‘Oh, that!’ The relief on Beth’s face was immediately
apparent. ‘Oh, well, I can’t tell you much, love.’ The smile
was back on her shiny round face, the fear gone from her
eyes in an instant. ‘All I know is that she’d been brought
up by her aunt. Her mam had died when she – ya gran,
that is – was born. And, by all accounts, the aunt just used
her as a skivvy to help look after her own large family.
About seven kids, I think she had; it was a lot anyway.
Esther walked out one night when she was about sixteen
. . .’ Beth was looking at her, but now her eyes had
misted over and she seemed to be seeing pictures from the
past rather than the young girl sitting in front of her.
‘About the age you are now. She came here to find work
with old Sam Brumby.’
‘Brumby?’ Ella said quickly. ‘Sam Brumby? Is that why
the farm’s called Brumbys’ Farm?’
‘Aye.’ Beth nodded. ‘His family had been tenants of the
old squire’s family for generations. But when Sam died
there was no one left to carry it on. And Esther wanted
that farm. Oh, how Esther Everatt wanted that farm!’
Suddenly there was a flash of fire in the old eyes, a spurt
of red anger in her rounded cheeks. ‘She didn’t care what
she did to get it neither . . .’ Her hands, the veins standing
out sharply on the back, grasped the chair arms. ‘Didn’t
care who she hurt . . .’
‘Hurt? What do you mean? Who did she hurt?’
‘Eh? Oh . . .’ With a start Beth seemed to come back to
the present, became aware of exactly what she was saying
to Ella. ‘Oh – I – er – I shouldn’t be telling you all this. It’s
water under the bridge now, child. It doesn’t matter any
more.’
Suddenly tired, the old lady leant back in the chair and
closed her eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter any more,’ she whispered
again. But Ella had the uncomfortable feeling that it still
mattered very much – whatever it was. And not only to
Beth Eland. The shutters were down once more; Ella could
probe no further even though she had not yet asked
whether their two families were related somehow.
If all the secrecy and mystery were anything to go by,
there were several people around here who were still
haunted by the past, events that had shaped their lives and
still echoed down the years from generation to generation.
The roaring noise came closer. Ella stood up from where
she had been bending over the milking machine and caught
her grandfather’s glance.
‘What on earth . . .?’ he began, and then, grimacing a
little as he eased his aching limbs into an upright position,
they went out of the cowshed together. On the seat of the
Ferguson tractor parked near the barn wall, Tibby stood
up, his back arched, his fur fluffing out. Ella moved across
to him. ‘It’s all right, Tibs, it won’t hurt you.’
Tibby, at six years old, had grown into a large, sleek
cat, showing a deceptive idleness that disappeared with the
twitch of a whisker at the appearance of a mouse or young
rat. Neutered, he displayed a condescending disinterest in
the female of the species and seemed to spend his time
either relaxing in the sun on summer days, stretched out in
the yard in the shade of the pump or, in winter, curled up
on the peg rug in front of the range, until shooed out by
Esther when he got under her feet.
‘Useless, lazy animal,’ Esther would mutter, and Ella
would smile to herself and tickle Tibby under his chin until
he stretched out his neck, closed his eyes and purred
blissfully. He spurned the attentions of anyone except Ella;
only for her was there ever a welcome. He would walk
across the yard to greet her, placing his white-tipped paws
carefully one in front of the other as he moved, his tail
straight up, but the end crooked like a question mark.
Now, under Ella’s touch, his fear subsided and he sat down
again, curling his tail around himself and across his paws.
But his huge green eyes were watchful.
The noise was coming closer. Ella shaded her eyes and
looked up the lane towards the town. ‘It’s a motorbike,’
she said. ‘But who . . .?’
‘One of the summer visitors from the town, I expect.’
Jonathan was about to turn away to go back into the shed,
when the machine came hurtling round the last bend in the
lane and into view.
‘Oh, no, it isn’t,’ Ella said, excitedly, ‘it’s Rob!’
‘Rob?’ Jonathan turned back, his interest at once re-kindled.
‘Rob on a motorbike?’
But Ella was already running towards the farm gate and
leaning over it as, the engine throbbing loudly, Rob pulled
up and manoeuvred the motorcycle round to stop near the
gate. He turned off the ignition and the engine spluttered
and died. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat, his white
teeth gleaming, his brown eyes sparkling.
Jonathan came and stood beside Ella, resting his arms
on the top of the gate. His eyes sparked with mischief as
he said, ‘And where did you get that from, young feller?’
The young man’s grin widened. ‘It’s mine, Mester
Godfrey. I’ve been saving hard and me dad said he’d put
the rest to it for me birthday.’ He looked at Ella. ‘I’ve come
to take you for a spin.’
She was climbing the gate, not bothering to open it, her
leg thrown over the top, when her grandfather said, ‘Hold
on a minute. You’re not supposed to carry anyone else
until you’ve passed your test, are you?’ He pointed at the
red L plates emblazoned on the front and rear of the
machine.
‘Well, no, but no one’ll see us on these quiet lanes.’
‘That’s not the point, Rob, and you know it.’
‘Oh, Grandpa,’ Ella said, ‘don’t be such a killjoy.’ And
she jumped down on the other side of the gate and swung
her leg over the pillion, and, seating herself comfortably,
wrapped her arms around Rob’s waist.
‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn—’ her grandfather was
saying, but his admonishment was lost as Rob trod hard
on the kickstart and the engine leapt into life once more.
The bike roared along the Point road. Ella was exhilarated,
sharing the thrill of high speed, the feel of Rob’s
jacket against her cheek, the warmth of his body close to
hers while the wind streamed through their hair, biting
their faces. On the outskirts of town, he slowed down and
turned in a circle, saying over his shoulder, ‘Best not get
caught, else ya grandpa’ll be proved right.’
Ella laughed, the wind whipping away her words. Back
along the Point road, leaning to left and right as the road
curved, she followed his lead, fearless even when the bike
seemed to drop so low they must surely keel over.
When they came to the junction in the lane, he turned
to the right and took the road inland towards Rookery
Farm, but they roared past the farm gate and on up the
lane towards the Grange.
‘Let’s go and show the Souters, eh?’ he shouted to
her.
Behind his back, Ella pulled a face; she was enjoying
there being just the two of them, but the boy in the young
man wanted to show off his new toy to their friends.
During the last five years, the four of them had gone
everywhere together. They had played together, gone to
school together and, as time passed, had gone out together,
to the cinema and parties, to the funfair on the sea-front in
Lynthorpe in the summer, but always in a foursome, never
pairing off into two by two. Just lately, however, Ella had
the feeling that Janice was once again becoming possessive
over Rob. Whereas Ella was still a tomboy, still happiest
in trousers and a T-shirt, Janice pored over the fashion
magazines and was forever cutting and sewing her clothes
in an effort to copy the latest vogue. She still had long hair
but twisted it up into all sorts of styles, a different one
each day.
They roared along the lane, past Rookery Farm, skirted
the deserted Grange and took the road that led south-westwards
towards the Souters’ Farm.
As he pulled into the yard, a mangy dog began barking.
‘Keep that thing away from me,’ Ella muttered, as she
slid from the pillion seat. ‘Else I’ll start sneezing my head
off.’ She looked around her. She rarely came to the Souters’
Farm; it always seemed as if Janice and Jimmy came to
them, to Rookery Farm or even to Brumbys’. Usually they
congregated at Rob’s home; Aunty Rosie was much more
welcoming than either Mrs Souter or Ella’s grandmother.
The place looked just the same as always: the yard of
Souters’ Farm was littered with all manner of implements
and bits of machinery, most of it in rusting heaps. Hens
wandered freely about the yard, scratching and pecking
and making that call peculiar to the domestic hen which
always sounded to Ella as if they were complaining.
Mrs Souter came to the back door. ‘Shuddup,’ she
yelled at the dog, which immediately ceased barking,
dropped its head and slunk back towards its dilapidated
kennel, casting doleful eyes at the woman.
‘Hello, you two. Looking for our Jimmy?’ The woman
was middle-aged, but looked years older. Her grey hair
was lank and greasy-looking and her wrap-around apron
was permanently stained around her ribs where she constantly
wiped her grimy hands. A cigarette hung from the
corner of her mouth and she screwed up her eyes against
the drifting smoke.
‘Hello, Mrs S,’ Rob shouted in greeting. ‘Yeah, is he
here?’
The woman sniffed, removed the cigarette from her
mouth, passed the back of her hand across her nose and
then replaced the cigarette. ‘Naw. Gone gallivanting into
town . . .’
Ella almost giggled aloud. It was what her grandmother
might have said too.
‘. . . and our Janice. Dolled up to the nines. Be gettin’
’ersen into trouble, that one. I keeps warning her. But does
she tek any notice?’
She sniffed again. ‘Still,’ she added, her glance flitting
between them, ‘she’ll not be the first from these parts, nor
the last, I reckon. Though I’ve telled her if she brings
trouble to this door I’ll chuck her out.’ And now her glance
came to rest upon Ella. ‘Aye, an’ that’s been done ’afore,
hereabouts.’
‘Right you are, Mrs S,’ Rob said cheerily, and turned
back towards his motorcycle. ‘Come on, Ella, we’ll see if
we can find ’em.’
‘If ya do,’ the woman’s shrill voice came after them, ‘ya
can tell our Janice to be in by ten, else I’ll scutch ’er
backside for ’er.’
As the bike throbbed into life again, scattering the hens,
Rob called over his shoulder. ‘We’ll tek the back road to
town, but hang on. It’s twisty.’
Ella, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, clung
to him as the bike leant over, first to the left then to the
right as Rob negotiated the corners of the winding lane.
They were in open countryside with fields on either side,
heading towards the main road that would take them into
Lynthorpe when, rounding a corner, the machine, leaning
heavily over, began to slide on some loose gravel at the
edge of the lane. The wheels slipped from under them and
they slid helplessly towards the grass verge. When the
wheels hit the edge, they were both thrown from the bike,
Ella to land on the grass, but Rob towards a gatepost.
Ella heard a thump and a yell and then, as the engine
spluttered and died, there was silence.
‘Rob – Rob!’ Ella scrambled to her feet and rushed to
where he lay at the foot of the post, clutching his stomach.
‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t see.’
For several moments, he could not speak. The breath
had been knocked from his body and he was panting and
groaning at the same time. At last he gasped, ‘I – landed –
up against the – gatepost.’
‘Oh no!’
He was rolling in agony. But the fact that he was
moving was a good sign, she told herself. Practical in an
emergency, she said, ‘Do you think you’ve broken
anything?’
He shook his head but his face was screwed up with
pain. ‘No, just ripped me guts to bits.’
She looked down then, half expecting to see blood
gushing from his stomach. ‘Let’s see.’
‘No – no,’ he stuttered and, still doubled up, tried to
roll over on to his knees. He stayed in a kneeling position,
but bending forward. ‘Are you hurt?’
Ella looked down at herself. ‘Only grazed me leg a bit.’
She pulled a face and added, ‘And a rip in my trousers
that’ll please Gran no end. I’m all right, it’s you. Come
on.’
‘You – go. Get away.’
‘Go? Whatever for? I’m not leaving you here like this.’
He flapped his hand at her. ‘If – anyone comes. A
policeman – or – or anyone. I’ll get done.’
‘What for? Having an accident?’
‘No – no.’ Every word was a gasping agony. ‘For ’aving
you on the back.’
‘Oh,’ she said, as realization of what her grandfather
had meant dawned and again she said, ‘Oh, yes.’ Then she
thought a bit and added, ‘But I’m still not going, so there.
If anyone comes along they won’t know I was on the back,
now will they?’
He groaned. ‘Bit obvious, in’t it? Out here, miles from
anywhere.’
Ella shrugged. ‘They couldn’t prove it. Come on,’ she
said, holding out her hand. ‘Let’s get you up.’
‘Ooh-er,’ he moaned. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to
walk straight again.’
Ella glanced around her. The walls of Rookery Farm
blinked white in the sunlight only a couple of fields away
but it was over a mile round by the road. ‘Shall I fetch
your dad? He might bring the car round for you.’
Rob began to laugh and then found it too painful.
‘Ouch! No, he won’t. He’ll only say it serves me right.’
Ella smiled wryly, imagining that her grandmother and
possibly even her grandfather too, on this occasion, would
say the same.
‘Come on, then,’ she said. ‘We’ll have to walk.’
She went towards the bike and pulled it upright,
stronger than her thin frame looked. ‘I’ll push your
precious bike for you.’
He snorted and then grimaced with pain. ‘Precious?
Huh, I don’t care if I never see the bloody thing again.’
‘It wasn’t the bike’s fault now, was it?’ she chided him
reasonably and smiled at him. ‘Besides, you’ll feel differently
in a day or two.’