The Wine of Angels

and itself. That was one of the Powells’, too, presumably.

The truck’s engine rattled into life. Lloyd threw it into gear, switched on his lights and pulled out.

The last time Jane had been on this road it was with Bella, the radio reporter, bound for King’s Oak Corner, where the police had found some of Colette’s clothing. She didn’t want to be on it again, heading for the spot where Lucy had died.

‘Why are we going up here?’ She looked over her shoulder. ‘The village is that way.’

‘Because the truck, he was pointing this way,’ Lloyd said, exasperated. ‘And it en’t a good road for doing a three-point turn in the dark. We got to carry on up yere a mile or so then reverse into Morgan’s yard, all right?’

‘Oh.’

Which meant they were going to pass the section where Lucy had hit the sheep. And then they’d have to pass it again, when Lloyd had turned round. He had no right to do this. Who was he anyway? Who did the Powells think they were? Generation after generation of boring councillors and self-righteous farmers who slagged off townies for never having shagged a sheep or whatever.

Sheep. She thought of the poor, lifeless ewe slung in the back of the truck and then, with a flush of anger, realized that if the Powells had been such brilliant farmers, Lucy would still be alive.

‘That was one of your sheep, wasn’t it, that Lucy Devenish hit?’

‘Like I said, two ewes gone in two days,’ Lloyd said.

It hadn’t been quite what he’d said, but Jane pressed on, not wanting to lose the impetus.

‘So where did it come from?’

‘I dunno. The field across from the orchard, presumably.’ He was driving with one hand on the wheel. His right elbow was resting on the ledge of his wound-down window. He looked pretty cool actually. One of the girls at school had said she’d tried to snog him once at a Young Farmers’ dance, but Lloyd had just kissed her limply and walked off like he had better fish to fry.

‘How did it get out?’

‘What you on about?’

‘The sheep.’

‘I got no idea, Jane.’

‘You would if you bothered to check your fences,’ Jane said tartly.

Lloyd eased off the accelerator. ‘What you mean by that?’

‘Next to a road like this, you should have decent fences and check them regularly. That way, sheep wouldn’t get out and run in front of people and cause accidents. It wasn’t the sheep’s fault, it was yours.’

She thought he’d be angry, and she didn’t care, but he seemed relieved, making a small sound that was almost a laugh.

‘You’re a cheeky little devil, Jane.’

‘And you’re just ... irresponsible,’ she said ineffectually.

The truck jolted to a standstill.

Jane looked out of the window for lights and saw none. ‘Why’ve you stopped?’

‘Morgan’s Yard. Morgan’s bloody yard, Jane.’

‘I can’t see anything.’

Lloyd sighed. ‘Morgan’s farm’s been derelict these past twenty years.’

He reversed quickly and carelessly, as though he’d done it a thousand times at night and then, with the car pointing at ninety degrees to the road, took his hands off the wheel.

‘Well, go on, then.’ Jane felt suddenly quite nervous of him. ‘Take me home.’

‘No,’ Lloyd said. ‘You got a bee in your bonnet about this Devenish business, I want it sorted.’

‘She was good to me. And if you’d seen her lying dead in the road—’

‘Well, I didn’t. But if I had, I’d still’ve thought she was a cranky, meddling old troublemaker, and this village better off with her gone.’

‘You rotten bastard,’ Jane blurted. ‘What did she ever do to you?’

‘Plus,’ Lloyd said pedantically, ‘she was a danger to herself and every other road-user. Two reasons – one, she never wore protective headgear.’

‘She liked her cowboy hat, and everybody knew it was her coming along, it was part of her im—’

‘Two, that ridiculous Mexican poncho thing. Get the wind under that, it blows up over your handlebars. Up over your head, if you’re unlucky. Which was exactly what happened, wannit?’

‘Yes,’ Jane whispered, shutting her eyes as if that would drive away the picture of Lucy’s face under the happy, summer poncho.

Lloyd revved hard and she was flung back into the passenger seat. ‘Silly bugger,’ Lloyd said and put both hands on the wheel, sending the truck bolting back in the direction of Ledwardine.

Thank God for that, Jane thought. Suddenly, the idea of being dumped back at the vicarage or outside the church with some snide little comment to Mum about keeping her daughter off the booze seemed almost cosy. She only hoped, the speed Lloyd was going, that no more sheep had strayed on to the road.

There was a cold explosion in her head.

Oh God.

Second one just dropped dead in two days, you get weeks like that. No reason for it, he’d said.

Not, And that makes it two with the one Lucy Devenish ran into. He was saying it had already dropped dead. How could he possibly know that?

Plus that poncho thing. Up over your head, if you’re unlucky. Which was exactly what happened, wannit?

How did he know that? How did he know Lucy had been lying dead with the poncho over her face, when he said he hadn’t seen her? Nobody had, except Jane and Bella and the police who’d immediately concealed the area.

Lloyd put his headlights on full beam, as the truck began jolting like all the tyres had gone flat or something.

‘What’s happening? Why’s it gone all bumpy?’

‘Short cut,’ Lloyd said tersely. In the green glow from the dashboard, he looked angry.

‘No, it’s not, where are we going?’

He rounded on her. ‘Shut up!’

‘What’s the matter? What have I done?’

‘This is all your bloody fault, you stupid little cow. I never bloody wanted this. I tried to be fair with you and you just kept pushin’ it and pushin’ it and pushin’ it. You couldn’t leave well alone.’

‘I don’t know what you mean. What have I said?’

‘It’s not what you said, it’s what you made me say. Leadin’ me on all the time, laying traps. You come yere, you all think you’re so smart. You and your university-educated parents and all I ever went to was the local agricultural college, all laughing behind your hands, bloody ole yokels, we’ll show ’em how to organize ’emselves, oh you think you’re so—’

‘We’re not ... My mother dropped out of university,’ Jane said. Desperately grabbing at a change of topic, anything not to do with sheep and road accidents. ‘She got pregnant. She’s worked really hard all her life. We’re not posh townies, Mum’s family came from—’

‘Shut your bloody clever little gob.’ The truck slithered to a greasy stop. ‘Let me think!’

‘Take me home.’ Jane discovered she was crying. She didn’t feel disgusted with herself, anybody would cry in this situation. ‘Please, Lloyd.’

‘You’ve had that, miss. You won’t get home now.’

‘Where are we?’ She made a grab for the door handle; he reared over her. She screamed. The scream floated away out of the window, into nowhere.

‘Don’t make me touch you,’ Lloyd said.

Jane got both hands to the door-pull, but it just kept clicking and the door didn’t open.

‘Don’t work from the inside n’more,’ Lloyd said. ‘I was gonner get him fixed, then I saw he had his uses.’