Haunted Fields (6 page)

9

Freddie upended his boot, patting the muddy underside with his palm, ejecting needle-like shards of straw which fell like confetti over the rugged doormat. He knew that in the average household this act would be tantamount to high treason. But the back porch of the farmhouse had been reserved for boots, patched-up overalls, hats, winter jackets. What would Rhona have made of all this? He often wondered why she'd never volunteered their house as a show home for the estate.

‘We won't be back ‘til five-ish so carry on with the tidying up ‘til four,' said Greg, brushing past Freddie, wearing what looked like a brand new suit.

‘It must be important,' said Freddie, hopping around on his free foot. ‘Are you off to renew your wedding vows or something?'

‘All will be revealed later,' said Elizabeth, exiting the kitchen, dressed equally as smartly as her husband, in a long black skirt and white blouse.

What are they up to?
Abandoning work early… dressed-up… acting all secretive…He'd ask Jess if she knew anything about this lunchtime date.

‘Have fun,' he said, watching them trot sheepishly around the side of the house towards Greg's truck. He'd wondered why they'd been in such a rush to get the routine, day-to-day tasks out of the way before dinner.

Greg had left plenty for him to be getting on with, and he didn't plan on disappointing his boss, especially after the embarrassment of the ruckus which had followed the misunderstanding at the cinema. He'd not put up much resistance when security had expelled him, largely because of how ashamed he'd felt at falsely identifying the lad from the public footpath.

He cursed his luck.
Why did a bloody policeman have to saunter past at that precise moment? Why?
He seriously needed his fortunes to improve. And it hadn't been any regular bobby either, but one who'd clearly had a bad day. He'd tried taking his telling off like a man, he really had. But ten minutes in, with the copper still laying into him, something finally snapped.

‘Just who do you think you are?' he'd said, loud enough for the growing crowd – which included his three blushing friends – to hear. ‘You're certainly not my dad, and only he can speak to me like that.'

‘Can he?' asked the policeman. ‘Well, perhaps I'll speak with him, then, and see what
he
makes of your behaviour.'

‘Go for it!'

He'd regretted the words the moment they'd left his mouth. But he knew he couldn't take them back, not with the crowd egging him on, and with PC Take-on-the-world on his case.

Dad hadn't been impressed, and when Rhona had grabbed the phone from him Freddie's humiliation had been complete.

‘I'm disappointed in you, Freddie – you've really let me and your father down,' she'd said. ‘First the stealing, now
this
… I expected more from you…You haven't been brought up to behave this way… It really isn't good enough…'

‘Love you too!' he shouted into the phone. He'd hung up, broken into a smile. He loved cutting Rhona off before she'd had the chance to deliver a verdict.

He headed for the yard, a dark corner of which needed a good sweeping. He'd helped Greg clear the dingy area the day before. They'd removed rotten pallets, bags stuffed with bale band, and a stockpile of tools (mostly broken) which had more than likely been out of use when Ursula lived at Ridge Farm as a young girl. An epic spring clean was well underway, but as he'd seen and frequently remarked upon, the farm certainly needed it.

He could see the sweeping brush propped up against a stone wall as he neared the once cluttered corner. He glanced briefly past the sheds and out across the hillside. In the three days that'd passed since the misunderstanding in the atrium of the cinema, he'd decided it would be for the best if he gave up his pursuit of Noel's lookalike. There had to be a rational explanation, but it wasn't his problem to solve.
It must be a distant relative or something!
he concluded.

He'd kept his head down and worked hard since the incident, going out of his way to avoid contact with Scarlett. He hadn't replied to any of the twelve text messages she'd sent him. The first few messages hadn't been too bad. She'd commiserated him on bumping into the wrong policeman on the wrong day. But the general taste of the messages had soured with his failure to reply, so much so that the twelfth and final message had all but told him never to contact her again.
That suits me just fine!

He gripped the brush tightly (noticing that his hands had already toughened somewhat) and began sweeping the filth into piles, leaving a steadily growing cloud of dust behind him. He could feel the effect of the manual labour in his chest, and in his whole body. He felt fitter, stronger, more disciplined. He felt alive.

But the repetitive, mundane nature of the work quickly sent his mind wandering. Every nook and cranny of the farm held opportunity. He considered the non-use of space, as well as the misuse of certain areas; a waste. Such a small farm, and an unprofitable farm at that, needed to make use of every square inch. He challenged himself, if only hypothetically, to come up with ideas which might turn Ridge Farm into a profitable enterprise once again.

Turning the disused outbuildings into roadside stalls seemed a no-brainer, and making use of the farmhouse's spare bedrooms as a bed and breakfast would also bring in extra income, but what else could be put to use?

He looked around. Of course, all this old junk! Yes, it was junk to them but surely someone could do something with it? A few of the rusty pieces of machinery might even be museum pieces! He'd bring the idea of a farmyard sale up with Greg. He knew he was a proud man, but to hell with that! He'd noticed a look of resignation in Greg's eyes of late and he didn't like it.

‘Hey!'

He spun round, the brush slipping from his hands, clattering on the concrete.

‘You scared the life out of me, Jess.'

‘Sorry, Mr Jumpy,' she said, raising a hand to shield her mouth and nose from the dust. ‘You tidying up again!? This isn't like dad at all.'

‘Perhaps he's just making use of the extra pair of hands?' he said, his cheeks tingling. ‘The rodents are doing just as well as the livestock, from what I've seen.'

‘I suppose.'

Something tickled his chin.
Bloody spiders!
He lifted a hand to brush the arachnid away when his leg began to vibrate. He dug about for his Samsung – no text message. No missed call. He must have imagined it!

‘Is everything ok?'

‘Umm yeah – fine.'

He rammed the mobile back into his pocket. He knew he needed to push Tiffany Angle as far from his mind as possible, for his own sanity.

‘Do you fancy a drink?' asked Jess, placing a hand on his arm. He could feel the tenderness of her fingers through the sleeve of his t-shirt, tensing instinctively. ‘Oh, you have been working hard!'

The tingling in his cheeks fuelled a raging fire. He knew his face would turn bright red.

‘Oh, I don't know. Your dad left me a really long list of jo–'

‘Well,' she said, linking arms with him, ‘as his only child and heir to his dynasty I insist you take a break. Besides, you've done plenty already and he's hardly going to notice you've taken a twenty minute breather.'

‘What if they come back?'

‘Relax, Freddie,' she said, sidling up to him. She turned, the slight breeze catching her hair, whipping his burning cheek. ‘This is
supposed
to be the summer holidays. Enjoy yourself!'

‘Ok, boss!'

‘And loosen up a bit. Friends are allowed to link arms!'

He gulped.

‘I do know.'

‘Lucas isn't going to punch you for walking me back to the house.'

But Freddie wasn't so sure. And thankfully Lucas couldn't read minds! He wanted the walk back to the farmhouse to stretch on for miles and miles.

‘What were you thinking about when I snuck up on you?' she said, as they set off across the yard.

‘Nothing.'

‘You were in another world, Freddie.'

‘Just daydreaming, that's all. I'm a master at it,' he said, forcing his face back into its most neutral expression. He knew he'd make a poor poker player. ‘That's why I get so much bother from teachers. “–
All that potential… such a waste,
blah, blah.” I can't knuckle down.'

‘You're doing all right here.'

‘Yeah, but this excites me. This isn't theory, this is real business. I feel like I'm making a difference.'

‘What, sweeping up?'

‘Haha! I see areas for improvement all the time while I'm working. It wouldn't take much to–'

But, yet again, he was cut off at the very mention of his grand ideas. ‘My dad is really stubborn. What makes you think he'd listen to a kid?' she said.

‘A
kid
?! Thanks a lot.'

As they passed the old barn Jess stopped and released his arm, turning to face him.

‘I'm scared, Freddie. We're in a far worse state than I feared. I don't think there's much more we can do.'

‘So why bother asking me to do all this tidying up?'

‘I don't know.'

Suddenly there came a loud smash from somewhere behind them. Blood rushed to Freddie's head. The sound was unmistakable – glass breaking!

‘What was that?' Jess whispered.

He looked into her eyes, searching for any hint of understanding, of knowing. Nothing. She too, was puzzled.

‘It came from the house,' he said.

‘I left the back door unlocked! Crap!'

10

He scurried towards the house, kicking up small clouds of dust. An attack on Jess and the family was an attack on him. He felt like a part of the household, and felt it was his duty to protect. But what'd happened? Blood pounded in his ears, his feet hammering the rough ground as they carried him towards the unknown.

He rounded the old barn, the white farmhouse in his sights. He searched the windows as he moved but everything looked as it had at break time – peaceful, like a scene from a perfectly normal day. So what had caused the dreadful noise? He slammed on the brakes, skidding. Hearing frantic footsteps behind, he spun. Jess wasn't stopping; back straight, arms pumping. Her shoulder brushed his as she tore past him, her face red and blotchy.
He had to get there first – he just had to.
He couldn't let her to face whatever evil lurked over at the house alone. He stormed after her.

But keeping up with Jess proved difficult.

‘What can you see?' he shouted.

‘Oh no!' he heard her say.

‘What – what is it?'

‘Freddie, I'm so sorry!'

Jogging past the trellis that ran alongside the garden he noticed that Jess wasn't facing the house at all. She'd stopped beside his… his Corsa.

No!
thought Freddie.
My baby! My independence! No!
Jess blocked his approach, holding out an arm to stop him.

‘Let. Me. See,' he said, striding right up to her. His bottom lip wobbled.
What has happened here? What doesn't she want me to see?

Jess sighed, stepping aside.

‘No!'

His insides turned to ice. A brick – a common red house brick – lay in a crater of splintered windscreen. It looked as if it'd fallen from space. But Freddie knew that meteorites weren't brick-shaped. The same thoughts that'd raced through his mind the evening he'd discovered the note of warning on his windscreen did so again.
Who'd done this? Why have they done this?
But there was only one suspect. Harvey Templeton.

A gut-wrenching pain forced his hands to his stomach. He crouched. Harvey really didn't like him, and what's more, wanted him out the way. His instincts told him to run, to flee – to put as much distance between himself and Ridge Farm as he could, and fast. Events had spiralled out of control and he didn't even know why.
What hadn't he spotted?
He knew he'd taken Harvey's girlfriend out on a date, despite being warned to stay away from her, but would Harvey really take it this far?

‘I don't understand.'

He'd bought the Corsa with money given to him after the sale of Granddad's house. It was more than just a car. And the attack, which seemed more than just mindless vandalism, felt personal.

‘Who are you?' he bawled to the invisible culprit, ‘Coward!'

‘Fre–'

‘Dad's gonna kill me,' he said, poking at the splintered windscreen.

‘Wait! Freddie! No! You'll cut yourself, and contaminate any evidence.'

‘Evidence? This isn't a TV crime show!'

‘Just come away from it. We'll go inside and call the police.'

Great!
thought Freddie.
The police!
His relationship with the boys in blue wasn't exactly a loving one. He felt Jess grab his wrist, pulling him away from the battle-scarred windscreen. Jess led him, clearing a safe passage through the blizzard raging in his mind. He focused on the now, on surmounting one obstacle at a time.

‘Ok. I suppose we have to,' Freddie said, finally giving in.

He let Jess guide him into the house. Once inside the kitchen he collapsed onto a tableside chair, his head dropping into his palms.

‘I'll make us a cuppa,' she said.

‘But why would Harvey do this?
Why
?'

He lifted his head and watched Jess fill the kettle, before sinking back down to the sanctuary of his clammy hands. He'd block out the world, shield himself from incoming fire, from any form of conflict.

It
had
to be Harvey Templeton!

‘Yes, that's correct. Ridge Farm, Ravenby-le-Wold. No, no. Like I said, we didn't see who threw it. Ok, thank you.'

How long had he been out of it for? His forehead, pressed into the oak table, had gone numb. He lifted his weary head and checked the time on his mobile. He'd been asleep almost an hour. A mug of cold tea awaited his dry, cracked lips.

‘I'll make you another,' Jess said, striding over to the table. ‘I didn't want to wake you.'

What a great friend he'd made in Jess, thought Freddie. She really had taken control of the situation, and he really did appreciate her kindness. But why wouldn't the fog lift? He needed to think, to assess. Was he in danger? Had he done something which might put Jess and her family in danger too?

‘No it's ok,' he said. ‘I'll drink it cold. It might wake me up a bit.'

Lifting the cup up to his lips, he downed the tea in three giant gulps.

‘What did the police say?'

‘They're sending an officer over in a bit. We're not to touch the car.'

‘Well I won't be driving it anywhere, that's for sure.'

‘Who've you upset?'

‘Harvey, I guess.'

He knew he had to tell her now, just had to. Besides, he couldn't hold it in any longer and someone else really ought to know.

‘This isn't the first time.'

‘What, that someone's thrown a brick at your car? You sure know how to make friends, Freddie.'

‘No, I mean… The other night, I found… I found a note tucked under my windscreen-wiper–'

He waited for her to react.
Would she be angry with him for not telling her until now?
he wondered. She started playing with her hair, wrapping it around her index finger. He loved the way she did that. She probably did it without realising, he thought, which made it all the more personal.

‘What did the note say?'

‘Go home.'

‘
Go home
?'

‘Creepy or what!'

‘You should let the police know about this.'

‘
If
they get here!'

‘Jeez, Freddie. What is it with you and the police?'

‘Now that's a long story.'

Hearing a vehicle pull up outside, he got up and hobbled over to the sink. He glanced through the window – it wasn't the police. Elizabeth and Greg, still dressed like city stockbrokers, disembarked the truck. What are they going to think? Why did trouble follow him everywhere he went?

He winced as Elizabeth's mouth fell open. Greg shook his balding head.

Behind him, Jess ambled through from the sitting room.

‘Don't mention the note until the police arrive…I don't want mum getting all stressed again.'

‘Who did that to your car?'

Freddie backed away from the door as Elizabeth stormed into the kitchen, her complexion darkening to an ominous purple.

‘We don't know,' Jess replied. ‘Freddie thinks it might have something to do with Harvey Templeton. The police will be here soon.'

Greg followed his wife into the room, eyes down, quiet.

‘Ursula Hawkins has something to do with this–'

‘Here we go,' said Jess, sighing. ‘Just sit down, Mum. I'll make us all a drink.'

‘Yes, good idea, let's sit around drinking tea while Ursula gives us the finger!'

What was Elizabeth going on about now?
thought Freddie. Why would Ursula throw a brick at his car? Did she believe Ursula was to blame for everything? Did she also believe Ursula was at fault for global warming, or the economic downturn?

‘I suppose this isn't the best time to let you know that Lucas has invited me away for a weekend, next month,' said Jess, arms folded tightly across her chest.

Freddie's stomach felt empty. He knew Jess was only trying to divert Elizabeth's attention, but even so, couldn't she have gone on about the weather or something? He really didn't want to think about the things Jess and Lucas would get up to on their weekend away.

‘We'll discuss this later,' Elizabeth said, frowning.

‘She'll be ok,' Greg said, placing his hands on Elizabeth's waist, steering her towards a chair. ‘She's all grown up. And Lucas, well, he's a sensible lad.'

‘Sensible lad or not, they're all after the same thing…'

‘Mum, you don't know–'

‘Oh, I know what he's after, Jessica. Don't think I don't know what you get up to when you go to his house!'

Freddie didn't know where to look. Jess and Lucas alone – he shuddered – the image pained him.

‘We haven't, we–'

‘Elizabeth – enough!' Greg said.

‘I bet Rhona gets like this when you're dating,' Elizabeth said, turning to Freddie. ‘Time just flies by. One minute they're running past your knees, the next minute, well…'

Elizabeth lifted her open palms and looked up at the ceiling, closing her eyes. She looked as if she was surrendering. Freddie backed away towards the worktop, watching as Greg took Elizabeth's head into his large hands.

‘Everything will turn out fine, dear,' he whispered. ‘It'll be a new chapter for us, a fresh start. We'll be able to put all this behind us.'

What were Elizabeth and Greg talking about, really?
wondered Freddie. What had any of this got to do with the attack on his Corsa or with Jess going away with Lucas?
Nothing! Pure and simple. Absolutely nothing!
He knew what they were discussing. This furore was about the future of Ridge Farm, of the family. Where had they been this afternoon? He'd never felt so awkward. He wanted to evaporate, to slip away. This was a private moment. He felt out of place.

‘It feels wrong,' Elizabeth said. ‘This is our home, our own little world. I would be lost, be nothing without this place. Oh, my little girl…'

She trailed away, her words choked, indiscernible through the disturbance going on in Freddie's head. He felt used, deceived. He'd put a lot of effort into tidying the farm. He'd had so many ideas, so much hope for the place, for the family. And now it all seemed to have been a waste. Greg must have wanted the farm to look good for potential buyers.

‘You can't sell up!' Freddie cried. ‘You just can't!'

‘What other option do we have?' Greg said.

Freddie looked on as Greg cradled Elizabeth's head, her chin buried deep in his shoulder.

‘My home…' she sobbed, ‘my home…'

‘If there was anything I could do,' Greg said, ‘anything, I would.'

‘There is!' Freddie said. He knew he sounded desperate. But he'd seen room for improvement everywhere. Most of the holes in this boat could be plugged. It wasn't time to abandon ship just yet. ‘Let me help you. I have so many ideas.'

‘I've listened to your ideas, lad. I'm sorry, they're nothing new. They won't save us. We're better off cutting our losses.'

‘Then what harm can it do?'

‘I've given it everything I've got. We both have. This is our life. Do you really think the ideas of a seventeen year-old lad who's worked on a farm for less than a week will change anything?'

‘Yes, I do, actually.'

So what do you suggest?' Greg asked angrily.

‘Well,' said Freddie, clearing his throat.

Was Greg humouring him? What could he suggest that he hadn't already? He'd reel off a list, one idea followed by another. Show his boss that he really did believe in this place and its future. But his pitch was interrupted by the sound of another car pulling up outside. He glanced through the kitchen window. The police had arrived.

‘My name is PC Smith,' said the tall, blunt faced officer. He looked back over his shoulder towards a young officer, who was all twitchy and excitable. ‘And this is PC Atherton. Ok, who is the registered keeper of the vehicle?'

‘Me,' said Freddie, eyes sweeping the floor, his hand raised like a schoolchild answering a question in class.

‘And what is your name, young man?'

‘Freddie Forster.'

‘Are you sure you don't want a seat, PC Smith?' Elizabeth asked, ‘or a drink?'

‘We're in a bit of a rush, I'm afraid,' PC Atherton chipped in. PC Atherton seemed a little young to be a police officer, and very eager to please.

‘And was it you who contacted us, Mr Forster?' asked PC Smith, pencil poised over an open notebook.

Hadn't the receptionist at the police station, or whoever had taken the call, relayed any of this information to the two officers? He wanted to rip into them, to give them a piece of his mind. He just needed an excuse. His car, his pride and joy, had been damaged. To them, he was an incident number, something to be ticked off.

‘No, that was me,' said Jess, just in time, as if reading his thoughts.

‘And did you see who threw the object?'

‘No. But we heard the glass breaking – me and Freddie. It took us about a minute or two to get over here. We saw no one.'

‘But we all know who did it,' said Elizabeth, ‘who ordered it!'

Freddie grimaced, and Greg and Jess sighed loudly.

‘Oh? And who might this be?'

‘Ursula Hawkins,' said Elizabeth, struggling to get her words out quick enough. ‘Lives down at the manor.'

‘Come on Elizabeth, love,' Greg said.

‘And what are you basing these allegations on?' asked PC Smith, leaning forward, his expression unreadable.

Freddie watched as Greg drew his lips in, wrinkles scrunched up, his eyebrows meeting in the middle.

‘I'm sorry,' Elizabeth said. ‘It's been a long day. It's just… she's – she's been a thorn in my side since I was a kid. I wouldn't put it past her, that's all.'

‘It hardly sounds likely though, does it? But we'll follow it up. I leave no stone unturned, I assure you,' said PC Smith. ‘Have any of you seen anyone acting suspiciously in the last few days?'