Starve Acre Read online

  ‘It’s heavier than I remember,’ she said.

  With Richard pulling and Juliette pushing, they managed to move the solid pine crate across the landing and to the middle of the nursery where it had stood when Ewan was a baby.

  Harrie came back up the stairs wearing an old shirt of Juliette’s and carrying cans of emulsion.

  ‘Let’s do this wall first,’ said Juliette, smoothing her hand over the cartoon.

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Harrie. ‘After all the work you put into it.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Juliette. ‘I want everything gone.’

  Harrie kissed her on the cheek and they started by painting over the dragon that lived in the clouds.

  In the study, Richard wound a sheet of paper into the typewriter and began a letter to Stella. He chose his words carefully, outlining what he’d found in the field, though making no mention of the hare.

  He came to the end of what he could say about the Stythwaite Oak for the moment and read over what he’d written. A few amendments were needed. He took a red pen and underlined the sentences that could be phrased more clearly.

  Setting the sheet aside, he inserted a blank and typed ‘Juliette is better’ before backtracking over the last word with xs and using ‘well’ instead. ‘Juliette is well,’ he put. ‘She seems to have turned a corner. She might think about going back to work soon.’ But compared to what he’d said about the excavation in the field it was too impassive. Stella would know that he was hiding something.

  The paper balled in the bin, Richard started the page again and then a third time and eventually got up from the desk to think about how best to explain the sudden switch in Juliette’s mind. As he considered the problem, he searched for the set of large-scale geological maps he remembered his father owning. If the university allowed him back, he’d be teaching the course on Neolithic Britain in the summer term and the maps would be useful.

  After scouring the shelves and some of the boxes, Richard looked through the stacks of random books by the window. He set aside a few lucky finds on Doggerland and flint-knapping and in shaking out the contents of a large envelope he discovered another of the woodblock prints.

  The scene this time was of a Hanging Day. Three men dangled from the bough.

  Here was Roderick Sayles: He Burned The Hay.

  Next to him an Edmund Calvert, Who Beſpoiled A Corpſe.

  The last, suspended closest to the trunk, was Will Beeston – Ecstaſie His Maſter – whose offence, deemed the worst, floated in pictorial form in a cloud above the onlookers. He was shown at the top of the church tower saying, See How This Angel Flyes, as he threw a child from the parapet.

  The dead men, bound at the wrists, their heads yanked aside sharply in the nooses, did not seem particularly old. They were boys, really, when Richard looked more closely. The Bonnie Sonnes of the three farmers in the previous engraving.

  It seemed that the whole village had turned out to watch the executions and were gathered around the tree like the spectators in Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. And while there were often a few onlookers weeping in these types of scenes, Richard had never seen an outpouring of tears on a scale like this.

  It appeared that the three boys had been put to death with great reluctance.

  Richard was collecting his camera equipment from the cupboard in the scullery when Juliette came in to wash her hands.

  ‘You’ve finished already?’ he said.

  ‘One coat’s done. We’re just letting it dry.’

  She ran the tap and let the water steam. There was white paint up her arms, smeared across her forehead. In those days and weeks after they’d first moved here, she’d looked the same. She’d worn the same shirt then too, one of his cast-offs. The top three or four buttons were undone, exposing her bony chest. Noticing a spatter of paint there, she wetted her fingers and rubbed at the top of her breasts.

  ‘Why now?’ Richard said, diverting his attention to the boxes of film on the shelf.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Ewan’s room,’ said Richard. ‘What made you want to empty it?’

  ‘I thought that was what you wanted?’

  ‘I wasn’t criticising.’

  She worked soap vigorously up her forearms.

  ‘I can’t think why I would keep the room as it was,’ she said. ‘Not now.’

  ‘Because of what Mrs Forde said?’

  ‘Because of what she showed me.’

  ‘Which was?’

  Juliette glanced at him and rinsed the lather off her hands.

  ‘Didn’t you see anything?’ she said.

  ‘You know I didn’t.’

  ‘Nothing at all? You passed the blood test.’

  ‘For what it was worth.’

  Instead of contempt, she had only sympathy for him. ‘I’m sorry you missed out,’ she said.

  She dried her hands. The patch of skin on her chest glistened.

  ‘What happened?’ said Richard. ‘I still don’t understand.’

  ‘There isn’t anything to understand.’

  ‘So everyone keeps telling me.’

  ‘It’ll be clear to you soon.’

  ‘Can’t you try to explain it?’

  She hung the towel on the peg by the door, then put her hands on Richard’s waist and searched his eyes. It was the first intimate touch she’d given him since Ewan died.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she said.

  When he couldn’t say, she said, ‘I feel better, Richard. I thought you’d be happy.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Well then.’

  She reached up and kissed him on the mouth. The way she tasted was unfamiliar, but then it had been a while. He put his hands on her lower back and drew her closer, stiffening at the press of her body. She felt it, closed her eyes, but then pulled away from him, touched his face and went through the kitchen to the stairs.

  He’d suspected for some time that to feel desire of that kind would be a gradual process for her. It would happen when she was ready to think about having children again, and she wasn’t at that point yet. Not really. When he thought about them bringing up another child, a different child, at Starve Acre and tried to cast Juliette in the role of mother again he couldn’t quite picture it. She was still putting herself back together. Emptying Ewan’s room was a move forward, but it was only the first of a hundred steps.

  Closing the front door, Richard went down to the driveway. On the lane, he heard Gordon’s van approaching and he waited for him to pull in.

  ‘Richard,’ he said, winding down the window. ‘I’ve caught you on the hop, haven’t I? Sorry. How’s Juliette been?’

  ‘Earnest.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Or thorough. I’m not quite sure what the right word is.’

  ‘Has something happened?

  ‘She’s cleared Ewan’s room.’

  Gordon got out of the van and closed the door. ‘I told you she’d be a changed person.’

  ‘I still don’t understand what she saw,’ Richard said. ‘She won’t tell me.’

  ‘That’s because it’s not really something you can tell someone else. It’s not communicable in that way. There are certain things . . . it’s not always possible . . .’

  His answer drifted. There was clearly something on his mind but he put off disclosing what it was for a while longer by noting the bag of equipment in Richard’s hand.

  ‘You look industrious,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve found some of the roots,’ said Richard.

  ‘You’re not serious? And they belong to the Oak, do they?’

  ‘As far as I can tell.’

  ‘In that case, I’d shovel the soil back into the hole and leave them to the dark.’

  ‘I’m not sure the university would be happy if I did that,’ said Richard. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Gordon was looking at the house again, not really listening.

  ‘It’s Mrs Forde,’ he said. ‘She’s the reason I’ve not been able to come an
d see you until today. She’s still very unwell after the other night.’

  ‘Is she?’

  A little taken aback, Gordon said, ‘You don’t seem particularly concerned, Richard.’

  ‘It was an act, Gordon. I got it.’

  ‘It wasn’t an act,’ he said.

  ‘So, what was wrong with her then?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’ve never seen her like this before. It’s strange.’

  Gordon seemed to be groping for words. He didn’t look well himself. The skin around his eyes was puffy and sore as though he hadn’t slept properly for days.

  ‘Look, I know you’ll scoff,’ he said. ‘But I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t tell you what she told me.’

  ‘Which was what?’

  The effort of trying to phrase it all in the right way seemed to be paining him.

  ‘She sensed something in the house,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Something?’ said Richard. ‘Like what?’

  ‘She couldn’t say exactly. Something unpleasant.’

  ‘Unpleasant?’

  ‘Fetid was the word she used.’

  ‘What was it? A smell?’

  ‘She said it was hard to make out.’

  ‘Well, it all sounds appropriately vague,’ said Richard.

  It was the response that Gordon seemed to have expected. ‘I told her you’d be derisive,’ he said.

  ‘Are you surprised?’

  ‘You still feel that way?’ Gordon said. ‘Even though Juliette’s better?’

  ‘I didn’t say she was better.’

  Frustrated, Gordon said, ‘Richard, you and Juliette are such good friends. I just don’t want to see you hurt.’

  ‘Hurt? How?’

  Gordon looked at him squarely. ‘Whatever it is you’ve brought into your home,’ he said, ‘get rid of it.’

  ‘Is this a trick?’ said Richard. ‘So Juliette will have to invite that woman back to cleanse the house or something?’

  ‘Why on earth would we want to trick you?’ Gordon said.

  Richard didn’t say so, but he knew that people like Mrs Forde could only exist as long as others believed that they were gifted in some occult way. Without devotees, they would be nothing. They fed off people like Juliette.

  ‘Richard, I doubt that Mrs Forde would ever come back here anyway,’ said Gordon. ‘The poor woman was shaking by the time I got her home.’

  ‘It was a consummate performance, then.’

  Gordon shook his head and made a move towards the front steps.

  ‘Perhaps I could talk to Juliette,’ he said. ‘She might want to listen at least.’

  ‘No,’ said Richard, holding his arm. ‘I don’t want Juliette hearing any of this. She’s been through enough.’

  ‘But she needs to know.’

  ‘Is this what you lot do? You giveth and you taketh away?’

  ‘You must see that I’m only trying to help,’ said Gordon. ‘I care about Juliette very much.’

  ‘Then leave her alone,’ said Richard. ‘Let her mind settle. Please.’

  He opened the door of the van and after a moment Gordon got back inside.

  Through the window, he said, ‘Stay away from the field, Richard. I know you think I’m being ridiculous about what happened to your father, but he spent a lot of time there. And so did Ewan.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Richard. ‘You are being ridiculous.’

  Gordon looked over to the house. ‘Whatever your opinion of me,’ he said, ‘you can’t deny that the boy changed. You and I were both there.’

  ‘When?’ said Richard.

  It was deliberately hostile; he couldn’t help himself.

  But Gordon was too weary to respond and backed out on to the lane without saying anything more. His expression communicated enough: that Richard knew exactly what he was talking about.

  Throughout Ewan’s first term at school, Juliette had kept everything that had happened from her parents, but during the Christmas holidays, on Boxing Day afternoon, Richard heard her sobbing down the phone to her mother and telling her about the incident with Susan Drewitt, the fire, the hacked-up snowman.

  Eileen and Doug had been due to go to friends on New Year’s Eve but they said that they would cancel and drive down to Starve Acre instead. Juliette’s mother wasn’t one to miss an opportunity to take charge. She would have no qualms about chastising the boy herself, and her presumption would be that any resistance on his part would be down to haphazard parenting rather than her own bullish manner.

  It wasn’t at all what Ewan needed and so Richard persuaded Juliette to invite Gordon and Russell too. Eileen was less likely to play the authoritarian in front of strangers.

  Now that it seemed as though they’d be having a party, Ewan started negotiating a later bedtime.

  ‘New Year’s Eve is no different,’ said Juliette. ‘It’ll be just the same as any other night.’

  ‘You’ll only be bored,’ said Richard. ‘Lots of old people talking. I’m not even sure I want to be there.’

  Ewan took a moment to work out if he were being sincere and then returned to the business at hand.

  ‘I won’t be bored,’ he said in the tone of a promise.

  ‘Don’t argue,’ said Juliette. ‘Daddy’s right.’

  If he were bored, then he would find some undesirable entertainment. Richard knew exactly what she was thinking.

  ‘I’ll be bored in bed,’ said Ewan, folding his arms.

  ‘We could give him a bit more time,’ said Richard, but Juliette cut short Ewan’s smile of victory.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Bed at seven as usual.’

  Ewan made a face and said, ‘Please. Just for once.’

  ‘Don’t whine.’

  ‘Please, Mummy,’ Ewan said, and Richard watched Juliette start at the epithet. He hadn’t imagined it. She had actually flinched.

  She looked away and repeated her answer. ‘I said no.’

  ‘I’ll be helpful,’ said Ewan.

  He knew that ‘being helpful’ was one of the virtues his mother favoured and followed up with more.

  ‘I’ll be friendly. I’ll speak nicely.’

  How soon children learned to barter, Richard thought.

  ‘Please, Mummy. Please,’ he said and there was now a little desperation in his voice.

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Juliette. ‘If it’s really that important to you then fine.’

  But the gesture that she sent Richard’s way told him that if things went wrong, he’d be the one picking up the pieces.

  After spitting on their palms, Richard and Ewan shook on half past nine and the boy thought himself very grown up. But then any time after his usual hour would seem to him like the middle of the night.

  ‘Why don’t you be the butler for the evening?’ Richard suggested, trying to placate Juliette’s unease by ensuring that Ewan would be kept occupied. ‘You can take people’s coats and go around with the crisps and cakes. How about that?’

  The idea appealed to him and on the night itself he stood by the front door in his dickie bow an hour before anyone was due to arrive.

  Richard brought in more wood for the fire and Juliette busied herself in the kitchen, though she couldn’t help but worry that while they were both distracted Ewan would take the opportunity to cause some damage to the house or himself.

  ‘I just don’t want Mum and Dad turning up to chaos,’ she said. ‘They think I’m useless enough as it is.’

  Richard put his hands on her hips and kissed the back of her neck. ‘Nobody thinks that.’

  ‘Don’t they?’

  ‘Only you.’

  ‘Ewan’s gone very quiet,’ she said, putting down the butter knife and looking along the hallway. ‘What’s he doing?’

  Richard went to see and found the boy peering through the glass panel of the front door with his hands cupped around his face. A car went past outside and though Richard knew that it was Audrey Cannon, he let Ewan enjoy
the momentary excitement of thinking that it might be their guests. When the headlights faded, he came away disappointed and Richard stroked his hair.

  ‘They won’t be long now,’ he said. ‘You just keep an ear out for them, Willoughby.’

  Ewan straightened his back as butlers were supposed to do and reassumed the posture every time Juliette sent Richard through the hall on a spurious errand.

  He’d been rooting out a set of sherry glasses that they wouldn’t need from the cabinet under the coat rack when Gordon and Russell knocked. Ewan sprang to attention, draping a tea towel over his arm and bowing as he let them in. Russell laughed and Gordon greased Ewan’s palm with a fifty pence piece once the boy had taken his jacket and scarf.

  ‘And where does one get a drink, my man?’ he asked.

  ‘A pair of teeths will be surfed in the draw-wring room,’ Ewan said, before opening the door to the lounge.

  Ten minutes later, he was called into service again when Juliette’s parents came in, thrashing out the endgame of an argument about the route they should have taken from the motorway. Doug shook Richard’s hand and rolled his eyes as Eileen untoggled her coat, still insisting that she was right: her way would have been quicker.

  ‘And who’s this, then?’ he said, putting his hands behind his back and looking at Ewan.

  ‘Willoughby, sir.’

  ‘Are you new?’

  ‘We’ve hired him for the evening,’ said Richard.

  Doug played along, delighted, and dipped into his pocket for a tip. Eileen seemed wary of the boy, however, and only smiled thinly at him, as she did with Richard, before going to find Juliette in the kitchen.

  She closed the door and they spoke alone while Richard and the others sat in the front room to play rummy and charades.

  When they both reappeared a while later, Juliette did her best to appear happy as she handed the platter of sandwiches to Ewan but Richard could see that she had been crying. Eileen took a seat near the fire and looked Richard over as she lit a cigarette. Thankfully, Gordon engaged her in conversation and Richard was able to speak to Juliette on her own when she sat down next to him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he said. ‘What were you talking about in the kitchen for so long?’