Again, he did not really mean fine. He meant rich, that’s rich. Or he meant, that is absurd, or he meant, that is offensive to me and to everything I stand for.
‘You’ve just assumed,’ said Cathy. ‘Yesterday you were his friend, you were cheering for him with the others, but today you accuse him.’
‘He stole fifty thousand pounds from me!’
‘So you accuse him of strangling Charlie Price. There is nothing to suggest it were him. Only rumours. And only rumours that tell you he was motivated by greed, that he stole from Charlie Price. You believe that he stole the wallet and the watch because you believe he stole fifty thousand pounds from the safe in your house.’
‘He did steal fifty thousand pounds from the safe in my house!’
‘But he dindt kill Charlie Price. I did.’
Ewart and Martha stood in silence. I stood in silence. Cathy was silent too.
Then, after some time, Ewart spoke. ‘You’re a little girl, Cathy. You might think you’re big and tough like your daddy, but you’re a wee girl. Don’t play games with us.’
‘I’m not playing games with you.’
‘Perhaps you’re trying to protect your father,’ said Martha. ‘That’s good of you, really it is, but it’s not helpful here.’
‘I’m not trying to be helpful. I’m trying to tell the truth. I killed Charlie Price.’
‘Cathy.’
‘I killed Charlie Price. I strangled the life out of him. I am glad I did it and I would do it again.’
Martha and Ewart Royce said nothing. They looked at Cathy, aghast. Martha took hold of the wooden door and slammed it shut. The glass pane rattled.
Cathy and I stood for a few moments more, turned and walked back down the garden path.
I did not ask any more of Cathy. I did not ask questions nor request that she repeat what she had said.
We walked along a couple of streets and still said nothing. We split up and agreed to meet back at home in an hour. Cathy went to Peter’s and to some of the others we knew from the village. I made towards Vivien’s house on the outskirts, past the common land, past the stray, back towards where we lived, me, Cathy and Daddy. Cathy had not wanted to come to Vivien’s house. She had said she would rather speak with the honest people of the village. So I walked down the lane alone.
The curtains were drawn, not just the upstairs windows but the downstairs windows too.
I knocked on the door. There was no answer and no sounds from within.
I knocked again. No answer. No hushed voices. No bustle of cooking or cleaning. No radio.
I waited, and knocked, and thumped, and waited. I paced the front garden. There was no answer yet I knew that she was at home. I knocked, I waited, I struck the door with both fists. Once. Twice. I waited.
With each passing minute I knew more fervently that Vivien was truly inside, hiding from me, listening to me knock and thump, perhaps watching me through a slit in the curtains, watching me pace, watching my skin flush, watching tears well in my eyes.
I had come to depend on Vivien with a weight I could only just acknowledge, now, as I set that weight down. Daddy had built me a home – for me and for him and for Cathy. He had built shelter, arranged wood and stone over our heads in such a way that kept off the wind and the snow and the rain. He had given us safety and warmth. But, for me, in a way that I could not quite fathom let alone describe, Vivien had built a home for me too. A nest. It was a different kind from the one by the copse on the top of the hill. There was nothing tangible about the home I felt in Vivien. There were no bricks, no mortar, no rivets, no joints. It kept off no weather. It sank slowly into no mud. But it had a kind of hearth and a kind of fire. It was a place with a future. A place of possibility.
‘Vivien!’ I shouted. I knocked again. And waited. ‘Vivien!’
There was no use in it. I gave up. I turned for the last time and walked back down the path towards the gate and the lane that led home.
As I turned onto the track, Vivien’s front door was flung open, and the woman who I had met the year before, so composed, ran from her house towards me. Unkempt hair was tossed by a sudden gust. Her eyes were red.
‘If you want to talk, Daniel, you’d better come in!’
At first I remained motionless. I stood for a while to take in the scene. Then I followed her inside and she shut the door, but we didn’t make it past the hall. ‘He’s gone, Daniel. And no, I don’t know where. That he wouldn’t say.’
‘But he came to see you.’
‘Yes, he did. You’ve only missed him by half an hour or so.’
‘I should have come here first. I knew I should have come here first. But that means he might still be near.’
‘You won’t find him. When he moves, he moves quickly. And he doesn’t want you to chase him.’
‘He said he would stay.’
‘How could he. There are men after him. Men and dogs. Men that want to kill him. Really kill him, this time. Catch him alive, if possible, drag him back to Price and kill him slowly. This isn’t business, any more, he killed that boy.’
‘He dindt,’ I said.
‘Of course he did.’
‘Is that what he said? Is that what he told you?’
‘Well, he didn’t deny it.’
‘But did he tell you that, really? Did you ask him directly and did he tell you directly?’
‘He didn’t have to. Word spreads fast. I had a phone call from Ewart first thing this morning. He wanted to warn me. He said that your Daddy had killed the Price boy, strangled him to death, nearly took his head off with the force of his fists, then he’d gone to Ewart and Martha’s at dawn and stolen some money.’
‘But still you let him in when he came?’
‘Well, your father had always been wild. I always knew he was no angel.’
‘That’s true,’ I said. ‘But he dindt kill Charlie Price.’
‘Whatever he did. Whatever he did or didn’t do, Price’s men are certain. They found your Daddy’s coat draped over the boy’s body, you know? Like a blanket. Like a shroud.’
‘I believe you.’
‘John’s a marked man. If they catch him, there’s no telling what they’ll do to him. I know he’s tough. We all know that. But this is different. Running was the only chance he had.’
I nodded. ‘Perhaps.’
I looked through an open door into the front room. Vivien did not invite me further into the house. It was cold to me.
‘Did he come here to say goodbye to you?’ I asked.
‘In part.’
‘What was the other part?’
‘He asked me—’ She stopped speaking.
‘He asked you what?’
‘It was a big ask. Beyond what most people would ask of each other.’
‘What did he ask you?’
‘I don’t know if I should say.’
‘Vivien! My father disappeared from me this morning and there are men and dogs hunting him, to kill! Tell me!’
‘He wanted you and Cathy to come here. He wanted me to look after you for a little while until he could find somewhere safe. Then he would come and get you.’