‘Ah, to what do I owe this pleasure, Joe?’ Fred asked. He opened the door wider for the ranger. He’d known Joe Spencer for almost ten years now, getting to know him through his passion for the environment and concern for the National Park. People assumed that the National Trust land would always be there: standing as it had for millions of years, arms open, and welcoming millions of visitors, year upon year, but actually the upkeep was a round-the-clock business. Sheep grazing, weather erosion and the hammering of paths by too many walking boots were the main enemies of rangers and lakes lovers.
‘Thought I’d drop in, Fred. I was passing.’ The younger man looked agitated, Fred noted, but he let it pass. Fred’s house was almost inside Whinlatter Forest, isolated and difficult to stumble across. Joe lived with his charming family on English Heritage land, on the edge of a working farm, near Troutbeck, on the A66 between Penrith and Keswick. Fred very much doubted that Joe was just passing. It had been a while since he’d seen his old friend, and Fred suspected that Annie didn’t know he was here.
‘Come in, can I get you a warm drink? The air has a bite, does it not? It’ll be soon Mabon, and we’ll be gathering the harvest. I can’t believe where the summer has gone. It seems only yesterday that we were celebrating May Day!’
‘I second that!’ Joe said, entering the house and taking off his boots.
‘Ah, leave those on, Joe. We don’t stand on ceremony here, not with these old flagstones. If there’s anything of interest on the bottom of your shoe, Bertha will get it.’ Bertha was Fred’s black Labrador, and she was as sharp as a whippet when a morsel dropped in front of her nose.
‘I can hear her,’ Joe said. Fred nodded and led the way to the kitchen. As soon as he opened the door, the warmth from the range leaked out into the corridor and caressed them, and Bertha affectionately thrust her nose into Joe’s crotch.
‘Bertha!’ Fred shooed her away but Joe welcomed and petted her. The dog’s tail swished to and fro and Fred negotiated his way around her to put the kettle on the fire.
‘It’s been a while, Fred. How are the grandkids?’
‘Ah, we’re all good. It’s good to see you. You must bring Annie and the boys for Sunday lunch, how about this weekend?’
Joe hesitated, but only for a second. ‘I’ll have to check with Annie. I think I have an early shift but I’ll be done by around two, will that do?’
‘Of course! I’ll have to confirm with her indoors, but I’ll stick my neck out and say it’s grand. I’ll have a quiet word with you-know-who and get a fresh hind of venison.’
Fred’s contact was a farming friend with too many acres and not enough demand for his wild deer. He also let him fish in his trout pond with no charge. Fred watched as Joe warmed his hands by the range fire and didn’t take off his coat. He sensed a shadow in his friend’s energy. It wasn’t uncommon for Fred to read people in this way: he’d been doing it all his life, until finally he’d found a way to harness it and control it, by welcoming Mother Nature to his soul. She’d shown him that he possessed a gift: an endowment from the extra dimension, and a talent that was easily wasted and ignored in today’s skin-deep modern world.
He waited. His friend would offload in his own time. Meanwhile, Bertha settled in her basket and the kettle began to whistle. Joe sat in an armchair and Fred busied himself with getting some ham out of the fridge and slicing some home-made bread. He lashed yellow butter on to each piece and topped it with a generous helping of ham. Joe hadn’t been asked if he’d like one: it was simply put in front of him. Like many of the ancient traditions, feeding and sharing was one of the more important methods of welcome, and so it was in Fred’s kitchen. Two steaming mugs of coffee were placed on the oak table and Fred finally sat down. He didn’t say anything. They munched their snack happily and sipped their hot drinks. They discussed the weather.
‘Farm tying up for equinox?’ Fred asked.
Joe had told Fred on a few occasions that he’d been tempted to join the group, and he’d come close. He had much in common with those who worshipped the seasons. Indeed, his life was ruled by the sun and the moon. But the idea of organised religion, no matter how small and discreet, put him off. Fred assured him that it wasn’t a religion, more of a way of life, a belief system by which to guide one’s own path through from birth to death. Just like the years, one grew and rested and bloomed and died, many times over until the final chapter. But with the earth, there was no final chapter, and that’s why it was so important to take advantage of the opportunity to unite with the earth, before expiry took hold and snuffed out the chance.
‘Callum’s studying for his GCSEs this year. It’s a scary prospect nowadays. They no longer have the luxury of an apprenticeship and then employment for life. It’s all about money.’
Fred nodded acknowledgement and lament at the same time. ‘What is he looking to do?’
‘A-Levels. I think he wants to be an accountant.’
Fred almost spat his coffee. ‘Christ alive, Joe! How did you produce such a capitalist?’
‘I know! Connor is the historian.’
‘He’s an old soul, that one.’
‘Indeed.’
‘You should bring him to a meeting.’
‘I don’t know. Annie thinks it’s all heebie jeebies.’
‘I won’t take offence at that! Most people do. Did you read the article in the Gazette about the occult? It maddens me to the core.’
‘No, I didn’t. Was it utterly fair and unbiased? I’m sensing serenity in your voice,’ Joe mocked.
‘I’ll give her serenity all right! Young thing doesn’t know nothing about nothing, trying no doubt to finish her dissertation for her journalism degree. It had us all down as devil worshippers, sacrificing animals and using magic.’
‘Oh dear. How did Mary take it?’ Joe knew the group well, and he accepted the odd invitation for social gatherings, Annie just wanted him to avoid anything formal that involved chanting or praying.
‘Nonplussed. You know what she’s like.’
‘And Jock?’
‘Ah, he dismissed her as a little lost girl who hasn’t yet found her sixth element. Like all youngsters, eh?’
Joe nodded.
‘Mary won’t judge but I know she was fuming. Mary and Jock are too accepting, that’s why Sandra likes them so much, because they calm me down.’ He laughed.
Joe sipped his coffee and paused. Fred waited.
‘You remember Kirk Junker?’ Joe broke the silence.
Fred stopped wiping the crumbs away from his plate. Bertha had enjoyed the odd nibble of bread and even fat from the meat under his feet, but now the trickle stopped. Fred finished his mouthful and picked up his coffee cup, bringing it to his mouth. He took his time and spoke when he’d finished.
‘I do.’
‘Remember the girl?’
‘His daughter?’
Joe nodded. Fred pushed his plate to one side and drained his mug. He looked out of the window, which was misty with condensation, water dripping down the pane. It created a streaky vision and it held Fred’s gaze for a minute. Bertha pricked her ears up and placed her snout on Fred’s knee. He petted her and reassured her. A clock ticked and it was the first time that Fred had noticed it since Joe arriving.
‘I haven’t seen them in years. I can’t help you with all that, Joe.’
‘I’m not asking for help, Fred, just advice. I don’t ever forget faces. It’s been, what – five years? She hasn’t changed a bit: she’s still got those piercing blue eyes and the freckles. She must be seventeen or eighteen now. It’s the look that I can’t get out of my head: you know, the look of wisdom and experience that a young girl shouldn’t have? She hasn’t changed at all.’
‘You mean you’ve seen her? Did you see Kirk?’
‘No.’
‘Good. Stay away.’
‘I have no intention of getting involved. I only saw her, and she needed help.’
‘What do you mean? Was she in some sort of trouble?’
‘Have you heard the news? The young woman found wandering at Castlerigg?’
‘Yes. Are you telling me that’s her?’ Fred had heard the story on the local radio. He’d discussed it with Sandra. They’d said how awful and wretched the girl must feel. He went across to the radio and flicked it on. The news was halfway through but, at the end, they mentioned the girl. The announcer said that a photograph had been released by the police. Joe got out his iPhone and googled the story. The photo of the girl flashed on his screen.
‘I hate those things. They’re everywhere.’
‘They come in handy sometimes. Look.’
Fred looked at the dog, who scuttled back to bed and peered upwards towards the two men, doubtful of what to make of their exchange. Fred didn’t want to look at his friend’s phone. He didn’t want to welcome the vision into the sanctity of his home.
‘I found her, Fred – well, Callum found her. But I didn’t tell the police that I knew her, and she didn’t know me. She definitely didn’t recognise me.’
‘You’re mistaken there, boy. Of course she recognised you.’