‘I weren’t talking about the Gaffer,’ said Sturzaker. ‘I meant having to live with Bill fuckin’ Dyer next door.’
He left his fag smouldering in the ashtray and took the darts off Eddie Moorcroft, who leaned against the bar, reading that day’s Gazette. I saw the headline come and go as he flipped through the pages to get to the sport: the younger of the two children set upon by dogs in Burnley had died.
We sat in Herod’s Seat—one of the four booths arranged two apiece on either side of the room. The others were Jezebel, Judas and Job, where on Saturday nights the Gaffer would lose his money and tell either Clive, Laurence or Alun that I’d be down with whatever was owed in the next day or two.
They all liked to keep the amounts they’d won (or lost, or had at stake) from their wives, so if the Gaffer owed them any winnings I’d be sent off on my bike to the village or the abattoir to deliver them the money at work rather than going to their homes. The Gaffer was a better drinker than he was a card player, but a better storyteller than any of them, adept at delaying a hand for so long that no one could quite remember whose turn it was, or exactly who owed what to whom. He’d told everyone a hundred times how the booths had been built using the old benches Nathaniel Arncliffe had torn out of the church during the refurbishments. The windows had benefited too, and over the years when any of the little squares of glass had been smashed they’d been replaced by random fragments of the holy tableau that had once sat behind the altar. Here, the eyes of the Virgin. There a nailed hand.
Grace knelt upon the bench and ran her finger over Christ’s wound, tracing the stream of blood while the others argued around her.
‘Tell him, Tom, please,’ said Angela as Dadda and I sat down. ‘He’s giving me a bloody headache.’
‘I just want to hear Vinny Sturzaker deny it,’ said Bill. ‘That’s all.’
‘This is the Gaffer’s wake,’ said Angela. ‘Enough.’
‘Let’s not argue about it any more,’ said Laurel. ‘Katherine will think that all we do is fall out.’
‘Aye, forget about the Sturzakers,’ said Liz. ‘We’re here to remember the Gaffer.’
We toasted his life and the others in the lounge looked over, chewing on the sandwiches and cakes that Laurel and Betty Ward had brought. A few of them raised their glasses and smiled. Mr and Mrs Abbot who ran the garage out on the road to Mythamwood, the Parkers, the Wigtons, and Alun Beckfoot, who lifted his lemonade and nodded. They were all still interested in Grace and kept their eyes on her when they went back to their conversations.
‘They must think we’ve dragged you up,’ said Liz, reaching over the table and pulling Grace away from the window and making her sit. ‘What was all that about in the graveyard?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Grace.
‘What do you mean you don’t know?’
‘Auntie Katherine told me to think about what the Gaffer used to laugh at,’ said Grace.
Liz looked at Kat. ‘Thanks for that,’ she said.
‘I was just trying to make it easier for her,’ said Kat.
‘Of course you were, love,’ said Laurel.
‘I were thinking about a joke he told me,’ said Grace. ‘I couldn’t help it.’
‘Of course you could,’ said Liz. ‘You’re not a baby. What do you say to Granddad Tom?’
‘Sorry,’ said Grace.
‘I should bloody well think so, an’ all,’ said Liz. ‘I don’t know what the matter is with you at the moment.’
‘Don’t be too hard on her,’ said Laurel. ‘It’s difficult to know what to do at funerals sometimes.’
‘Owt but laughing would have been fine,’ said Liz.
‘I wish Daddy was here,’ said Grace.
‘I’ll bet you do,’ said Liz.
‘He has to work, love,’ said Laurel.
‘I suppose,’ said Grace.
‘It won’t be long now,’ said Angela, patting her face. ‘A couple of days.’
‘Couldn’t they have given him time off?’ said Kat.
‘He didn’t like to ask,’ Laurel replied. ‘They’re short as it is and he didn’t want them to think he wasn’t keen to work.’
‘It would have only been for a day,’ said Angela. ‘I’m sure they’d have let him.’
‘I’m only telling you what he told me,’ said Laurel, and sipped her gin and tonic.
‘The Gaffer’s not going anywhere, is he?’ said Dadda, re-lighting his roll-up. ‘Jeff can go to the church and pay his respects when he comes home if he wants to.’
‘Two days,’ said Kat to Grace. ‘That’s not too long.’
Grace sat back in the booth between me and Kat with the orange juice Bill had bought her and sucked it noisily through the straw. The others drew me into a long conversation about Dadda’s ram so I only half caught what Kat was saying to Grace. But I was aware that Grace was starting to talk more than she had since we’d arrived back in the Endlands, and after a while she was smiling at Kat as she’d done at the wedding. She shared her drink and asked her about the baby, and when I looked back again, she’d taken off the locket and was holding it by the chain over Kat’s stomach.
‘Look, Grandma,’ she said. ‘It’s swinging.’
‘It’ll be a girl then,’ said Angela.
‘Poor you,’ said Liz.
‘No, I’m sure it’s going to be a boy,’ said Kat.
‘Why’s that, love?’ said Bill.
‘I just know,’ said Kat. ‘I can’t explain it.’
‘It were the same when I were expecting our Jeff,’ said Laurel. ‘I knew I were having a little lad.’
‘Well, either way we’ll need them,’ said Angela.
‘How do you mean?’ said Kat.
Angela frowned at her. ‘To keep the farm going, of course,’ she said.
Kat smiled as though she wasn’t being serious.
‘What’s funny?’ said Angela. ‘That’s your name on the gate, isn’t it? Pentecost?’
‘Is Auntie Katherine coming to live here now then?’ said Grace, thinking that we might have changed our minds since the wedding.
‘We can’t,’ said Kat, stroking Grace’s hair when she sagged with disappointment. ‘But like I said, we’ll come and visit as much as we can, won’t we, John?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘And you can always come to see us, can’t you?’ said Kat.
‘Can I?’ said Grace, turning to face Liz. ‘Can I go?’ And then it was a dozen questions about where we lived and was it nice and did it rain and did we have a dog and what was our house like and what was our street called?
We lived on a place called Alder Crescent, right in the middle of the bow. We had friends who lived on Beech Drive and Lime Avenue; the Carters were round the corner on Hawthorn Close. All the streets on Meadowfields had been named after the trees they’d uprooted to build the estate. Our neighbours were sales executives and middle managers in supermarkets. Friendly folk with two cars and regular hobbies. Their sons would play football on the square of grass that didn’t yet have a nickname and their daughters would roller-skate up and down the street on tarmac that was still black.
Kat liked it there at least.
‘But you belong here,’ Angela said. ‘Both of you.’
‘That’s kind of you to say,’ said Kat, watching the locket moving back and forth. ‘You’ve made me feel so welcome.’
‘I’m not saying it to be kind,’ said Angela. ‘I mean it. One day your Dadda will shuffle off, John, and then what?’
‘Angela,’ said Laurel. ‘It’s the Gaffer’s wake, not Tom’s.’
‘But you have to think about these things,’ Angela said.
‘I’m not going anywhere just yet,’ said Dadda. ‘Anyway, what would these two know about running the farm?’
‘Oh, you don’t forget,’ said Angela, reaching over and rubbing my hand. ‘It’s in the blood, this place, isn’t it, John?’
‘It’s stopped now,’ said Grace, looking at the locket. �
�Can I go and get some more food?’
‘Aye, go on,’ said Liz.
‘And take Katherine with you,’ said Angela. ‘She’s not even eaten enough for one, never mind two.’
Grace took Kat’s hand and led her over to the table where the villagers were circling with paper plates.
‘Look at them,’ said Bill. ‘They’re like bloody crows.’
‘Or magpies,’ said Liz, as the girls from the abattoir touched Grace’s hair. Those red tresses would be the envy of other women all her life.
While she piled crisps on her plate, Grace gave the locket to Kat so that she could see what was inside. Kat looked over at me, glad that Grace seemed brighter now that the funeral was over, but her smile quickly disappeared when she opened the two halves with her thumbs.
There was a sudden increase in noise as the slaughtermen came out of the tap room, zipping up their coats and looping scarves around their necks for the walk home. As they passed the table, Jason and Monkey reached between the villagers and helped themselves to the sandwiches.
‘Those are for the mourners,’ said Angela, and Monkey grinned as he chewed one and took another for the road.
‘Go on, lads, piss off home,’ Sturzaker called to them as he buttoned his jacket and they laughed as he laughed and went out into the street.
‘Pity your Vinny doesn’t listen to you like that,’ said Bill.
‘What do you mean?’ said Sturzaker.
‘You know what I mean,’ said Bill.
‘You’ll have to enlighten me,’ said Sturzaker.
‘He’s feral,’ said Bill.
‘Feral?’
‘Bill, not now,’ said Angela. ‘Drink your pint.’
‘She’s got you pegged down, hasn’t she, lad?’ said Sturzaker. ‘And she’s not even your wife. I’d have a word with her if I were you.’
‘Come on,’ said Bill. ‘You know it were Vinny that started the fire.’
‘Is that what you think an’ all, Tom?’ said Sturzaker.
‘I don’t know,’ said Dadda, after licking the seam of his roll-up. ‘I weren’t there, were I?’
‘You want to listen to him, Bill,’ said Sturzaker. ‘He’s got some sense.’
‘Doesn’t it get to you?’ said Bill, checking that Grace was still out of earshot. ‘To think history’s going to repeat itself?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, you’ve already one lad in the nick,’ said Bill.
‘Aye, and we all know who to thank for that, don’t we?’ said Sturzaker.
‘It weren’t our Jeff’s fault,’ said Laurel.
‘Course not,’ said Sturzaker. ‘You cut Jeff Dyer in half and he’s fuckin’ golden all the way through.’
‘Do you mind?’ said Liz, indicating Grace, who was squeezing her way back to her seat with Kat, her fingers orange from the cheese puffs she was eating.
‘I’m sure she’s heard worse, love,’ said Sturzaker. ‘Living in your house.’
‘Just tell your Vinny to stay away from the Wood,’ said Bill.
Sturzaker smiled. ‘Why? You worried he’d find summat you didn’t want him to see?’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’ said Bill.
‘Well, you hear things, don’t you?’ said Sturzaker, tying his scarf.
‘What things?’ said Bill.
‘I don’t want to go spreading rumours without proof,’ Sturzaker replied, and patted Bill on the shoulder as he went out. ‘Watch your mouth.’
∾
For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, Grace and Kat were as thick as thieves and went off around the pub hand in hand looking at all the old photographs. When Kat squatted down to examine some detail, Grace put her arm around her as she’d done at the wedding. In her black dress and her black shoes and with her hair tidied with a tortoiseshell clip, she looked incapable of violence and I knew Kat didn’t believe that Grace would have taken a hammer to her mirror without good reason. She had been driven to it. When Grace started to lead her off to talk to the Wigtons, Liz shouted at her to leave Mrs Pentecost alone, but Kat said she didn’t mind and it seemed to me that she thought it best to keep Grace away from her mother.
Without really meaning to Dadda got steadily drunk and when he knocked over the table that the Dewhursts were sitting at on his way to the Gents, Angela sent me to pick him up.
‘Take him home, John, for Christ’s sake,’ she said. ‘Otherwise we’ll be burying two Pentecosts today.’
With Bill’s help, Kat and I managed to get Dadda into the Land-Rover, wedging him between us in the middle seat, and I drove back to the farm.
Through Sullom Wood, the trees moved in a blackness that unfolded in all directions, up on to the fells, out on to the moors. Miles and miles of thick night that I don’t think Kat had ever known before. Even when we drove through the fens after dark it was at least stippled with a few lights. But here there was nothing and it would have been easy to reach the end of the valley without ever knowing that there were any farms here at all.
When I turned off the lane, Fly and Musket came out barking and their eyes lit up glassily as they put their faces through the railings of the yard gate.
Somewhere along the way, Dadda had fallen asleep against Kat’s shoulder and she gently moved him upright, settling his cap on top of his head as if he were a snowman. Hearing the dogs, he came to and opened his eyes and looked at me bewildered.
‘We’re home, Dadda,’ I said.
‘You’ll need the keys,’ he said, opening his suit jacket and peering into the inside pocket.
‘I’ve got them,’ I said. ‘You gave them to me in the pub.’
‘Did I?’ he said. ‘Not that I know why I’m locking the bloody doors anyway.’
‘You’re keeping Bill happy,’ I said.
‘Daft sod,’ he said. ‘Who does he think’s going to come here?’
‘It’s better to be safe until we find out who started the fire, Dadda,’ I said and he gave me a disparaging look.
‘It’s done with now,’ he said. ‘It’s out. Whoever it were isn’t going to come back and start another, are they? There’s nowt much left to burn.’
I handed the keys to Kat.
‘You’ll have to get the gate,’ I said, and she got out reluctantly, trying to mimic the tone Dadda had used with the dogs the day before. They ignored her, of course, and she was still trying to send them away when I drove into the yard.
Once I’d parked by the hay barn, I helped Dadda out of the passenger seat and he ran his hand through my hair.
‘You’re a good lad,’ he said. ‘My John. And you’re better than this bloody place, love,’ he said, gently touching Kat’s cheek.
‘Let’s get him into the kitchen,’ I said, and Kat took one side and I took the other and we walked him over to the porchway.
‘Sit on the bench while I open the door, Dadda,’ I said, but he’d already detached himself from Kat’s arm and was heading across the yard.
‘Where are you going?’ I said.
‘I need to go and check on the ram,’ he said.
‘He’s fine,’ I said. ‘Just go to bed, Dadda.’
‘He’s not been well,’ he said. ‘I need him in shape.’
‘He is in shape,’ I said. ‘You only looked at him this morning.’
‘He’s my responsibility now the Gaffer’s gone,’ he said.
‘I know that,’ I said. ‘But you can’t be responsible for him when you’ve had a skinful, Dadda.’
‘Skinful?’ he said. ‘Give over. I’m fine.’
‘John, just let him go if he wants to go,’ said Kat, wrapping her coat tighter as the wind picked at some loose piece of guttering on the house.
‘I’ll bring you some tea then, Dadda,’ I said and he raised his hand and went unsteadily to the ram’s pen as if he were wearing someone else’s shoes.
∾
The pen had been built on to the end of the lambing shed out of breeze blocks and corrugated
iron, a temporary arrangement that the Gaffer had been meaning to spend time making more permanent for years. Now it was Dadda’s job.
I put the tea down on top of the pen wall and watched Dadda inspecting the ram’s mouth.
‘Did I make an arsehole out of myself at the pub?’ he said. ‘I didn’t think I’d drunk that much. It were Bill kept buying me scotch.’
‘No one minded, Dadda,’ I said. ‘Not today.’
He moved along the trough filling it with protein pellets. The ram grumbled in his chest and nudged past Dadda’s thigh to get to his supper.
‘You’re going to over-feed him, you know,’ I said.
‘Nay, he needs to build his strength up, don’t you, lad?’ said Dadda.
He rubbed the ram’s fleece and stroked his head. He was a good tup. Broad across the rump; good bollocks too, the Gaffer had said, firm as pears. A Yardley tup. Yardley’s of Reeth always sold good rams, traceable all the way back to the original Tan Hill Swaledales. But for a week or so now he’d been listless and sniffy about his food, which was never a good sign. Especially when Tupping was just around the corner.
Dadda patted the ram’s back once more and then came to join me on the other side of the gate.
‘What was Ken Sturzaker talking about?’ I said.
‘Sturzaker?’ said Dadda, sipping his tea. ‘Nowt. He were just winding Bill up.’
‘He said something about the Wood.’
‘Since when did you start taking any notice of owt Ken Sturzaker said?’
‘So he’s just protecting Vinny then, is he?’ I said.
‘Probably, I don’t know,’ said Dadda. ‘Like I say, I’ve too much to do to worry about it.’
The ram backed away from his trough after a few mouthfuls and snuffled in the straw. Dadda tapped the wall with his wedding ring, wanting a smoke.
‘Look, why don’t me and Kat stay a bit longer?’ I said.
‘How do you mean?’ he said.
‘I mean after Gathering.’
‘Haven’t you jobs to go to?’ he said.
‘Not necessarily,’ I said.
‘You’re being cryptic, John,’ he said and drank some more of his tea.
‘I mean we don’t have to carry on doing what we’re doing,’ I said.
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