He moved the electric fencing post to a point where it could hold the wire off the ground. He got a shock as he raised the wire and broke the point of contact with the earth. It was too much. He almost succumbed to a childish urge to stamp his foot and swear. At least there was no one to see him, and it might make him feel better.
The crackling ceased. In the sudden silence, he heard a sound.
At first he thought it was a wounded wild animal too damaged to flee. A small animal, not one of his heifers, anyway. It might even be a frightened bird with an injured wing,
He walked slowly towards the sound, as quietly as he could. He did not want to scare whatever it was making the noise. It was coming from beyond one of the old pollarded willow trees which stood like the ruins of ancient forts guarding the river bank.
Mark approached the tree. He stopped, listening to see if the noise had changed or stopped.
It came again, but more faintly now.
Long ago, a bough had split from the old tree and now lay like part of the skeleton of a prehistoric beast in a hollow where the river bank sloped down to a quiet pool. It was a favourite place where families often came on picnics in the summer because it was safe for the children to paddle in the water.
Mark saw the child’s red bicycle leaning against this broken bough. The chain-guard and the wheels were clogged with mud, but the handlebars and the mudguards looked too bright and shiny to have been left there since the summer visitors. He told himself, anyway, I’d have seen it when I came down to check the fence if it was here yesterday.
He felt his heart pounding and sweat prickled under his collar in spite of the cold. He didn’t know what he was afraid of, but he was afraid.
The whimpering seemed to be coming from somewhere beyond the bike, behind the rotting bough of the old tree; a sound of moaning mixed with some kind of feeble threshing movement. Mark thought some animal was trapped. Some stupid child playing games, he thought. Cruel little beast.
‘Who’s there?’ he called softly.
There was a sudden silence, then a renewed moan as though whoever was making the noise had tried to keep quiet and couldn’t hold back the sound.
Mark ran the last few strides to the rotting bough and looked over.
A child was writhing feebly on the muddy grass. A thin, gawky girl with strands of almost colourless damp hair stuck to her pale skin. She was clutching her stomach and moaning in pain. Her face was contorted and the skin around her mouth looked to him to be bluish.
He jumped down beside her.
‘What is it?’ he asked, ‘what’s happened?’
But she did not seem to know that he was there. She couldn’t speak.
He lifted her to wipe her hair away from her damp face. She felt cold as stone. He took off his anorak and wrapped it round her. She was staring at him through half-closed eyes. He didn’t think she saw him; she seemed to him half-dead.
He had to root in the pocket of his anorak, now wrapped round the child, for his mobile phone. He was shocked at how quickly the garment that a moment before had been warm with his body heat had become chilled by the coldness of her body.
He dialled 999.
Mark knew the ambulance could not make its way across the water meadows from the road, so he told the paramedics where to meet him in the lane. ‘I’ll carry her up there,’ he said.
‘Do you know who the child is?’ the switchboard operator asked him.
He looked down at the girl. She had stopped the writhing now, and her eyes were closed. He thought she had lost consciousness.
He did not know her. At the back of his mind, he thought he might have seen her before, somewhere he had been because of Jess. But beyond that, he couldn’t place her.
‘No,’ he said, ‘but she may come from the Catcombe Mead housing estate.’
He was frightened to see how pale the child was. Not white like ivory, more the colour of Lalique glass.
‘Hurry,’ he said, ‘please, hurry, or you’ll be too late.’
‘Is there anything around to show what she might have taken?’ the calm, matter-of-fact voice on the telephone asked him.
At first he could see nothing. Then, close to the bicycle, he noticed a plastic freezer bag.
‘Wait,’ he said, putting the child down and fetching the bag. ‘There seem to be a few berries in it,’ he said. ‘It looks as though they came off Christmas decorations. There’s holly and mistletoe, anyway, I recognize those. There’s something here looks like laurel, too. She could have taken them accidentally.’
Why did I say that, he thought. It makes it sound as though I really think she did this deliberately.
‘Take them with you,’ the voice said, ‘it may be vital to know what she’s ingested.’
He nodded, as though the calm speaker were there beside him.
‘The ambulance is on its way,’ she said. ‘It should be with you in about five minutes.’
Mark lifted the unconscious child and started back the way he had come, towards the lane.
He heard the siren well before the ambulance reached him.
‘Hold on,’ he urged the unconscious child, ‘it won’t be long now.’
When he reached the lane, he saw the flashing blue light on top of the ambulance above the hedge, racing towards him. And then the paramedics were there and he felt an overwhelming relief that the child was in safe hands.
A police car arrived and Mark went to open a gate into the field so that it could reverse into it out of the way of the ambulance. The driver, a cheery young woman with cropped blonde hair, went to check what was happening in the ambulance. The girl in the passenger seat got out and put on her helmet before approaching Mark.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
Mark found that he was shaking. He felt very cold. ‘I found her,’ he said.
‘You look pretty shaken,’ she said. ‘Don’t you have a coat?’
‘I wrapped it round her,’ he said, ‘she was freezing cold.’
‘Come and sit in the car for a bit,’ she said. ‘You can tell me what happened. Jo will go in the ambulance, I expect, so I’ll drive you home when they take her to hospital. I’m at the end of my shift anyway.’
She opened the passenger door for him and then went round to the driver’s seat. The car smelled faintly of spearmint.
‘Here,’ she said, ‘have some chewing gum.’
Mark shook his head. ‘Do you know, for the first time in my life I’d give anything for a cigarette,’ he said.
She smiled; a nice smile with perfect teeth, he thought.
‘Can’t help you there,’ she said. ‘My name’s Penny, by the way. Penny Harrison.’
‘I’m Mark,’ he said, ‘Mark Pearson. I live on the farm here; I was checking the fences when I found the child.’
‘I’ve always wanted to live on a farm,’ Penny said. ‘I’m a country girl, born and bred.’
Mark was about to ask her where she came from, but then her blonde colleague, Jo, knocked at the window.
Penny opened it. ‘Are they ready?’ she asked.
‘I’ll go in the ambulance,’ Jo said. ‘Can you go and check out where she was found?’
‘Sure,’ Penny said. ‘Mark here found her, he’ll show me.’
Jo nodded and hurried back to the ambulance. Mark and Penny watched it move off. They listened to the sound of the siren until it died away in the distance.
Penny smiled at Mark.
She said, ‘I’ll drive you home first. You could do with a hot drink after what you’ve been through. There’s no crime involved – I think we can skip the formalities for now. I know where to find you if I need anything more.’
‘I don’t know about you,’ Mark said, ‘but I’m starving. Funny that, wanting to eat now.’
Penny laughed. ‘It’s probably a nervous reaction to being a public hero,’ she said. ‘Ever since I joined the police, I’m always ravenous.’
She started the car and drove slowly into th
e lane. ‘Down here?’ she asked.
Mark nodded. ‘It’s about half a mile further on,’ he said.
As they reached the farm and Penny parked in the yard, Mark suddenly felt nervous. It seemed all at once very important that she wasn’t put off by the dilapidated buildings and the farm smells that had so horrified Jess Miller.
‘Oh, this is wonderful,’ Penny said, looking about her with an expression of excitement Mark associated with Hollywood movies when the humble heroine finds herself in the bridal suite at the Ritz Hotel. ‘It’s a real farm, a real live farm. Like farms used to be.’
Yes, Mark thought, and Dad’s still up, so now you’re going to meet a real live farmer.
He was surprised to find he didn’t care. It was extraordinary that he trusted her. Whatever his Dad did or said, Mark knew it would not change what she thought of him.
So he did not try to offer explanations.
He stood back to let her go first into the kitchen.
Mark heard the panic in his father’s voice as he saw Penny’s uniform.
‘What’s happened?’ he said, ‘has something happened to Joyce?’
Before Mark could say anything, Penny had got to Bert and grasped his hand. ‘It’s all right, Mr Pearson,’ she said, ‘your wife and Mark are fine. Mark saved a young girl’s life this afternoon and I’ve brought him home.’
‘It’s all right, Dad,’ Mark said. He was shaken by the intensity of his Dad’s reaction. ‘A young girl from the estate tried to kill herself down by the river and I found her and called the ambulance. Everything’s fine now. This is Penny Harrison. We got cold; we need something hot to drink.’
Bert took the kettle and filled it at the sink. ‘Of course you do,’ he said. ‘Sounds as though you both deserve it.’
‘Where’s Mum?’ Mark asked, and then wondered what on earth had made him say that.
There was an awkward silence. Then Penny said, ‘How old is this house, Mr Pearson? I didn’t know places like this existed any more. It’s a real traditional farm, isn’t it? How many acres do you have?’
She turned to Mark, ‘You’re so lucky,’ she said, ‘it’s beautiful here. And so real.’
The kettle began to boil. Bert made the tea. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘get this down you.’
He handed mugs of tea to Mark and Penny. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘what about this girl you found? Is she all right?’
‘She will be,’ Penny said. ‘But if Mark hadn’t found her . . .’
She had to go, but still she seemed to linger.
‘I’d better start the milking,’ Mark said.
‘Of course,’ she said, ‘I’ve got to hand in my report.’
She smiled at Mark. ‘I’ll pick up your anorak when I can and bring it back here,’ she said. ‘Perhaps on my day off.’
‘Great,’ Mark said, ‘Thanks.’
He felt like an idiot. He wanted to offer to take her for a drink or a meal, but it was impossible in front of his father.
But then Bert said, ‘You come back on your day off, Penny, and I’ll show you what a real old-fashioned farm looks like.’
Mark felt furious with his Dad, who was stealing his thunder; and with his mother, because if she’d been a proper farmer’s wife, she’d have been at home cooking a meal he could have invited Penny to share.
He muttered and growled at the cows, who stared at him with detached curiosity. Watching their soft puzzled eyes, he saw he was being ridiculous, childish, even. But nonetheless he felt it was unfair that his parents, even unconsciously, still dominated him.
We’re all wasting so much time, he thought, and there’s no time to waste.
He told himself that it was the attempted suicide of the young girl from Catcombe Mead that was making him feel like this. It had left him painfully aware that time for everyone was fragile and finite.
He went to bed to think, falling asleep immediately.
In the morning he slept through the alarm clock. When he finally came downstairs, his mother was cooking eggs and bacon.
‘I’ve no time for breakfast,’ he said, ‘I’m late for milking. We’ll miss the tanker if I don’t hurry.’
‘Dad did the milking,’ his mother said.
‘He did?’ Mark didn’t try to hide his surprise. ‘Why?’
‘Something’s happened to your Dad,’ Joyce said. ‘Last night we talked.’
‘God,’ Mark said, ‘what the hell about?’
‘Us,’ Joyce said.
‘There is no us,’ Mark said, ‘not any more.’
He had not meant to sound so bleak.
Joyce started to say something, but then they heard Bert at the door, taking off his boots in the porch.
I’m not going to apologize, Mark told himself. He doesn’t on all the days I cover for him.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ he said. ‘You should’ve called me.’ Where did that come from, Mark asked himself, why did I say that?
Bert sat down at the table. ‘I’ve had an idea,’ he blurted out. ‘A terrific idea.’
Joyce put plates of bacon and eggs on the table in front of Bert and Mark. Then she sat down facing them.
‘It was that girl from Catcombe Mead coming all the way out here to find herself a quiet place to . . .’ Joyce started and trailed off. She seemed excited, but doubtful, too, as though she couldn’t trust what was happening. ‘It seemed so sad, a child that age wanting somewhere private and having to look for it in the country like that.’
Bert interrupted her. ‘That Penny you brought here,’ he said to Mark, ‘a girl like that with a good job and everything, she couldn’t believe the farm, it fascinated her. It did, didn’t it? She couldn’t get enough of it.’
‘Yes,’ Mark agreed, ‘it did, didn’t it? I’ll bet she does turn up and get you to show her round.’
Bert thumped the table. ‘You’ve got it,’ he said.
‘Got what?’ Mark asked. He looked to his mother to explain, but Joyce was laughing.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Bert said, sounding more sober. ‘If those incomers got the chance to understand what we’re on about—’
‘What are you trying to say, Dad?’ Mark sounded anxious now. Had his Dad lost his reason?
‘We’ll open the farm and invite them to come in and see what we’re on about. All about the traditions of farming, what we do and how we do it. They can join in and learn some of the old crafts, like stone walling and thatching a rick. Parties of school children, that sort of thing. We’d do that together, you and me.’
‘You’re crazy,’ Mark said. ‘You know what they’re like.’
Joyce got up and came round the table to put her hands on Bert’s shoulders.
‘I’d run a farm shop,’ she said. Her eyes were shining. ‘I could do cream teas in the summer.’
‘We’ll get the farm cleared up and on its feet again,’ Bert said. ‘It’ll be hard work, but worth it. And then we’ll invite them in.’ He took a deep breath and said with an obvious effort, ‘That girl of yours, Jess, she could start by bringing her little girl.’
‘Jess is history,’ Mark said abruptly.
‘Well, she might have been a hard nut to crack anyway,’ Bert said. ‘That Penny will help. There’s no harm visitors like those people from the housing estate knowing there’s a police presence.’
Mark laughed. He couldn’t help it. He and his Dad needed something like this, something to work on together.
Mark was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘If that’s what it takes to bring this farm of ours – and us as a family – back to life, then yes, let’s try it.’
THIRTY
Nicky had eaten a cocktail of Christmas berries – holly, mistletoe and ivy. There were traces of all three in the freezer bag Mark Pearson had picked up from the grass near her red bicycle.
By the time Terri and Jean reached the hospital, though, the doctors had pumped the child’s stomach and she was out of danger.
She looked like a waxwork, lying in the stiff hos
pital sheets with a drip attached to her arm, her thin pale hair damp and flat against her skull.
Terri stood awkwardly by the bed and touched the child’s hand.
Nicky opened her eyes and said, ‘Mum?’
Terri and Jean exchanged glances.
‘She’ll be here later,’ Terri said.
Helen had become hysterical when the Detective Chief Inspector told her what had happened to Nicky. She refused to listen to what Rachel Moody was saying, or to speak at all. She simply lay curled on the sofa with her thumb in her mouth, crying out if anyone tried to touch her. In the end Jean fetched the sleeping pills that had been prescribed for Peter before he died.
‘She’ll sleep for hours,’ Jean said when Helen had finally been persuaded to take two of them.
Terri grasped Nicky’s hand. ‘Your Mum was so upset thinking she’d lost you, we had to give her some medicine. She’s asleep now. You’ll see her very soon. You’ve given us all a terrible fright . . .’
‘She should be here,’ Nicky said. ‘I want her here.’
Terri leaned over Nicky and whispered, ‘It’s all right, Nicky. Don’t get upset. About your note . . .’
A look of terror crossed the child’s face. ‘You’ve read it?’ she said. In spite of the tubes, she put up her arms and clung to Terri. ‘You know what I did? What’s going to happen now? Will I go to prison?’ She began to cry. ‘I don’t want to go to prison,’ she wailed.
Terri used a box of hospital tissues to wipe away the tears.
‘Shhh,’ she said, ‘listen to me. It’s all right. We’ve destroyed the note. Me and Mrs Henson. It’s gone. No one saw it except us. We’re all going to forget it existed. It was an accident. What happened to Alice was an accident. You must forget it ever happened.’
Nicky looked from Terri to Jean as though she couldn’t believe what Terri was saying.
‘What about Mum?’ she said. ‘Does Mum know what I did?’
‘No, I didn’t show it to her. Leave her to me,’ Terri said. ‘We all want what’s best for you.’
A nurse came into the room. ‘You should leave now,’ she said. ‘She needs rest.’
DCI Moody was waiting in the corridor outside Nicky’s room.
A Nice Place to Die Page 18