by Shaun Baines
“You’re going too fast,” Arnold said, slamming into Nancy in the back seat.
Callum pressed harder on the accelerator. “They only open when it’s dark, he’d said, but we have to get there soon.”
Holly held onto her seatbelt with both hands. “Why?”
“Because they’re in a dell,” Callum said.
“What dell?” Arnold asked. “We never found anything like that.”
The Defender plunged down a road cutting through Crannock Hills like a scar. Sheep stood by the wayside, watching them with dumb curiosity. The sound of the engine drew the animals into their path and Callum swore under his breath.
“It’s called the Devil’s Bathtub,” he said, swerving in and out of wool. “Dad said it was where Lucifer bathed before going out to cause his mischief.”
“But why are you rushing to get there?” Arnold asked.
“The dell is twenty feet deep. It’s too dangerous to descend at night.”
The road took them to the northern fringe of the estate. The grassland was pitted with boulders. Trees lay on their sides, blown over by winter gales. There were no birds or game. Not even the sheep dared to stray this far north.
It was easy to see why the devil would choose this area for bath night, thought Holly.
“How much further?” she asked.
“Over this next hill,” Callum said, cresting the slope.
He slammed on the brakes and the Defender skidded, its back wheels skirting to the left. He corrected its trajectory, hissing through his teeth.
Traffic cones were stacked in the road like plastic stalagmites.
Callum slipped from the jeep and stalked closer for a better look.
The road dipped to a wasteland devoid of trees. They hadn’t fallen. They’d been felled, their branches stripped and their trunks lying naked in a pile. Brown portacabins and muddy white caravans were arranged in rows. There was a communal area where men and women in orange vests sat on barrels or patio furniture. It was the end of the day and their work was done. The workers laughed and joked with one another or sat back on deckchairs with a beer.
“Who are they?” Holly asked.
Callum crouched by a hillock.
“Contractors,” he said. “They live here until the area is cleared and then move to another site.”
“They’re more like a plague of locusts,” Nancy said.
Someone from the camp turned on a radio and people started dancing, raising their drinks in the air.
“It makes me sick,” Arnold said, crawling forward. “Look at them. Don’t they understand the damage they’re doing?”
“They’re just happy to be working again,” Holly said, watching them sing and dance. She wasn’t surprised to recognise a few faces from the village. Mrs Threadle, the nettle-wine drinking teacher, stumbled from a portacabin. She wore an orange vest like the others and carried a bottle in each hand. Winding through the group, she poured out refreshments, each drop accompanied by a drunken giggle.
Arnold jumped to his feet. “Scab. Scab. Scab.”
Callum grabbed him by the neck and threw him to the ground. “This isn’t the miner’s strike, Arnold and you won’t use that word around me. Understand?”
Arnold lay where he fell, ruffling his clothing like they were the feathers of a deposed cockerel.
“Where is the dell?” Holly asked Callum.
Wrenching his eyes from Arnold, Callum looked to the other side of the encampment. “Over there. We’re going to have to go around. The contractors won’t take kindly to us strolling through their sing-song.”
They gathered what they needed from the Defender and set out on foot. Callum led the way, scrambling from foothold to foothold as he made his way down a slope. Nancy and Arnold followed, sure-footed and moving like a breeze. Holly brought up the rear, shuffling downward on her bottom.
Reaching the valley floor, she rubbed the soreness from her cheeks and attempted to catch up with the others. It was hard going. Night was fast approaching and Callum was setting a blistering pace. She saw him have a word with Nancy and Arnold, pointing in a certain direction. They moved on, but Callum waited.
“We need to be faster,” he said as Holly collapsed to her knees in front of him.
“I’m too old for this,” Holly said, wiping her brow.
“Don’t say things like that,” Callum said, picking her up. “I might have to shoot you.”
They fell into step with one another. Callum hiked quickly, head bowed, but Holly could tell he was holding back. Grateful for that small mercy, she worked harder than she would have liked.
“You were pretty hard on Arnold back there,” she said.
“I don’t like him.”
“Seemed like more than that,” Holly said.
Callum waded through a patch of sedge grass, guiding Holly through by her hand. “Dad told me about the strike. Friends, families, fathers and sons. They turned on each other. Even after the strike, those that broke the picket line were always known as the S-word.”
“But he was a gamekeeper,” Holly said. “He wouldn’t have been involved.”
“He worked for the Wentworths and people thought he should have come out in solidarity.” Callum stopped by a rotten tree stump and kicked it until his boots were covered in shards of wood. “He kept working. He was loyal to a fault.”
“Like you,” Holly said.
“It cost him his reputation. That’s why no one came to his funeral. It’s why I don’t go to theirs.”
“They were scared and bitter and hopeless,” Holly said. “You can’t blame them for that.”
“I know,” Callum said. “My Dad never did, either.”
“And here you are,” Holly said, “saving a village that turned their back on you. Your father would be proud.”
Callum shook his boots free of splinters. “I’m doing this for you, not them.”
A high-pitched whistle cut through the air. Holly and Callum saw the others waving frantically.
“Let’s go,” Callum said.
A quick march led them to a brook where water bounced over rounded rocks.
“Which way now?” Nancy asked.
Callum pointed in the direction of the flow and they followed the trickling water for half a mile. Nancy stumbled in the fading light, but Callum caught her before she fell.
“We’re not going to make it,” he said.
“We have to,” Arnold said, increasing his speed, leaving the others behind.
“Don’t go too far,” Callum shouted after him.
Arnold stomped onward, his form blurring in the dark.
Nancy watched him go. “He’s lived under the shadow of his brother for so long. He wants his share of the light.”
“Hang back,” Callum shouted at Arnold. “You’re almost there.”
They listened to his footsteps receding.
There was a yell and clacking noises, like rocks hitting each other. For a brief moment, there was silence followed by a thump.
Callum rushed along the brook, his arms pumping at his sides. The water gushed over the edge of the dell. It tumbled into a circular pool, sending foam and spray into the air. Lying next to it was Arnold. His leg was twisted at an awkward angle.
By his head was a circle of white flowers opening in the dusk.
Chapter Forty-Seven
“We can’t leave him like that,” Nancy said.
Dropping to her knees, she searched for a place to descend, her hands scratching at the ground near the edge. She moved fast, too fast, dislodging a rock. It plummeted into the pool, inches from Arnold’s head. Water splashed over his face, stirring him from his stupor.
“Help me,” he said weakly.
“We have to leave him,” Callum said. “We try to rescue him and we could all end up down there.”
Nancy twisted her skirts in an iron grip. “It’s too cold to leave him.”
“It’s his own fault,” Callum shouted at Arnold’s writhing form.
The horizon was crowned with a red corona as the sun continued its course around the globe. It was replaced by the artificial light of the encampment and the faint ring of laughter.
“I’ll go back,” Callum said. “I’ll get the Defender and then try to persuade some of the contractors to help.”
“We don’t need the likes of those people. It’s their fault he’s down there,” Nancy said.
“Arnold fell because he wouldn’t listen to Callum,” Holly said. “Don’t make the same mistake.”
Callum shrugged off his jacket, handing it to Nancy. “Throw this into the dell,” he said, “and make sure he covers himself.”
He took Holly by the elbow, leading her to one side. “The Defender doesn’t have a winch so I’m going to need rope and a few people to haul him out.”
“I’m coming with you,” Holly said.
Even in the dying light, she saw the disapproval in Callum’s face and she held up her hand in defiance.
“And before you say I’m too slow,” she said, “it will save time. You go to the Defender and I’ll go to the encampment.”
Callum folded his arms. “The ground is treacherous at night.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“I can’t slow down for you.”
“You’re doing an awful lot for someone you don’t like.” Holly cupped her hand to his cheek, drawing a thumb across his bristled jaw. “And I’m not asking for your permission.”
“You’re wasting time,” Nancy shouted.
Holly waited for a response from Callum. His face was lost in shadow, but his green eyes shone like a cat’s.
He let go of a long breath. “Do what I say when I say it, okay?”
Tightening her boot laces, Holly ran alongside Callum, matching him stride for stride. Her legs were already aching, but they operated independently of her, spurred on by desperation. She was careful, but swift, skipping over divots, spotting rocks before they had a chance to trip her.
Callum took the lead, checking over his shoulder from time to time. Holly ignored him, concentrating on her own path through the darkness.
The noise of the encampment grew louder and they stopped by a tower of bin bags filled with rotting rubbish.
“I’ll get the Defender. You get the rope and extra hands,” Callum said before disappearing into the night.
Holly wiped sweaty hair from her brow and rubbed her swollen calves. Now that Callum was out of sight, she allowed her gait to return to normal. Holly lumbered into the encampment, holding on to a chest flexing like an accordion.
The crowd of contractors had thinned, most of them having retired for a few hours of precious sleep.
Holly walked into the light of a bonfire. Yellow flames shimmied through wooden pallets. Branches of fallen trees lay on top, their outer twigs shrivelling with heat, looking like a hand curling into a fist. Hissing in the embers were several aerosol cans used to mark trees before they were pulled down.
Tired men and women reclined in their chairs, enjoying the warmth, their eyelids drooping.
“There’s been an accident,” Holly said, waving her arms. “I need your help.”
The contractors turned in their seats, their faces crinkling into scowls.
“Can someone help me?” she asked.
“What’s the problem?” A woman around Holly’s age, but wider and greyer, picked something from her teeth. “You lost or something?”
“A man has fallen down a dell,” Holly said.
“A well?” someone else asked.
“No, a dell. We need to get him out. We need rope and some people to pull him out.”
The grey-haired woman got to her feet. “I know you, don’t I?”
“No,” Holly said. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, I do.” The woman made a show of placing her finger on her chin. “You were that mouthy bird on the village green.”
An aerosol can exploded in the fire. It flew into the air, showering the contractors in sparks.
The grey-haired woman watched Holly cower from the explosion.
“You told the boss to get stuffed,” she said. “You told him where to go.”
“I didn’t,” Holly said. “I was just concerned – ”
“Yeah, you did,” the woman said. She plucked a lager can from a bucket of water and directed the opening spray at Holly. “You’d prefer it if we didn’t have jobs.”
The woman belched at the same time as another aerosol can detonated. It sailed over their heads, landing at Holly’s feet, who danced out of its way.
“Someone is hurt,” Holly said.
“We’re hurting,” the woman said, “but the Masterlys are coming to save us.”
The contractors murmured to themselves, no longer looking at Holly.
What was wrong with these people, Holly thought? Someone’s life was hanging in the balance. Why weren’t they more concerned?
Mrs Threadle emerged from the darkness, steering Holly away from the fire.
They walked to the edge of the encampment where a halogen lamp lit up a car park of municipal vehicles.
“I remember you,” Mrs Threadle said. “From school. Always asking questions. Question after question, it was.”
Holly looked back to the fire. Most of the contractors had forgotten about her, content to watch the flames and wait for the next explosion.
But the grey-haired woman remained on her feet, her eyes trained in her direction.
“Why are they acting like that?” Holly asked.
Mrs Threadle was an attractive woman. She was curvy with brown hair and a Cupid’s bow mouth. Nettle wine had done little to diminish her outer beauty, though Holly wondered how it had affected her in other ways.
“They need to keep their jobs,” Mrs Threadle said.
Holly glanced at the grey-haired woman. “At the expense of another human being?”
“They aren’t cruel, but you aren’t the only one who needs help.” Mrs Threadle twirled her hair through pudgy fingers. “Take some nettle wine and get to know them. You’ll find they’re just like you and me.”
If Holly could return to Little Belton, there were people who would help. Big Gregg. The Winnows. Old Jack. But how long would that take her? How long did Arnold have?
Shaking her head, Holly’s eyes found a row of vehicles lit with a tempting glow.
“Who keeps the keys for that Ford Ranger?” she asked.
The vehicle had a broad, chrome face and as many dints as a dropped fruit. More importantly, Holly saw it had a winch.
Mrs Threadle checked her pockets and found them empty. “I keep a register of all the vehicles. Part of my administration details.”
“Do you think I could borrow the keys for the Ranger?”
“Oh, I don’t have them on me,” Mrs Threadle said. “We leave them in the ignition. It’s not like they’d get stolen all the way out here, is it?”
Holly bit her lip and nodded. “Could you maybe ask your supervisor for permission? It’s an emergency.”
The light in Mrs Threadle’s eyes dimmed as she looked to the portacabin behind her. “He doesn’t like to be disturbed this late at night.”
Holly pressed her hands together in prayer. “Please?”
“You always were a star pupil,” Mrs Threadle said, a smile fluttering on her lips. “I’ll do my best.”
She shuffled to the portacabin while Holly swallowed her guilt. The moment Mrs Threadle’s back was turned, Holly sidled toward the Ranger.
Callum would be arriving soon, drawing further unwanted attention. Holly would have to be quick. She crept to the Ranger, finding the keys inside. Turning on the engine, Holly ground the gears and sped off into the unknown. The encampment faded in her rearview mirror, but she could see the confused faces of the contractors around the fire. They stood and pointed in her direction.
Even though the Ranger was an all-terrain vehicle, the going was tough. Holl
y bounced and swerved her way around obstacles lit by her headlamps. There was no clear path to the encampment and there wasn’t one going back.
Two headlights appeared behind her. Holly’s heart fluttered, sending fear through every nerve ending. Someone was giving chase.
She pressed on, careening into the brook and sending a cascade of water over her windscreen. Holly checked the direction of the flow and followed it to the dell. She slowed, not wishing to repeat Arnold’s mistake and plummet over the edge. She parked close enough to use the winch, suddenly realising she had never used one before.
The other vehicle closed in, coming to a stop beside her.
Callum leapt from the Defender.
“Thank God,” Holly said. “I thought I was getting arrested.”
“You’re stealing cars now?” Callum asked.
“I’m not as popular as I thought,” Holly said. “It was this or nothing.”
Callum narrowed his eyes into the night. “Where’s Nancy?”
They stared around the dell, but she wasn’t there.
“Nancy?” Holly shouted.
“She hasn’t, has she?” Callum asked.
Dropping to their stomachs, they wriggled as close to the edge as they dared. The combined light of the two vehicles lanced over their heads, failing to illuminate the depths below.
“Wait here,” Callum said, backing away.
“Nancy?” Holly shouted into the hole. There was no response, except for the echo of her voice. “Arnold? Are you there?”
Callum returned, a torch in his hand. He shone it into the dell. The light glittered on the white flowers. They looked like the stars they were named after, but Arnold was gone and Nancy was nowhere to be seen.
“It’s impossible,” Callum said.
“Did she rescue Arnold by herself?” Holly asked.
“She’d be more likely to break her neck.”
Holly inspected the sheer sides of the dell. “Is there another way down?”
“Not that I know of.” Callum stood, shining his torch around them. “Look at this.”
Callum found his wax jacket. It had been retrieved from the dell and folded neatly on a nearby rock.
“They obviously don’t like your taste in fashion,” Holly said.