Haunted Fields (9 page)

14

He fully intended to stick to his promise of casting a watchful eye over Jess. But would he be able to? His eyes stung. His entire body ached. Gripped by a wave of nausea, he knew he needed to rest.

‘It's hopeless,' he whispered.

He knew the night wouldn't answer him, wouldn't advise or instruct him, and he liked that. Someone always wanted to tell him what to do, tell him what to think. Rhona was only too willing to offer her services when it came to such matters. Sometimes he just wanted to figure it out on his own, to talk to someone, and moan if he must – but that didn't mean he wanted them to tell him what to do all the bloody time!

He crept up the stairs, mindful of the creaky wooden steps.
How could he sleep and keep an eye on Jess?
he wondered. She'd be in a volatile state. If she was going to sneak out he knew she'd do it before dawn, before reason reined her in. Reaching the top step he flicked off the landing lights. He yearned for a long hot shower, for a twelve hour kip. What he would give to wake up naturally, well after midday!

Using the moonlight cascading in through the unshielded window as torchlight, Freddie navigated a path to Jess' bedroom. He pressed an ear to the door. Silence. She must have fallen asleep. Either that or climbed down from the window. And then he heard it – a sound that forced him away from the door, a wail that opened a deep wound in his chest, a wound that closed in the silence, only to open with the next shriek.

He couldn't risk leaving her. If she had an inkling of who'd started the fire, any suspicion at all, she'd want to get back at them. He'd seen it in her eyes. But could he blame her? Wouldn't he do the same if it was his farm, his family?

His stiff calves ached. He'd sit and guard the door, making Jess a prisoner in her own bedroom. Sitting down proved a challenge in itself, every muscle complaining about working overtime, free of charge. From there lying down became inevitable, his heavy eyelids drooping, his right cheek developing an outrageous twitch. He knew that if Jess attempted to flee before dawn, she'd be certain to trip over his body in the darkness.

He closed his eyes, thankful for the void, willing the sanctuary of sleep to claim him.
But could he sleep?
And if he did, would his dreams be dominated by the inferno? Slowly the sobbing died down. Her face filled his head: pale, soft, with those large hazel eyes, so difficult to read. Her parted lips, inviting him in for a kiss he knew he'd never forget, only to be thwarted by an arsonist, motivations unknown.

As life flooded back to him so did memories of the previous day. He squinted. Everything seemed so bright, so airy. Something buzzed at his side. He reached down and grabbed his mobile, blinking as he read the incoming caller ID. Tiffany – again! He rejected the call and attempted to sit up.
Why can't she just leave me alone?

‘Ouch!'

His back, already sore and achy had stiffened in the night. He turned to Jess' door, finding it wide open, her bed empty and unmade.
Please don't have done anything stupid!
He peeled back the blanket and sat up.
Blanket?
Where had that come from?
Elizabeth!
She must have found him lying there in the early hours and placed it over him. His chest warmed at the thought. Despite everything, besieged and under attack, the family at Ridge Farm continued to make him feel more at home than he ever had living with dad and Rhona.

‘Who do you think did this to us, Freddie?'

It was a question that had rattled around his skull all morning. He took in the charred remains of the barn, watching as a gentle breeze blew ash across the wreckage, depositing it in a far corner like a snowdrift. Metal girders protruded at unnatural angles. He'd seen Greg remove a straw bale from here the previous morning. It didn't seem real.

‘Whoever I chased across the fields was male, all right,' he said, not for the first time left wondering what was going on in Jess' head. ‘But whether he was working alone or on behalf of someone else is a complete mystery. My first thought was that this is Harvey's doing. But would he really take his grudge against me this far?'

She'd tied her hair back in a bun. He couldn't help but notice that she seemed harder in the face, her bloodshot eyes the only thing giving away the fact that she'd endured a traumatic experience. She looked ready for action.

‘You told the police a getaway vehicle was waiting for the arsonist,' she said, turning to face him. ‘There weren't any other stack fires in the area last night. I think we can rule out kids mucking about.'

‘So if not kids, then who?'

‘I believe someone is trying to scare you away! But not Harvey.'

He shivered. It felt too much, like all of this was his fault. Perhaps it was, but hearing someone else say it, someone he'd grown very close to, felt like a hammer blow.

‘I don't understand.'

‘Come on, Freddie. The note! The brick! You've been asking a lot of questions about the past–'

‘Do you think Ursula Hawkins had something to do with this?'

Sighing, Jess seemed to consider his expression. He'd had enough of it all, he wanted answers as much as she did, but this – Elizabeth was out of her mind!

‘I know my mum can sound a little crazy at times, Freddie, but–'

‘A little…'

‘Hear me out. Aside from taking Harvey Templeton's ex-girlfriend out on a date, I don't think you've annoyed anyone enough to warrant them wanting you out of the way like this other than–'

‘Yes?'

‘It all comes back to Noel Davidson,' she said quietly. ‘You've been digging around in old wounds. Word spreads fast round here. The people involved will know you've been asking questions about that day. If Noel was pushed, I'd say whoever did it would have good reason to want you out of the way.'

‘So what you're saying is that the person who wrote the note, the person who threw a brick into my windscreen, the person who started the fire, also
killed
Noel Davidson?'

‘Maybe.'

‘Foul play was ruled out. You're definitely your mother's daughter.'

‘The arsonist robbed me of a kiss.'

He blushed, feeling the same connection he'd felt the previous night.

‘About that–'

‘Chill out, boy. We've a killer to catch.'

‘Hmm… I think we need to pay a visit to the manor.'

He'd begun to notice that the secrets of this community all seemed to centre on that bloody building.
Families!
They brought the best and worst out in people. But Freddie didn't believe this family was close to giving up all its ghosts – nowhere near! He knew what it was to hurt; to long for something unreachable. If Noel had indeed been killed, John Davidson had been robbed of a son, just as he'd been robbed of a mum.

‘We do,' said Jess, inching closer. ‘There's an ideal opportunity coming up. Ursula's hosting an open day on Sunday, inviting the world in. All a publicity and marketing stunt, of course. So we'll have an excuse to be there.'

‘Maybe we can catch her off guard. Do some more digging.'

‘Exactly. But for now I think you should lay off the digging. Seriously – quit it with the questioning! We can't afford another setback. My parents are ready to throw the towel in.'

‘But–'

He watched her, gazing thoughtfully at the remnants of the old barn.

‘For me?' she asked.

‘Ok.'

She turned back to him, her expression changed; softer, more playful.

‘Anyway, you're taking me to a party tomorrow night.'

‘I am?'

‘We need to get away from all this for a bit. It is meant to be the summer holidays. We should be enjoying ourselves.'

John Davidson glanced up at the ceiling, an act that seemed to occupy more and more of his time with each passing day. He felt weak, and the pain in his limbs and chest was going nowhere. How he yearned for a return to the energy of youth, to the optimism it inspired. Optimism had left him with his son's passing. When his second wife had died five years later, he'd been left with Ursula. Since his marriage to Ursula's mother, John had always regarded Ursula as his own. She'd been everything a father could want in a daughter; intelligent, witty, ambitious.

But in the last few years he'd noticed another face to her personality, something he found less endearing; a cruel, calculating nature. He didn't like the way she spoke to the staff, especially the few who remained from his days at the helm of the company. He didn't like the way she spoke to people over the phone, and some of her recent dealings had given him cause for concern. And he didn't like the way she spoke to him.

Being confined to his bed for large parts of the day had not prevented him from extracting every detail about the running of the company. He was still the majority shareholder. He'd watched her closely from the beginning. The Davidson estate had been entrusted to him, and he had to make sure his successor was up to maintaining its legacy. He didn't doubt her ability to yield a healthy profit. It was standards and ethics that concerned him. He knew better than most that ruthlessness is key in business. But there were still rules, lines that should never be crossed!

He shifted beneath the blankets. It felt as if a heavy weight was pressing down on his chest. He held the cough back, knowing it would start a fit that could last half the night. He needed water. He turned towards the bedside table and sensed movement. It must be the nurse coming to check up on him.

Hearing nothing, he glanced into the full-length mirror on the far side of the room, beyond the bedside table. Still nothing.
Age!
But he could have sworn… The bedroom door creaked open. He turned slowly, preparing the smile he always reserved for the nurses who brightened his day.

Noel, his boy, dead for more than twenty years, looked as youthful as he had the last time he'd seen him. John opened his mouth to speak, to cry out, to beg for an end to this suffering. But all that came was a stabbing, raspy cough.

15

Freddie chucked the roller into the tray and checked out his handiwork. He'd always wanted to have a go at painting. In fact he'd asked dad on more than one occasion if he could paint his bedroom, only for Rhona to veto the idea. His mum would've let him! The inside of the outbuilding had been transformed. He'd washed the grimy grey walls, expunging a generation of dirt. Then, with a pot of white paint he'd found stowed away in a storage shed, he'd set about brightening the place up.

‘Have I come to the right place?' asked Greg, beaming as he joined Freddie inside the shed.

‘You sure have,' he said, picking dried paint from his arm. ‘Welcome to Ridge Farm, sir. How can I help you today?'

‘Don't push it, lad. I haven't agreed to anything yet. Though, I have to say – well done!'

He blushed, looking down at his feet, unable to meet Greg's warm smile. If the fire had been intended as a way of getting him to stop asking questions about the past or to convince him to leave, then he'd done more harm to Greg's business than good. He just wanted to help. He owed them.

‘Umm… thanks.'

‘I'm glad I gave you the afternoon off now. Most lads your age would've gone to the pub or off into town. You didn't need to do this.'

‘I did. I'm sorry about the fire.'

‘You're a good'un, Freddie Forster. Now go and get yourself cleaned up. Jess said something about a party… There are a few cans of lager in the pantry. Go and enjoy yourselves!'

His vision for the outbuilding would become reality, or so he hoped. He'd follow through with his plans, finish what he'd started. Fresh produce sold direct to the customer, and from what had been a complete eyesore. If it proved a success (and he had every reason to believe it would) what other neglected areas of the farm could he work on? He had to help them! But as he gazed at Greg, he couldn't help wondering if his efforts were futile.
Has the farmer got any fight left in him?

‘An old-fashioned trade,' said Freddie, extending a paint-spattered hand. ‘Labour for lager. It's been a pleasure doing business with you, sir.'

He'd managed to get paint everywhere: his face, neck, hands and arms, even his hair. It'd taken an age to scrub the last of it away, showering in preparation for the mysterious party. Jess had been coy about the location, giving nothing away.

‘It'll be more of a gathering than a party,' she'd said. ‘No need to dress up.'

So as he met her down in the kitchen, he'd been surprised to find her looking totally hot in a purple top and black leggings. She'd done something different with her hair too. It was all shiny and wavy. She'd even applied a splash of make-up.

‘You're a chameleon,' he said, as they trotted off down the lane together. ‘You always manage to pull it off. You look good.'

‘
Good
?' she asked, unscrewing a bottle of vodka she'd managed to smuggle from the pantry. He shifted the box of lager to his left in case Jess felt the need to take his hand.

‘It was intended as a compliment.'

She smiled.

‘I know, Freddie. I enjoy watching you squirm.'

‘You're a real friend.'

‘Hmm…
friend
?'

‘Yes, well I mean–'

She chuckled, passing him the bottle. He took a swig. It was the first alcohol he'd had since the fire. He knew he should take it easy. He was beyond tired, but he didn't want to disappoint Jess. It seemed as if she really needed this party, to lose herself in the fun of whatever it was they were going to be doing. The details were still incredibly vague.

‘So we're meeting your friends where?' he asked, noticing the way her hips swung ever so slightly as she walked for the first time.

‘Ok, I'll tell you,' she said, thrusting the bottle of vodka out so that it pointed towards a wooded area beyond the manor. ‘There's an abandoned farmhouse on the other side of those woods. No one's lived there since my parents were kids. Every now and then we have little parties there.'

‘Surely the adults in the village know you use it? You can't keep anything from anyone round here.'

‘I think so. As long as we don't trash the place, we'll be ok. Stop worrying.'

So are we more than friends now?
He found her so difficult to read. He did have one piece of apparatus, however, with which he could test the temperature.

‘Will Lucas be joining us?'

‘Christ, I hope not!'

Perhaps tonight will be the night!

When Jess had told him they'd be partying in an abandoned farmhouse near the woods, a scene from one of his favourite horror movies instantly sprung to mind – rumours of a ghost inflaming an already overactive imagination. He knew how these things worked – a group of kids find somewhere to party, a deranged killer sets about picking them off one at a time, one of them survives, managing to escape, living to tell the story, yet leaving enough intrigue for a money-spinning, bloodier sequel.

Enough! It'd be fine – more than fine!
Jess wanted to extend their relationship beyond the bounds of friendship. The thought warmed his belly. They'd have a laugh.

They'd been walking for a good thirty minutes before they left the road, veering off down a narrow track. Eventually they emerged in a heavily rutted yard, surrounded by a mishmash of crumbling sheds. The farmhouse stood alone against a backdrop of densely planted trees.

‘So this is where I'll die,' he said, a dark, humanoid shape appearing in a ground floor window.

‘Lighten up,' Jess said, adjusting her top. ‘Looks like the others are already here.'

‘By the way, if we are murdered – it's been nice knowing you.'

‘Only
nice
?'

‘Shut up!'

The house's interior wasn't half as eerie as the exterior. Though neglected, its use as a party venue had at least kept it free of the detritus that followed complete abandonment. He knew the six faces assembled in the kitchen from
The King's
Head, a mounting collection of crumpled empties already accumulating by the sink.

‘Freddie, boy!' shouted a lad he'd seen once or twice but never really spoken to, who seemed to be organising the revellers. ‘Glad you could make it!'

‘Ha!' he said, lifting the box of lager up to shoulder-height. What was his name?
Matthew
?
Michael
? Michael – that was it, he was sure, ‘I couldn't miss a party, Mike. Feel free to steal one of these.'

‘I would say stick them in the fridge but I'm afraid there isn't one.'

‘Such a terrible host, Mike,' said Jess, swigging from her now half-empty bottle of vodka, already a bit tipsy.

‘I'm going to have to ask to see your ID,' said Mike.

Everyone chuckled.

‘I'd love it if Daisy heard you mocking her,' said Jess.

As he scanned the group gathered in the grubby kitchen – at Mike, at Mike's pals, Steve and Timmy, at Jess, Rachel and Scarlett – he had a feeling that it was going be a great night.