‘Didn’t you say that section of wall needed repairing anyway?’ he asked.
‘That has nothing to do with it.’
Ben raised a placatory hand. ‘Okay, okay.’
At one time, he would have spent a rest day helping to repair the walls at Bridge End. It was one of the jobs he could help Matt with around the place. But since he’d moved out of the farm and into his flat in Edendale, that habit had lapsed, just slipped out of his life without him really noticing.
Perhaps Matt had noticed, though. He hadn’t said anything about it, of course. They’d never said much to each other, had never really needed that form of communication, not since they were boys growing up at Bridge End together. They had come to understand each other without the necessity of words. A look was enough, a touch, or a shrug of the shoulder. So what had Matt understood from the fact that his brother no longer showed any interest in the farm?
Matt’s thoughts had been diverted, though. He started off on a long rant about the cost of everything these days. Fuel, feed, fertiliser…
But Kate wasn’t so easily distracted.
‘Ben, it’s good to see you both. But I’ve a feeling there’s some particular reason you’ve called.’
He and Liz glanced at each other. She gave him a small nod, and squeezed his hand encouragingly.
‘We’re getting engaged. We’re going to be married.’
‘Well, I thought you were never going to announce it. You’ve taken your time,’ said Kate. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you.’
She jumped up, kissed Ben and then Liz.
‘Matt…?’
‘Oh, yes. Congratulations.’
‘Of course, I’d like you to be best man, Matt.’
Matt’s mouth was hanging open, like a bull calf shot through the head with a captive bolt pistol. That stunned second before the legs gave way. But surely the possibility must have crossed his mind at some time?
‘He’ll be delighted,’ said Kate, trying to cover the silence. ‘I told him ages ago that you’d ask him. But I don’t think he believed me.’
‘When will it be?’ asked Matt. ‘Not in September?’
‘Matt, it couldn’t possibly be so soon.’
‘Or November?’
‘No, of course not. Look, I know what you’re saying…’
‘It’ll be next summer, probably,’ said Liz.
Ben turned to her. ‘Will it?’
‘Well, no one wants a winter wedding. It’s too cold to do the photographs outside. And it always rains.’
‘It rains in July and August too,’ said Matt. ‘Chucks it down, just when we’re getting ready for harvest. You can’t rely on the summer.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘And is it…?’ began Matt.
‘Yes? What?’
‘Not a church wedding,’ said Liz. ‘We’ve decided it will be in a nice hotel somewhere. There are so many places that do civil weddings now, and it means we can have the reception at the same venue, so there’s no running around.’
Ben nodded. He couldn’t remember deciding that, but it sounded like a good idea.
‘I meant, what we will all be wearing?’
Now Ben laughed. That was typical of his brother. He was mostly worried about having to get out of his cap and overalls and put on a suit and tie.
‘Top hat and tails, of course,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to do it properly.’
‘Oh, shit.’
And then Ben noticed that Liz and Kate weren’t laughing, but nodding vigorously.
‘Absolutely,’ said Liz. ‘The full works.’
After dinner, Ben excused himself and left the dining room to go to the bathroom. On his way back, he stopped, reluctant to rejoin the noise.
The passage that ran through the centre of the house had once been a gloomy place. In his childhood, the woodwork had been covered in dark brown varnish, the floorboards painted black on either side of narrow strips of carpet that ran down the passage and up the stairs. That carpet had long since lost any trace of pattern under the dirt trampled into the house by humans and animals alike. But now, this part of the house was almost unrecognisable. Kate’s influence had brought light and colour into the farmhouse, with fitted carpets and woodwork stripped to its original golden pine. Mirrors caught and emphasised the light, creating illusions of movement and life in the passage.
Almost unrecognisable – but not quite. Ben paused at the bottom of the stairs, seizing the chance of a quiet moment on his own away from the family. Even though the house was so changed, there were certain spots where the memories were too strong to be erased by paint and fabric. Here, at the bottom of the stairs, was one of those places. When he stood here and looked up towards the bedroom doors, he knew he would see his mother. He would hear the swish of her dress and the scuff of her slippers as she moved across the landing. She was always there, even now. There in his imagination, at least.
One day, he hoped he might stand here at the foot of the stairs and see his mother coming towards him, instead of always moving away.
He wanted to talk to her, but was too conscious of the crowd in the sitting room to speak out loud. Instead he found himself just giving a little nod towards the landing. She would understand.
In Riddings, the Chadwicks were watching their daughter Bryony getting ready to go out. They knew there was no point asking her what time she’d be back. She would never tell them, always said she didn’t know, because it depended how good a time she was having that night. She had her own key and she knew how to operate the burglar alarm, so they could go to bed if she came in late. But both of the Chadwicks were aware, without mentioning it to each other, that there would be no sleep for them tonight. They would lie awake worrying about Bryony, and who she might be spending time with. They had a feeling she’d fallen into bad company, and was developing a relationship with quite the wrong sort of person. They had always dreaded the phone call in the middle of the night.
Russell Edson and his mother sat down to dinner in silence, just the two of them in the huge dining room, surrounded by antiques Russell had collected, random items he’d picked up whenever they took his fancy. A pair of Royal Worcester porcelain vases, a William IV brass barometer, an Aubusson tapestry. They didn’t give him the same satisfaction as the old cars, particularly the MG. People didn’t see his antiques. That was because they didn’t get many visitors any more at Riddings Lodge. He and his mother had held parties at one time, when they first moved to the village. They put on champagne receptions out on the lawn in the summer, elegant suppers here in the dining room in the winter. But he’d gradually lost touch with his old friends in Sheffield, and the neighbours no longer replied to his invitations. Snobs, all of them.
Martin and Sarah Holland were walking up through the village towards the edge. They, too, were silent, holding hands until the slope became too difficult or they had to use their torches to light the way. At the top, they stopped to get their breath, and looked down at the village. They searched automatically for the lights of their own house on Curbar Lane. Strange that they should feel so much safer out here, on the edge in the dark, than down there in their own home. There was an advantage to being in the dark. No one knew that better than the Hollands. Fourways was right next door to Valley View, and violence had come too close to their lives.
Across the lane, Vanessa Slattery had made up a bed in one of the spare rooms for her son. He’d insisted on staying overnight, saying that he was concerned about her being in the house at South Croft on her own. And it was true, it did help a bit. But what about tomorrow, and the day after? Alan had his job to go to, and she couldn’t expect too much of his time. She watched him patrolling the garden, putting on all the outside lights and checking every door and window before he locked the house up for the night. She was slightly troubled by the fact that he seemed to be enjoying this so much. She’d always known he had an aggressive streak, and it didn’t take much to bring it out. And he was likely to be far too free in what he said, even to the police, if they asked him questions about the Barrons.