Scar Hill

by Alan Temperley

  ‘Oh, you’re right, but I just feel so cooped up. You know what I’m like.’ Her brow furrowed, she looked at him with pleading eyes. ‘It would be marvellous to get away, just for a couple of days. See some shops instead of these endless bloody moors. Go to a couple of clubs. A real life-saver. I’ll bring you back a present.’

  Peter didn’t want a present, that was the last thing on his mind. What he wanted was life to return to the way it had been before. He loved Daisy, he was happy feeding her and didn’t mind changing her nappies, but he didn’t want to be left alone with her. He didn’t want the responsibility. What if something went wrong? He looked at Valerie – could she be trusted to keep her word this time? But she was right about one thing, the baby was better off at home than being trailed around Glasgow in the rain. He drew a deep breath. ‘All right,’ he said reluctantly.

  ‘Oh, Pete, you’re a star!’ She rushed across, kissing him on the hair, the cheek, the lips. ‘There’s plenty of food in the freezer, stuff you like. And I’ve bought some – ’

  ‘It’s just the one night.’ He pulled away. ‘Don’t get any ideas. I don’t need feeding for a week, you’ll be back the next day. You’ve promised.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be here.’ She licked her finger like a schoolgirl. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

  ‘Well, don’t forget.’ Peter scrubbed his lips on his sleeve. ‘This is my half term, I’m supposed to be on holiday. And I’ve got the sheep to look after as well. You’ve got to be back on Thursday.’

  Matt winked. ‘You got it,’ he said.

  33

  The Blue Mondeo

  THEY DIDN’T WAIT till morning. In the middle of the night, when Peter was fast asleep, Valerie carried Daisy into his room in her carrycot and slipped silently downstairs. He did not stir as they loaded two small holdalls into the van and drove out of the yard.

  Matt thought there was a good chance the missing lorry had already been reported, so he planned to drive down to Glasgow under cover of darkness.

  At two o’clock, with the moon appearing fitfully between clouds, he pulled out of the quarry at the end of the track, the deep roar of the eighteen-wheel juggernaut waking Bunny in her cottage a hundred metres away. Valerie shut the gate behind them and climbed back aboard. She loved it, loved the intimacy of the big cab of the lorry with Matt at her side, his strong hands on the wheel; loved the rough male smell of cigarette smoke and diesel; loved the huge radio speakers and the chat of the night-time DJs as the lorry’s powerful headlights lit the road ahead and the black countryside sped by.

  Matt’s cold was no better. He hawked and opened the window to spit into the darkness.

  A while before dawn they stopped at a motorway service station for breakfast, leaving the lorry in the remotest, darkest corner of the car park. Valerie freshened her make-up in the passenger mirror and took Matt’s arm as they crossed the foyer to announce to the few people present that she was the driver’s girl. The image was dented slightly when she had to fish out her purse in the shop, and a second time in the restaurant to pay for Matt’s full Scottish breakfast and her own toast and coffee. But Valerie was too excited to be troubled for long. She had brought Jim’s cash card with her and there was a cash machine in the service station, so she was able to withdraw a hundred pounds to keep them in funds.

  Glasgow was awake and the high green gates of the depot had been open for an hour when Matt swung off the industrial dock road and parked in a bay close to the office. The boss, a fat man named Mr McReady, had just arrived and was in a bad mood that morning. The sight of Valerie repairing her lipstick and Matt swinging down from the driver’s door as if he had not a care in the world roused him to a fury.

  ‘Where the bloody hell do you think you’ve been?’ He ran down the wooden steps and across the concrete. ‘Saturday you were supposed to be back. I’ve got a load sitting in Dundee. Concrete for that new harbour up the coast. Contractors are doing their nuts, threatening to sue.’

  ‘Not my fault.’ Matt tucked in his shirt. ‘Got a dose of Delhi belly. Had to go to a B&B. Felt like hell for a couple of days. Curried prawns, reckon they were off. Vomiting and the screaming squits. Wouldn’t have been safe to drive.’

  ‘Aye, an’ I’m the Duke of Edinburgh.’

  ‘It’s the truth. Ask the lassie there if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘Give me a break, son. D’you think I came up the Clyde on a banana boat?’

  ‘Well ring my landlady,’ Matt bluffed.

  ‘Why didn’t you phone then? There’s one in the cab.’

  ‘On the blink,’ said Matt, who had pulled a wire loose on the drive down.

  ‘You’ve got a mobile.’

  ‘Couldn’t get a signal. Like I said, I was stuck in the bog so I asked my landlady to phone for me. You mean she didn’t?’

  ‘You know bloody fine. Just like I know bloody fine you’ve been shacked up with yon redhead for the past three days. Lorry parked away out of sight so the cops wouldn’t spot it, right?’

  ‘You’ve got it wrong, Mr McReady.’

  ‘Have I? Well, I’ll tell you what I haven’t got wrong, you’re sacked. It’s not the first time you’ve come back late with some cock an’ bull story. Get yourself up to the office there and pick up your cards. I’ll pay you till last Saturday, think yourself lucky. Then shift your arse and your fancy woman out of here.’

  He walked away.

  ‘Bastard!’ Matt called after his back.

  Mr McReady turned. ‘I’d button your lip if I were you. One phone call and I’ll have the police round here. Wouldn’t be the first time they’ve had the pleasure of your company. Now do yourself a favour and just get out. OK?’

  Fifteen minutes later they found themselves standing on the dock road with their holdalls. Trucks and lorries roared past. ‘What do we do now?’ Valerie said.

  Matt looked at his watch. ‘Come on, there’s a caff round the corner. Have a cup of tea while I ring round.’

  It didn’t take long. A mate in Sunderland gave him the names of a couple of long-distance hauliers who were a driver short. If Matt could make it there by lunchtime or early afternoon, there was a good chance he would be taken on.

  ‘What about me?’ Valerie said.

  ‘Well I’ve got to get you back home. Like I said, I’ll tell them I can’t start till next week.’

  ‘Thanks, Matt.’ She pressed against his shoulder. ‘Where’s Sunderland anyway? Sounds a right dump.’

  ‘Just south of Newcastle.’

  ‘Newcastle! I went there with Tinker’s Cuss one time. It’s the other side of the country isn’t it? How we going to get there by lunchtime?’

  ‘No prob.’ Matt smiled and hooked the phone on his belt.

  ‘How do you know that? There might not be any trains.’

  ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘This is Matt you’re talking to remember.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said. ‘Hire a car?’

  ‘Well,’ he shrugged. ‘Hiring wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. Borrow maybe?’

  ‘Do you mean you’ve got a pal who could …?’ She stared at him. ‘No, that’s not what you mean is it?’

  He took her hand. ‘Come on, let’s see what’s on offer.’ They began walking.

  Valerie was scared but soon she began to smile. She gave a little skip of excitement and looked at the cars parked nose to tail along the pavement. ‘Do you mean you can start any of these?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not some of the new ones prob’ly, but most, yeah.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You’ll see in a minute.’

  ‘No, I mean how’d you learn?’

  ‘I told you, it’s what I used to do. I done time for it.’

  Her eyes sparkled. She hugged his arm more tightly.

  They turned from the industrial roads into a commercial district. Matt looked up at the buildings. Office workers sat at the windows. ‘Too open,’ he said. ‘Come on, we want somewhere qu
ieter.’

  They passed garages, carpet warehouses, the first shops, and soon were approaching the city centre.

  The streets were busy. Parking was expensive. Free parking was hard to find.

  Matt turned into a cobbled back lane. There was a stink of garbage from overflowing bins behind restaurants. A rat slid from a burst bag and disappeared into a hole. From one end of the lane to the other, city workers had parked their cars alongside the dirty brick wall.

  ‘Look at them,’ Matt said. ‘Ten thousand quid sitting begging. And that’s just the rubbish – thirty thousand some of them.’

  Valerie said: ‘Moses’ car cost twenty – twenty quid, I mean.’

  ‘Yeah? Who’s Moses?’

  ‘Guy I stayed with in Bristol. Got it out a scrap yard and done it up.’

  ‘Good for him.’ Matt shook his head. ‘What do this lot expect? It’s like letting a kid loose in a sweetshop.’ He turned to Valerie, ‘Come on, your choice. Which one do you fancy? Nothing too flashy.’

  She giggled and stood back, trying to make her mind up.

  ‘Come on, we haven’t got all day,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to hang about.’

  She pointed to a shining blue Ford Mondeo.

  Matt nodded. ‘Good choice. Prob’ly got the alarm on though. Hang on.’

  He gave the car a casual push. No klaxon shattered the quiet of the lane. He gave it a shove, rocking on the springs. Still no alarm. ‘Silly bugger. Think he wanted someone to nick it.’

  He crouched by the driver’s door and took something from his holdall. ‘Here, you keep a lookout. Let us know if anyone’s coming.’

  Valerie looked up and down the lane. ‘Did you bring your stuff with you?’

  ‘Sshhh,’ he said concentrating. ‘Had it in my locker at the depot.’

  It took less than two minutes. The lock clicked. He pulled the door wide and thrust a lever into the housing beneath the steering wheel. It burst open revealing complicated circuits. He fiddled with the wiring. With a roar the engine sprang into life.

  ‘Someone coming.’ A man in a business suit had turned from the crowded road and came walking towards them down the lane.

  Matt’s heart beat faster. He prepared to hit him if necessary and flee. But the man, still several cars away, saw them standing by the open door and took no notice.

  ‘Come on,’ Matt said to Valerie. ‘Get in. Throw your bag on the back seat. Act like it belongs to us.’

  He glanced towards the approaching figure. His suit was striped. He carried a briefcase like a lawyer.

  The car stood close to the wall. Valerie squeezed past the steering wheel into the passenger seat.

  The man was passing. Matt stood in front of the hanging wires and gave an easy smile. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Good morning.’ The man walked past.

  Matt slid behind the wheel and pulled the door shut. The cars were parked bumper to bumper. It took a bit of manoeuvring before he could pull out into the lane. The lawyer, if lawyer he was, had stepped into a silver Mercedes. He waited for them to pass before following.

  As they reached the road he was right behind. Traffic was heavy. Matt drew out ahead of a double-decker bus leaving the Mercedes behind. They never saw it again.

  Valerie was on edge. ‘That was close.’

  ‘Not a bit. He had to get out same as us. You don’t think he’s going to hear about a nicked Mondeo, do you? There’s dozens of cars stolen every day. He’s forgotten about us already.’ Matt grinned and squeezed her knee. ‘Come on, darlin’, stop worrying. Enjoy yourself. Here we are, nice car, heading out into the country. What more do you want?’ He switched on the radio and flipped through the channels. Radio 1 blasted from the speakers.

  In twenty minutes the city was left behind. Matt drove fast and well. He had travelled the road many times: south down the M74, the western motorway that leads to England, then east along the Tyne valley to Newcastle.

  Shortly after eleven they stopped for a coffee at a service station among the hills. On the way out Matt pulled into the pumps to top up the petrol.

  ‘What for?’ Valerie pointed to the gauge with her cigarette. ‘Tank’s half full. That’s enough to get us there.’

  ‘Good car.’ He thrust in the nozzle. ‘Might as well keep it for the drive back north. I’ve got a mate with a body shop outside Newcastle. He’ll rig us up a couple of new number plates.’

  Valerie was getting anxious. ‘Isn’t that a bit risky? What if we get stopped?’

  ‘Well that’s the whole point, darling.’ He stared at her. ‘So we don’t get stopped. If we had an accident maybe, but I’ve never had one yet. Not since I was nineteen. Anyway, it wouldn’t affect you, not with a nipper up north.’

  The pump cut out. Valerie reached for her purse but Matt pulled out his wage packet and went to pay the cashier.

  The motorway was smooth and fast. In sweeping curves it stretched before them, winding through the hills. The engine purred. The speedometer needle was steady at seventy-five.

  ‘Wonder what she’ll do?’ Matt pressed his toe lightly on the accelerator. The car surged, the blue leather seats pressed against their backs. Eighty-five in seconds. He trod a little harder. Ninety. Ninety-five.

  Valerie touched his elbow. ‘Matt, slow down.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Just do the ton and I’ll drop back to seventy.’

  It wasn’t Matt’s lucky day. Too late he spotted the police car on its rise above the motorway. They were past in a flash. Instinctively he took his foot off the accelerator and stared in the driving mirror. The Mondeo had already slowed to eighty as the blue police lights came on and the white car slipped down the embankment into the stream of traffic. The unmistakable wail of the siren reached them above the noise of the engine.

  ‘Oh, shit!’ Far behind he saw the flashing lights in pursuit. The police had pulled out into the fast lane. Other traffic moved aside to give them a straight run. Matt put his foot down. The Mondeo picked up speed. The ton was gone in seconds. He went still faster. The needle hovered at a hundred and twenty. Other traffic seemed to be crawling.

  ‘Matt! Slow down! I don’t like it.’

  ‘There’s a turn-off in a bit over a mile.’ His jaw was set, red with stubble. ‘If we can get ahead of those lorries they mightn’t spot us. With a bit of luck they’ll get blocked out.’

  ‘It’s not worth it. It’s only a car.’ Valerie grabbed his arm. ‘Slow down!’

  He wrenched it away. ‘Let go, you silly cow! You’ll have us off the road.’ The car swerved. He fought to control it.

  At the same moment a muddy Land Rover, driven by a farmer who’d been up since four and had his mind on other things, pulled out into the fast lane to overtake a big refrigerated lorry.

  Matt jammed his foot on the brake. They were travelling too fast. The Mondeo went into a skid, slewing sideways as it did so. Gravel flew like bullets from the central reservation. The bonnet crashed into the barrier and the car leaped high into the air, corkscrewing back across the road. The boot and one door flapped wide. With rending metal it struck the rear of the lorry in the middle lane, narrowly missed a lorry in the inside lane, and somersaulted over the barrier without so much as touching it. Beneath lay a deep ravine. The body crumpled on rocks. The petrol tank was torn open.

  Valerie and Matt were killed outright.

  Seconds later the car erupted in a ball of fire.

  34

  Wednesday – Scar Hill

  DAISY WOKE UP. It was three o’clock on Wednesday morning. Her mother had been gone for an hour. For a while she lay peacefully staring into the dark, then her face crumpled and she began to cry.

  Peter was dead to the world, locked in a dream about football in a sort of hell with pillars and fires and grotesque opponents who played so badly they made him laugh. Daisy’s cries became part of the dream. He held her to his chest and ran towards fields that had appeared in the distance. The football had grown legs and chased after him. So did the players. T
hey were angry now. His feet became tangled in long grass.

  The dream faded and he found himself in bed. Dazed with sleep, it took him a moment to adjust. Daisy was in his room. How had that happened? He switched on the bedside light. The dazzle stabbed his eyes. Her carrycot was alongside his bed. If he had got up to go to the bathroom, he might have trodden on her.

  She was yelling lustily, demanding attention. Cross that Valerie had moved the baby out of her own room, he went to the landing and switched on the light. Her door was ajar. He tapped and pushed it wide. The bedroom was empty. The covers were tumbled. The wardrobe stood open.

  ‘Val?’ He shouted downstairs. ‘Val!’

  There was no reply. They had gone. He went down to the hall to make sure. All was dark. The front door was unlocked. He looked out into the yard. In the light of a hazy moon he saw it had been raining. The van was gone. He switched on the yard light to make sure.

  A single bark came from the outbuildings. Assailed by a pang of loneliness, he thrust his bare feet into boots and crossed to the shed. Ben stood waiting to greet him. Meg looked up from her bed.

  ‘Come on then,’ he said. ‘Let’s go into the house.’

  Daisy was still yelling. He gave the dogs a digestive biscuit and went upstairs. Her face was scarlet.

  ‘Poor Daisy.’ He pushed back the blanket. ‘What’s wrong? Are you hungry then?’

  But it wasn’t hunger. She was wet – and worse.

  He looked down the back of her nappy and made a face. ‘Pooh! You are one dirty baby!’ He took a towel from the banister and draped it beneath her to keep the ominously warm and heavy nappy off his pyjamas. ‘Yes, you are,’ he said without rancour. ‘You’re a dirty baby. And who’s got to do something about it? Me, your poor Uncle Peter.’ He shifted her to the other arm and carried her downstairs, holding the rail for safety. ‘Still, it’s not your fault is it? When you’ve got to poo, you’ve got to poo. Unfortunately.’

  The peat fire had gone out. He switched on the electric and spread the towel on the living-room table. Changing her was messy but not too bad because she was still on milk, though he would rather have been smelling roses. He dropped the dirty nappy into a nappy sack and reached for the baby wipes. Soon she was fresh and clean and the crying stopped. He wrapped her in a warm towel and cuddled her against his chest.