by Ann Purser
“Grown men sometimes act like kids,” Athalia said, and Alf began to wonder if she knew something she was not telling.
“You’re a real old wise woman! Tell me fortune, can you?”
Athalia did not smile. “Yes, I could tell yer fortune, Alf,” she said. “Me mother was known for it. Used to set up here on the field with a board up outside her wagon. Fortunes told, crystal ball, reading hands, all that. People came from miles away. Mostly women.”
“I bet she told them all they were goin’ to meet a tall, dark stranger and be rich and famous,” Alf said.
Athalia shook her head. “No call for you to mock, Alf Smith,” she said. “Some of them women used to come out of me mam’s wagon crying their eyes out. She only told the truth of what she saw. Could be quite a difficult job sometimes. Lots of times she wouldn’t tell the bad bits.”
“You goin’ to read me palm, then?” Alf said, thinking he hadn’t had much fun yet on his visit to Appleby.
“D’you mean it?” Athalia was serious.
“Yeah, come on. Here—I’ve finished me tea.” Alf followed Athalia into her trailer, where she sat on one side of a small table with Alf opposite her. She took his hand and stared at it for a while without saying anything.
“Come on, then, gel. What can you see?” Alf said impatiently. He saw in some alarm that Athalia was frowning. She did not answer him, but got up and looked out of the trailer door.
“What’s the matter? What did you see?” Alf was really worried now.
Athalia turned to look at him, shaking her head. “I lost the knack, Alf,” she said. “Mind you, I was never as good as me mam. Now, it’s time I did some work, so why don’t you get round and have a word with the others. I’ll see you again.”
He did as she suggested, and walked off. She had said she’d lost the knack, but he knew that she was lying. There had been something bad. A giveaway in his own hand, and his old friend Athalia did not want him to know.
THE SUNSHINE WAS NOW WARM ON LOIS AND JOSIE AS THEY SET off from the hotel. It was a beautiful calm morning, and they had agreed to go their separate ways. Lois planned to wander around the churchyard and inside the church, and Josie said she would be quite happy walking along the riverbank and maybe she would sit on one of the seats and watch the children and the horses.
“Sure you’ll be all right on your own? You know what your dad said,” Lois asked.
“Of course, I shall be fine. What could happen in bright sunshine in the middle of town with thousands of people about?”
Lois had to admit that Josie was unlikely to come to any harm. They arranged to meet at the church gates at eleven thirty, and then they parted.
Lois walked towards the sandstone church door, deciding to look around inside first, then take her time in the graveyard. Inside it was very quiet. The light filtered through the jewel-bright stained glass windows above the altar, and she walked slowly up the aisle towards it. Nine hundred years, she thought, people had been going to and fro in this church, being baptised, married, carried to the graveyard. It was too long a time to contemplate. Must have been like a different planet, thought Lois. Just about all they would have had in common was eating and drinking, having sex and getting born.
But when she began to think about it, she realised how wrong she was. All the basics were the same. Just the trimmings were different. She walked back down the aisle, and ran her hand over the smooth, cold stone figure of a seventeenth-century lady, stretched out on her grand tomb, hands clasped in prayer. She would have quarrelled with women she didn’t like, fancied men she couldn’t have, had indigestion, got constipated and taken the remedy of the time. Did she plead a headache to her husband when she didn’t feel like a spot of the other? Lois patted the chilly forehead. “You weren’t the first, ducky,” she said, “nor the last, not by a long chalk.”
“Just a woman, but a good one,” said a voice behind her. She whipped round, and saw George standing behind her.
“Bloody hell!” she said, glancing up towards Heaven in apology. “You made me jump. I didn’t hear you come in. How d’you walk without makin’ a noise?”
“Practise,” he said. “All us wicked gyppos know how to move silently. Where’s Josie?” he added, looking round.
“Gone off for a walk by the river,” Lois said. “We’re meeting outside at half past eleven.” She looked at her watch. “I plan to look round the graves for a bit, and then it’ll be time to meet.”
“Not a good idea to let her go alone,” George said quietly. “You get funny people coming to Appleby.”
“But surely nobody would want to hurt Josie?”
George did not answer. He sat on the edge of a chair by the door. Athalia had told him about Alf Smith being in town, and now he was uneasy. He knew she had been hiding something to do with Alf. She said it would be best to avoid their old friend at the moment. “Alf?” he had said. But wasn’t Alf their longtime supporter and champion? Athalia had grunted and said she had seen danger in Alf’s hand. Then she had added that it would be as well to warn Mrs. Meade and her daughter. “No doubt you’ll be seeing them,” she had said sourly.
He had tried to get her to say more, but she had clammed up, and more or less sent him packing into the town to find the Meades.
“Let’s skip the graves, then,” Lois said, frowning. She suddenly had a stab of fear, and made for the door. It was like a bucket of cold water thrown over her. For God’s sake! She didn’t know this man! He was a gypsy, a traveller, and she really knew bugger-all about him and his people.
“Hey, wait for me!” George shouted, and Lois paused. He took her arm. “Why don’t I wait by the gates,” he added, “and you go up to the bridge to see if you can spot her in the crowds. If she turns up here, we’ll wait until you come back. Just go up and take a look along the riverbank. You’re more likely to spot her.”
Lois walked quickly, pushing her way along the crowded pavement, deaf to the angry looks and curses as she collided with other people. She reached the bridge and looked down. It was the same idyllic scene. Lithe young men were washing the black and white horses in the river, then leaping on their backs and guiding them into deep water. Children were chasing about on the sandy banks stretching out into the river, and all along the grassy edges were families strolling, shouting to each other, sitting down to rest, drinking and eating and taking no notice of anybody but themselves.
“There she is!” Lois said aloud in relief. Josie was ambling along the footpath, coming back towards the bridge. Lois ran along and down the steps, meeting her where the horses’ ramp led down into the water.
“I’m not late, am I?” Josie said.
“No, no. Just thought I’d come and meet you. Had a nice walk?”
“Didn’t go far. I was more interested in watching all this carry-on. They’re brilliant on the horses, aren’t they?”
As they watched, a bullet-h eaded young man led his horse down the ramp and into the water. He splashed around with the children for a bit, and then he jumped on to the horse’s back and tried to kick it forward into the deeper part of the river where a current ran strongly. The children crowed and urged him on.
“Doesn’t want to go,” said Josie in a worried voice. “Look at its eyes, Mum. It’s terrified!”
The man got angry and yelled at the horse, pulling at its head with the halter, kicking it forward. Finally it gave in, and all Lois and Josie could see was its head, the rest of its thrashing body submerged.
“Is it swimming?” Lois said anxiously.
“Dunno,” Josie said.
Then the head disappeared. The man was swimming now, desperately pulling on the halter, and suddenly other men were in the water, all of them pulling and pushing until slowly, slowly the inert form of the horse was dragged up onto the bank.
“There’s George!” Lois said, grabbing Josie’s arm. “Look, he’s trying to revive it. They’re giving him space.”
“It’s dead,” said Josie, and choked
. Lois took her hand and tried to move her away, but she shook off her mother and stood still, staring at the group of gypsy children gathered round, looking solemnly at the drowned horse.
“That bloke!” Josie said suddenly. “The one who drowned it! He’s running away!”
“George!” shouted Lois, pushing her way through the crowds of gypsies. “He’s gone up to the road! Quick, catch him!”
“Catch him! Catch him!” shouted the children, chasing after George, and they all disappeared towards the road, making slow progress because of the swelling crowds.
Finally Lois persuaded Josie to go back to the hotel, where they found George waiting. “I was too late,” he said. “Seems he had a friend with a car, and they buggered off before anybody up there caught on to what happened. You all right, Josie?” he asked, noticing her chalk white face. He made to put his arm round her shoulders, but she pulled away from him. “Don’t touch me!” she spat at him. “Sodding gypsies! I want to go home,” she yelled at Lois. She rushed away from them and disappeared into the hotel.
“Better go after her,” George said. “I’ll hang around here in case you need me. God, I’m sorry,” he added, “there’ll be big trouble now.”
Lois nodded. “ ’Bye then,” she said. “Might see you.”
FIFTY-FIVE
LOIS MADE HER WAY UP TO THE HOTEL BEDROOM AND FOUND Josie stretched out on her bed, a pillow over her head, racked with sobs.
Lois said nothing, but settled down in a chair and waited. After a while, the crying stopped and Josie sat up, scrubbed at her face with a tissue, and said that she’d be ready to go in half an hour.
“Fine,” Lois said. “I’ll just have to pay the bill, and we can be on our way.”
“D’you mean that?” Josie said suspiciously.
“O’ course. That was one of the most awful bloody things I’ve ever seen. Just thinking about it makes me feel sick.” She hesitated, then said, “And you know what was the worst thing about it?”
Josie nodded. “That bloke who drowned his horse—him running away.”
“They’ll get him,” Lois said. “Sure as anything. If the police don’t, the travellers will. Rough justice, that’ll be.”
“Mum,” Josie began slowly, “d’you have any idea what we’re getting into? Don’t you feel it? Under everything goin’ on here? Put one foot wrong, and really bad things could happen to us.”
“Us?” Lois said, raising her eyebrows.
“Yes, us,” Josie said firmly.
“I hate to say this, Josie,” Lois said pleadingly, “but what could be worse than what happened to Rob? Isn’t that why we’re here? You’re right about things going on under the surface, and I know we’re on the right track. I can’t even put it into words, but if we go home right now, we shall lose it.”
“And the police?” Josie said angrily. “Do we assume they’re doing nothing—l eaving it all to the great detective Meade?”
“Of course not,” Lois said. “I expect we shall hear from Cowgill soon, wanting to know what we’re finding out and not telling us anythin’ about what they’re finding out. But that’s the way it goes. All that matters is Rob, isn’t it?”
Josie got up from the bed and walked to the window. “Everything’s gone quiet,” she said. “Even the gypsy kids.”
“Naturally. Horses is their life, and sometimes their livelihood.”
Neither said anything more for a few minutes. Then Josie turned around and faced her mother. “All right, then. We stay. So what next?”
“First of all,” Lois replied, “we get out of this room. Come on, best foot forward.”
ALONG THE CORRIDOR IN HIS ROOM, ALF SMITH WAS ALSO staring out of the window. He had been crossing the bridge when the horse was drowned, and for a moment his attention was redirected from his own worries to those of the gypsies up on the field. The continuing existence of the fair was not only ensured by the respect for tradition from most of the parish councillors, but also because with the RSPCA watching, the travellers made sure there was no cruelty to the horses. The reverse, in fact. All the horses were at their peak, well fed and endlessly groomed, so that there would be good sales when the time came. Now this! It would be hard to face the critics now.
Alf ’s mind wandered on, thinking of Athalia and George, and wondering where they would go after the fair had finished. Athalia had been talking about a permanent site in Yorkshire. She reckoned they could get a place, now that she was getting old and George was speaking about a regular job. But Alf knew that Athalia wouldn’t last long on one of those permanent sites, with mains running water and toilet facilities and all the things that local authorities held dear, but not taking into account the gypsies’ need to be free to go when and where they chose. It was not, he knew, a gypsy conspiracy to avoid council tax and the law in its many guises. Which came first, he wondered, the fact that they had been moved on for so many generations, unwanted outcasts, or because they needed to travel, a deep-down, nomadic urge.
Alf’s attention was taken by a couple of figures emerging from the hotel. Mrs. Meade and her daughter, of course. What the hell were they doing here? He could not believe that it was just a holiday break. As far as he knew, neither Lois Meade nor her daughter had previously shown the slightest interest in horses. As he watched, they reached the monument in the square, and he saw a figure he recognised step forward. George. Yes, it was him. They stood talking for a few minutes, and then walked off together.
So Lois Meade knew George, and therefore also Athalia. Come to think of it, Alf remembered seeing Lois talking to Athalia on the camp in Farnden. George, Lois Meade and her daughter, all talking to each other in a friendly fashion? What would they talk about now? The drowned horse, of course. And what else? Reading palms, telling fortunes, more than likely. Telling how Athalia read Alf Smith’s palm this morning, and did not tell him what she saw?
Alf shook his head as if to clear away unwanted thoughts, and strode out of his room and down the corridor to the lift. He might be needed up on Gallows Hill, and set off purposefully out into the market square.
“WHERE ARE WE GOING?” JOSIE SAID, AS THEY LEFT GEORGE AND walked in the opposite direction from the bridge, leaving behind the sad scene.
“Anywhere except by the river,” Lois said. “We need to clear our heads. We’ll go up there and see what’s behind those gates. Looks as if it might be interesting.”
They walked slowly, admiring elegant houses and little alleyways that ran between them into mysterious-looking courtyards. “There’s a baby shop,” Josie said. “Maybe we should take a look.”
“Who for?” Lois said.
“Dougie and Susie.”
“Blimey! They’re not wed yet!”
“So?”
Lois stared at Josie. “What are you saying?”
Josie laughed. “Don’t you fancy being a grannie?” she said. “Come on, let’s go and have a look.”
Before they disappeared into the shop, Alf Smith, halfway across the market square, had seen them turn away from the centre of town, and decided to follow them. His unease was growing, and by the time he saw them inside the baby shop, it had turned into near panic. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that Athalia had seen the truth he was hiding, and had told George, who would be sure to have told them. He walked down the passage by the side of the shop, planning to accost them when they emerged. He thought no further than that, and had no idea what he would say.
He saw a sturdy little stone building, its door half open, and a key dangling from the lock. There seemed to be nobody about, and no windows overlooking this part of the passage. He would just step inside and wait. It was obviously a storeroom, and there were piles of boxes stacked up against the back wall. He would see them through the open door, and positioned himself to get a good view.
His heart was pumping, and he felt dizzy. Blast! Maybe he would give Edwina a quick call while he waited. He’d promised to keep in touch, and had not so far spoken
to her. There was no answer for a minute or two, and he was just about to give up when a voice said, “Hello? Who is that?”
It was a man’s voice and Alf recognised it. It was Sam Stratford, and he could hear Edwina’s muffled laugh in the background. He said nothing, feeling himself sway. He put the mobile back in his pocket and leaned against the wall. So Josie’s lad had been right. He shut his eyes and tears squeezed out from under his lids, coursing down his cheeks.
FIFTY-SIX
WHO WAS IT, SAM?” EDWINA SAT AT THE KITCHEN TABLE, drinking tea and sobering up from the comical story Sam had told her about an elderly teacher at the village school when he and Alf were young. She had been standing on a chair trying to kill a wasp with a rolled-up newspaper when her skirt suddenly descended round her ankles, leaving her in a shiny green silk petticoat halfway to her knees. The kids had been quiet as mice, terrified to laugh.
“She just bent down, pulled on her skirt, and got on with the lesson,” Sam remembered. “She was a marvellous old gel. Don’t make ’em like that anymore.” Then the phone had rung, and Sam had answered it, Edwina still laughing.
“It was Alf,” he said, completely solemn now. “Nobody said anything, but I’m sure it was Alf. I just know it was.”
Edwina frowned. “How could you possibly know?” she said. “Could have been a wrong number, or been cut off, or anything.”
Sam shrugged. “It was him,” he repeated. “Bugger it. Just when we’d decided to call a halt.”
Edwina nodded. “These things come to a natural end, don’t they.” All the colour had drained from her face and she avoided Sam’s eyes.
“If you wait long enough,” Sam replied philosophically.
They were both silent, until the phone rang again.
“I’ll get it,” Edwina said, pushing her chair back so hard that it fell with a crash on to the stone floor. She held the receiver with a shaking hand, and said, “Hello? Oh, hello, Sheila. Yes, he’s here. He’s finished hedging. Do you want to speak to him?” She handed the receiver to Sam and picked up her chair.