Lanky Jones Read online

  Daniel told himself he couldn’t make this young fellow out because he had spoken civilly to his sister during the evening, in a way that made it appear as though he could never be rough with her.

  He liked Sally; he thought her a nice little girl. He thought of her as little but she was thirteen. And yet she didn’t act like the thirteen-year-olds he knew at school. Oh boy, no. Take Susan Dooley for instance. Half the lads were potty about her and she knew it. But with Sally there was a sort of…He hunted round in his mind for a word to define her. Then he felt slightly embarrassed as the word innocent came to him. She had talked quite normally all evening; in fact, once or twice she had made them all laugh. It had been quite a nice evening on the whole.

  He turned in the bed, about to make a remark on the evening to his father, when a gentle snort told him that his father was already asleep. Daniel shook his head slowly. He didn’t know how his father did it, but as soon as he put his head down he was off. He remembered his mother complaining about it in a way that was joking yet wasn’t funny. His father had once explained that, being out in the air most days, he found no difficulty in sleeping at night.

  He himself could never get to sleep right away, his mind always seemed to go round in circles about the day’s doings. Especially so after a day at school if there had been any kind of a do, especially a fight. That time two years ago when they had formed gangs and he wouldn’t join either of them, he had hardly slept properly for a week. It was after his mother had left home and he was feeling in a state. But even if she had still been at home he wouldn’t have joined the gangs. He’d had to thank his height for the fact that he wasn’t beaten up by either of them.

  It was odd when he came to think about that. Because he was big they all thought he must be tough. If only they knew what went on inside his head and that most of the time he was scared to death, they would have floored him before now.

  When he was small he had only to witness any kind of fight in the street and he would make a dash for home. It was fortunate, he thought, that he now had his height to cover his real feelings. Little fellows seemed to have more spunk than the big ones. There was Tommy Thirkell. Tom Thumb they used to call him. One and another of them had pushed him about for a long time. He used to come and stand near Daniel as if his height would give him protection. Then one day half a dozen of them had collared him in the corner of the school yard and of a sudden he seemed to go mad, for he broke loose from them and grabbed a skipping rope from a girl and turned and faced them. And boy, did he made them jump! The end of the rope caught one of the fellows round the neck and nearly throttled him. The outcome was, Tommy’s father was called to the school, and it was rumoured he did practically the same to the head, except he used words. But from then on Tommy was left alone. He was another one that wouldn’t join a gang.

  His thoughts drifted away around the question he often asked himself at night: why, being so tall and well made, should he be so afraid of fights? Was he a coward? What would happen to him if there was a war and he had to go and fight? Now Michael, the fellow he had met today, he would have no trouble with such thoughts, he would go in with his fists flailing. He could just see him.

  He was seeing him as he drifted into sleep.

  He had no notion of what part of the night it was. He had slept soundly; he was still sleeping soundly when the scream went right through his head and brought his eyes and mouth open again, and he hadn’t time to ask himself if he had been dreaming when there it was again, a weird, awful scream. And he was sitting bolt upright in bed when it happened for the third time, but more distant now, only this time it was followed by a noise that sounded like a prolonged groan.

  ‘Dad! Dad!’ He was shaking his father roughly by the shoulders. ‘Dad! Wake up.’

  ‘What? What’s the matter? What is it?’ His father had turned onto his back.

  ‘Didn’t you hear it, the screaming?’

  Mr Jones came awake all of a sudden. Turning onto his side now and pushing at Daniel, he hissed somewhat roughly, ‘Don’t be an idiot. Screaming…what are you talking about? You’ve been dreaming, boy.’

  ‘I wasn’t dreaming, Dad; somebody was screaming.’

  Mr Jones himself sat bolt upright now and listened. There was no sound whatever; they were enveloped in blackness and silence, and they sat like this for some minutes until Daniel said, ‘Shall I put on the light?’

  ‘No; best you can do is get yourself to sleep. The screams are likely the result of the food you’ve had tonight; you’re not used to such home-cooked meals. Go on, get yourself down and go to sleep. That’s what I’m going to do, and if you hear any more screams take them in your stride and don’t wake me.’ On this Mr Jones flopped down onto his side, pulled the clothes well up over his shoulders and under his chin and in hardly any time at all he was again gently snorting.

  Daniel lay tense, his ears strained for any kind of noise; but the only sound that came to him was that of a dog fox barking in the distance. That was, until he heard a kind of creak coming from the direction of the ceiling. It was as if someone had trodden on an uneven floorboard.

  There it was again. Someone was moving about in the attics. Yet there was nobody supposed to be up there. Mrs Everton’s bedroom was next door, Sally’s was next to the bathroom—he had seen her go in some time earlier—and Michael’s was the end room. His door was the first on the stairhead.

  Now that was a funny thing. Surely, if he himself had heard the screams, Mrs Everton would have, or Sally, or again Michael, but there had been no movement whatever until that creaking sound above a few seconds ago.

  There was something fishy here. There it was again, further away, but nevertheless someone walking on the floor above.

  Within seconds he was out of bed and groping towards the door. Having found the handle, he gripped it and turned it very, very slowly; then gently opened the door about an inch or two. He didn’t know what to expect at this stage. The landing was as black as the room he was standing in, at least it seemed to be. But then he saw a faint ray of dimmed light coming from the end of the landing where the stairs led up to the attics. He now pushed the door further closed until it afforded him only an eye’s width, but it was enough for him to see the present head of the house, as Michael seemed to infer he was, come tiptoeing past the doors, a torch in one hand and something else in the other. Daniel narrowed his gaze in an effort to make out what the thing was. It looked like a ruler yet not quite as long; but it wasn’t made of wood, at least not varnished wood. In the light of the torch the thing looked white, bone white, and held in the fist as it was it took on the appearance of a weapon.

  Daniel didn’t move until Michael’s door had closed on him; then he waited a full minute before he dared to turn the handle and shut his own door. Groping his way back to the bed, he got into it and lay shivering while curbing the desire to awaken his father once again, for what could he say to him? Except that he had seen the young man of the house coming down from the attic carrying a torch in one hand and some object in the other.

  But why had Michael been up in the attic at this time of night? Why? And the screams he had heard he knew had come from that direction. Was there someone in the house besides the three people he had already met, and was it someone who had to be knocked into silence?

  Before his eyes there arose the white stick or whatever it was, and whatever it was had, he felt, been used as an implement, a weapon.

  Oh, if only the morning were here and they could make their way home. There was something fishy going on and although part of him hated to admit it he wanted no further knowledge of it. There was the same feeling on him now as there was when he saw the gangs fighting; he wanted to get as far away as possible from the danger. And he sensed danger here, a weird kind of danger that was impossible to figure out.

  It had certainly been a strange day yesterday; it was now a strange night, and it was going to be a long one because he would never be able to sleep after this.

/>   He jerked upwards in the bed as a hand grasped his shoulder. ‘Come on, come on, waken up and get your tea.’ Daniel gasped as he looked up into his father’s face, then turned his head towards a white light that was blinding him. Mrs Everton was pulling open the curtains and saying as she did so, ‘I’m glad you slept well. But I’ve got news for you, it’s snowing.’ She turned towards the bed, addressing herself now to Mr Jones as she went on, ‘I’m afraid there’ll be very little hope of anybody coming out to fix your car today. But you said last night you have to get back for work tomorrow, so Michael suggested he gives you a run into Hexham when he goes after breakfast to see his father. They let us in at odd times,’ she explained, ‘when the weather is bad like this, they know how difficult the roads are out here. And so he’s going in on his own. The Land Rover can get through most things, yet I’ve known the snowdrifts so high that it’s been stuck too. And about your car. Michael will see that it’s taken to a garage and as soon as it’s ready I’ll give you a ring. Are you on the phone? I forgot to ask.’

  ‘Yes.’ Mr Jones nodded at her, then added, ‘It’s very kind of you and I feel we’ve put you to a lot of trouble.’

  ‘Not at all, not at all. Drink your tea before it gets cold. Breakfast will be in half an hour.’

  When the door closed on her, Daniel stared towards it for the thought had came to him that she hadn’t smiled once; in fact, her face was strained, she looked tired. Last night she had looked pleasant and she had laughed all the time at her son’s jokes. When she had sat with her arm around her daughter and with Sally’s head snuggled into her, she had been the picture of what he imagined a mother should be. But this morning she looked different.

  ‘Look, drink your tea. What’s the matter with you?’ His father had twisted round in the bed and was looking into his face, as he said in an undertone, ‘You’re not still thinking about hearing screams, are you?’

  Looking back into his father’s eyes, Daniel was a second before replying, and then he said emphatically, ‘Just that—and more.’

  ‘What more?’ Mr Jones’s voice was very low, and Daniel muttered as he swung his legs out of bed, ‘I’ll…I’ll tell you later, when we get out of here.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, when we get out of here. To my mind we’ve never been treated so kindly in our lives. She’s a woman I’d call real neighbourly. And the young fellow too. Oh’—he shook his head from side to side—‘he’s a wisecracker, I grant you, but he’s young and he’ll grow out of that.’

  ‘I hope he grows out of other things an’ all.’

  Mr Jones, himself now out of bed, stood looking across the room to where Daniel was pulling on his clothes, and he nipped at his lower lip as if to prevent himself speaking. He had never seen the boy like this before, he was always so grateful for the smallest kindness shown to him. It was true his mother hadn’t in the past killed him with kindness; in fact she seemed more concerned about him now since she had taken on her new life. Perhaps for the first time she was realising she had a son and was now missing him. But the boy, he wasn’t given to fancies and he seemed positive he had heard screams. And what was this something more he hinted at? Well, it was no good probing now, Daniel could be stubborn when he liked, he’d have to wait till they got away …

  It was a fine breakfast, bacon, eggs, sausages and fried bread. Daniel had thought he didn’t feel like eating, but he cleared his plate because it wasn’t often he had a breakfast like this.

  The others had apparently already eaten because the table was set for two only.

  They hadn’t as yet seen either Michael or Sally, and Mrs Everton seemed busy elsewhere, so they didn’t see much of her either until they were ready to go. It was then that Mr Jones asked, ‘How much do I owe you, Mrs Everton?’

  ‘Oh, nothing at all.’

  ‘Oh, but…but we must pay something. I mean we’ve had much more than bed and breakfast.’ He laughed now.

  ‘It was an emergency: you didn’t expect to come and…and we’ve been glad to have you; it’s been good company.’ She nodded from one to the other and now she did smile.

  ‘It’s very kind of you, but I still feel…’

  ‘Say no more about it. But if you are ever this way again we’ll be pleased to see you. And I’ll phone you when I have news of the car. Though if it keeps snowing like this it could be some time before they can get it up the hill even with a tow. It could be that from tonight we could be snowed in ourselves.’

  ‘You must have a very hard time of it with the cattle when that happens.’

  ‘Yes, ’tis the cattle that suffer most. But we’ve been fortunate, and Michael is far-seeing and he’s brought most of ours down to the low field.’

  ‘Well, for their sakes and yours I hope we have a thaw pretty soon. Goodbye, Mrs Everton, and thank you very much indeed.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Jones. Oh, and by the way, I didn’t like to enquire but…but when you said that your son here’—she inclined her head towards Daniel—‘had been visiting his mother in Carlisle, I…I wondered, is your home actually there and you work in Newcastle or…?’ She paused, looking rather bemused and Mr Jones replied quietly, ‘Daniel visits his mother now and again in Carlisle. We’re divorced; have been for two years.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to probe, I just wondered about Daniel still going to school in Newcastle. Well’—she spread out her hands—‘curiosity killed the cat. I’m not really nosy.’

  ‘No, of course not. And I quite understand you wondering. Well, we must be off; I can see your son’s got the Land Rover out in the yard and if I’m any judge of character, if we’re not there on the dot he’ll go off without us.’ He laughed now, and she smiled at him, saying, ‘He…he appears very brash at times, but he’s not really.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to criticise, I think he’s a fine young fellow, someone you can be very proud of.’

  ‘I am.’

  They were outside in the yard now and Michael greeted them both with a single word, ‘Morning.’ The word sounded curt and was said in a manner one might have expected from a taciturn and reserved young man, not from the voluble joker of last night.

  ‘Goodbye, Mrs Everton. And thank you very much.’

  ‘Goodbye, Daniel. It’s been very nice having you.’

  Daniel was about to say, ‘Please say goodbye to Sally for me,’ when a movement at a window placed directly above the kitchen window caught his eye and, looking up, he saw the white sad-looking face of a young girl. Even as he recognised it was Sally’s, he also recognised that she too had changed, more so even than her mother or her brother. And his mouth fell slightly agape when he saw the lower part of her face looked contorted; then during the second before she moved from the window he made out that her lower lip was split.

  ‘Daniel.’ His father’s voice brought him around: Mr Jones had his foot on the step of the Land Rover about to swing himself upwards and he asked, ‘Are you going in the middle?’

  ‘No.’ Daniel shook his head firmly. ‘I prefer the door seat, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Not me; it’ll be warmer in the middle.’ His father laughed.

  At the moment Daniel wasn’t wanting any physical contact with Michael Everton, in fact he didn’t want contact of any kind with him, for he was piecing together the events of the night: the incident on the stairs; Sally begging her brother not to do something; the screams; then that white implement. And yet it hadn’t been very big, not as long as a ruler. Would that have caused a busted lip? No; more like somebody’s fist. Yet even had Sally been hit she wouldn’t have screamed like that, not again and again and again.

  Oh, he would be glad when he got away from this place. Last night, compared with his home in Newcastle it had seemed to be heaven, but now everything was reversed, his home seemed a safe, sane place; the only screams you heard in their district were from somebody’s television.

  Michael slowed the Land Rover as they neared the car and he had to drive al
most into the ditch in order to pass it.

  ‘Poor old girl, she’s nearly buried now.’ Mr Jones leant forward and peered through the falling snow at his car that had been as a companion to him for years.

  ‘It would pay you to let it go for scrap.’ As he spoke Michael applied gentle pressure on the accelerator and the Land Rover ground its way up the steep bank, and it wasn’t until they reached the top that Mr Jones answered him, saying, ‘I’m rather fond of the old girl.’

  Michael said nothing further and for quite some time no-one spoke. But as they neared the main road Michael leant forward and peered through the windscreen wipers to where a man was plodding towards them, and what he muttered now was not understandable to Mr Jones or to Daniel.

  ‘Things always happen in threes and here’s the second of them,’ he said.

  When the truck came to a stop close to where the man was standing, his wellington boots almost up to their tops in a drift, Michael pulled down the window and without any preamble said, ‘Dad’s not here, he’s in hospital.’

  ‘Aye, that’s what I heard, so I thought I’d come down and see Mary. Perhaps she’d like a hand.’

  ‘I’m managing all right; no need to trouble.’

  ‘No trouble at all, Michael boy. Nothing’s ever been a trouble to do things for your dad or he for me. What’s mates for? Where you off to?’

  ‘The hospital.’

  ‘Oh; then it’s no use waiting for you to turn round and take me down. Still, I’ve made it afore in worse weathers than this. Be seein’ you. Tell John I’ll be in to see him, and not to worry, I’ll help out.’