Embarrassment floods up his chest and sets his face on fire. How dumb was he not to have reported the car? He still hasn’t sorted out the CCTV for the cottage either, has he? Matt sighs, looks at the floor again and says in a small voice, ‘I didn’t want to worry you with it. I reported the badger, but not the car. Couldn’t see the point as they had no clues the first time. Just thought it would be a lot of hassle for nothing.’
‘Oh, Matt. That was really stupid. If you’d reported it, this latest incident would have been more believable. You’ll have to report it straight away. Ring the police right now.’
Matt looks up. ‘Why should they believe me any more than you did? I don’t blame you, by the way. I’d have thought the same. You saw the photos and jumped to one conclusion… You’re a work colleague… a friend, so what chance do I have with the police?’
‘I don’t know, but they’ll have to investigate if you register a complaint with them. There might be drugs in your system and fingerprints in your car. Someone must have driven you into town – so CCTV might have picked them up. They’ll probably interview Lavender too. See if she can shed any light.’
For the first time since he’d woken up that morning, Matt begins to have some hope. Then he thinks about his car and groans. ‘Betty’s husband drove it over here for me just before you got here. If there was any evidence, it would have been mucked up, wouldn’t it?’
Deborah stands up, smooths her dress. ‘I don’t know, Matt. But what I do know is you must call the police and tell them what’s happened, or there’ll be no chance in you coming back to school any time soon.’
Matt stands and faces her, his pulse quickening. ‘I was wondering about that situation…’
She looks him in the eye. ‘I had to suspend you, Matt. I had a quick chat with the governors this morning and we could see no alternative. It does look a bit more hopeful now I know the background to it – but we’ll just have to see what the investigation throws up.’ Deborah pats his shoulder and heads for the door.
Matt follows her. ‘I guessed as much. Again, I don’t blame you. I just wish whoever it was didn’t hate me so much. At first I thought it was Morvoren Penhallow. I had a run-in with her. But she couldn’t have done this to me… unless she had help.’ Lavender’s change of mood and scowling face from last night presents itself, but he pushes it away. It pushes back. Who else could have drugged him? She had the perfect opportunity.
Deborah asks about the run-in, so he tells her – adding what Lavender told him too.
‘I can’t see that old Morvoren would go so far, even if there is a feud and your grandma stole her man. I mean, it’s evil. Something like this could ruin your career, finish it for good even…’ Deborah’s words run out as she sees the look of dismay on Matt’s face. ‘Let’s hope for the best, eh? Try not to worry too much.’
As Deborah drives away, Matt raises his hand in farewell and then leans his head wearily against the door post. Any hope he has drains into the wet gravel and evaporates in the strengthening autumn sunshine. The headteacher is right, he must register with the police and then try to speak to Lavender again. She must know more than he does. The uncomfortable suspicion of her involvement whispers in his ear again. Shelving it for the moment, he finds his mobile in the bedroom and calls the police.
The police sound less than enthusiastic but say they’ll send someone out in the next few hours. They tell him not to have a shower or wash his clothes. The first ship has sailed, but he takes his clothes back out of the laundry basket and shoves them in a carrier. Next, he calls Lavender yet again. Still no answer. The voice of suspicion grows louder. Despite not wanting to, he leaves a polite voicemail. Then he changes his mind. He’ll ring again and this time he’ll leave one she can’t ignore. ‘Lavender, please call me as soon as possible. The police will probably be calling to see you today about what happened to me last night.’
Five minutes later she calls. ‘What’s wrong, Matt? Why are the police calling?’ She sounds rattled big time. Good. Serves her right for ignoring him. He tells her what’s happened. ‘Oh my God, Matt. How terrible for you!’
‘Yeah. Therefore, the police will need to ask you some questions about how I was last night. What time I left – those kinds of things I’d imagine. I was sober when I left, right?’
‘Yes, as far as I know. You’d had the one glass of wine… but seemed okay.’
‘Seemed okay?’
‘Yes. But then I don’t know you well, do I?’
What the fuck? ‘You can surely see if a person is drunk or sober whether you know them or not?’ If she’s like this when the police ask her stuff, he’s sunk.
‘No need to get mad, Matt. Okay, yes, if I had to say, I’d say you were sober…’
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap. I’ve had a trying morning so far, as you can imagine.’ The last thing he wants is to get on her wrong side. God knows what she might tell the police.
‘Must have been dreadful. How do you think you got in that state? Did you go and buy a bottle of whisky and… meet a woman?’
Her voice sounds innocent enough, but he thinks she’s trying not to laugh. He swallows anger and says in an even tone, ‘I certainly didn’t. I can’t remember anything since sitting chatting to you by the fire.’
‘Then how do you know what you did, or didn’t, do?’
A reasonable question. One which the police will ask. ‘Look, I’ve never felt so out of it before. It felt different to any hangover ever. It’s like I was out of my body for a while as I woke up… like I’d been under anaesthetic… drugged.’
‘Drugged? But how?’
This time Matt’s sure he hears a muffled snigger and his blood ignites. ‘I don’t know, Lavender! Why don’t you tell me?’
‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
‘You’re suggesting I drugged you?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘So is you leaving mine, getting out of your head and meeting a tart somewhere!’
‘Why can’t I remember anything since leaving yours, then?’
‘How the hell should I know? Why would I want to drug you?’
‘Maybe your gran knows. Maybe you were in it together. You drugged me and then hoped I’d be found – lose my job... be driven out?’
‘Oh please. Do you really think me and my gran could be capable of doing something like that? You’re bloody delusional! Goodbye, Matt.’
‘No, wait…!’
Too late… Well played, Matt. She’s liable to stick the boot in now when the police call. She might say she thought he was under the influence, make all sorts of shit up about him. He throws the phone at the bed and sits on the edge of it, head in hands, goes over everything that happened last night for the umpteenth time. What if that non-alcoholic wine was actually alcoholic? Or what if Lavender put something in it? Coupled with her attitude just now on the phone, the more he thinks about it, the more convinced he is that she is the only one who could have got him in such a state. No doubt the old crone Penhallow helped too.
A flame of embarrassment shoots up his cheeks when he thinks of them stripping him and putting lipstick marks all over his body. The perfect pouty ones – Lavender will have done those, won’t she? She’s an artist after all. Matt can’t see her stooping so low as to put lipstick on and kiss him herself, especially as she’s so jumpy around men… yeah right. A real shrinking violet, that one. For some reason the juxtaposition of shrinking violets and bold Lavender in his head makes him laugh. Hysteria, he expects.
Matt goes into the kitchen and pulls a can of beer out of the fridge. Then he shoves it back. That would be really stupid with the police about to arrive. But then he is really stupid, isn’t he? Monumentally so. He’s not been the sharpest pencil in the box lately. Arrogance and ego had made him think someone like Lavender would select him above all other men, ask him to dinner, want to be a friend… more than a friend, he’d hoped. Any notion on that score is dead in the water. Good job
too, if she’s a flaming nutcase, joining forces with the old witch and stooping to these levels just to see the back of him. After the car was vandalised Matt had decided that if Morvoren Penhallow wanted a fight she could have one. She’s hands down won this battle… and the way he’s feeling right now, she might just win the war too.
Chapter 14
October 1956
Morvoren’s picking blackberries in the hedgerows. There’s precious few left now at the end of October, but probably enough to make a pie later with the glut of apples in the orchard. Her mum says she’s the best pie maker for miles around, and Morvoren has to agree. She does make excellent pastry. Since the dance, she’s not had much enthusiasm for baking, or eating. She’s not had much enthusiasm for anything… apart from sobbing her heart out, late at night, into her pillow. Mum caught her snivelling while she was milking the cows the other day, and she had to pretend she was getting a cold. Morvoren doesn’t think she fooled her though, because ever since, she’s felt her mum’s eyes on her – watching her like a hawk.
An extra plump blackberry tumbles down the little pile in her basket and Morvoren picks it out, holds it up. It’s juicy, perfectly shaped and smells delicious. It reminds her of that little bitch Elowen, and she squishes it hard between forefinger and thumb, relishing the feel of it crushed, destroyed against her skin. If only it were so easy to get rid of Elowen.
In the five weeks that have passed since the dance, she’s been to Morvoren’s house every Monday and Wednesday. At those times, Morvoren told her mum to say she was out. There’s no way she could speak to the little witch without trying to strangle her. Each time Morvoren spotted Elowen wandering the highways and byways foraging, she hid until she’d passed. Once great friends and potion makers, they were now great enemies. Elowen has no clue about the change in their relationship, but she soon would have. They can’t avoid each other forever.
Morvoren told her mum that she was fed up with Elowen and didn’t want her hanging round any more. She hoped Elowen would get fed up of pestering soon and get the message. Mum hadn’t liked lying, but she’d done it for her daughter. It wouldn’t last forever though – Mum would get annoyed if Elowen kept it up. Just because Elowen hadn’t seen Morvoren didn’t mean she hadn’t been seen. Morvoren’s loyal friend, Annie, had become a great spy. She’d dutifully reported back to Morvoren any sightings of Elowen and Terry together, even though it had broken her heart to hear Annie’s reports of the two of them in the pub, laughing. Worse still, out walking the lanes while stopping to kiss under the harvest moon.
The blackberries have stained Morvoren’s fingers and she licks them, rubs them on her old shawl. When she looks up, she’s shocked to see Elowen has seen her. She’s running down the hill a little way off, waving and grinning like a fool. ‘Morvoren! Where the hell have you been?’
Morvoren turns back to her picking. There’s a prickling sensation along her spine; she knows this meeting will be the showdown that’s become unavoidable. Elowen’s by her side now, panting like a little dog. Morvoren looks at her. Turns the corners of her mouth down and spits on the ground, a few inches from Elowen’s shoe.
Elowen looks at the spit and furrows her brow. ‘Hey. What’s up with you? I’ve been searching everywhere for you – went to your house loads of times, but your mum said you weren’t in. She seemed a bit cagey the last few times.’
‘You saying my mum’s a liar?’
‘No… just thought it was odd that each time I came to yours, you weren’t in.’ Elowen steps back a bit and puts her basket between them as if shielding herself from Morvoren’s glowering stare. ‘I looked all round our usual places too – you were never there, and it’s been ages since the dance. That was the last time I saw you.’
‘Yes. I remember it well.’ Morvoren scowls into Elowen’s bewildered face then adds, ‘And how is the gorgeous Terry Trevelyar? Seen anything of him?’
Elowen’s face beams so bright, it looks like it’s lit from within by a thousand Sunday church candles. Morvoren wants to snuff them out, grind them into dust. ‘That’s why I was searching for you. I was so excited I couldn’t wait to tell my best friend about it all!’
‘Who’s your best friend?’ Morvoren’s voice is icy.
‘Eh?’ Elowen’s big blue eyes grow moist. Her bottom lip quivers. ‘You, of course, you daft thing.’
‘Might have been, but no more. You’re just a little bitch who’s out for all you can get, no matter who you hurt.’
Elowen’s mouth drops open and tears spill from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. ‘I’ve got no idea what you’re on about, Mor. Tell me what’s wrong.’ She goes to put her hand on Morvoren’s arm, but Morvoren bats it away. Hard.
Morvoren thrusts her neck out, puts her face inches from Elowen’s. ‘As if you didn’t know!’
Recoiling as if she’s been slapped, Elowen says, ‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t!’ There’s fire in her eyes now and hot angry tears course down her face.
‘Then I’ll spell it out for you.’ Morvoren’s voice is barely a whisper but the fury in every syllable is deafening. ‘You stole the man I love. Stole him right in front of me while I stood there like a fucking idiot.’
‘What? You love Terry? But the feud…’ Elowen stops, shakes her head in bewilderment.
‘Sod the feud! You can’t help what your heart does, can you?’
‘But why didn’t you tell me?’
Morvoren coughs out a bitter laugh. ‘Because I thought you knew! That day in August we were out in the meadow and you noticed my love potion. You guessed it was for Terry.’
Elowen shakes her head. ‘No I didn’t. I did wonder at first, but you said it wasn’t him! Told me to shut up.’
‘That’s because of the feud. My parents would have gone nuts if they found out I liked him. I wanted to make him fall in love with me before I shared how I felt.’
‘Okay, so how could I possibly have stolen him, if I didn’t know!’
‘I think you knew deep down…’ Morvoren’s conviction of her friend’s guilt is wavering now, but she can’t stop. Jealousy is in the driving seat and it’s flooring the accelerator. ‘You stood there at the dance, coming onto him like a tart as he drank his pint. The pint with my potion in it. He was looking straight at you… at YOU not me.’ Morvoren jabs her finger into Elowen’s chest.
‘Oi! Stop it! If I had known about the potion I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near him!’
‘No, because you are so innocent and virginal, aren’t you?’
Elowen’s eyes narrow and she takes a step forward. ‘Course I’m a virgin. Nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘Yeah. So why do you dress like a prostitute with your tits hanging out – tight skirts, high heels?’
‘Why are you being so cruel? We were best friends…’ Elowen says, almost to herself.
‘Well we aren’t now. And cruel? You’re the cruel one, taking my Terry, you cow.’
‘Your Terry? Don’t make me laugh. And that love potion wouldn’t have even worked – you’re crap at making potions compared to me.’
‘Fuck off. I saw the way he looked at you after he drank it, you stupid tart!’
Elowen’s eyes are dark with anger. There are two spots of colour on her cheeks, on an otherwise white face. She throws down her basket, thrusts her neck out. ‘That’s because he was looking at me. He’d have to drink a barrel of love potion for it to have worked with you! Look at the state of you – bloody scarecrow!’ She jabs a finger into Morvoren’s chest.
Jealousy stops driving at a hundred miles an hour in Morvoren’s head, and crashes into rage, into unadulterated fury. ‘Scarecrow!’ she bellows. ‘I’ll give you scarecrow!’ She launches her basket hard at Elowen’s head, then pelts her with the blackberries. They split into her hair, her face. ‘Now who’s the scarecrow?!’
Elowen falls to the ground but soon jumps up, her face and hair streaked purple, her eyes filled with rage. From her mouth comes a string of expletives and a
guttural roar which turns Morvoren’s bowels to water. She sounds like some primeval animal. When her return launch comes, it’s brutal and unexpected. Elowen’s stronger than she looks, and each blow she lands on Morvoren’s face and body is a punch, not a slap.
Morvoren pictures Terry kissing Elowen, finds her resolve and gives back as good as she gets. She has the benefit of six inches in height, and soon Elowen’s under her, pinned to the damp grass, her face a mess of blood and blackberry juice. ‘Stop it, Morvoren! That’s enough now!’ Elowen yells, after taking another vicious jab to her chin.
Morvoren’s relieved because she doesn’t know how much longer she can keep this up. Her face feels like an elephant’s walked over it. She flicks away a long thread of snot and blood dangling from her nose and says, ‘Do you surrender?’
A sigh. ‘If it makes you happy. Just get off me, for God’s sake.’ Elowen turns her head to the side and spits blood into the damp, trampled grass.
Both women stand and dust themselves off. Elowen picks up her basket and gingerly touches her swollen cheekbone and split lip. ‘It will be interesting telling everyone how I got these,’ she says, contempt in her eyes.
Shit. Morvoren hasn’t thought of that. Terry will know… everyone in the village will know, and soon! ‘That’s not fair. You started it!’
‘Me? I might have poked you, but you started the whole bloody fight with all your bullshit about Terry, and me stealing him. People will laugh their socks of at that one.’ Elowen turns and stomps away down the hill.
‘No! No, don’t tell everyone, Elowen. I’ll be the laughing stock of the village…’ Morvoren hurries after her. ‘My parents will go mad!’
‘Oh, poor little Mor. My heart bleeds for you!’ Elowen tosses over her shoulder as she walks.
‘Please, Elowen!’ Morvoren hates the whine in her voice, but she’ll say anything, do anything, to stop her secret getting out.
The Feud Page 8