Overstretched

Chapter 5

FIVE

They found a parking space near a shopping mall, trudged through the shining interior, bought what they needed. The mood grew darker and even the girls seemed less cheerful. Tired, irritable, yesterday’s journey from Norfolk proved long and arduous and was now taking its toll. They all needed an early night, their stay at the pub not the most comfortable. Steve dropped them back at the house, helped bring in the many bags of provisions; the girls slumped down on the new beanbags while Samantha busied herself in the kitchen. Still angry that her husband would be away the following morning, she made sure he knew by opening and shutting cupboard doors with barely contained fury.

After a late lunch, they went for a walk, the girls running up to a gate and stroking the wet noses of some curious cows. Samantha laughed and Steve allowed himself to relax a little. Later, the removal van arrived, struggling and failing to negotiate the hill. They requested an extra payment to ‘decant’ and he swore under his breath but handed over his credit card nevertheless.

They slept that night in their own beds, exhausted.

A sour-faced woman met him at the door to the grim, drab building. A tired sign informed him this was the ‘Enterprise Training Centre’. His stomach sank.

Arms crossed, she glanced at her watch as he got out of the Mitsubishi. “You found us then?”

Brunt wanted to give a sarcastic response but refrained. This time. The woman’s demeanour set him on edge, her cold, hard face reminding him of a Renaissance portrait. Soulless.

“I won’t keep you long, I know you’re busy. I wanted to give you this.” She thrust out a fistful of papers. “You come highly recommended, Mr Brunt. This is our development plan. It needs work.”

He frowned, taking the papers. “I thought I was employed as an accountant, Mrs ...?”

“You were. But isn’t your background in education?”

“That and accountancy.” He forced a grin. “I took my articles, then realised what a damned awful job it was and—”

“Yes. I’ve read your CV, Mr Brunt.” She pulled out a carton of cigarettes from her skirt pocket, offered it to him. He shook his head and she lit herself a cigarette. “I’ll save introductions to the others until Monday. Look over those papers, would you? You’ll be working on them when you start.” She blew out a stream of smoke, threw away the stub and disappeared inside.

The meeting was over. Brunt stared down at the burning cigarette, stomped it out with his foot and went back to his car.

He returned to a house resembling something like a home. Samantha had put out their possessions, with paintings on the wall, clock on the mantelpiece. She came downstairs, hair tied back, dressed in old jeans and a baggy shirt. One of his, he guessed. “It went well?”

He shrugged. “A right weird b***h the boss was.”

“Everyone’s weird here.”

He couldn’t disagree.

In the afternoon, after he’d taken Samantha to hire a car for a few days, Steve took the girls for a walk through the fields, leaving the pathway to cut over the rolling hillside. He made a wide, sweeping arc, veering far from their neighbour’s house, following a public footpath across farmland. The sun trickled through thin clouds, a light breeze keeping the threat of rain at bay. A pleasant day, with birds calling loudly from the trees, the girls skipping and laughing as they went. All three wrapped in raincoats and Wellington boots, Steve, with no real plan in mind, was happy to let the countryside dictate their route. More at ease in the fresh air, he pushed the meeting with his new boss to the back of his mind. Monday would come soon enough, with life returning to the same, predictable beat; the unexciting sausage machine of getting up, going to earn the daily bread, coming home and sleeping, with Samantha rarely speaking to him. Long ago, he accepted and drew comfort from the routine, punctuating it whenever he could with days like this: out in the open, enjoying the freedom.

They had been walking and laughing for quite some time when the landscape gradually changed. A hedgerow with large pieces missing opened to manicured fields, gentle, undulating hillsides and broad expanses of green, empty of trees or bush.

“Good God,” breathed Steve and stopped, hands on hips. “I had no idea this was here.”

“What is it?” asked Bea, breathless, cheeks ruby red, eyes wide and bright. Always the curious one, the one with the sharp intellect, the quick, enquiring mind. So unlike Amy who, being so much younger, was more accepting of her world. Having two different fathers might cause the difference, of course, but he didn’t care ‒ he loved them both equally and never allowed mere accidents of biology to get in the way of his feelings. He would always consider himself their father and he hoped, though rarely considered, that they would too.

“Golf course,” he answered, looking around.

The air was chilly here with no tree cover, the wind able to rage across the exposed fairway. Over on the far side lay bunkers, sand clumped due to the heavy rains, and coarse heathland with, no doubt, myriad balls lost in the deep impenetrable gorse.

They all jumped when someone gave a shout and two women pulling golf trolleys emerged from a dip in the fairway. Resplendent in white caps, sky-blue trousers and pink windcheaters, their expressions serious, unfriendly. They could have been twins, both squat and round, bodies squeezed into straining clothes.

“This is private property,” one said as they approached.

“It’s a golf course,” returned Bea, matching their scowls.

Steve wanted to laugh but decided not to when the two women’s faces became almost black.

“Yes, for members only,” said the second one, “How did you get in here?”

“There was a hole in the hedge,” said Steve pointing behind him to where they had gained entrance. “We didn’t realise what this place was until we came through. We’re not trespassers, we were just out for a walk.”

“A walk,” repeated Amy, stooping down and returning clutching a golf ball. “Look!”

The two women frowned.

“Well, you’ll have to leave, I’m afraid. If nothing else, it is dangerous for little ones.” The woman stepped closer, hand outstretched. “I’ll have that.”

“No!” Amy quickly put the ball behind her back. “Finders keepers!”

“We’re still finding our way around,” put in Steve, deflecting any possible outrage. Everyone they’d met so far appeared sour and indifferent. He was desperate for some smiles. “We’ve only just moved here, you see.”

“Ah, well ...” The women exchanged glances. “Moved? Are you looking to join the club?”

“Oh, no, no, I don’t play golf. We were out for a walk, taking the chance whilst the rain stopped.”

“I see. Well, you’ll have to leave.”

“Just moved in?” said the other one, moving closer to her companion. “You’re not the young couple who have taken the house next to Heathfield are you?”

Steve frowned. “Heathfleld? I’m not sure ... there is a house close to us, large, a little run-down, but I don’t know its name.”

“That will be Heathfield. Have you met him?”

“Met who?”

“Your neighbour. Krill.”

“Krill? Isn’t that what whales eat.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s not Krill, May,” said the other, her voice taking on a sharp edge, exasperated. “It’s Knills.”

Steve smiled, looked down at Bea who was shaking her head as if to say, ‘Why don’t we just turn around and go home?’ Perhaps they should. “Well, whatever his name is, I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Not what I’d call a pleasure, eh, May?”

May pulled a face. “Certainly not. Mr Knills is known as a recluse and something of an eccentric. Keeps himself to himself, never going out, except for the occasional drive down to Frodsham, to visit goodness knows who. And he has that huge, lumbering black man working for him.” She shivered. “He is a strange old bird is Knills and I wouldn’t wish to become too friendly with him. Not with everything that has gone on.”

“We don’t know anything about that May. And we don’t want to know. Now, best not keep the young gentleman any longer.”

But Steve’s curiosity had been fired. He ignored Bea’s impatient stare and the hard, thin mouth. “What went on, exactly?”

Another exchange of looks. “Oh, just something. Nothing really. Now, I really must insist.” May motioned towards the hedge. “We won’t object if you return the same way you came, but I will be mentioning it to the greenkeeper. We can’t have just anybody venturing onto the course.” She levelled her eyes at Amy who remained standing ramrod straight, clutching the golf ball behind her back. “Golf balls are very expensive.”

“You seem to know an awful lot of what goes on around here,” said Steve. “How do you know who we are?”

“It’s a small community, Mister ... what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

“I see.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t gossip, we merely take an interest. Now ...” She swung around and selected a fairway wood from her bag. “If you don’t mind, we have a game to play.”

Steve touched Bea’s shoulder and jerked his head in the direction of the hedge and the three of them walked towards the gap.

“They were nasty,” said Bea when they were safely out of earshot.

Amy juggled the golf ball from one tiny hand to the other. “What does expensive mean?”

Steve laughed. “It means what you have there is probably worth a pound or two.”

“A pound? Wow. Sweeties!”

Chuckling to himself, Steve found the gap, pulled back some jagged pieces of privet and motioned for the girls to move through. Amy went first but Bea paused, looking again at the fairway. The women were moving down the gentle incline, their trolleys bucking behind them. “They were like the people in that horrible hotel, weren’t they?”

“Hotel? You mean where we stayed? The pub?”

“Yes. Nobody smiled. Why is that? Why can’t people be friendly?”

“I’ve no idea. Maybe they don’t like strangers.”

“Or maybe they have secrets?”

He laughed. “Bea, you read too many of those adventure stories you’ve always got your head stuck in.”

“I’m not stupid, I know the difference between stories and real life.”

He smiled. “I know you do.” A tingle of trepidation played around the base of his spine. “What sort of secrets?”

“Every time we tell people who we are and where we live they become very ...” She chewed her lips, searching for the correct word. “Suspicious.”

Suspicious and unsociable. “Yes. They were like that in the pub.” He shook his head. Perhaps the time had come for him to pay a visit to his neighbour, introduce himself, break the ice. “Let’s hurry up,” he said, glancing at the sky and the swiftly developing clouds. “I think it’s going to rain again.”

“It’s miserable here,” said Bea before stepping through the gap. “I want to go back to Norfolk.”

Steve Brunt tended to agree.