The Prayer of the Night Shepherd

Documents. Can’t always trust lawyers, can you?’

‘And the lease…’

‘Lease is nearly up.’

‘Dacre thinks he has a chance of getting you out and buying The Nant?’

‘Can’t say what he thinks. Dacre’s in a funny state. Things he done lately en’t been that rational.’

This from a man who’d just tried to hang himself. But Merrily’s understanding of that was hardening up in the light of what she was learning about Jeremy’s weakening grip on everything he held dear.

‘So the future…’ She didn’t know how to put it.

‘No.’ Jeremy shook his head so hard that Merrily winced. ‘It en’t about that.’ The agony of it made his eyes water and come out like marbles. ‘En’t about money, nor ground. I love The Nant, course I do, every square inch of it, only…’

Merrily looked up at him. Her knees were starting to ache.

‘When we was kids, see — twelve, thirteen — her come to stay with her dad. They had a posh caravan. Me and her, we like… we got fond. Wrote to each other for years. All them years, I’m dreaming mabbe… mabbe her’ll come back. And praying, I s’pose. Prayed a lot, truth be told. Prayers she’d come back.’

‘And then she did come back… twenty-five years later?’

‘Aye.’

‘All that time—’

‘Things happened, see. In her life.’

Merrily reached out and took one of his hands, squeezed it gently.

‘I seen the van parked… where they used to put the caravan. I was scared. I seen Clancy at first in the lower field in the early morning — it was like seein’ Brigid, like her’d come back near enough the same as when I last seen her. I was scared… couldn’t go there. I called up Danny, and he come down. Then we seen this woman… and her hair was dark — thought it wasn’t her, after all, see. And then…’

Tears rolled down Jeremy’s face. Tears coming without any change of expression, like a crying doll’s.

Merrily thought, But she stayed. She moved in, with her daughter. She put her daughter into a local school, got a job at the hotel, the house her family used to own…

There were big gaps in this story. Big issues that he wasn’t telling her about. She thought about the note that Danny had shown her when she arrived, Jeremy’s prosaic farmer’s farewell.

Please deal with the sale of my stock, and see they go to the right kind of place or keep everything yourself for nothing. Natalie will understand.

‘He could’ve took the farm,’ Jeremy said. ‘Took The Nant. Took the lot.’

‘Dacre?’

Merrily thought of what Gomer had said: Mary Morson, mabbe her rung to break the news to him as he wasn’t the only fish in Natalie’s stream.

Other fish. Worst-case scenario.

She looked over to the photo on the dresser: two light-haired children in T-shirts and shorts, screwing up their eyes against the sun. Standing side by side, not touching. The girl, even then, a bit taller than the boy.

She thought, in dismay, Dacre?

Dacre and his cousin in the back of a camper van on the top of Stanner Rocks?

‘Could’ve had the lot if he’d left her.’

Jeremy looked away, back into the fire.

34 The Butcher’s Counter

Jane stayed where she was; no backing off now. Ben took an impulsive step towards her and then abruptly turned away and caught up with Beth Pollen at the little gate at the bottom of the car park. He threw open the gate and followed Mrs Pollen into the darkness of the clearing beyond, the place where he’d pulped Nathan, the shooter.

Bastard. Jane stood for a moment, feeling the cold on her face like a contemptuous slap, and then, breathing hard, she followed them.

I quit. That simple. Perhaps part of her had known this was coming, was unavoidable after what Amber had told her about the good friction point, the proposed use of Mum as a twist.

Twist. Hook. Contemporary dynamic. She didn’t have to listen to this bullshit any more and, if he wanted some now drama, he could have it.

She was almost at the gate when she became aware of him standing just on the other side, by the fence post where Nathan had lain. He was alone; Beth Pollen must have gone on a little way; Jane could see a torch beam bobbing.

She stopped, keeping some space between her and Ben, clasping the camera to her chest. Maybe she’d have to hit him with it.

‘Jane…’ If he was speaking quietly that was probably only because he didn’t want Beth Pollen to hear. ‘Jane, whatever you just said, let’s pretend either you didn’t say it or I didn’t hear it. And while—’

‘I said I qu—’

Ben raised a hand. ‘While I realize you were the first one to spot the flames, I have to stress that I know this track, and how dangerous it can be. Also, I think I can smell petrol, so obviously someone started that fire. All I want to do is make sure nobody’s in any danger.’

‘You think someone’s up there?’

‘You’re not going to be missing anything. It’s irrelevant. It’s probably kids.’

‘So why’s it OK for Mrs Pollen to go up?’

‘She’s not going up. She’s making sure I take the right path and waiting at the bottom of it with the mobile phone. I wouldn’t trust you to wait anywhere.’

‘I think you know what this is about, don’t you?’ Jane said. ‘I think you know what’s happening up there…’

‘Don’t try to be clever, Jane.’

‘… Why the rocks are on fire.’

‘And don’t—’ She could almost see his patience snap like a frozen twig in the air above his head. ‘Don’t mess with me, all right?’

‘Or what — you’ll beat—?’ She almost felt him go rigid, knew she’d gone too far, but it was too late to stop now. ‘And aren’t we in the perfect place for it? Where you worked Nathan over? Where Hattie Chancery smashed her husband’s head in, with the trophy stones?’

She heard the squeaking of his leather gloves as his fists tightened, and she felt a tug of fear, remembering the state of Nathan. She looked around for Beth Pollen’s torch: no sign now. She was backing up against the gate and feeling behind her for the fastener, jiggling it urgently when Ben moved.

She bit off a scream.

But all he did was turn, without a word, and walk off again, only faster this time, half-jogging, his hiking boots going phwat, phwat, phwat in the tight fresh snow. By the time Jane was through the wicket gate, he’d disappeared into the pines.

She knew that she ought to get out of there, go back to the hotel. But it wasn’t in her to back down, not tonight. She found his tracks and followed them. The independent, unemployed woman on the Border.

The moment Lol entered Merrily’s bedroom, the phone beside the bed began to shrill, and he felt momentarily guilty, as though someone had discovered him prying. Snowlight grey-washed the room. He glanced quickly back at the door, impelled to go rushing out of it and down the stairs to take the call in the office.

Instead, he switched on the bedside lamp. The bed was turned down. There was a nightdress case like a black and white cat curled up on one of the pillows. A white towelling bathrobe hung behind the door. A cross of dark wood was positioned in the centre of the wall opposite the bed.