She made her way to the lounge. The curtains were pulled shut; a table lamp shed a dull golden glow. Alistair lay sprawled in an armchair, snoring, a half-empty whisky bottle and a glass by his side. Ruth tugged the curtains open, letting in a flood of sunlight. Alistair grunted and turned away from the brightness. A haze of dust fogged the room. There were newspapers and crisp packets on the floor and streaks of mud on the carpet.
Ruth collected the empty glass and replaced the screw top on the bottle. She put on the kettle and shovelled two large teaspoons of coffee granules and two of sugar into a mug. She took the steaming brew to Alistair and shook his arm. He groaned and grunted again. His clothes were crumpled and his sleeves looked wet, his shoes were caked in mud, he was unshaven and he stank of whisky.
‘If you’re going to knock it back, I’d choose something a little cheaper than a thirty-five-year-old single malt.’
He opened his eyes, tried to focus, and closed them again. ‘What’s the time?’
‘It’s gone one. Time you were up, showered, and changed. Have you been there all night?’
‘No. What are you doing here?’
‘You’re going to help me find a new venue for the mystery plays.’
‘What?’
He hauled himself upright. Ruth handed him the coffee. ‘That should help,’ she said.
He belched, and Ruth took a step backwards, away from the whisky stench. ‘Or I could try to fine some antacid.’
AS THE TOWN HALL CLOCK STRUCK TWO, RUTH, RAJ, AND A SLIGHTLY QUEASYlooking Alistair stood in Monksford Park, next to a war memorial with a stone soldier surrounded by geraniums.
‘We could use the bandstand as the stable, I suppose, and have the crucifixion under those lime trees.’ Ruth pointed to a line of trees, their leaves shining emerald in the sunlight.
‘Space will be far more limited, and we have to consider parking,’ Alistair said.
‘All my surplus scaffolding is at the farm,’ Raj said. ‘I can’t take my lorries on to collect it. The whole farm is quarantined. The rest of the poles and planks are in use. I don’t see what we can do.’ He stood, hands on hips, surveying the vista. ‘It won’t be the same.’
‘It won’t be exactly the same, but in some ways it could be better. Central location. We can try to move the sound system.’ Ruth looked from Raj to Alistair with pleading eyes. The next step would be to get onto her knees and beg.
‘We would still have to seek permission from the council, and there are health and safety issues. We can’t just move it, lock, stock, and barrel. I’m sorry, Ruth. Four days isn’t enough time. I think we’re going to have to cancel.’
‘No!’ She was desperate not to let the tears come again. ‘There must be a way. There must.’
Ruth stormed back to her car and drove to the top of Thorne Hill. She looked over the town. The haphazard array of red-brick houses, patchwork farms offices, and the livid scar of the bypass – so many people, so many lives, and all the forces seemed to be uniting against her and silencing the story she needed to tell. Nothing would stop these plays being performed. Monksford might not be under attack from Nebuchadnezzar and his Babylonian hoards, but Jeremiah’s words came into her mind: ‘I am the LORD, the God of all mankind. Is anything too hard for me?’
As she looked over to the west, the hulking, grey slab of Monksford General Hospital rose before her. She hadn’t checked on Eliza Feldman today.
Every traffic light seemed to have something against her as she drove up the High Street, hindering her progress and fraying her already tattered nerves. She sat in the car park entrance for another ten minutes waiting for a vacant space, then she didn’t have the right change for the machine. She nearly cried again with frustration. Eventually, she made her way to Eliza’s room. On her way past the sister’s desk, a nurse beckoned to her, and Ruth’s heart gave a thud.
‘Oh, don’t look so worried, it’s not bad news. I was just going to say Eliza can go home today. Would you like me to arrange transport or will you take her?’
‘I’ll give her a lift. Will she be all right at home?’
‘We’ve contacted her neighbour Joan, and she has offered to take care of her, but she doesn’t drive.’
Finding a new venue for the plays would have to wait. People first, that was how Ruth always tried to live. She opened the door to find Eliza, fully dressed and beaming, sitting in a wheelchair in the middle of the room.
‘I’m ready to go,’ said Eliza. ‘I have my best frock on, and I’m wearing lipstick.’
‘Those young men had better watch out,’ Ruth laughed for the first time that day.
‘Too right!’ Eliza said.
The traffic signals were kinder on the way back to Eliza’s doll’s house cottage. Eliza, hardly bigger than a doll herself, was strapped in the passenger seat. She turned to Ruth.
‘Did you think I was going to make it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Had you written me off, had me measured for my coffin?’
‘No! Of course not.’
‘Everyone else did.’
‘You’ve just proved them all wrong.’
‘I want you to take me to the plays. On Saturday. I want to see the plays.’
Ruth looked away. How could she tell her? ‘The thing is . . .’
‘I know – I’m too old and too sick to sit in a field all day. But Ruth, it’s what I want. You won’t deny an old lady her dying wish?’
Ruth squeezed her hand. ‘How could I do that?’
Scene Ten
JEMMA LEANED OVER JOSH AND PRESSED THE HORN. THE LONG BLAST SENT A pair of wood pigeons flapping into the sky. A dog barked.
‘Don’t do that!’
‘He’s not answering the phone, and we can’t get through the gate. How else can I attract his attention?’
Josh shrugged.
‘Josh, this is not a waste of time. This is important, more important than anything else I’ve ever done. We’ve got to get to the bottom of this.’
She climbed out of the van and leant over the gate. The notice was adamant in its black lettering – NO ENTRY. She strained to see the farmhouse. The bargeware milk churns and wheelbarrow were full of neglected-looking bedding plants.
Josh leaned out of the window. ‘He’s not in.’
‘His car’s there.’ A mud-spattered green Land Rover stood in the drive. Jemma shuddered. It looked very like the one that had almost finished her off in the car park, but they all looked like that.
Jemma climbed back in the van and tried the phone again.
‘Let’s go.’ Josh started the engine.
‘Wait!’ Jemma pointed to a figure striding across a ridge of land above the lane. She opened the door and waved, calling out. The figure stopped and put one hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. Then it descended a steep path and crossed the lane.
‘Mr Griffin!’ Jemma called.
‘What are you doing here? You can’t come in.’ His ruddy face bore the lines deeply etched with worry, and his watery blue eyes darted from Jemma to the notice and back again. He had replaced his white Stetson with a more conventional tweed cap. He could have been any one of a hundred anxious farmers, brought to their knees by the last outbreak of this heinous disease. And now it was back, casting a shadow over his livelihood once more.
‘I know we can’t come in. I just wanted to talk to you.’
‘Are you from the paper?’
‘Yes, no! I am a reporter for the Monksford Gazette, but I’m not here in an official capacity. I’m also supposed to be acting in the mystery plays.’
‘Well, you’re not any more. At least not on my land.’
Josh climbed out of the van and joined them.
‘Who’s he?’ Bram looked Josh up and down.
Jemma introduced them, and he solemnly shook Josh’s hand.
‘Jesus and Mary Magdalene, eh? Perhaps you can perform a miracle here.’
‘Mr Griffin, will you tell us what happened?’
Bram rubbed his eyes and looked overcome with weariness. ‘I can’t.’
‘Don’t you owe us that?’ Josh said.
‘Can we go somewhere else?’ asked Jemma. ‘For a coffee or something. We could head into town or go to my boat.’
‘I can’t show my face in town, or down by the river, and you’re not allowed to bring vehicles on the farm.’
‘What if we park here and walk?’
‘You’ll have to disinfect your shoes.’
‘Okay.’ Bram opened the gate, and Jemma and Josh sloshed through the disinfectant bath and made their way to the farmhouse. Settled in the kitchen with a blue-and-white mug of tea each, Bram looked as if he was about to break down.
‘It’s all happening again! It’s a nightmare and I can’t wake up. I’m going to lose it all. What have I been thinking? All this for nothing.’
Josh made to speak but Jemma put her fingers to her lips to silence him.
‘I’m not a bad person. You know that, don’t you?’
Jemma nodded vigorously. Josh looked puzzled.
‘You did what you felt you had to do. The only thing you could do under the circumstances.’
‘And these plays. Letting these plays on my farm. I thought it might help. I thought it might . . . I dunno, appease God somehow. But now he’s punishing me.’
‘God doesn’t work like that,’ Josh said. ‘It wasn’t your fault. As you said, you did what you thought was best.’
‘That’s right. I never meant to hurt anyone. I’ve never committed a crime before in my life.’
Josh’s eyes grew wide. Jemma glared at him to keep quiet. She had to win his trust, get him to speak.
‘Mr Griffin, I’m sure people will be more sympathetic if they know your side of the story.’
‘I’m a stupid, weak, foolish old man.’ He slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. ‘And I deserve everything I get.’
‘Not everyone will see it like that. Do you want to tell me what happened?’
‘You have to promise me you won’t put it in the papers . . . or go to the police.’
She thought of her Grandfather’s words about honesty and integrity.
‘You know I can’t promise that. If there’s been a crime, I can’t keep it quiet. It’s unfair to ask me to do that. As for the Gazette, I promise I will get your permission before I write a word.’
A look of relief washed over him.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘it’s not as if you could keep this quiet, even if you wanted to. The notice on the gate is a bit of a giveaway. And it’s only fair to tell you that there will be a story about it in Friday’s Gazette. My boss has already got details from the nurse at the veterinary practice, and there are photographs of you with the vet and the inspector.’
‘Thank you. Thank you for being honest with me.’
So far, so good. Now to get to the bottom of this. ‘So, what happened?’
He let out a deep sigh. ‘Nosy, bloody do-gooders that’s what. People interfering. That half-witted hippy girl who lives on one of them boats down on the river.’
‘Skye Wortham?’ Jemma was stunned. ‘What has she done?’ Skye was the most innocuous person Jemma had ever met. She lived simply on her eco-friendly houseboat, ate vegan food supplemented by wild fruit from the hedgerows, and took it upon herself to recycle what rubbish she found on the banks. Skye was a human Womble; what could Bram have against her?
‘Only gone and reported me, hasn’t she?’
‘What for?’
‘Said she could smell something. Started poking around. Found some stuff in the lower field and called the vet.’
‘What kind of stuff?’ asked Josh.
‘Animal remains. She jumped to conclusions and told the vet I’d had another outbreak, that I was slaughtering the animals myself and burying them. It’s not true!’ He put his elbows on the table and hid his face in his hands. ‘It’s not true. I wouldn’t do that. Apart from anything, there’s no point. The government even changed the compensation system to the farmer’s advantage. The irony is, I’d be better off if my herd did have foot-and-mouth.’
Jemma took his mug and poured him another cup of tea.
‘So what happened?’ asked Josh.
‘Well, after the outbreak in 2001, I was just about finished. I was going to change the sign to “Hopeless Farm”. Then Alistair came to see me.’
‘Alistair Fry?’ Jemma just managed to stop her jaw hitting the floor. ‘What did he want?’
‘He offered me money.’
‘What, a grant?’
‘Not exactly. Although I suppose you could call it that if you like.’
‘Could you call it a bribe?’ Josh stood up. ‘Jemma, we have to go to the police.’
‘Wait,’ said Jemma. ‘What did he get out of it?’
‘Well, if I agreed to sell off some of my land to a developer, for the bypass and the new industrial estate, he would make sure I had enough money to restock and start again. I still had plenty of land. It would be a smaller venture, but I would keep the farm. It seemed like a good idea at the time.’
‘But Alistair opposed the road and the business park. How could he offer you money for it?’
‘He made everyone believe he was against it. He led all the protests, made a big noise in the papers and the local media, but behind our backs the developer and some of the business owners must have been lining his pockets.’
Jemma sat open mouthed, shaking her head. ‘I can’t believe it!’
Josh looked puzzled. He pulled his chair round and sat down again. ‘What has this got to do with the animal carcasses on your land?’
‘Well, it all worked fine at first. I got my money and Fry got his land, but it didn’t stop there. Fry had to pull some strings to get the land redesignated. It was all greenbelt you see. No building allowed. I imagine it cost him a lot more than he was expecting to “influence” the right people. Then he started to ask me for money. Of course, I wasn’t in a position to pay him so he offered to broker another deal.’
‘What, sell more land?’ Jemma asked.
‘No, about that time he started to get really twitchy. He thought someone was on to him, so he had to distance himself from any dodgy stuff.’
‘I can’t believe this. Fry’s in it up to his neck.’ Jemma took her portable tape player out of the bag. ‘Mr Griffin. This is complicated. I need to get the information straight. Please let me record it. Alistair Fry is the villain here. You can help the police. You can get him locked up.’
‘What about me? I’m in on it too. I’ll be finished. If the Department of the Environment finds I’ve been contaminating my land, we’re talking hundreds of thousands in fines. Perhaps even prison.’
‘Not necessarily. If you go to the police voluntarily, it can only reflect well on you. What Fry has done is pure evil, and you can’t let him get away with it.’
Bram’s shoulders sagged. ‘It can’t get any worse, I suppose. Switch your machine on. Right, where was I?’
‘You were telling us about the animal remains,’ Josh said.
‘There is a factory on the industrial estate, meatpackers.’
‘I know it,’ said Jemma.
‘Well, there are very strict rules about disposal of animal waste, the bones, and all that. The factory usually pays to have them properly disposed of, and the local authority checks to see that it’s done. As you can imagine, it’s expensive, and Colin Riley, the factory owner, will do whatever he can to cut costs. Riley was one of those in on the original deal with Fry to get the new road and business park built. Fry suggested that I dispose of the carcasses. Riley paid me, and I paid Fry, to keep it anonymous.’
Jemma’s head was starting to ache.
‘How did you pay him?’ Josh collected their empty cups and deposited them in the sink.
‘The money came in cash, and I couldn’t exactly march into his office or the council chambers and hand it over the desk. Besides, he was sure
he was being watched. Riley would bring the carcasses at night. I roped off the field and built a barn. Then I got the digger down there and buried them early in the morning. It was fine at first. I dug a deep pit, covered it all up, and nobody was any the wiser. Then the deliveries became more frequent. The trouble is, there were so many of them I couldn’t keep up. I buried them when and where I could, but I couldn’t get them so deep and the smell began to get worse. That’s when that hippie woman came nosing around. She assumed the foot-and-mouth had struck again and those were my critters I’d buried.’
‘You didn’t put Skye straight?’ Josh shifted in his chair.
Bram Griffin shook his head. ‘I didn’t want it all coming out. I didn’t expect this.’
‘What about the money?’ Jemma planted her elbows on the table and looked into Bram’s eyes.
‘We devised an arrangement. Riley gave me the money when he dropped off the waste. To keep it all away from the farm, Riley’s factory, and the Town Hall, we found a quiet spot on the river, and I hid the money there. We started by wrapping it up and leaving it under a tree or in the long grass, but “flower child” was so hot on her rubbish clearance that I was worried she’d find it. Then I came up with the idea of hiding it in the water. I put the notes in an envelope, wrapped it all up – ’
‘ – in black plastic and tied a fishing float to it to mark the spot,’ Josh filled in.
‘You know about it?’
‘We found the last lot,’ Josh said.
Bram stared at him for a moment without speaking. ‘Fry must be going nuts. He’s supposed to have picked it up.’
‘So that was the splashing I heard.’ Jemma glanced at Josh. ‘I knew it wasn’t sandwiches.’
‘Sandwiches?’ Bram gave her a quizzical look.
‘Just a theory,’ Josh said.
The Art of Standing Still Page 25