The wind had picked up. It slapped his coat around him, watering his eyes and tugging at his hair. The field beyond the gate dropped steeply to a flooded gravel pit. Each gust sent a shiver racing across its surface like goosebumps. He turned away and went across to the other side of the road.
An old and uneven stone wall bordered the woods. Through the trees he could see snatches of the houses below. The branches thrashed in the wind, their remaining leaves showing dark green, pale green as they whipped about. Others were wrenched off, spinning through the fast air, abandoned to the death of another season. Ben thrust his hands in his pockets and faced the wind. He felt as though he had been torn loose from everything that had anchored him, that he was on the verge of being ripped up and blown away himself.
A section of the wall had tumbled to a low heap of individual stones. It was topped with rusted barbed wire, but the posts that had held it up had also slumped and given up.
Ben stepped over it into the woods. The trees were mostly scrubby and stunted oaks. He picked his way through them, no longer able to see the town as he descended. He came to a path, little more than a worn track. He followed it without really caring where it led, wanting only to lose himself for a while in an unfamiliar landscape.
The path meandered gradually down the hillside, snaking around the trees, broken every now and then by exposed roots. It was uneven enough to make him watch his footing, and when it suddenly emerged from the trees on to an open slope he was surprised to see how close to the houses he’d come. Their back gardens butted up to the field at the bottom of the hill like an uneven strip of patchwork quilt. He could see the tarmac ribbon of road he’d driven on continue from where they ended and curve away up the hill to his right. He couldn’t make out which was Kale’s house, but he knew it couldn’t be far away.
He went back into the woods and began to head in its direction. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t just walk out in the open, but something in him didn’t want to be seen, not just by Kale but by anyone.
The grass was longer off the path, still wet from the last rain, and the bottoms of his trousers were soon soaked through. He slipped and skidded across the hillside, trying to gauge whereabouts on the street the Kales lived. He needn’t have bothered. He could hardly have missed it.
When he next paused to get his bearings he saw it immediately. The rear of the house was a scrapyard in miniature, a Pyrenees of metal crammed into the confines of a semidetached garden. Ben carried on through the woods until he was looking directly down on the sprawl of junk. He could see now that it wasn’t a solid pile, as he’d first imagined.
There was a clear area at its centre.
In it were Kale and Jacob.
The tree line was about a hundred and fifty yards from the garden, too far away to make out any details, but Ben could tell it was them. Jacob was sitting on something low to the ground. He was occupied with an object in his hands, and although Ben couldn’t see what it was he guessed it would be some sort of puzzle. He felt a lump form in his throat at the familiar sight.
Kale was a few feet behind his son. He was standing with his legs braced apart, and had something gripped in both hands behind his neck. It looked heavy. As Ben watched he slowly hefted it above his head, then lowered it in front of him until he was holding it outstretched directly over Jacob’s head.
Ben stiffened, but Kale was already raising the weight again.
Keeping his arms straight, he reversed his motion until it was again grasped behind his neck. He held it there for a second, then repeated the entire procedure.
Jacob continued to play, unconcerned with what was going on above him. The scene had the appearance of being a routine they were both used to, and Ben felt his anxiety give way to fury. It increased with each repetition until he was quivering with a hatred for the man he had never felt before. Whether Kale was doing it as a test of strength and endurance or just showing off, there was no excuse for it. It was fucking irresponsible, dangerous, stupid... the epithets trailed off as he saw Kale’s movements begin to slow. The arms were taking an age to thrust the weight above his head. Once there they hesitated. Even at that distance there was an unmistakable wobble in them.
Oh, please, God, don’t do it...
They began inexorably to descend. The weight came to a halt over Jacob’s head. It stayed there longer than before, hovering unsteadily. Ben could almost feel the strain on muscle and tendon. Jacob played on beneath it all, oblivious.
Please... lift it. Fucking lift it.
Slowly, the arms began to rise. They got so far and then stopped. The weight began to pull them back down. It halted above Jacob and slowly came up again. Now it looked as though Kale was deliberately rocking it from side to side as he struggled to raise it over his head. There was a long moment of impasse. Then he managed it, and in the same movement he pivoted and let it drop.
The weight landed next to Jacob. Ben saw him turn to look at it, then go back to his puzzle as Kale collapsed to his knees.
“Oh, you fucking mad bastard,” Ben said out loud. “You fucking mad bastard!” He wanted to run down the hill and fling himself at the fence, climb over and club Kale with some of the metal he was so fond of. He wanted to hug Jacob and carry him away, back to safety, back to his fucking home, where he belonged.
Except he knew if he tried Kale would beat him to a pulp.
Kale had come to his feet but was still bent over, in the attitude of a man fighting for breath. Behind him, there was a movement as a figure appeared in an upstairs window. The yellow hair identified Sandra Kale. She seemed to be looking down at her husband.
At that distance Ben couldn’t be sure, but it looked like she was naked.
The tableau held for a while. Then Kale limped over to a shed that was half obscured with junk. He went inside, closing the door behind him. When Ben looked back at the bedroom window it was empty.
But he had seen enough. He felt as weak as if he had been the one lifting the weight. The memory brought a fresh resurgence of anger. Tamping it down into a hard core of resolve, he took a last look at Jacob and began to make his way back to the car.
Chapter eleven
Ben could tell the social worker didn’t believe him.
“Look, he could have been killed! If Kale had dropped that thing it would’ve staved his head in!”
Carlisle’s face was studiedly neutral. “But you didn’t try to stop him.”
“I’ve told you, I was too far away.”
“So you just left without doing anything or letting him know you were there.”
“I knew it wouldn’t have done any good! He’s already made it clear what’s going to happen if I go there again. Christ, what more do you want?” He tried to calm himself down, knowing that losing his temper wasn’t going to help. But the thought that those macho repetitions — and God knew what else — could be going on regularly made him break into a sweat. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that the testosterone-driven bastard wasn’t just an unreasonable man.
He was insane.
Carlisle pulled on the lobe of one ear. “What made you go around the back of the house in the first place?”
“I don’t know. Curiosity I suppose.” Ben could feel his face growing red. The fact that he felt guilty made him angrier than ever. “I’m not making this up. If you don’t believe me go and see for yourself! The place is like a... a scrapyard! God knows how you could let Jacob go somewhere like that!”
The last remark came out before he could stop it.
A flush darkened the social worker’s neck. “Contrary to popular belief, we aren’t complete idiots. We visited the house and satisfied ourselves that it was a safe environment.”