view. They both seemed to attract some attention. It was supposed to be surreptitious, but he guessed none of the regulars had any experience of surveillance work. Still he could understand why they were so interested. Both the man and the woman were striking. Obviously their height made them stand out, but there was more than that. They seemed to exude...something. He didn’t know what, couldn’t put his finger on it. But they certainly had a presence about them.
And the girl. Well, he was struck once more by her appearance. Not exactly girl-next-door, but no beauty queen either. He struggled to find the right words for her. Something came to mind again, and he knew it was more than inadequate. The way she moved was so natural – why wouldn’t it be? There was no awkwardness, no self-consciousness. Even in a room that was devoid of any other female, where most women would be very aware that they could be the centre of male attention, whether they wanted it or not, she seemed to be completely oblivious of the interest she was provoking.
They found a table close to the back door, and began talking animatedly as soon as they sat down. Martin felt a pang of envy.
“I wouldn’t bother if I were you.” It was Matthew again.
“Just looking,” he replied, hoping he sounded as nonchalant as he wanted to.
“If that’s the case, you might as well take your time. You won’t see her again.”
He looked at his brother. “Why do you say that?”
“She’s a Hawthorn. They live out on the edge of the village. Kindness Farm.”
Not Marie Celeste Farm then, he thought wryly.
“They don’t come into the village much. Last time I saw her must be at least five years ago.”
“So you’re saying I’ll need to stay for another five years to see her again?”
That comment brought sharp looks from both of them.
“I wouldn’t bother,” Matthew said. “Even if they do come into the village, they don’t mix.”
“Keep themselves to themselves?” Martin couldn’t help but smile as he said it. “They probably fit in very well here then.”
From the stony looks he got from them, his sense of humour clearly wasn’t catching.
“Kindness Farm? That’s an odd name, isn’t it?”
“Never thought about it, to be honest. It’s just always been there.”
“And when it’s always been there, you don’t notice,” Martin finished for him. Then added: “But I don’t remember it.”
The expressions on their faces told him they weren’t bothered whether he did or not.
“You wanted to see us,” Matthew repeated. Martin was pleased to note that, this time, there wasn’t quite as hard an edge to his voice as there had been before. Perhaps the distraction of the Hawthorn girl had worked to his advantage.
“We need to talk.”
“So you said, and that’s why we’re here.”
“I mean, really talk. Somewhere a bit less public.”
The glances that passed between Matthew and Patrick told him that they weren’t comfortable about that.
“Why do you think that’s necessary?” It was still Matthew doing the talking. His father seemed to be happy to take a back seat for the moment.
“More importantly, why do I get the impression you think it’s a bad idea?” Martin kept his voice low, but the emphasis on his words was firm enough for the others to recognise his frustration. And, again, he could tell that this only served to make them more wary. Patrick obviously didn’t want to commit himself to any comment. Matthew just looked at him, unseen cogs spinning furiously inside his head.
Silence is uncomfortable. Even when there’s the background noise of chatter, clinking glasses, and balls cracking against each other on a pool table. That silence stretching out between a small group of people can still feel very awkward. But Martin was okay with uncomfortable and awkward. He let it sit there, waiting for the first one to break.
It turned out to be Patrick. “It was a bad idea for you to come back.”
“Any particular reason why?”
More exchanged looks, another silence, though briefer this time.
“You’ve been away for a long time...” Matthew taking up the reins again. But his voice tailed off, as if he recognised the irrelevance of his own words.
“You’re right. I have. And it’s not exactly been the welcome of the Prodigal Son, has it?”
“What do you expect, Martin? You disappear for fifteen years. No letter, no phone call. Not even a post card to let us know you’re alive. And then you turn up unannounced. Did you think we’d just greet you with open arms?” Matthew had also managed to speak quietly enough not to attract any attention from anyone else in the pub.
“No I didn’t. But I also didn’t expect to be shunned.”
“Shunned? We’re here now, aren’t we?”
“Grudgingly,” Martin pointed out, “and only to stop me from going to the house. Because you two are here, but no one else. My own mother doesn’t even want to see me.”
“That’s not true.”
Martin was surprised to hear what sounded like genuine hurt in his father’s voice. Both he and Matthew looked at Patrick, waiting for more of an explanation. But nothing came. He just shook his head.
“Come on, Dad,” Martin urged. “You’ve got to give me more than that.” He waited a few seconds for a response, but with none forthcoming, he decided to push harder. “Let’s face it, considering you’re my parents, neither of you really wanted me around. Why do you think I left?”
Patrick looked down at his pint, apparently deep in thought. He shook his head again after a few moments. “That’s not true either,” he said, his eyes still focused on the beer. There was a tremor to his voice that hadn’t been there before.
“So explain that to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Still apparently unable to face him, Patrick shook his head for a third time. “I just can’t.” Abruptly, he stood up, his pint untouched on the table. He looked at Matthew. Martin saw pleading in his eyes. His brother responded to it, standing as well.
“Please tell me this is a joke.” Martin wanted them to know he was exasperated, and made sure that came across in his tone.
Matthew gave him a shrug. It was the closest to empathy he’d experienced since he’d first seen them. But that was all he gave away. Patrick had already turned and was heading for the door.
“We need to talk.” But even as he said it, he knew he was wasting his time. Matthew was following their father, and this opportunity was slipping through his fingers. He could call out. He could make a scene. But that wasn’t what he wanted, and it wouldn’t help his cause. Instead, he watched the pair of them push their way through to the door.
Frustrated and angry, Martin looked down at the three untouched pints on the table. He didn’t know whether to drink them and drown his sorrows, or hurl them at a wall and hope it would ease some of the tension he was feeling.
He compromised, and decided to drink some of his own beer.
Ten
Norma was beginning to think she’d fallen into an episode of The Twilight Zone, or Hammer House of Horror. First there was the incident with Ron, which had been horribly disturbing, if only because it was so out of character. Much as she looked down on the lads in many respects, she had to acknowledge that their insistence on including Ron in their group had been admirable over the years. It would have been quite easy for them to exclude him without being especially rude about it. His limited communication skills would have provided all the excuse they needed. But they had gone out of their way to make sure he was part of the group.
In any pub, there is banter and piss-taking, and sometimes it can even seem abusive. Ron
had been part of that, both giving and receiving. But the viciousness displayed tonight had been well beyond anything that could have been considered acceptable. She couldn’t help thinking about the comments being made yesterday about Peter Salthouse. And then the abuse heaped on Colin Gates. Something was definitely not right here.
Like the two strangers. It was possible, of course, that their presence was just a coincidence. But it was hard to believe that there was no connection with the events of the last two days. Of course, what it all meant was impossible to guess. She thought back to the Post Office this morning, and wondered whether the conclusions she and others had jumped to could have been off the mark. Could it be that Martin’s return to the village was the coincidence, and these two newcomers were the culprits?
And then there had been Martin’s arrival in the pub tonight, together with the uncomfortable exchange between him and Patrick. It looked as if they had some serious talking to do, but no more than fifteen minutes had passed before Martin was sitting alone with three barely touched pints in front of him. She didn’t know what was going off in the Gates family, but her curiosity was being seriously tested.
As if that wasn’t enough, for the second night in a row, Adam Hawthorn had been in. No awkwardness over the purchase of a pint this time. He’d asked for two orange juices. The second for the girl accompanying him. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but Norma couldn’t recall where or when she might have seen her before. They seemed to attract the attention of the strangers as they crossed to a table. Then again, the girl’s presence automatically attracted attention from a large percentage of the room anyway.
Her head filled with so many thoughts, Norma worked on. As she did, she was briefly aware of Martin Gates leaving, but it was another ten minutes before she had a moment’s pause. When the opportunity came, she cast her eyes around the room. It wasn’t nine-thirty yet, so no one had left for town. In fact, as far as she could see, the only people who were missing were Adam, his girlfriend and the two strangers.
Eleven
Downing three pints had been an attractive prospect. He wasn’t happy about the way he was being treated by his family, but he was also curious about the two men at the bar, especially when they ignored the Hawthorns. That was really weird. He watched them sit on the opposite side of the pub, barely a glance passing between the two tables. But there was a glance. Very curious.
It was tempting to stay and watch them, find out what they were up to. But half way down the first pint, Martin reminded himself of his plan for tonight. Although he was frustrated with the responses from his father and brother, in reality he hadn’t expected the meeting to go well. So his intention had always been to follow them back to the house. A pub wasn’t the place for the conversation he needed to have. And whether they liked it or not, he was determined to have it.
So he’d left the pub and gone after them. He guessed they’d been gone for three or four minutes, which was more of a head start than he’d intended to give them. And when he reached the road, sure enough they were out of sight. He jogged the hundred yards or so to the bend, and saw that they were already past the Post Office and would probably be home in less than a minute. Annoyed with himself for leaving it so long, he picked up his pace. He was wearing trainers, so hopefully they wouldn’t be alerted by the sound of him running.
If they managed to get inside the house before he caught them, there was no guarantee that they’d open the door to him. He knew he needed to catch up before they were off the street.
Between the bend in the road and his parents’ cottage were the shop, the track up to the Sullivan Farm and the first two cottages in the row. By the time they reached the first of the cottages, he was close to the Post Office. As they passed the front door of the second, the shop was behind him.
He was beginning to think he might just make it. They might still be in the process of closing the door by the time he got there, but as long as the door wasn’t completely shut, he could push his way in. At least, that was what he was thinking. Until the two men from the pub appeared in front of him.
They emerged from the opening to the farm track, only ten yards or so ahead of him. Surprised, his initial reaction was to slow down. When they stopped directly in his path, he assumed they must have been just as surprised as he was. Recovering from the shock, he stepped off the pavement so he could pass by. The bald man was nearest to the road. He moved to block Martin. The move was fluid, almost balletic. It was also very effective.
The road was wide enough for two cars to pass, so Martin knew he should be able to get past this man easily enough. He should be able to get past both of them with ease. But even as the bald man stopped moving, he became aware that the other one was also in motion.
Martin had been in fights before. He didn’t like them, and he would avoid them if he could. But when you’re a stranger in a strange land, sometimes you couldn’t avoid them. And when you don’t come out of them too well the first couple of times, you realise that you need to learn from your mistakes. So he’d gone out of his way to learn, and the first thing he’d learnt was how to identify when you’re under threat. He was under no doubt about that right now. The second thing he’d learnt was how to work out whether the prospective opponent knew what they were doing. From the coordination between the men, he felt confident that these two knew exactly what they were doing, and how to handle themselves. The third thing he’d learnt was to establish whether he should fight or run.
Up ahead, he could see his father and brother at their front door. Matthew was turning the Yale key. Even if he could get past these two, he doubted that he could reach the house in time now. So if he chose to fight, there would be no point if his sole objective was to continue with his plan to confront the family. He turned his attention back to the two men.
The man on the road was a similar height to Martin. In the street light, it was difficult to tell, but Martin guessed he was in his forties. He wore jeans and walking boots. The boots could cause some damage if used appropriately. His companion was shorter, maybe five foot eight. He too had jeans on. Martin couldn’t tell whether he was wearing black trainers or boots.
More important than their appearance was their stance. Both men could fight. They seemed to be quite relaxed, but were keeping their bodies deliberately loose, which would allow them the flexibility they might need. If he gave them the reason.
His father and brother entered the cottage, neither looking back in his direction. Had they not heard anything, he wondered. Or had they set this up?
Anger and frustration rose up in him again at that last thought. Was that the case? Had they decided he needed to be given a physical incentive to leave them alone? Just like the three pints had seemed appealing to him a few minutes ago, going up against these two offered some attractions too. Whichever way the fight went, there were benefits. He could use his fists and feet to let off some of the steam building up. Or the pain from the beating would take his mind off the other pain he was feeling.
But neither would resolve anything.
He took a step back. Neither man moved, just watched him. He couldn’t read anything in their eyes. Couldn’t tell if they wanted simply to intimidate him or were itching to give him a good hiding.
Another step back. Still no reaction. It looked like it was just intimidation, then. He might get away with just turning away now and going back the way he’d come. Perhaps to the pub for a while. But he wasn’t prepared to risk that yet. They were still too close. He wouldn’t have time to react if they decided to attack him while he had his back to them.
Taking another step away, he started planning his retreat. A couple more paces would put him a comfortable distance from these two. The question then was what to do when he turned away. Should he walk manfully back to the pub, or should he simply run for it? The latter option had its attractions. He wasn’t worried what they would think of him. And if he was running, he’d get away quicker. But he also knew that wit
h the rush of air past his ears and the pumping of blood around his body he wouldn’t hear them coming up on him as easily if they gave chase. And they looked fit enough to catch him.
He started to lift his foot for another step.
“I think that’s far enough.”
The voice came from behind him. Spinning round, he found another two people facing him. The Hawthorns. The tall man looked over Martin’s head and nodded, a gesture towards the two men behind him.
“Are you going to come quietly, or do my friends here need to help you?”
Twelve
Having the police around had been unsettling. And Martin’s reaction hadn’t been any more reassuring. When Oakes had left, there had been a long uncomfortable silence. Then he’d announced he was going out.
The way he said it and stormed out put Ian in mind of his teenage son, Danny. Not that he was a teenager any more. Danny must be... Oh, twenty-four now. A wave of regret washed over him as he contemplated the fact that he had to think hard to recall his son’s age. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on his past mistakes, though. With an effort, he pushed the thoughts aside and turned to Tanya.
“What do you make of that?” he asked.
He wasn’t looking for a meaningful response, so was surprised at her answer. “He’s hiding something.”
“What, apart from the van in our barn?”
“I’m serious, Ian.” She’d moved closer to him, and reached out with a hand, resting it on his forearm. He was suddenly aware of how vulnerable she looked.
“Tanya, what’s wrong?” He’d removed her hand to allow himself to put his arm around her. It felt strange, after such a long period of coolness between them. But he knew it was the right thing to do, and she’d leaned against him for comfort.
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