Ravens Gathering (3 page)

The new arrival brought silence to the bar as the landlady
and regulars took stock.  He was tall, but not tall enough to worry about
the low beams.  Norma guessed a shade under six feet.  His hair came
to his neckline, and looked clean, so he wasn’t a hippy or a greasy biker
type.  It was more of a surfer look - an impression that was reinforced by
his physique.  Although he was wearing a leather jacket, and beneath that
a plaid, lumberjack style shirt, she could see a strong outline of his chest
and no sign of a belly straining over his belt.  His jeans clung to his
thighs as well, leaving no doubt that he was in great shape.  She might be
an honorary local, but Norma wasn’t averse to looking beyond the village
boundaries for male company.  And this one would do very nicely.  It
was just a shame she was probably old enough to be his mother.  Still,
that wouldn’t worry her if it didn’t bother him.

“Afternoon, love,” she said breezily.  “What can I get
you?”

As the conversation among the regulars recommenced, she
caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth.  Amusement at the obvious
appraisal he had received from everyone in the room? she wondered.  Or...

“Well, that depends on my options.”  He was standing at
the bar now, and looking directly at her.  There was humour in his eyes,
and something else that she couldn’t quite define.  The opening shots had
been fired on both sides, and there was plenty of scope for banter and double-entendres. 
Norma was a past master at both, and revelled in suggestive remarks – both
giving and receiving.  Yet she suddenly felt her enthusiasm drain
away.  The stranger was playing a part, going through the motions. 
His response had been smooth, well practiced.  And empty.

“We can start with whether you want food or drink,” she
suggested.

He nodded slightly, an acknowledgement that the flirting was
over.  But he kept smiling, so Norma knew he hadn’t taken offence at her
sudden about-face.

“Or are you just ’ere for directions?” Walter interjected
from the corner.

The stranger turned his head to look at him.  It was an
easy, relaxed movement.  He smiled, and Norma could see an even set of
teeth.  Against his tanned skin, they looked as if they belonged in a
toothpaste commercial.

“No,” he reassured the old man, “I don’t need any
directions.”  His attention returned to Norma.  “I take it when you
asked if I wanted food or drink, you didn’t mean I could only have one or the
other?”  The smile and the eyes were still playful.  It was tempting
to offer him “the other”, but she knew it would be a waste of time.

“We do serve both if you want them,” she confirmed.

“Good.”  A nod to one of the beer pumps.  “I’ll
have a pint of lager while I’m studying the menu.”

“You won’t even get through an ’
alf
looking at the menu ’ere.”

This time he ignored Walter’s attempts to include himself in
the conversation, though he did pick up on the comment.  “I take it your
lunchtime offerings aren’t extensive,” he said to Norma, who had just placed a
pint glass under the tap.

“
Shepherds
pie or a Ploughman’s,”
she confessed, pressing a button.  The glass began to fill.

“Just right for a farming community,” he said, though she
realised there was no relevance to his remark.  It was as if he just felt
a need to respond with something that at least sounded witty.

“You want to be careful of the Ploughman’s today,” Walter
said, and Norma could tell that he was looking for an opportunity to retell his
story about Peter Salthouse.

“Where do you want to sit?” she asked hurriedly.  “I’ll
bring your drink to you.”

As the stranger looked around the room, Walter carried
on.  “Have you heard about the accident on Lodge Farm?”

Distractedly, the stranger looked at Norma and nodded to a
corner near the window.  To Walter he said: “Yes I have.  Awful,
wasn’t it?”  And before the old man could say anything more, he was moving
towards the table he had indicated.

Having turned away from the bar, Norma could now see the
rucksack he had over his shoulder.  She’d noticed a strap earlier, though
it had blended well with the brown of his jacket.  The rucksack was a
large one though.  He wasn’t just on a day trip.  The bag slid from
his shoulder and was dropped casually at the side of the table as he sat down,
his back to the wall.

His attention had turned to the street by the time Norma
brought his drink to him, offering little opportunity for Walter – or anyone
else for that matter – to engage him in conversation.  Not that anyone
else was likely to get involved.  They had long since returned to their
own conversations.  And David had taken the chance to join two fellow
drinkers, so he didn’t have to listen to any more from Walter.  The old
man was standing in his usual spot, nursing his pint and keeping a watchful eye
on their visitor.

Against Walter’s advice, he had the Ploughman’s.  Norma
wasn’t sure if he was making a statement, or just didn’t like microwaved food.

He was half way through his meal when Colin Gates came into
the pub.

The weekday lunchtime crowd was primarily made up of retired
people.  Lodge Farm took up most of the land immediately behind
The
Major Oak. 
Bob Lambert was a man who liked his routines, and tended
to work the various parts of his farm at set times on set days.  So he
would find himself working close to the main entrance every Monday and
Thursday.  And on those days he had made part of his routine a stop off at
the pub for lunch.  For a Ploughman’s, as chance would have it.  But
Normal kept that to herself, and hoped that Walter wouldn’t remember what Bob
was missing while he was at the hospital with Peter.

So, Bob was one of the few exceptions.  And Colin was
another.

Compared to the rest of the drinkers, Colin was a child –
and not just because he was only in his mid-twenties.  When Norma had
first arrived in the village, he had still been at primary school.  Based
on his mental capacity, she reckoned that’s where he should be now.  He
wasn’t completely retarded, but he was certainly out of his depth if he wasn’t
supervised.

Most days he stayed at home on his own.  His family
were all at work, and Colin hadn’t found any employment yet.  Like most of
the village, Norma suspected that his parents were reluctant to let him work,
because his options were limited.  He could work on the land, which would
allow him to be relatively close to home.  The incident with Peter today
was evidence of the potential dangers there.  Or he could look further
afield.  The most likely place to go would be Westfield, a market town
about twelve miles away.  But someone like Colin wouldn’t last five
minutes in a town.  He had a hard enough time here.

Colin didn’t so much walk up to the bar as bounce.  His
legs had a rubbery quality that meant his head seemed to bob up and down as he moved. 
In Norma’s experience, he had two expressions.  A broad smile that looked
as if it must become painful after a while, and a frown that suggested complete
and utter bewilderment.  Right now the former was in play.

“Hello, Mrs Fuller!”  Inevitably, he still spoke to
most of the adults with the respect offered by a young child.  If only
more of his age group could do the same.  His voice was loud.  Not so
much that you had to tense when he opened his mouth, but you were always aware
of him when he said anything, even if it was complete rubbish.

“Hello, Colin.  What brings you here?”  Not that
she needed to hear the answer.  It was a little over an hour since the
ambulance had raced away from Lodge Farm.  She guessed it had taken him
that long to get himself dressed properly and walk down to the pub, calling at
the Post Office first to share his excitement with anyone who happened to be in
there.

“Yeah, Colin, what
d’ya
want?”
Walter sneered.  The words he added were spoken more quietly, but only
just.  “
Ya
dipshit.”

The familiar puzzled look briefly crossed Colin’s face, as
if he had registered what Walter had said, but not understood its
meaning.  A lock of brown hair had fallen across his right eye.  He
reached up and absently brushed it away, and his smile returned as he did so.

“There was an
amb’lance
,” he said
excitedly, looking around all the faces near the bar.  Presumably he was
hoping to see similar levels of enthusiasm so he could share the experience
fully.   Instead he was met with cold eyes and sneers.

Norma couldn’t help but feel sorry for the lad.  But
once again she knew it would be fruitless to say anything to the others, and
they would only look for an opportunity to put the boot into her as a
result.  Colin, on the other hand, was so simple he wouldn’t even
understand what was going on.  And sure enough, the confused expression
was back.  Not offended or upset.  Just confused by it all.  So
in the grand scheme of things, she reasoned, there would be no benefit to anyone
for her to stick her oar in.

“Peter’s been hurt.”  Greg Williams was sitting on a
stool at the bar a few feet to Colin’s left.  He’d turned in his seat so
he was facing the lad when he spoke, his voice calm and clear.  Greg would
often spend an evening playing darts with Peter’s dad, Nigel.  Like
everyone there, he knew that Colin and Peter were the same age.  For a
moment, Norma felt some relief, expecting Greg to engage with Colin and try to
explain why his enthusiasm was inappropriate.

Well, he engaged with him.  Colin had turned to face
him, head bobbing as he did so.  Now he was giving Greg his full
attention.  “So fuck off, Colin.  Go and get back in your cot, or
your Wendy House, or wherever you hide during the day, and leave the rest of us
in peace, you fucking cretin.”

There was a venom in Greg’s voice that caused Norma to take
a step back from the bar.  It was only when she felt the till brush
against her lower back that she realised she’d done it.  Even so, she
wasn’t surprised.  She hadn’t heard Greg speak like that in the sixteen
years she’d been there.

And Colin hadn’t taken it well either.  His head was
twisting from side to side as if he was searching for something that would
explain what had just happened.  The bewilderment on his face was
bordering on fearful.  Then a hand appeared on his shoulder, and Norma
looked past Colin to see the tanned face she had briefly flirted with
earlier.  The humour had left without a trace.

“Colin,” the stranger said gently.  “Sometimes people
get very stressed and say things they don’t mean.  I’m sure this gentleman
-” he gestured to Greg – “didn’t mean what he just said.”  He paused and
looked meaningfully at the older man on the stool.  “Did you?”

In Norma’s experience, Greg had never gone this far
before.  Nevertheless, he wasn’t averse to verbal confrontation, and she
seemed to recall stories she’d heard of him being involved in quite a few
physical confrontations when he was younger.  But at sixty-eight and with
his weight focused on his midriff instead of upper body, he was in no shape for
that kind of activity now.  She watched as he licked his lips, and
realised how nervous he was.

His gaze flickered from the stranger to Colin and back again
before he nodded.  “That’s right, Colin,” he said, his voice not quite as
clear as it had been a few moments ago.  “I didn’t mean what I said just
then.”

“And I’m sure you’re very sorry, aren’t you?” the stranger
prompted.

“That’s right, Colin,” he added hurriedly.  “I
am
very sorry.”

Reassured by the kinder words and tone, Colin smiled back at
Greg.  “That’s all right, Mr Williams.”

Behind Colin, the surfer smiled, though there was still no
sign of humour there.  He patted the lad on his shoulder.  “I think
we should get you home, Colin, don’t you?”

The stranger led Colin to the door and opened it.  She
heard him tell the lad to wait outside for a moment, and he’d be right
back.  Closing the door, he headed back to the bar.

“How much do I owe you?”  The banter was gone
now.  This was just a transaction.

Norma took his money, gave him change, then watched as he
returned to his table to pick up his rucksack.  She wasn’t the only
one.  Surreptitiously, every eye in the room was on him as he walked
back.  He was heading for the door, but stopped halfway there, and turned
back to look at them all.  Reluctantly, they returned his gaze.

As a group, these men had known each other for many
years.  In some cases, the relationships had lasted a lifetime. 
Within that closeness, even where there was antipathy, there was also
camaraderie.  And with that came a sense of safety that promoted
confidence.  At that moment, all sense of safety and confidence had gone.

Satisfied he had everyone’s attention, the stranger
spoke.  “I think it’s time you found out who I am.”

Tanya McLean wasn’t happy.  To be fair, this wasn’t
unusual, and hadn’t been for some time.  This afternoon her main cause for
complaint was that she had yet again been forced to make a twenty-five mile
round trip to pick up some decent groceries.  And having made the journey
she now realised she’d forgotten to pick up some lentils and ginger.  She
didn’t stand a chance of finding that vital ingredient for the curry she
planned to make this evening.  At least not without returning to the
Sainsbury’s at Westfield.  The Post Office in the village only stocked the
essentials, and even some of those were questionable.  The local shops in
the nearest villages were slightly better.  Long
Clayford
actually had a mini-mart.  But the chances of finding lentils or ginger
there were pretty remote.  Both at the same time would be damn-near
impossible.

This was her main cause for complaint this afternoon. 
But she was perpetually in a complaining mood, a fact she grudgingly admitted
to herself as she walked back across the yard to her car.  It wasn’t a
state she was happy about being in.  Some people seem to get a real sense
of pleasure from moaning.  That wasn’t something that suited Tanya at
all.  But since she and her husband had moved up here from Oxford, things
just seemed to have gone from bad to worse.  And, as time had passed,
every little niggle that she would previously have just shrugged off seemed to
become a major downer for her.

She hadn’t been too impressed with the idea of moving north
in the first place, but Ian had insisted that it presented a fantastic
opportunity.  It had turned out to be such a fantastic opportunity that he
was currently with a bank manager in Nottingham trying to renegotiate the terms
of a loan with them so they could afford to maintain the payments. 
Tomorrow, he would be with another bank manager in Westfield begging for
mortgage arrears to be added to a different loan, because there was no way they
were going to be able to cover the last three months’ payments.  It was
even questionable as to whether they could afford to pay anything in the coming
months.  But Ian was fighting for their financial survival, and buying
time was the most important thing to do right now.

In the mean time, Tanya could only curse his decision to
come here, and look out for her own opportunities.  Though the
opportunities she was looking for were ways to escape – and not necessarily
with Ian for company.  She realised that wouldn’t be as easy as it could
have been in the past.  She also knew that it was her own fault that she
was in the more difficult position.  When she’d first married Ian, the
house was in his name.  With plenty of equity in it, Tanya hadn’t been too
impressed that he did nothing to put that right.  So when they were
arranging the move up here, she’d subtly dropped hints about her own
insecurity.  The result – as anticipated – had been Ian asking if she’d
mind becoming a joint owner.  It would demonstrate their commitment to
each other as husband and wife, he had explained.  So she’d got what she
wanted.  And now she wished she hadn’t.

With debts in joint names, she couldn’t just walk
away.  If she didn’t have them, it wouldn’t be a problem, and the next
gullible man would be more than happy to take her on.  She knew she was
attractive, and she always made the best of herself.  Even now.  She
might have only been to the supermarket, but she was wearing a cream sweater
that clung to all the right places, jeans that appeared to have been moulded to
her, and five inch heels on black knee boots.  Her long dark hair was
styled so it bounced gently as she walked.  Everything about her
appearance was designed to attract attention.

Reaching into the boot of the car, she lifted two carrier
bags.  They were quite heavy, and another five still lay there.  She
hesitated for a moment, debating whether to take any more this time and reduce
the number of trips she’d have to make.

“Excuse me.”  The voice came from behind her.  It
was softly spoken, but not in a prissy way.  She guessed he might have
lowered it so as not to startle her.  Always aware of a potential
opportunity, she stayed where she was for a moment or two longer than
necessary.  Giving him plenty of time to admire the view of her jeans-clad
bottom.

Pulling back from the car, she turned.

He was standing about ten feet away, and slightly to her
left.  He wasn’t facing her directly, which suggested that he’d probably
come up the main track to the farmyard from the village.  The same track
she’d driven up ten minutes ago.  She glanced towards the opening, but there
was no sign of a vehicle there.  Nor, now she came to think of it, had she
heard one.  If he’d walked, he must have pretty much followed her off the
main road.  She couldn’t recall seeing him down there, but that didn’t
mean anything.  The mood she was in, she might have missed Tom Cruise.

She was glad she’d seen him now, though.  He looked as
if he was about her age, early thirties.  The surfer look was good, if a
little incongruous.  She could also imagine him as a ski instructor. 
Both images reminded her of happier times, when it had been normal to jet off
on holiday three or four times a year, and have occasional extra fun while Ian
was otherwise engaged.  Sometimes he insisted on taking work with him
while they were away, so what was a girl to do when she wasn’t getting the
attention she deserved?  Already, she was wondering whether this newcomer
might provide her with some welcome distraction.

“Sorry to disturb you.”  The stranger smiled.  He
wasn’t handsome, but he wasn’t ugly either.  Blue eyes, even teeth, slightly
crooked nose, as if it had been broken in years gone by.  More
importantly, there was a masculinity about him that she found very
attractive.  There was also something vaguely familiar about his face.

“No problem,” she said.  “Just bringing in the shopping.”

“Would you like a hand?”

Depends where you plan to put it. 
She smiled
back at him.  She was flirty, but she wasn’t stupid.  He could be an
axe murderer for all she knew, no matter how tempting he looked.  For now,
she ignored the offer.

“What can I do to help you?”

“I’m looking for Patrick Gates.  I was told by his son
that he was still working here.”  He added: “Colin,” as if she needed
further explanation.

Tanya nodded.  “That’s right.  He’s working on one
of the houses.”

The stranger frowned.  “Houses?”  He seemed
confused by her response.

“The development?” she offered, but he just looked back at
her blankly.

“I’m sorry.  I don’t know what you’re talking
about.  I thought he still worked on the farm.”

Tanya smiled warmly, amused by the situation.  He
responded in kind, clearly not taking offence.

“Did Colin tell you that?”

“Not exactly,” he admitted.  “He just told me his dad
was working up at the
Sullivans’
place.  I put
two and two together...”

“And got twelve?” Tanya suggested.

A wry smile.  “Maths never was my strong point.”

“What
is
your strong point?”  The words were
harmless, but the tone was suggestive.

The smile broadened.  “That would be difficult to
explain,” he said.

“So you’d need to show me?”

“Something like that.”

There was a pause in the conversation.  She guessed
that, like her, he wasn’t sure where to go next with this.  It had been
over a year since she crossed this line, and she suddenly felt apprehensive.

“I take it you don’t know about the development,” she said
at last.

“No.  Enlighten me,” he invited.  There was still
a playfulness in his voice, but she sensed he was backing off a little. 
No doubt he had recognised that she had done the same.

“We’re having some houses built.”  She gestured to the
opposite side of the yard.  A couple of hundred yards from where they were
standing was another gateway that led on to a track.  About half a mile
along that track there had once been some old barns.  They were virtually
falling down when Ian had bought the farm.  Now they were in the process
of conversion.  Already eight houses had been created, and five more were
under construction.  Unfortunately, only five of the eight had been sold,
and two of those had gone for less than they expected.  Hence Ian’s
meetings with the banks.

“What’s that got to do with...Patrick?”

The hesitation was brief, but she was aware of it.

“He’s helping Matt.  They’re working on it
together.”  She saw understanding begin to creep into his
expression.  “I don’t think he could get any other work when the farm was
sold.”

“Sold to you?”

She cocked her head, then looked down at herself.  “Do
I look like a farmer?”  She was aware that she was taking them back in a
direction she’d already shied away from.

“I wouldn’t have said you were typical.  So what’s the
story?”  He gestured to the farmhouse.  “I take it you’re not just
visiting?”

“Could be.”

“Not if you’ve got that much shopping.  Besides, you
said ‘we’ are having some houses built.  I take it that means you own the
land?  I also take it that means there’s more than one of you?”

Plus there’s the incriminating evidence of the gold band on
my left hand, she thought to herself.

“Been watching a lot of
Inspector Morse
?”

He looked at her blankly.  “Inspector...?”

“John Thaw?” she offered helpfully.

“The guy out of
The Sweeney
?”

“Well, yes.  But he plays Morse nowadays.”

He shook his head.  “Haven’t seen much TV for a while.”

“Been away?”  Stupid question really, considering the
colour of him.  And he must have recognised that from the look he gave her.

“You could say that.”

Her reference to his detective work had clearly fallen by
the wayside now.  Although she did contemplate bringing
Columbo
into the conversation, there was no
point really.

“You’re right,” she said at last.  “This is our
house.  It belongs to my husband and me.  We bought the farmhouse and
a few extra acres.  But most of the land was sold to Mr Lambert at Lodge
Farm.”

“So that’s when he would have lost his job?”

Tanya shrugged helplessly.  “I imagine so.  It was
before we moved here.  From what I can gather, the land was sold a few
years earlier.”

The stranger smiled awkwardly, as if an uncomfortable
thought had just struck him.  “I’m sorry.  I’ve just realised I must
sound as if I’m interrogating you.”

“Not at all.”  And that was true.  It hadn’t even
occurred to her.  Their dialogue had seemed quite natural.  Now she
considered it, she could see that his questions had the potential to be
intrusive, but they had felt perfectly natural.

He nodded at her hands.  “And your arms must feel as if
they’re about to pop out of your sockets.”  He glanced behind her at the
open boot.  “Let me help you take these in, then I’ll leave you in peace.”

Her reservations about him were gone, though she couldn’t
have explained why.  Well, maybe there was good old-fashioned lust getting
in the way of common sense.  But she suspected it was more than just that.

“Okay.”  She stepped aside to let him get to the
car.  He reached in and lifted all of the remaining bags out. 
Slamming the boot shut, she followed him to the kitchen door.  “Go on in,”
she told him when he paused outside.  A gentleman? she wondered.  Not
wanting to be too pushy.  She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a
bad thing.

The other carrier bags were on the big wooden table in the
middle of the kitchen.  They stood on either side of the table, and added
to the collection.

“I’m sorry to have troubled you,” he said, genuine apology
in his tone.

She gave him a warm smile.  “You’ve been no trouble at
all.  It’s nice to get some company for a change.”

“Surely your husband doesn’t leave you on your own?” 
The flirtatious look was back.

“He does have other things to attend to as well.”  She
was careful not to overplay the wide-eyed innocent.

“I’d be very careful if I was in his position.” 
Intentional
innuendo?

“What position would that be?”

A broad grin.  “I think we’d better leave it there for
now, don’t you, Mrs...?”

“McLean.  But please call me Tanya.”

He reached out with his hand.  After the banter, the
offer of a handshake seemed almost ridiculous, but she took it.  His palm
was harder than she expected, as if it was used to manual work.  Having
said that, it wasn’t as coarse as the hands of some of the men who had worked
on the development over the past year.

“I’m Martin.”

“Martin...?”

“Gates.  I’m Patrick’s other son.”