Haunted Fields (10 page)

16

Freddie felt an arm loop his and spun round.

‘Mr Jumpy,' Jess said, so close that he could count every freckle on her nose.

She was acting weird, he thought. Alcohol, along with the lack of sleep, seemed to be pulling them closer together. He wanted her badly, he really did – but like this? He knew he would face ridicule from his mates if they could read his thoughts. What was wrong with him? It wasn't like him to be so hesitant!

‘You two should stop messing around and just get it on!' said Timmy.

He gazed deep into Jess' hazel eyes, looking at something he didn't quite understand, searching for something just out of view. She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. They were moist, her breath warm. He shivered. She stepped back, lifting the bottle to her lips, gulping thirstily as if it was a fizzy drink.

‘Whoa, steady on,' he said, making a grab for the vodka. ‘You'll be smashed in no time.'

‘That is the plan.'

‘I know, I mean…'

She raised an eyebrow. He blushed.

‘Come on,' she said, grabbing him by the wrist. ‘I'll show you around.'

Jess led Freddie out into the hallway, with its cracked walls and splintered floorboards. He dug about in his pocket for his mobile, discovering another missed call from Tiffany. He'd have been more surprised if there hadn't been a missed call from her, in all honesty. She was becoming a real pain.

The living room was as sparsely furnished as the kitchen – a few wooden chairs all that remained from its days as a lived in home. The dining room was completely empty. Yet the house possessed real character. As if no one had renovated it!

‘Who owns it?' he asked, back out in the hallway.

Jess turned to face him, a little giddy, her eyes unfocused.

‘So,' she said.

‘
So
?'

He didn't know how much more of this he could take. She was driving him crazy. He felt her fingers wrap around his wrist again, felt her pull him in closer; only narrowly avoiding banging noses. It was an invitation to kiss her, he knew, yet he held back. Why wasn't he making a move? Was it because she was drunk? He
had
to kiss her. He'd never forgive himself if he didn't.

‘So kiss me,' she said.

He leaned in, tilting his head, attempting to gaze into her eyes.

A rush of movement distracted him from over Jess' shoulder. The front door had been flung open, two figures entering.

‘I was right all along! You do you like him!'

Lucas had joined the party. Behind him stood an equally well-bred specimen, a girl who looked every bit the catalogue model she no doubt was. Had Lucas brought her along to make Jess jealous? Did Jess even do jealously?

‘Get lost, Lucas!' she snapped, swaying as she released her grip on Freddie's wrist. ‘It's none of your business!'

‘So you left me for him? That
is
my business!'

‘I didn't leave you for anyone. And anyway, you can hardly talk. You've hardly wasted time finding someone else.'

The quarrelling transported Freddie back twenty-four hours, to watching Jess and Lucas bicker in the pub. So much had happened since then that he hadn't really stopped to think about it all – but Jess and Lucas had only just split up! Was it even a proper split? Perhaps it had been a minor misunderstanding? Were they simply taking a break, spending some time apart? And here he was, caught red-handed, in the act of kissing another guy's girlfriend.

‘Don't drag Penelope into this!' Lucas bawled.

‘Penelope? So she has a name!' said Jess, inching closer to the front door.

‘I'll bloody hit him!'

Jess laughed a little too loudly. Great! Was she trying to get him into a fight now? This was all he needed.

‘You couldn't squat a fly! Aren't you going to introduce us to Penelope?'

‘And to think I thought I loved you…' Lucas said, standing aside so that they could get a proper eyeful of his date.

‘L-lll-loved?' Jess said quietly, her face all screwed up. ‘You never said–'

Freddie had had enough of this. He felt like a pawn in someone else's game. But this wasn't a game – this was real life. If Jess liked him as much as she seemed to, or even just as a close friend, surely she wouldn't use him just to make Lucas jealous, would she? He could feel the blood pounding in his ears. He couldn't put up with this any longer.

‘Let's go and get another drink, Jess.'

‘Lucas and I have stuff to talk about.'

‘I'm outta here,' said Penelope, speaking for the first time as she turned to leave. ‘I'll get my dad to pick me up.'

‘Penelope, dear…' Lucas spluttered.

‘She's gone,' Jess said.

‘Freddie, my old chum,' Lucas said, slamming the front door shut. ‘A bit of privacy, if you don't mind?'

Nicholas Forster collapsed onto the sofa, grabbing the remote.
It's been a long day!
He sank deeper into the cushions, bringing up the TV guide, perusing his evening's entertainment.
What would it be?
he wondered.
Football? Motor racing? A movie?
He'd recorded a documentary on the Vietnam War a few days back, perhaps he'd watch that.

Rhona's mobile burst into song, out in the kitchen.

‘Your mobile, love.'

No answer.
He could hear her banging around upstairs.
What is she doing up there, moving furniture?
He continued to browse the listings, the mobile still ringing, persistent.

‘Rhona, love. Your mobile!'

‘Is that your phone?' she shouted down the stairs.

‘No, it's yours!'

‘You could've said!'

She thundered down the stairs like a locomotive tearing through the countryside. He had no idea how she'd stop at the bottom. He wouldn't have been surprised if she simply carried on going, through the wall and out into the garden. Perhaps Freddie was calling, with an update from the farm.

And relax!
He refocused on the TV. He fancied a movie, a bit of action, nothing too complicated. He'd make the most of his turn with the remote!

‘Hello?' said Rhona, the ringing abating mid-beat. ‘Yes, this is Rhona Forster.'

So, not Freddie then!
thought Nicholas. No doubt a salesman trying to sell life insurance, or one of those annoying calls about making a claim for miss-sold payment protection insurance.

‘Oh – oh dear,' she said, ‘for how long?'

What's happened now?
he wondered. Freddie better not of been clowning around again! It really was time the lad started acting his age, especially if he was serious about going to university.

‘And why am I only just being informed?'

This was strange. Who was she talking to?
He muted the TV.

‘Ok, please keep me updated. Yes, of course. Thank you, bye.'

Well that certainly hadn't been Freddie calling. What on earth was going on?
He heard her place the mobile down on the work surface. Then silence. He waited, certain she'd come straight through to the living room to give him what could only be bad news. But nothing happened. He couldn't take the tension any longer.

‘Who was that?' he asked.

‘The police,' she said, before bursting into tears.

Freddie downed a seventh can of lager, burping. He watched Mike setting up a drinking game on a table over in the far corner of the living room. The party was in full swing, the original number of revellers quadrupling. Candles had been lit in every room, making up for the lack of electricity. Jess and Lucas were yet to surface.

A tall girl he'd not seen before swayed into the room, stumbling into Mike.

‘You've got your own gravitational pull!' Freddie said.

The girl, her cropped brown hair ruffled, bounced off Mike's chest, falling flat on her back, right at Freddie's feet.

‘I downed three shots in a row,' she squealed, making no attempt to get back up.

‘You ok down there?' he asked.

‘Yeah… fine. Just resting.'

‘That's my girl!' called Mike. ‘Do you want a shot, Freddie?'

‘Yeah, go on then.'

He crumpled the can in his hand as Mike went off into the kitchen to make up some more drinks. The party reminded him of home, of some of the crazy nights he'd shared with Ricky and his other mates, with Tiffany. Jess had given him a reason to forget Tiffany but now, with Jess out of reach for good, returning Tiffany's latest call seemed an appealing alternative.

‘My stomach hurts,' said the girl at his feet.

‘Mike,' he shouted. ‘We'll need a bucket in here.'

The girl coughed, crumpling like the can in Freddie's hand, vomiting all over the bare floorboards.
Lovely!
He looked up as Mike rushed in clutching a vase, his tucked-in shirt poking through his open flies.

‘I found this under the sink. Oh–'

‘Yep, too late!'

‘Bugger!'

‘That looks expensive.'

‘It does, doesn't it!? Watch this.'

Mike turned, lobbing the elaborately decorated vase. It smashed against the far wall, sending pot crashing to the floor. A great cheer went up, not only in the living room, but from the other rooms too. The party was getting out of hand.

‘Here come the happy couple,' someone bawled.

It took a moment to register – the happy couple?
There were a number of happy couples getting to know each other a little too well, in most rooms.
What's the big deal?

‘Oh great,' he said, grimacing as the sea of bodies lingering by the door parted. Jess and Lucas re-joined the party, hand in hand.
What was she doing?
wondered Freddie. She looked totally smashed.

He waved, trying to catch Jess's eye.
Are her and Lucas back on?
The fight seemed to drain out of him. He felt lighter, empty.
That's it. We're done!
She could find someone else to help her family out! He'd had enough.

He got up and snuck out into the hallway, away from the circus of the living room. He wanted to be alone, to think. His head ached, his thoughts fuzzy and confused. He seemed to be running out of energy, the previous night's events, along with Jess' rebuff, starting to catch up with him. He'd go for a wander round!

Venturing upstairs, he found the first bedroom occupied by a couple who'd wedged something under the handle. Their muffled shouts of ‘go away' pushing him back from door. He limped across to the second bedroom, peering inside. Footsteps echoed along the landing. He turned too late, something digging into his back, forcing him forwards into the room. His shoulder smacked the doorframe as he tumbled, sending shooting pains down his arm.

‘Sorry mate,' said Harvey Templeton. ‘Didn't see you there.'

Another lad sniggered.

‘Whatever,' Freddie said, regaining his balance.

‘This room is out of bounds,' said Harvey, sidling past Freddie, his gormless mate following, ‘Unless you wanna' buy one of my spliffs! This is the designated smoking area.'

‘I think I'll pass,' he said, shaking his head. ‘But thanks all the same.'

He needed to get out of the room fast. His patience had all but vanished, and being within striking distance of Harvey Templeton was too much of a temptation. The lad gave him the shivers! And he certainly didn't want to return to Ridge Farm reeking of pot.

He moved on to the final bedroom along the first floor landing, finding the door ajar. It swung inward at his touch, the master bedroom opening up to him. Cursing the lack of electricity, he searched for his phone, the light fading fast. He'd have to use his mobile as a torch.

As far as furniture went the room was as bare as the dining room. He swept the room from corner to corner with the light from his mobile, his eyes falling on an object laid on its side on the floor.
What on earth is it?
He tiptoed further into the room, conscious of the fading light, of Harvey's close proximity. It was an empty energy drink's bottle. He lost his balance, his head still a little fuzzy, reaching out instinctively with his left hand, meaning to steady himself. His hand, destined for the floorboards, landed on soft ground.
Fabric!
He swung the light down to his left – a sleeping bag and a pillow?

He moved the light past the pillow, finding a rucksack.
How strange.
Beyond the sleeping bag, pillow and rucksack, was a fireplace, the grate full of ash. Had someone been squatting here? He knew it to be wrong, downright rude too, but curiosity got the better of him. He unzipped the rucksack, clothes spilling out onto the floor. This was getting weirder and weirder. What was that on the back of the bag? It looked like a stain – a dark stain. He examined the rucksack more closely. A name had been scribbled in permanent marker. He squinted. It read: Vincent Burgess.

Had someone actually been living here, in the derelict house, without electricity or running water? And where was he now, this Vincent? That's if it
was
his name. The bag could've been stolen, for all he knew. Had the party scared him away? The poor bugger was probably outside now, hiding, watching them from the trees, wondering if he'd ever see his belongings again.

He perched himself on the edge of the sleeping bag, the solitude having a sobering effect on him. His leg brushed against something solid.
Odd!
Had something been hidden within? He reached inside, his fingers touching cardboard. It felt like a shoebox. He slid it out onto the floor in front of him. It
was
a shoebox! He removed the lid. The box was full of stuff! He squinted harder, his heart almost stopping. What was this doing here? He lifted a framed photograph from the box. This was wrong, very wrong. This shouldn't have been here. He fingered it lightly, as if heavy contact would awaken the ghost. It was a photo of Noel Davidson receiving a certificate. He placed the photograph down next to the box and continued snooping. More photos – Noel with his parents, Noel with friends, Noel with Ursula, Noel driving a tractor – always smiling, oblivious to his fate.