A Christmas Wish for the Land Girls

by Jenny Holmes

  Evelyn also saw the solitary light and knew that it came from the Bradleys’ farm. If she reached it she would be safe – there would be help there from Joyce, Alma and Laurence. Her chest ached and her legs weakened. She stumbled as she ran. Suddenly the ground went from under her and she fell.

  Cliff saw her lose her balance and grasp at thin air. He watched her slide on her side down the icy slope and slam against a boulder where she lay motionless. The chase was over. There was no need to hurry now so he slowed his pace and walked steadily towards her.

  In the yard at Black Crag Farm the dogs raised their heads and listened to sounds that could not be heard by the human ear. Suddenly alert, Flint and Patch emerged from their kennel and started to bark. Inside the house, where Joyce sat by the fireside with Alma and Laurence scanned the latest news columns about Stalingrad, there was a break in the women’s conversation.

  ‘What’s set them off?’ Laurence glanced up from his newspaper. The dogs never made a noise unless something was up.

  The barking grew louder and more insistent.

  The racket reached Evelyn where she lay bruised and winded after her fall. Her ribs ached as she tried to raise herself from the ground. She groaned and collapsed forward on to her knees, crying out in pain as Cliff seized her arm and yanked her on to her feet.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ he warned as she tried to resist. Another couple of minutes and she would have made it as far as the farm. There would have been a lot of explaining for him to do. As it was, he would have all on to get her back to Acklam and calm her down.

  ‘Shall I go out and take a look?’ Joyce asked Laurence. Without waiting for an answer she strode out into the yard to find the dogs at the gate, barking out a warning that all was not well.

  ‘What is it?’ She opened the gate and let them out into the lane. Flint and Patch quietened for a moment, pricked up their ears then sped off across the hillside.

  ‘You hear that?’ Cliff snarled at Evelyn as she struggled to escape. His grip on her arm was tight. ‘Now look what you’ve done!’

  The physical pain in her chest as she lashed out with her free arm took her breath away but the mental torment was worse. At last she saw Cliff for what he really was: a brute and a coward who would do anything to get his own way. What lay behind the eyes that once had mesmerized her was nothing but cruelty and selfishness. Making one last effort to free herself, Evelyn called out for help.

  The dogs charged up the hillside and Joyce followed. She saw two figures: a man and a woman. The man was trying to drag the woman behind an outcrop of rock but she resisted. Flint and Patch reached the spot and circled them. They crouched low and bared their teeth.

  The game was up. Cliff let go of Evelyn’s wrist and thrust her in the path of the dogs. She cried out as she fell forward.

  Joyce sprinted up the slope. Evelyn crawled towards her, while Flint and Patch drove Cliff against the rock face and kept him at bay.

  ‘You see, Evie!’ he yelled as he flung his arm towards Joyce. This was what happened when women ganged together; it was why a man should always look for one who wouldn’t answer back. ‘Bugger off with your friend. And good riddance to the pair of you!’

  Joyce saw that Evelyn’s shirt had been ripped. She quickly took off her jersey and wrapped it around her friend’s shoulders then crouched down beside her.

  ‘Here, boys!’ she called to the dogs as Cliff took to his heels.

  He’d gone two paces when Laurence stepped out from behind the rock, shotgun raised.

  Cliff saw him and took a step back. He put up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  Evelyn collapsed against Joyce who held her tight.

  ‘We have to get her back to the farm before she freezes to death,’ Joyce told Laurence.

  ‘You go first; we’re right behind you.’ Laurence gestured with the gun for Cliff to follow.

  So Joyce led a trembling Evelyn down the hill, step by painful step, trying to make sense of her sobbed, garbled phrases. ‘He wouldn’t stop … I tried … he promised, but …’

  With a gun at his back, Cliff had no choice but to go with them. ‘There’s no need for this,’ he said to Laurence, attempting a man-to-man tone. ‘I can tell you what happened without you pointing a damned shotgun at me.’

  Laurence said nothing but kept his gun raised. The dogs stayed to heel, tongues lolling, until they reached the lane then they loped ahead towards Alma, who stood waiting by the gate. When she saw Evelyn, she ran to help.

  ‘What can I do?’ she asked Joyce.

  ‘We’ll need blankets and a hot drink.’

  Evelyn clutched at Joyce’s jumper to keep herself covered, letting out another sob as they entered the yard. The women went into the house, closing the door behind them and leaving Laurence and Cliff out in the yard.

  ‘Put the gun down,’ Cliff said. ‘There’s been a misunderstanding, that’s all.’

  Slowly Laurence lowered the weapon, letting it hang at his side.

  ‘That’s a good chap.’ Cliff watched it warily. ‘Like I said, I’m happy to explain.’

  As Alma flew upstairs for blankets, Evelyn heard Cliff’s muffled voice and clutched at Joyce’s arm. Her eyes were dark with fear and she shook uncontrollably.

  ‘It’s all right – I won’t let him come anywhere near you,’ Joyce promised.

  ‘He wouldn’t stop … I tried …’ His face, his mouth, his hands. She shuddered again.

  Alma came down with the blankets and wrapped them around Evelyn. Outside, the men went on talking.

  ‘What was I supposed to think?’ Cliff demanded. ‘Evelyn’s never said no to me before. And let’s be honest, sometimes women say no just for the sake of it, when really what they mean is yes.’

  ‘How did her clothes get torn?’ Laurence asked in an even tone. The gun swung at his side.

  Cliff paused then launched into an explanation. ‘You might not realize this, but Evie’s got a temper. She flew at me and I had to fight her off – things may have got out of hand for a minute or two. You know what it’s like.’

  Laurence gave no sign that he did know. ‘And how did she end up here?’

  Cliff shrugged. ‘You’d have to ask her. Who knows what goes on in their heads?’

  Laurence’s face was like stone as he listened to Cliff’s version of events. He’d known of Bernard Huby’s son since he was a lad, had occasionally seen him out on the fell snaring rabbits and taking potshots at crows. Cliff was a few years older than Gordon so Laurence had never had much contact with him. After all, the Hubys were not a family with whom he had much in common.

  ‘It’s a load of fuss about nothing.’ Get rid of the gun, damn you.

  ‘That didn’t look like nothing,’ Laurence countered. ‘Not from where I was standing.’

  Inside the house, Evelyn clutched the blankets around her. The voices in the porch continued at a low mumble. She pushed away the tea that Alma offered and stood up. ‘No,’ she said as Joyce tried to prevent her. ‘I won’t let him get away with this.’

  ‘I can’t help it if Evie decides to make a big song and dance,’ Cliff told Laurence. No witnesses, Your Honour. No proof.

  Evelyn flung the door open to challenge him. ‘You’re a cheat and a liar, Cliff Huby. No one believes you.’

  In a sudden flash of fury he swore then swung his fist at her. He missed then wrenched Laurence’s gun from his grasp. Before anyone could react, he pointed it at Evelyn.

  She was beyond all limits, careless of whether she lived or died. She stared him in the eye. ‘Go on, Cliff – do it.’

  His elbow was out at an angle, his finger hooked around the trigger. One pull was all it took.

  Laurence cut through the stifling silence. ‘A gun is no good unless you load it first.’

  Not loaded? Back at the crag Bradley had cornered him with a trick. Damn and blast! Cliff swung out again, this time with the butt of the gun, catching Laurence in the solar plexus. The next moment, Joyce sprang at hi
m from behind. There was a tussle. The gun clattered to the ground.

  Cliff felt Joyce’s arms around his neck, pressing on his Adam’s apple. He broke her grip and threw her to one side then he was off, across the yard, over the wall and into the black shadow of the crag, sprinting for all he was worth.

  Ice ran through Evelyn’s veins. Let the fool go. Let him run off like the coward he was. She allowed herself to be led back inside by Alma.

  Recovering from the blow, Laurence called his dogs to his side then stooped to pick up his gun. He and Joyce set off after Cliff. Soon they too were swallowed up by the looming shadow of Black Crag.

  Up ahead, Cliff heard his pursuers. He sensed the dogs hot on his heels so he picked up a handful of stones and launched them one at a time. One of the dogs gave a sharp yelp, telling him that a missile had found its target.

  ‘What are you going to do when you catch me?’ he yelled down the hill. Bradley’s gun was empty so Cliff wasn’t afraid.

  But he hadn’t reckoned on the dogs. They appeared out of nowhere, leaping the stream with fangs bared, forcing him back against the massive crag. Loose stones rattled down the slope as he kicked out and missed Flint’s head. Without noticing Joyce, he saw that Laurence was closing in on him and that he was trapped. It would be one to one in a bare-knuckle scrap.

  As Cliff raised his fists ready for the fight, Laurence aimed his gun. A shot rang out.

  Joyce stifled a cry of alarm as she realized the gun was loaded after all.

  ‘Bloody liar!’ Pellets ricocheted against the rock and Cliff’s arm went up to shield his face. He jerked back his head to look up at a sheer fifty-foot climb – in total darkness, with two dogs and a man with a gun after him.

  ‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ Laurence called when he saw what Cliff was intending. He reloaded the gun and spoke under his breath to Joyce: ‘Take this and one of the dogs – go back across the stream then climb up round the back of the crag. Keep quiet and don’t let him see you.’

  ‘You’re not me, though.’ With Cliff, bravado always won through. He would show the old bastard that he could climb anything and leave him standing. He would reach the top then head off over the moor. In the morning he would be ready with his excuses and lies.

  Laurence paused to make sure that Joyce had begun to skirt the crag with Flint then he turned his attention back to Cliff, who was feeling for his first footholds, hauling himself up. He climbed quickly and nimbly, hurling insults as he went.

  ‘Come on, old man – why don’t you come after me?’ He reached a ledge and paused to look up again. The sky was dense black, pricked with stars. On he climbed with strength in his legs and arms, still confident that he could outwit his opponent. There was an overhang directly above; one that he would have to work around by edging sideways. Cliff’s foot slipped on an icy patch; the near miss sent an arrow of fear through him but he had firm hand-holds and he managed to right himself then move on.

  Laurence watched silently from below. He kept Patch by his side and waited for Joyce and Flint to appear at the top of the crag.

  ‘Too steep for you, eh?’ Cliff yelled as he glanced down.

  With the gun at the ready, Joyce edged her way forward. She heard Cliff call down to Laurence. She would aim the gun as soon as he came into view, but would she have the nerve to fire it? Crouching beside her, Flint snarled.

  The rock face above Cliff’s head narrowed into a fissure that was too tight for him to squeeze through, damn it, and it stank of sheep dung. It would take another sideways move before he could reach the top. He looked down again at Laurence then felt his way along. A rock dislodged, giving him another scare. The fingers of his right hand slipped from their crevice. Damn it, damn it! Try again.

  Laurence shook his head. The fool would never make it. Joyce hid out of sight and waited.

  Cliff edged back towards the foul-smelling chimney of rock. For the first time he saw that he might have bitten off more than he could chew. What would happen if he tried to squeeze up through the fissure after all?

  Laurence shook his head again.

  Cliff eased himself upwards. He found one small niche for his hand that seemed firm enough. He balanced on his right foot and sought for another foot-hold with the left. He found a ledge but would it take his full weight? Testing it out, in a split second both toe-holds crumbled and gave way. For a full ten seconds he clung on with his hands then lost his grip on the icy surface and slid downwards.

  Joyce heard him cry out. She rushed forward and peered over the edge of the cliff to see Cliff’s body slide then bounce clear of the rock face. A second later she heard him crash to the ground.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘At first I thought the worst had happened.’ Joyce sat with Evelyn and Alma in the kitchen of Black Crag Farm as the first grey streaks of dawn light appeared in the sky. She’d heard Cliff’s agonized cry and seen him fall. Then silence, darkness; nothing.

  Laurence had got to him first and by the time Joyce had scrambled down the slope to join him, he’d been crouched over him, undoing the top button of his shirt. Cliff lay on his back, features contorted into a grimace and his limbs twisted under him.

  In the Bradleys’ kitchen Evelyn pictured the fall, the loss of control, the flash of fear. She hung her head and sobbed.

  Alma put an arm around her shoulder. ‘Hush,’ she murmured. ‘There, there.’ Then she turned to Joyce. ‘You say that Laurence has driven him to Dr Brownlee’s?’

  Joyce nodded. ‘He asked me to let Bernard and Dorothy know. That’s my next job.’

  ‘How bad did it look?’ Evelyn asked between sobs. She was swaddled in blankets, still clutching at her torn shirt, remembering Cliff’s hands on her body and seeing his cruel eyes. ‘Could you tell?’

  ‘He was conscious,’ Joyce replied. ‘He said he couldn’t walk so Mr Bradley and I decided to carry him here, then drive him on to the doctor’s house. Dr Brownlee will be able to check the damage and call for an ambulance if necessary.’ Her weary muscles felt the effect of Cliff’s sagging, broken weight as they’d brought him down the hill.

  ‘I wish …’ Evelyn drew a deep breath. ‘This isn’t the way I wanted it to end.’

  ‘We know that. But try not to worry too much. Doctors can work wonders these days.’ Without really believing it, Joyce spoke words of comfort, hoping to distance herself from the sound of Cliff’s cry as he’d lost his grip and fallen, from the black space, from the fear in his eyes as Laurence loosened his collar. The knowledge that he might never be whole again.

  Joyce rode her bike through the half-light along the dirt track towards Shawcross. She reached Garthside Farm as the cock crowed and the goat began to bray. There was a light on in an upstairs window.

  From his bedroom Bernard watched Joyce lean her bike against a low wall. He knew something bad had happened and it was to do with Cliff, who had set off for Acklam at around noon yesterday and hadn’t returned. Steeling himself, the old farmer got dressed and crept downstairs, careful not to wake Dorothy. He went out without his coat into a world not yet fully light.

  Joyce took a deep breath before delivering the bad news.

  Bernard approached with certainty in his heart. ‘Is it my lad?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘I knew it.’

  ‘He fell from the top of the crag and hurt himself.’

  ‘Not dead?’

  ‘No, he’s alive. Mr Bradley has taken him to Dr Brownlee’s.’

  Bernard didn’t speak but he swayed and had to steady himself against the wall top.

  ‘The doctors; they can work wonders—’

  Cliff’s father put up his hand to stop her. ‘I’ll have to tell his sister.’

  ‘The police will be involved.’

  A slight nod indicated that he’d heard. ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘It started with a fight between him and Evelyn. I don’t know much more than that.’

  In the heavy silence that followed, the beam
from a torch flickered towards them. Dorothy had woken to the sound of her father descending the stairs and had followed him. She’d overheard Joyce say the name ‘Evelyn’ and drawn her own conclusions. ‘What has my silly fool of a brother done now?’ she demanded, her voice trembling. ‘Come on, Dad; spit it out. Whatever it is, we’ll face it together, you and I.’

  ‘And how is Evelyn?’ It was Christmas Eve and Brenda sat with Joyce in the Blacksmith’s Arms in Burnside. She’d headed there soon after saying goodbye to Les at Rixley station and she’d just learned from Joyce that Cliff Huby was likely to be in hospital for weeks, if not months, and that the doctors were still not sure if he would ever walk again. Meanwhile, in a final act of unparalleled spite, his wife Gladys had announced that she was filing for divorce.

  ‘Evelyn is coming round slowly,’ Joyce reported as she looked around for Grace and Una, who were soon to join them. For now, however, the two women enjoyed the warmth of the fire and the comforting hum of conversation at the bar.

  Joyce took her time to reflect on the events of the last few days. ‘I was there in the sitting room at New Hall when she talked to the police.’

  ‘The poor thing.’ Brenda sipped her drink. ‘That can’t have been easy.’

  ‘Yes, and you know that better than most.’ Joyce recalled how Brenda had felt when she’d reported John Mackenzie’s attack to Squadron Leader Jim Aldridge.

  ‘You know it wasn’t your fault; it was his. But you feel …’

  ‘Ashamed?’ Joyce prompted.

  ‘Yes. And guilty.’ Brenda remembered the way mean-spirited people looked at you afterwards – how they made you partly to blame.

  ‘But you know Evelyn. She’s like you – you’re both made of stern stuff. She got through the police interview pretty well.’ Only stumbling when it came to her account of how Cliff had thrown her down and torn her shirt and exposed her flesh, looking to Joyce for support while the police sergeant had written it down. ‘Then she had to sit through me giving my version of what happened to Cliff at Black Crag. Geoff stood by with stiff whiskies all round after the police left. He says Evelyn can spend Christmas with him if she wants.’