A Kind Of Wild Justice (3 page)

Angela was going to the village dance with, for the very first time, a boyfriend. Her casual friendship with
Jeremy Thomas, her brother’s best friend, had begun to turn into something else at the hunt ball the previous winter when he had unexpectedly kissed her during the last dance.

Feelings Angela did not know she possessed had overwhelmed her. And since then Jeremy, and their occasional heavy petting sessions, had become a major absorption for a young woman who had previously shown little interest in anything other than her beloved horses.

The sun was just beginning to drop in the sky and Dartmoor glowed gloriously before her as she shut the paddock gate and turned to walk back to the farmhouse. Angela remained totally preoccupied with the evening ahead. After all, she had made rather momentous plans for it.

In that very focused way teenage girls sometimes have, she had decided that the time had come to rid herself of the burden of her virginity, that she was going to do so in a proper bed and that tonight, as she knew Jeremy’s parents were away, was the ideal opportunity.

So far Angela and Jeremy had conducted the physical side of their relationship almost entirely in the back of his car. Neither had parents of the modern liberated kind who would allow their young offspring to sleep with their girlfriend or boyfriend under their roof. An unfortunate attempt at a passionate encounter in one of Five Tors’ more remote copses, which had ended abruptly with a number of ants finding their way into her underwear, had put Angela off the idea of outdoor venues. Jeremy had been unusually grumpy when she had stopped him from going any further that day. She didn’t really blame
him, though, because she had already learned enough about sex to know that she had led him on shockingly.

Tonight she was not planning to stop him at all.

She glanced at her watch as she made her way across the farmyard. She’d better hurry. It was well gone five, Jeremy was picking her up at seven, she had yet to wash her hair, and as she intended this to be such a memorable night it would probably take her much longer than usual to get ready. She had some new make-up to experiment with, too, which would take her ages to put on because she hardly ever wore the stuff.

She also had a new outfit, the most grown-up she had ever owned. Normally Angela was not particularly interested in clothes, favouring jeans and baggy shirts on the rare occasions she was not wearing either her school uniform or jodhpurs. But she had persuaded her mother to take her shopping in Exeter to buy something special for the dance, traditionally held after the fête on the final day of Blackstone’s annual festival, which this year had fallen on the last Saturday in July and for which the weather had so mercifully cleared.

Angela broke into a trot, ran through the farmhouse kitchen, ignoring her mother’s shouted protest when she failed to close the yard door behind her, and bounded up the stairs to her bedroom. She felt the excitement mount when she saw the black mini-skirted shift dress spread on the bed waiting for her. A pair of very high-heeled black patent leather shoes stood on the carpet alongside. Angela had shiny dark-brown hair and smooth, creamy skin, but she thought her hair was too curly and judged, quite correctly, that she was fairly average-looking, facially anyway.
She also knew she had a truly great figure, honed to super-fitness by her riding activities, and that her legs were her best feature. Although only five feet four inches, most of her height was in her legs which, because they were so slim and well-proportioned, succeeded in looking much longer than they really were – and the extravagantly expensive sheer black tights she had bought out of her own pocket money would be the final touch.

She bathed, and washed and dried her hair quickly, having decided not to attempt an elaborate new style and just to go for the clean, glossy look, but easing on the unfamiliarly sheer tights without ruining them took some time and she was as clumsy as she had expected to be with her make-up. However, after several attempts she eventually got it more or less right and regarded her appearance critically in the full-length mirror inside her wardrobe door.

She thought she looked pretty darned good, but so different that she hardly recognised herself. She just hoped Jeremy appreciated the transformation. She had done it for him, after all. She didn’t know which she was looking forward to most, showing herself and Jeremy off to the village, or – whatever might happen afterwards. She gazed dreamily out of the window, again hardly seeing the view, and thought about her big, blond, handsome boyfriend, just two years her senior. She imagined them dancing the night away together, glowing warmly under the admiring glances of their friends and peers. Then she started to imagine what it would be like to ‘go all the way’ with him …

A familiar throaty engine roar interrupted her reverie and she watched the souped-up red Ford
Escort, which was Jeremy’s pride and joy, coast to a halt outside the kitchen door. He was clever with mechanical things and she knew that he had almost entirely rebuilt the car himself, painting a sporty gold flash down each side and adding oversized wheels.

Angela glanced at her watch. He was actually five minutes early – as keen as she was, apparently. She turned away from the window, hurried out of her room and, in spite of her high heels, ran down the stairs almost as quickly as she had earlier run up them.

Rushing through the kitchen, she called goodbye to her mother over her shoulder and was outside in the yard before Jeremy even had a chance to knock on the farmhouse door. Well aware that she was wearing rather more make-up than her mother would approve of, she didn’t want anything to spoil the moment when her boyfriend was confronted with her new look for the first time.

Jeremy didn’t disappoint her. As she emerged, his face broke into a big, crooked grin and he took an exaggerated step backwards. ‘Wow!’ he said, then followed that with a loudly approving wolf whistle.

Angela felt smug. So far everything was going according to plan. Jeremy knew nothing of his girlfriend’s ulterior motive in choosing an outfit far sexier than anything he had ever seen her in before. Nonetheless he beamed at her in that rather proprietorial way she found so disarming and escorted her to the car. Then, just as he started the engine, a waving figure emerged from the other end of the house.

‘Hey, wait for me,’ shouted her brother Rob.

Angela adored Rob and was normally delighted to
have his company anywhere – but not on this particular night. ‘I thought you were staying home with Mary,’ she muttered in a not too friendly manner as Rob jogged across the yard towards them.

‘Nope, she said I should go out and have some fun, bless her,’ responded Rob with a big grin.

Angela didn’t reply.

‘Great, mate,’ said Jeremy enthusiastically. He and her brother had been close friends before Rob’s marriage. Since then, Rob had been completely preoccupied with his new bride and his achievement of making her pregnant almost certainly during their honeymoon. Indeed, it was this pregnancy which had kept both Mary and Rob more or less housebound, because Mary was not having an easy time of it and felt slightly sick almost non-stop – as she complained volubly.

No wonder Rob was excited about a night out, Angela thought, feeling selfish for a moment.

‘C’mon, Ange, get in the back, I’ll never fit in there.’

Instantly feeling irritable again Angela, in spite of her high heels and short, tight skirt, did as she was bid, somehow managing to manoeuvre her way through the gap between the two front seats. Her brother was exceptionally tall and gangly for a Phillips, a build inherited from their mother’s side of the family.

‘First night out with the lads since I got wed, no point in me driving as well,’ chattered Rob as he settled into the front seat alongside Jeremy.

‘I am not a lad,’ muttered Angela tetchily from the back.

‘I know that, you’re my baby sister,’ pronounced
Rob mischievously, knowing full well how much it would annoy her.

Angela bristled in silence. Then Jeremy made it even worse by laughing loudly. Angela was used to being the centre of attention – with both her family and her boyfriend. She didn’t like this at all. By the time they got to the village she was already in a thoroughly bad mood.

‘How about one in the Blackstone Arms?’ suggested Rob and, to her annoyance, Jeremy readily agreed. The boys were first out of the vehicle and headed straight for the bar, not even bothering to look over their shoulders to see if Angela was following them. As she climbed out of the car, hurrying in order not to be left behind, Angela caught the top of her right leg in the seat mechanism, snagging her tights. She cursed.

The scene at the Blackstone Arms was very old-fashioned. But then the village of Blackstone was an old-fashioned place. The men were all propping up the bar, some already in distinct disarray, and the women, of all ages, were sitting at the tables and chairs which lined the walls, giggling into glasses of gin and tonic, and white wine.

A group of local lads, apparently already well oiled, welcomed the newcomers noisily. Jeremy ordered himself and Rob a pint each, then finally seemed to remember Angela and offered her a drink too. She asked for a shandy. She occasionally drank wine or beer but, being only seventeen, the most she could get away with in her village pub was shandy – the low-alcohol kind, which was largely lemonade and came ready-mixed in a bottle.

‘I’m going to have a bloody good night,’ said Rob
as he passed her the drink, which left Angela thinking gloomily that she doubted she would.

She was pleased when two friends called her over and asked her to join them. That would show Jeremy. But he appeared not even to notice as she sat down at their table, tugging at her skirt in an attempt to keep the snag in her tights covered. It was then she noticed there was a smear of blood on her leg as well. That depressed her even further. She had made such an effort with her appearance.

Morosely she stared at Rob and Jeremy over the too-fizzy weak shandy. Her two favourite men in all the world, apart, of course, from her father, and at that moment she thoroughly disliked both of them. They grew louder and louder, and the only attention they paid her was to offer periodically to replenish her drink and occasionally shout ‘All right, Ange?’ across the bar. She knew they hadn’t had an opportunity for a drink together in a long while. But she was still angry. She made an effort to talk to her friends, mostly about horses, until, almost two hours and several pints later, she finally persuaded Rob and Jeremy to move on to the dance.

If she could just get Jeremy away from his cohorts, on to the dance floor and into her arms, her original plans for the evening might be resurrected. She was no longer so sure about ending up in his parents’ bed, but perhaps a little romance could yet be injected into the evening.

However, at the village hall Rob and Jeremy again headed straight for the bar.

Angela sighed with frustration. ‘Shouldn’t you be careful? You are driving,’ she said quietly to Jeremy. For a moment her boyfriend, who was usually a very
sensible young man, looked uncertain.

But Rob had overheard her remark. ‘Christ, henpecking him already,’ her brother jeered. ‘Stop being such a spoilsport, Ange.’

Jeremy squeezed her arm. ‘I’ll be all right, honest,’ he said. ‘Just one more pint. And it’s only the back lanes home, isn’t it?’

Encouraged, she whispered, ‘Can we have a dance, then?’

‘Any minute,’ said Jeremy.

But ‘any minute’ stretched on and on. The one pint became another and then another. Her two favourite young men were starting to look quite unsavoury. Stuck in the corner of the bar with them, she could only glance with envy at the couples gyrating on the floor. The village hall was packed and the air was heavy with cigarette smoke. The music was so loud she could hardly hear a word anybody was saying, which didn’t actually matter much as there was nobody she wanted to have a conversation with. Certainly Rob and Jeremy were well past that, she reckoned. After a bit she even began to think that the band, allegedly the best in the area, sounded pretty lousy and started to wonder why she had been so excited about the village dance in the first place. Suddenly everything seemed second-rate, particularly her two companions.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost 11.30 and so far her romantic night out had been a complete disaster.

She made one last attempt to rectify matters, although she knew it was too late. ‘Come on, Jeremy, come and dance,’ she coaxed, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket.

Again Rob interfered. ‘Don’t let her nag you, mate, she takes after her mother,’ he said.

This time Angela felt the anger rise inside her. Her cheeks flushed. She was not used to being treated like this. She was accustomed to getting her own way, indeed to being spoiled rotten, by her father, her brother and, usually, her boyfriend.

Again Jeremy laughed loudly. Too loudly. It was probably rather a nervous laugh, but Angela was too angry by then to notice.

‘Fuck you both,’ she shouted at them, using the kind of language she hardly ever used. ‘I’m going home. And Jeremy, I hope you crash your bloody silly car and get breathalysed …’

‘Oh, go away,’ murmured Rob conversationally.

‘I’m going, don’t worry, and I hate you,’ she said, pushing aggressively past them and bumping into Jeremy so that beer spilled from his glass over his trousers and shoes.

Rob smiled and took a swig of his pint. ‘Always did have a temper on her,’ he announced, slurring his words and swaying slightly as he spoke.

Jeremy giggled. This time he definitely sounded nervous. ‘I’d better go after her,’ he said, reaching to put his now almost empty glass on the bar.

‘I’d let her cool off, if I were you, mate,’ advised Rob.

‘I suppose you’re right, Rob, but it’s a good two miles back to your place.’ Jeremy was watching Angela’s retreating back as, shoulders set in anger, she fought her way through the throng on her way to the door.

‘Walk’ll do her good,’ said Rob resolutely. ‘C’mon, Jer, it’s your round.’