by Dan Moore
PC Smith’s eyes narrowed.
Freddie tensed his face, Jess’ second kick finding the same mark as the first. Surely his shin had cracked, splintered like the windscreen. He wanted to howl, to scream until the windows shattered. He bit his lip.
‘No,’ he repeated.
11
She got up to turn off the TV, rain hammering against her bedroom window. She’d stayed up far too late, but it didn’t matter. G.C.S.E.s were over and her summer job didn’t start for another week. She could relax.
She yawned. Pressing the power button, she flinched as the screen flashed grey before turning black. Why was she so damn jumpy? Surely the daft rumours of a ghost haunting the village hadn’t crept up on her subconsciously? Usually such nonsense made her laugh.
Not that her parents or grandparents would agree with her dismissive attitude. What a superstitious lot they could be! She’d lived at Chestnut Farm all her life and had never seen evidence of ethereal figures.
‘Don’t mess with things you don’t understand, dear,’ Grandma had once told her, after she’d mocked the pensioner’s supernatural beliefs.
She tiptoed over to the window in near darkness, the room illuminated by a bedside lamp which cast an eerie arc of light across the floor and up the far wall. Where had summer gone? She’d been hoping to catch a few rays over the next week. Typical! She slowly drew the curtain back and pressed her face up to the cold glass. Her eyes took a moment to readjust as the rain thumped against her forehead.
‘No!’
She stumbled backwards, her calves screaming out at her as she crashed into the side of the bed. It wasn’t possible, she thought. Grandma was batty! And Granddad, Mum, and Dad simply gullible, infected by Grandma’s ramblings. It couldn’t possibly be…Exam stress, tiredness – that was it! She’d imagined it, surely. Ducking, she crept back to the window and peered over the sill. Out on the lawn, his hair as blonde as it had been in all the photos she’d seen of him, stood Noel Davidson, at one with the storm, watching the house.
Freddie jumped down from the Land Rover and followed Greg across a tidy farmyard.
‘I phoned Joe this morning while you were dealing with the windscreen guy. He should be about, his truck’s here.’ Greg nodded towards a brand new pickup parked outside the three storey farmhouse. ‘I should say he’s having his dinner. We’ll go and disturb him.’
Freddie hung back, allowing Greg a constant two step lead. He glanced around. Chestnut Farm (he’d spotted the name on a plaque attached to one of the stone pillars at the entrance) seemed a little trimmer than Ridge Farm. His eyes found the pickup again, gleaming after the downpour. And prosperous too! What’s their secret? Freddie wondered. How had they held their heads so far above the water? He’d have a nosey around if he got the chance.
At breakfast Greg had asked him if he’d accompany him to a neighbouring farm. They’d ran out of chicken feed and this former colleague of his, Joe or something, had offered him a couple of bags he’d got going spare. But why does Greg need my assistance? he thought. Surely he could manage two sacks of chicken feed on his own? Was his boss trying to keep him in sight? Stop him from coming up with any new ideas for Ridge Farm? Have my pitches become that irritating?
How perceptive Greg could be. He’d thought of little else all morning – anything to divert his attention from the brick, the note, from the blonde-haired boy.
‘Why don’t you do a swap? Surely we have something your mate Joe could do with,’ Freddie had mentioned on the journey over.
‘You never stop thinking, do you lad?’
‘It makes sense. There’s plenty of stuff kicking about in the yard.’
‘Just button it and listen to the radio. You’re lucky. It’s one of those modern songs – a right racket! Normally it’s just eighties classics on this station.’
‘Less expenditure – it’ll keep the bank manager happy.’
‘Give over, lad.’
He’d been on the verge of replying when Greg added, ‘Rhona’s parents lived in Joe’s house before he did. She grew up there.’
Freddie whistled tunelessly as Greg knocked on the front door. He’d spotted a change in his boss. He seemed chirpier, more at ease, as if a great weight really had been lifted from his shoulders. So what should I do? Freddie thought. Keep on fighting on the family’s behalf? Should he really waste time and effort in persisting with his attempts to try and turn Ridge Farm around, when they’d already given up themselves?
The door inched open.
‘Greg, my old friend,’ bellowed a burly, bearded middle-aged man. ‘And this must be the young man you were telling me about on the phone.’
Joe winked at him, extending a grimy hand. Great! thought Freddie. Just what he needed – an offering of bacteria! He accepted the gift, surprised once again at the strength brandished in a farmer’s handshake. Jeez, these people certainly know how to work! He knew it’d take him years, decades even, to build up such strength. Perhaps they were just born big and strong out here. If only Elizabeth and Greg possessed the strength to endure just a little bit more.
‘Come on in, both of you. We’ve had quite a morning.’
Although Joe seemed a friendly enough chap, Freddie still felt out of place amongst these country folk. He stuck to Greg’s heels as they stepped up into a cluttered hallway, from where they trudged through to the kitchen.
‘Where shall I leave my boots?’ said Freddie.
‘Keep them on, son,’ Joe called out over his shoulder.
Boots on, inside? thought Freddie, amazed. Rhona would’ve ordered him from the building for such a heinous crime. And here, in her childhood home of all places, he could keep them on. He just had to smile. Perhaps he could identify with these country folk after all. The kitchen was spacious, housing an array of top-of-the-range appliances. Chestnut Farm certainly held secrets Ridge Farm would do well to discover.
Seated at the breakfast bar was a girl he guessed to be around his own age. Her short brown hair looked as if it could do with a brush running through it. She turned and glared at him. Such a warm welcome! He felt his lips quirk up in a half-smile.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Freddie.’
‘Hi,’ she snapped, lowering her gaze so that she glared into a bowl of porridge which sat untouched in front of her. Didn’t she have a name? Was she ill? She looked so pale, so drawn.
‘Come on Amelia, you must eat,’ said Joe, placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. He turned to Greg, ‘Had a rough night. She reckons she saw the ghost of Noel Davidson.’
What? Did this village only attract crackpots? Were they attracted to its steep, winding lanes, pretty cottages and remote farmhouses, like a fly to a light?
Ouch! A sharp pain shot through his foot and up his ankle. Greg had stepped back onto his toes. What was it with this family and silent, painful signals? Why couldn’t they just give him the eyes like Rhona did? Or maybe mouth a warning? And why did everyone assume he was going to speak out of turn? He didn’t give off that impression, did he?
Freddie looked on as Joe and Greg exchanged more grimaces, as Amelia stared absently into her bowl of porridge. He’d come to expect talk of ghosts from the adults of the community; it was the flavour of the month. But the craziness seemed to be filtering down to the younger generations now, the hysteria spreading. Freddie recoiled, desperate to avoid infection. It’s like the Great Plague all over again. He half-expected puss-filled boils to start sprouting under his arms. The village elders had no right to push their nonsensical beliefs onto the young! Ghosts belonged in stories. Yes, he’d seen the blonde-haired lad who so resembled Noel Davidson, with his own eyes. Yet he still didn’t believe. There has to be a rational explanation out there! But he knew that whatever this girl had seen had truly frightened her, damaged her even. Something had definitely spooked her.
‘I saw him,’ she whispered, her eyes still locked firmly on the porridge. ‘I saw him. He’s really out there.’
Someone had to find this l
ookalike.
‘Don’t mess with it,’ would’ve been Ricky’s advice, he knew. ‘Let someone else solve the puzzle. You don’t know what you’re up against here.’
But could he really just sit by and watch as the hysteria spread? Curiosity nagged at him. Something was afoot and he yearned to get to the bottom of it.
‘Are you sure she’s all right?’ Greg asked.
Freddie watched as Greg cocked his head, inspecting the traumatised girl.
‘Just a bit of a shock, that’s all,’ Joe said.
A shock? thought Freddie with disbelief. Her dad believed in the stories too? No wonder she’d been affected so badly. This place is unreal! Shouldn’t he be dismissing the talk of ghosts as a farce, if only for the sake of his daughter? Someone had to make a stand, put things right. He’d tell her himself, that’d show them!
His Samsung burst into song. He shook his head. He had to learn to control his rash thoughts.
‘Sorry,’ he said, scooting out into the hallway. ‘I’ll take it out here.’
He pulled the door shut behind him, sliding his mobile from his jeans pocket. As he glanced down at the caller ID, his mind blurred.
Tiffany.
What? Why on earth is she calling me? wondered Freddie. She has no right, no right at all! Think… Think… He needed time to think. But he had no time. The blasted device wouldn’t go on ringing forever.
This is Tiffany Angle, boyo, his ego roared. Total babe! She wanted you once! And maybe she wants you again! Take the call, hear her out! His thumb hovered over the mobile. Should he? Shouldn’t he?
No! He knew he had to muster some self-control. She’d cheated on him, for God’s sake! He rejected the call.
‘Mmm,’ said Freddie, planting his half-pint of Coke on the table, feigning interest. Just how many issues did these old-timers have with wind turbines? What was there problem? It wasn’t as if the local council were drawing up plans for a nuclear power station. ‘Would you be happier if they made them look like the windmills of old?’
‘We’re not that old,’ said the retired farmer sitting across the table from Freddie.
Freddie glanced over to the bar. Jess, arms-folded, red-faced, was frantically discussing something with Lucas. It certainly wasn’t a debate about wind turbines.
An almighty yawn forced Freddie’s mouth wide open. Whatever it was they were discussing, he wished they’d hurry up! The other guys and girls had long gone, leaving him with the not-so happy couple and a trio of grumbling regulars. Hurry up Jess! He’d still to fully adjust to the world of work.
‘Do as you like,’ he heard Jess say.
‘Oh, don’t worry, Jessica,’ said Lucas, rising from the barstool. ‘I will.’
Freddie gazed at the ageing regulars seated at his table. Bushy eyebrows raised, forehead crinkled, one of the old-timers’ knowing expression said it all – Jess and Lucas were as good as finished.
‘Trouble in paradise,’ someone muttered.
‘I’m going home, Lucas. I’m tired,’ Jess said, ‘I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’
‘Thank God,’ said Freddie, hauling himself up, Lucas storming from the pub, ‘Finally!’
Jess tiptoed over to the table he’d just vacated, oblivious to the attention her quarrel had earned. Her face, which Freddie still found pretty despite being all hitched up and straight-lined, fell into a smile.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘You must be shattered.’
‘Come on. Let’s get out of here before we get kicked out.’
He felt Jess’ arm link his, and shivered. He guided her out into the night, the street deserted. Lucas was nowhere to be seen.
‘What was all that about?’ he asked.
‘Oh, nothing really! He just does my head in sometimes. He’s all show, you know. It’s like he feels he’s got something to prove to me all the time. I just want him to be him. I’m probably not making any sense. It’s been a long day!’
They walked up the street, passing curtained windows, many houses already in darkness. Freddie’s knees ached, his ankles a little stiff. The walk back to the farm, the climb in particular, didn’t appeal to him. He wanted his bed – though walking arm in arm with Jess was a pleasant substitute. He’d make do with a little less sleep.
‘I know what you mean.’
Does he? He wasn’t sure. Appeasing her seemed the best option. A wave of guilt washed over him. He had to admit, he liked it when she was angry with Lucas.
‘And there’s another thing,’ Jess reluctantly said.
‘Oh, what’s that?’
‘He thinks I like you.’
Freddie hadn’t expected this. Talk about a bolt from the blue. He gulped. He could feel his face reddening, pinpricks of heat flaring up like tiny sunspots. He gulped again.
‘And what did you say?’
‘I told him to stop being stupid.’
His head dropped.
‘Oh.’
‘That’s what I told him anyway, the truth is–’
‘Yes?’ he said, ceasing his ascent.
‘Freddie, I – I,’ she said, halting, stuttering as she glanced up to the sky, high above the hillside. Freddie followed her gaze. A flickering glow danced across the clouds. ‘Tell me I’m being thick. Doesn’t the sun set in the west?’
What on earth has this got to do with the question Lucas had asked her? wondered Freddie. What had this got to do with the possibility of Jess liking him? Spit it out! His heart thumped against his chest like a caged monster. Expectant. Hungry.
‘Yeah, the sun sets in the west. And long before now. Red sky at night…’
He froze, shivering despite the warmth of the night, despite the clamminess besieging him. Normally the sight of a glowing sky wouldn’t strike him as abnormal. Towns and cities created such an effect on the night sky. But no built up area large enough to create such a glow existed for nearly twenty miles in that direction.
‘No!’ said Jess, lifting a hand to cover her gaping mouth. ‘Please. No!’
But he knew what had caused the fire in the sky; deep down he knew Ridge Farm had suffered a terrible blow, a blow that could very well tip it over the edge of the precipice.
12
He galloped like a racehorse bearing down on the winning post. Glancing frequently over his shoulder he could see that Jess was keeping up with him, a constant dozen-or-so lengths back. As they left Ravenby-le-Wold’s cosy, well-kept cottages behind, the steep, twisting lanes passed by in a mad blur. A sharp incline on Freddie’s right blocked Ridge Farm from view.
‘Please! Please don’t be the farm!’ What had he done? He’d meant well. He’d tried his hardest, put his own sweat and tears into the place. He cared about the farm, and about the family. He felt a part of their life.
He neared the summit He could hear Jess’s footsteps on the road behind him, pleas mirroring his own silent ones reaching his ears. Tarmac flew by under his feet, a dark path leading him to the beast. Yet he didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Time had slowed to a painful crawl, and for no other reason than to prolong their suffering.
Suddenly his senses awoke. A cruel spitting sound sought him out. Smoke tickled his nostrils. The glow reflected in the clouds forced his hands up to shield his eyes. He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to know. Yet he had to. The family needed him. He prayed that flames were licking their way up the side of a building on one of the neighbouring farms. He prayed for Ridge Farm to be spared. Guilt consumed him. He should’ve listened. He should’ve left when instructed. First the note, then the brick – now what? He’d soon find out, the hillside reaching a plateau.
He rounded the corner, his eyes locking on to the dragon’s breath. Even from here he could feel the intensity of the blaze. Beautiful, yet utterly destructive. He stopped, rocking as Jess crashed into him, collapsing. He held her shaking body, cradling her warm head. Her cries, barely audible over the roaring inferno, cleared his mind.
He retrieved his mobile with his free hand, the flames
licking higher and higher, devouring the straw. The old barn creaked, letting out a groan, threatening to break under the searing heat. His mouth fell open as a support leg collapsed inwards, falling through the fire with a hiss, before bouncing from the stack, landing with a thud. Suddenly the bales disappeared, a great sea of sparks blown into the night sky. Riding on the breeze, the sparks drifted over the hillside and out across the plains.
Something gave way inside him. He felt as if he would collapse in on himself, just as the steel support had done moments before. It‘s my fault! He half-expected to find a vulture circling above, waiting to pick at what remained of him.
‘Call them,’ Jess bellowed. ‘Call the fire brigade.’
She pushed her face further into his shoulder. He tapped the three digit number into his mobile.
‘Fire!’
How can the operator be so calm? Come on! Come on! Hurry! He rushed through the address. He knew he could do nothing now. He couldn’t fight fire. He led Jess towards the entrance to the farm, glancing beyond the farmhouse, his eyes drawn to the dancing flames, illuminating the surrounding area with flickering shapes. As the light cast over the rough ground was momentarily extinguished, he watched dark figures moving around the barn.
It had to be a trick of the mind, his overactive imagination teasing him. Or was it a trick of the light? No! It couldn’t be… the arsonist? Surely the fire had been started deliberately. The culprit wouldn’t still be at large, would they?
Jess clung to him, her nails pinching his skin through his t-shirt. What would her parents make of this? They were dining at a restaurant in a nearby town, celebrating a friend’s birthday. He wished they’d hurry home. And how long would the bloody fire brigade take? It had to be at least ten miles to the nearest fire station. Not that they’d be able to save the old, dying barn.
‘Call your mum and dad,’ he said, holding her out at arm’s length. ‘Everything’s going to be fine, I promise. I just want to check something.’
He released her, backtracking. She blinked at him, opening her mouth to speak. He turned, leaping into a sprint, cutting an unswerving path towards the fire. Jess’ words were drowned out by the fire.