Sophie was surprised to see Sarah running up the path, and she opened the door expecting to hear praise for Bertie’s culinary efforts. Instead, Sarah called, ‘Is Bertie there?’ When Sophie shook her head, she went on, ‘I think he’s very upset, and I don’t know where he’s gone.’
Between sobs she told her friend what she suspected. ‘Owen came to talk to me and he tried to persuade me to leave with him. When I said I wouldn’t and that I knew he would never accept Bertie, he more or less admitted it and went on about my leaving Bertie and going with him. I refused, of course. I’d never do anything to hurt Bertie, and I would certainly never leave him, but I think Bertie was listening and got it all wrong.’
‘What made you think he’d overheard?’
Sarah hastily explained what had happened.
‘We have to find him,’ Sophie said. ‘I’ll go to the places he went to with me and you go to Betty and ask if she can spare Daphne for an hour. Don’t worry – an hour will see him safely back home.’
‘Owen said to tell no one he’s leaving.’
‘It’s no secret, the farm is to be sold in a year’s time.’
‘Sooner than that! He wanted me packed and ready by tomorrow night!’
Although Bertie was the priority that moment, Sophie took some coins with her and stopped at the phone box on the lane and managed to speak to Ryan, explaining about Owen’s plan to leave and about Bertie.
‘Finding Bertie is the most important but if you see Owen say nothing, and if Gareth phones, tell him to hurry home,’ Ryan responded.
‘I think Gareth’s gone away,’ she said.
‘No, he went to check on the area where Owen had his car accident, he’ll be back tonight.’ Before she rang off, he said, ‘Sarah would never go back to Owen, surely?’
‘Of course not. And she’d never leave her son.’
‘You’re sure Owen is planning to leave tomorrow?’
‘That’s what he told Sarah. Owen is cheating you in some way, but why is he leaving so soon?’
‘Thanks to you, my darling girl, we’re going to find out.’
‘See you soon,’ she whispered. She was shaking as she replaced the receiver. Was she his darling girl? Something inside her began to push away her doubts and she fervently hoped that she was. Most of her anxieties had been resolved, and she was beginning to feel capable of love again. Now she had to forget everything else and find Bertie.
As she spent so much time with the boy, she thought she would know all his likely hiding places: the favourite spots in which he played, the many special places they had explored together. She crossed the stream using a stepping-stone bridge that she and Bertie had made and headed towards the old farmhouse.
On the way she searched each hidey-hole and picnic place that she remembered, calling, becoming more anxious as there was no sign of him. The weather was closing in and darkness was approaching fast. She was afraid he’d be out all night unless she could find him soon and persuade him to go back home.
The wind was rising, and black clouds warned of rain. He had to be inside somewhere. If he wasn’t, where could he be? The house looked uninviting and things began to move around the yard as the wind increased. Trees creaked, branch rubbing against branch; somewhere pieces of metal screamed a protest as they were pushed one against the other, the sudden gusts lashed against the stout walls of the old house.
The door was tugged out of her hand as she pulled it open it and went inside, tugging it closed, relieved at the reduction in the noise of the storm. She stood for a moment and called his name. The silence was ominous. Her footsteps were an intrusion, tapping on the stone floors, and the stairs creaked disapproval as she climbed up to check the bedrooms; she had to force herself to continue up to the gloomy landing.
She looked inside each room, but there was no sign of anyone being there. The door to one room, the small one at the back, didn’t give under her push, and she saw with surprise that the door was firmly padlocked. She pushed and called, half afraid Bertie had been locked inside, no matter how silly it seemed, but there was no reply even though she listened with care, and no sound except from the weird wailing of the wind whistling under the door.
Sarah and Daphne knocked at the doors of all the people Bertie called his friends. Stella and Colin offered immediately, and Kitty and Bob were already searching, having heard from Daphne of his disappearance. Several of his school friends offered suggestions of places to look. Even Peter and Hope went to the woods and fields, calling the boy’s name.
Tearfully Sarah wished she had taken more interest in her son before she had decided to leave the factory. All the years she had ignored his chatter, which would have been useful now, giving a clue to where he might be. Ashamed and frightened, she ran once again towards Badgers Brook, his favourite place, and widened her search.
Sophie walked back through the wood, despair wrapping her in its cloudy heaviness. Trying the farm, she met Tommy and he went with her. The wind was wild and several large branches had fallen. An old tree had given up the fight and had fallen, its saucer of roots like a huge wheel on the ground. Tommy increased his speed. ‘If Bertie is among the trees he might have been injured,’ he warned.
Caught up in the urgency, the storm with its wailing seeming to join in their concern, they walked through the agitated branches and falling twigs and leaves. Tommy seemed to be following a definite route and Sophie followed without question. They found him crying, squashed inside the hollow tree.
Knowing the facts, she said at once. ‘Bertie, your mother loves you and would never ever leave you.’ She took him in her arms, and, helped by Tommy, he struggled out of the tree. ‘Furthermore, she would never, ever do anything you didn’t want her to do, like going away with Owen. She puts you first every time.’
‘What d’you mean? Tommy asked curiously. ‘Where’s Owen off to?’
‘Oh, nowhere, Mr Treweather. It was a misunderstanding. Bertie heard his mother talking and got the wrong impression, that’s all.’
Tommy lifted the boy and carried him a little way, holding him close, revealing his own fears for the child. Then he put him down, chatting to him about the storm that was still building to its crescendo, warning him there was worse to come, and led him back to the farm.
The telephone rang and Tommy picked it up. Frowning, he handed the receiver to Sophie. ‘It’s Ryan, asking me to ask you to call him. He seems pleased that you’re here.’
‘Thank goodness,’ Ryan said. ‘Look, I have an idea. D’you think you could ask Sarah to convince Owen she’s changed her mind and will go with him? The police can’t act on suspicion alone and we need to force him to make a move and at the same time know what he’s doing.’
‘She won’t risk upsetting Bertie.’
‘She mustn’t go with him, just convince him that she has reconsidered her decision, gain his confidence.’
They talked for a while, and Tommy walked up and down, glancing at her, still wearing the frown. When she put the phone down, he said, ‘What’s going on, Sophie? Don’t say “nothing”. My sons are up to something and I want to know what it is.’
‘Sorry, Mr Treweather, but it’s something private, between Ryan and me.’ She hated lying but knew that both Ryan and Gareth wanted to deal with Owen without involving their father, just in case they were wrong and Owen was doing nothing more than make plans for when the farm was sold.
In a lane some distance away from them, Sarah and Owen were arguing. Unaware that Bertie had been found, she said, ‘If you care as you say you do, Owen, help me find him.’
‘I can’t. He wouldn’t come to me. If he heard me calling him, he’d run in the opposite direction. I’d be a hindrance not a help.’
‘Stop making excuses and help me, please. It’s getting dark, the storm’s getting worse and he’s out there alone and frightened.’
‘No point,’ he said emphatically. ‘He’d hardly think I’m a friend, would he? Thanks to you.’ He touched her shoulders and pulled her to face him. ‘But that could change. We could become a real family if you’ll come with me. I have a place just waiting for us to move into – you’ll love it and so will Bertie.’
‘Go away, Owen. It would never work. Any hint of disagreement and you’d remind me how lucky I am to have been forgiven. To you, Bertie would always be a weapon, not an adorable, bright, intelligent child.’
They heard someone calling and around the corner came Tommy and Sophie and, between them, Bertie. Bertie walked towards them, refusing to let go of Sophie’s hand, but as Sarah turned to him arms outstretched, sobbing in relief, Owen held her back. ‘Not a word about my plans, mind. You must keep it to yourself. We’ll talk soon – I have to have your answer today.’
‘There’s my answer!’ She pointed at Bertie now standing hesitantly near them. ‘My son is more important to me than you could ever be.’ Pulling herself free from his grip she hugged Bertie and offered her tearful thanks to Sophie and Tommy. With a brief nod for his uncle, Owen turned away.
Sarah and a rather subdued Bertie went with Sophie to Badgers Brook. At Sophie’s suggestion they left Bertie with Kitty and Bob to tell them of his adventure.
‘He’ll be all right with Kitty and Bob,’ she assured Sarah. ‘It’s very important that I talk to you.’ She explained Ryan’s suggestion and at first Sarah refused.
‘Owen wouldn’t believe me anyway. I was quite emphatic. And what if Bertie got it wrong again? I can’t risk upsetting him any more. He’s only a boy, Sophie, and he’s been through so much.’
Eventually, after assuring her that Bertie could be with Sophie when she and Owen were presumably leaving, Sarah agreed. ‘Any doubts, mind, and I’ll call everything off,’ she warned. ‘Bertie’s more to me than all of the Treweathers.’
It wasn’t difficult for Sarah to talk to Owen. She took Bertie to stay with Sophie until it was time for school and went to the farm. Tommy told her Owen was in one of the sheds and she found him and smiled her sweetest smile.
‘I’ve been awake all night,’ she said.
‘Oh? What was the matter?’
‘You, Owen, that’s what kept me awake. You and your offer for us to make a new start. Were you serious about caring for Bertie?’
‘I’ll treat him like my own, as I should have done ten years ago.’
‘I’m not managing on my own, and after ten years it’s a sad admission. I thought with this new home and a bit of help from friends I might have coped better than in the past, but I can’t do what I want to for my son.’
‘Sarah, I believe we can make a success of a fresh start but not if your only reason is Bertie.’
‘I can understand your doubts after my insistence that I’d never come back to you, but I didn’t think you’d ever want me, and my anger was a cover for my real feelings.’
‘You haven’t given me much hope. So what has changed you if it isn’t a better life for Bertie?’
‘The fact that in more than ten years I’ve never found anyone else must tell you that I still love you. Crazy, I know, but last night I did some honest thinking.’ She saw the expression on his face soften and a smile begin. ‘Please, Owen, can’t we try?’
‘I’ll do my best for you and Bertie, but you realize that we have to leave without any delay? I’ve made arrangements to take over a place and I can’t be casual about it. It’s now or never.’
She stepped closer and touched his face with her hands, slowly drawing him towards her until their lips were close. ‘It can’t be too soon for me. I regret every moment I’ve been away from you.’
‘This change of mind is very sudden,’ he said. ‘Can I believe you?’ He wanted to, he had her name on the deeds and everything would be easier if she were with him.
‘Let me show you.’ To kiss him wasn’t a hardship, after all, he was the only man she had loved, even though that love was gone for ever, and they came out of the shed with shining eyes and promise in the closeness of their bodies as they walked.
‘I’ll give you a lift back to the shop. From the way you’re dressed that was where you were going.’
She said thanks and glanced at him, her eyes detecting a few remaining doubts. She even had a few of her own, wondering if she was doing the right thing trying to catch him out in his thieving, but shrugged away her hesitation and said, ‘Owen, I’ve dreamed of this ever since we parted, but I didn’t believe it would happen. Last night, while I considered the future, I was filled with doubts about whether you really meant it. Then, towards dawn, I knew I had to believe you.’
After phoning to tell his parents and particularly Owen that he wouldn’t be back for a few days, Ryan left for the drive home. He had borrowed a car and broke the speed limit on many occasions as he dashed back to Cwm Derw. He stopped at Badgers Brook and he and Sophie shared all they knew.
After telling her what he and Gareth were planning, he kissed her lightly, then he held her closer and said. ‘Be careful. Stay at Sarah’s place. This isn’t a night to be outside. Any sign of trouble and I want you and Bertie and Sarah to stay well clear, promise me.’
‘I’ll be helping Sarah to look after Bertie, keeping him well out of the way.’
‘Don’t take any risks. You’re too precious. I’d rather Owen take everything than you even get frightened.’
She relaxed in his arms and when their lips touched the moment engulfed them both completely. Owen and his plans were forgotten, and they were aware of nothing but themselves and the promise given with the kiss.
Leaving her with great reluctance, leaving the car in the lane, Ryan walked through the wood and cautiously approached the farm. He managed to get inside the house without being seen and the first thing he did was change from his smart clothes into some belonging to Gareth. Baggy corduroys, a lumberjack shin, an Arran jumper, frayed at elbows and cuffs, and well-worn wellingtons.
Although Owen obviously knew them well enough to distinguish between them, as children he and Gareth had often played games, dressing in each other’s clothes and confusing him. They had always had differing tastes, Ryan choosing good-quality suits, well-cut sports jackets and greys, while Gareth rarely dressed well and treated whatever he was given with indifference. Ryan trusted that Owen, presuming he was in London visiting a friend, wouldn’t look at him closely enough to notice and would only see what he expected to see.
A weary Gareth arrived in the early evening after a journey spent contemplating all he had learned. He said nothing to explain his absence during the day and neither Rachel nor Tommy asked. They were so keen to describe the search for Bertie and its happy outcome that no one gave a thought to what he had been doing. He went to his room and waited for Ryan to appear.
A few minutes after Ryan had left her, ignoring his plea for her take no chances, Sophie had followed him. There was something she wanted to do, to help if she could, both for Ryan’s sake and for Sarah’s. She didn’t go to the farm, but walked down the steep field to the old farm buildings. There was no one about and the place looked unwelcoming.
Although the storm had subsided, rain was still falling, darkening the already stained grey stone walls, adding its quiet hissing sound to the last gusts of the wind and more gentle rattle of objects moving around the yard. Uninviting as the lonely house appeared, she went inside.
She forced herself to go up and try the back bedroom door again but the padlock was still firmly in place. She was disappointed but knew there was a ladder in one of the sheds and if she could raise it to the window she might be able to look inside the locked room. She knew she ought not to take such a risk. Alone, no one knowing where she was and far away from any help, it was decidedly foolish. Nevertheless, she decided, as she tugged uselessly at the padlock, that she would try to look into the room to find out what was important enough to justify such protection.
The rain wasn’t a deterrent as she was soaked through already, and the window was in a spot that was sheltered from the last sighs of the wind. And, she reminded herself soberly, it was out of sight – a place where no one was likely to find her if she fell.
She found manhandling the ladder into place extremely difficult. It was heavy and she only managed it by lifting it a few inches then resting it against the uneven stone wall, then raising it some more. Even in the lee of the building the occasional gusts almost pulled it from her hands, but she eventually had it propped against the wall below the window and she stood and leaned on it for a moment or two to recover her breath. Making the foot as secure as she could with some bricks and stones she climbed up. It was getting dark but she had come prepared with a torch.
It took a moment or two for her eyes to adjust to the darkness within, but eventually she saw several boxes securely tied with string and an oak chest with its drawers piled beside it, each filled with newspaper-wrapped items. There were also four of the bentwood chairs she had helped Rachel to put into the barn, and a small table. Having helped with the sorting, she recognized the things as having been taken from the items put aside to sell. What could they be doing here?
She was in danger of slipping, as the ladder rungs were wet and her shoes were unsuitable for such activity. Cautiously she slowly made her way to the ground, where a voice startled her.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Owen, very wet and very angry, stood beside her.
‘Owen! Oh, you did give me a fright!’ She was shouting above the steady hissing of the continuing downpour. ‘Can we go inside? It’s impossible to talk with all this noise and I’m soaked through.’ When he had followed her into the house, she explained. ‘I came here the other day and found that one of the rooms has been padlocked. I wanted to see what was inside. Did you know there was some stuff from your uncle’s farm in there?’
‘Of course I knew! I’ve been watching the place hoping to catch whoever has been stealing from us. Now you’ve ruined it.’
‘Sorry.’
‘We might as well take the stuff back. You can give me a hand putting it into the van.’
She helped him bring the furniture and boxes down and into the van, then Owen told her gruffly to get in. ‘Filthy old thing, but it will get you home quicker,’ he said, attempting to brush some mud from the passenger seat.
She took her time getting in, deciding to take off her sodden coat. At the last moment, struggling to free her arms from its clinging wetness, he slammed the door and shouted, ‘Sorry, I can’t wait any longer for you,’ and drove away.
She called out, running after him and slithering on the muddy surface, but he was soon out of sight, the red rear light vanishing around a bend in the lane. Her attempt to delay him had failed and she was a long way from the farm. She knew that the sensible thing would be to go the same way, but it was a couple of miles along the road and she wanted to know what was happening at the farm and warn Ryan about the van apparently packed ready for departure. She couldn’t see the top of the field nor the wood beyond it, but, knowing it would save time, she began to walk up the steep field, her feet, in their unsuitable shoes, slipping on the wet grasses.
She made it into the wood, and although the day was already dark she knew her way and began to hurry through the narrow paths towards the brook. Her mistake was deciding that as her shoes were probably ruined it wouldn’t matter if she tried to jump across the stream and landed in the mud. The stepping stones were further up stream but she was in a hurry and every moment counted.
She jumped, but slipped as she took off and landed with a foot across a dead branch and fell awkwardly, her weight on her ankle.
Gareth watched as Owen returned, noting that he parked the van well away from the house, just inside the gate, and, surprisingly, locked it. He stood in the shadows as his cousin then went about the usual evening tasks of shutting the chickens in and checking the sheds. Ryan stayed out of sight. Then they changes places.
‘Everything in order?’ Ryan asked Owen.
‘Of course, Gareth. Don’t fuss so. As I’ve told you, we’ll find the money waiting in a new bank account and we can share it out and get away from this place for good. You to France and me to wherever the fancy takes me.’
‘Thank goodness! My partner is pushing me for my share of the cash and I don’t want to lose this chance.’
‘It’s all arranged. I’ll leave early tomorrow as soon as the morning tasks are done. Then, while the fuss about my disappearance confuses everything, you leave the day after. I’ll ring you at the phone box outside the post office at ten a.m. Just make sure you’re there.’
‘What are you going to do with your share?’ Ryan asked. ‘You’ve never said.’
Owen shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Not a farm, that’s for sure, I’ve had enough of farming. I’ll get a job and give myself time to consider. I’ll be free as I’ve never been free before. And,’ he added, with a cold look, ‘with no need to be grateful to anyone. That’s real freedom.’
Sophie’s ankle was painful yet he knew she had to move. Staying there cold and soaked through was asking for pneumonia – or worse. Moving was extremely painful and she guessed the ankle was severely strained or even broken. Feeling around the muddy ground, using the torch to help her search, she managed to reach a suitable branch, and after breaking off some of the side branches with hands that were unwilling to perform she was eventually satisfied that it was the best she could do. She tied it with the belt of her coat and her soggy cardigan. It made a reasonable splint. It took a while before she had the nerve to try but she slowly and painfully began dragging herself backwards, pulling with her hands, sliding on her bottom. She didn’t call. There would be no one to hear and the sound of her own voice, meagre in the empty wood, reminding her of the danger she was in, would have made her feel worse.
She knew her hands were bleeding, the cuts and bruises were hurting even though partially numbed by the cold, but there was nothing she could do about it. No gloves, and no alternative to struggling on. Restricting the movement of the damaged limb had made it less painful, but the journey to the farm meant going uphill and then down. Cold, wet and exhausted as she was, it was going to be a very long way.
For both Owen and Ryan, supper would be an anxious affair, with Owen worrying that something might stop him at the very last moment, and Ryan afraid his parents would call him by his name and remark on him wearing such unusual clothes, persuading Owen to look at him closely and realize his mistake. He said he wasn’t hungry, made the excuse of being tired and went to Gareth’s room, although even then his anxiety didn’t leave him.
He walked up and down, knowing it would only take a careless word to make Owen suspicious, but from the low murmur of voices he gathered that nothing untoward had happened. He released pent-up breath as he heard Owen leave the room and go outside, saying he was going for a drink.
‘I’ll tell Gareth and he’ll probably join you later,’ Tommy called. Ryan gave a sigh of relief. Those few words could have ruined everything.
Ryan darted through the gate up the field and dashed through the wood, unaware of Sophie struggling not far away from where he crashed through the trees, and hurried to join Sarah.
Heart racing, but smiling, Owen drove through the lanes. In a small suitcase under the passenger seat he had all the necessary deeds and bank statements and accounts, including the farm statements that would show the money taken from the account. The bank would provide copies once Tommy asked, but at least it would allow him a little more time. He tucked the latest bills, for which he had accepted payment in cash and not put through the books, into his jacket pocket. He didn’t want to leave anything incriminating behind him to speed up Tommy’s reaction. Still wearing a satisfied smile, he drove back to the old farmhouse.
No sign of the tiresome, interfering Sophie, he thought, as he cleaned the van thoroughly. The long spell of rain had helped and it was soon its original green, with chrome shining in the light of the lantern he had brought. He looked at it in satisfaction; it was unrecognizable for the filthy thing it usually was, unless someone remembered the registration number, and who bothered with that, apart from the police? Especially on a night like this. He’d drive with care, making sure not to do anything to make the police look at the van with any interest. But perhaps he would avoid the Aust ferry just in case. Being with people even for a short time might result in him being remembered. Best if he stayed on the roads.
When he called on Sarah she was alone; there was no sign of Bertie. She looked upset. ‘He’s run off again,’ she said at once.
‘Sarah, we have to leave now.’
‘I can’t, Owen. I have to find him.’
‘We can come back for him. He’ll be safe, there are plenty willing to look after him.’
He was standing at the door, the engine running outside the gate.
‘What is the matter with you? He’s only ten years old! I don’t know where he is! How can I leave not knowing what’s happened to him, without even telling him I’m going or explaining what’s happening?’
He grabbed her arm and began pulling her out of the door. ‘Come on, you stupid woman. I have to leave and you have to come with me. Hurry or it’ll be too late. Don’t you understand? There’s no time for this nonsense!’
‘Trouble?’ Ryan said, stepping through the gate.
‘Oh, it’s you, Gareth. I’m just explaining to Sarah that we have to leave now. Trouble is, the boy’s disappeared again.’
‘He can follow on with me. You two go. I’ll be joining you in less than twenty-four hours, won’t I, Owen?’
‘That’s right. Just twenty-four hours,’ he said coaxingly to Sarah, ‘and Bertie will be with us.’
‘No. I won’t leave without him.’
‘All right, you go, Owen, and I’ll bring them both tomorrow.’ As Owen hesitated, Ryan asked, ‘What route are you taking, Gloucester or the Aust ferry?’
‘What d’you mean?’ He looked very agitated. ‘Oh, you mean the place where we can wait till the money comes through? It’ll be somewhere in Hertfordshire. I can’t tell you where. I’ll need to find a place to stay, so, as arranged, I’ll phone the box outside the post office at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ve got the number written down – not that I’ll forget it. I’ll have all the details then, so be there.’
‘Off you go, Owen. We’ll be meeting very soon.’
‘Yes. Cheerio, Gareth.’
‘I’m not Gareth, Owen, I’m Ryan.’
Owen stared at him, and his face seemed to shrivel as realization dawned. Then he pushed him, making him stagger, and dived into the van.
As he drove off at speed Ryan turned to Sarah. ‘Well done! You and Sophie make a wonderful team. Thank you. Now I’ll phone the police and tell Mam and Dad what’s been going on, then we can all go to the Ship and Compass to celebrate.’ He looked towards the stairs, where Bertie was sitting. ‘You, too, young man. I’m sure Betty will let you stay in her back room.’ He leaned on the banister and called, ‘Sophie? Come on down, love. It’s over.’
‘She isn’t here,’ Sarah said with a frown. ‘I thought plans had changed and she must have stayed at the farm.’
‘No. We’d agreed that you two would stay together in case of trouble and I’d be outside.’
‘Bertie?’ she called, ‘D’you know where Sophie is?’
‘Badgers Brook?’ he suggested, as though the question was a stupid one. ’It’s where she lives, isn’t it?’
‘But we arranged for her to be here with you. Where can she be?’
‘My guess is the farm,’ Sarah said. ‘Come on, it’s time we told your parents all that’s been happening.’
Collecting the borrowed car from outside Badgers Brook, they checked to make sure she wasn’t there, but the house was in darkness. Ryan drove them to the farm and at once asked whether Sophie was there.
‘We haven’t seen her. What’s happening? Gareth has been coming and going like will o’ the wisp, today. And where’s Owen? I thought he was meeting Gareth at the Ship? And you were supposed to be in London! Come on, Ryan, tell us what’s going on? I know you’re up to something.’
Gareth came in at that moment and nodded to his twin. ‘The police have been informed,’ he said.
Tommy looked from one to the other, then at Sarah. ‘Will somebody tell me what’s going on?’
‘Mam, Dad, we have something to tell you. Owen has been stealing money from the business and he’s just driven off to a farm he’s bought in Somerset. He thinks Gareth is in on it but thought I didn’t know, until half an hour ago. But Gareth has been there and the place is in the name of Sarah Grange.’
Tommy glared at the young woman, who calmly stared back.
‘How he managed to get her to sign the papers I’ve no idea,’ Gareth said, ‘but I do know she’s helped us trap him.’
‘He told me it was a more generous allowance for Bertie,’ she told them.
Before anything else could be said they heard knocking on the door and Rachel opened it to find Sophie, looking like death, soaked and obviously in pain, lying on the ground.
Rachel took charge and attended to her while Daphne phoned for a doctor. Ryan carried her upstairs and Rachel gently removed her wet clothes, rubbing her to get her warm and talking soothingly. Sophie wallowed in the care but wished it had been Ryan who was closest to her. Dressed in a nightgown belonging to Rachel and with hot water bottles around her she felt that wonderful relaxation that presages sleep, but woke when the doctor came and insisted she went for an X-ray to find out exactly what she had done to her ankle.
Meanwhile Ryan and Gareth were facing their father. Gareth took out a sheaf of papers and showed his father entries marked in red.
‘This hasn’t been properly checked but we think these withdrawals have no invoices to tally with them. We think the money went into a bank account belonging to Owen.’
‘Where is Owen?’
‘The police have been informed that he has gone to the farm that he bought in Somerset.’
‘You’re letting him walk into the arms of the police? We can’t do that! We have to stop him.’
‘But he’s been robbing you, Dad.’ Gareth said. ‘We can’t let him get away with that.’
Tommy reached for his coat. ‘Why wasn’t I told? I might be thinking of retiring but I’m not too stupid to be told what’s going on! I’d have dealt with it, and I wouldn’t have needed the police. Come on, give me the keys to that car you’ve borrowed, it’s bound to be faster than the van.’
Gareth and Ryan stared at each other and nodded. ‘We have to do what he says,’ Ryan said. He ran upstairs to where the doctor was giving instructions for Sophie’s care and said, ‘Sophie, my love, I have to go out. Dad thinks we have to catch up with Owen, hear his story. Will you be all right?’ She assured him she was feeling fine and with a kiss he left her, calling back instructions to his mother to give her the best care as he ran back down the stairs.
‘Come on,’ Tommy shouted. ‘There isn’t much time.’
‘We don’t think he’ll risk the ferry,’ Gareth told him, as they hurried out. ‘But we will, and with luck and the fast car we’ll be there before him.’
‘I have to wait for his explanation before I make a judgement and the police talk to him,’ Tommy said. ‘It’s my fault for not being kinder to him, I know that.’
Luck was against them and the Aust ferry wasn’t operating.
‘How much time did he have before we left?’ Tommy demanded, and they did fast calculations and realized that if they weren’t to break the speed limit and be stopped by the police, they were unlikely to see Owen before the police found him.
At Gloucester Gareth took over the driving. ‘I know the way,’ he explained, ‘and I will save a little time by avoiding taking the wrong road, which is what I did yesterday.’
As they drove, Tommy began to talk about how he and Rachel had taken Owen, at the age of five, into their home. ‘He practically landed on our doorstep as in some Victoria drama,’ he said.
‘I thought his mum and dad went to America and died there?’ Gareth said.
‘That was what I told Owen. It seemed the kindest thing to do at the time.’
‘But the truth…?’ Ryan coaxed.
‘Your uncle brought him to us and said the child’s mother had abandoned him, and as the child was his she said it was up to him to care for him.’
‘But I don’t understand, he was married, so where did Owen come from?’
Tommy appeared lost in his memories and when he spoke it was to himself, justifying his actions, facing his guilt. ‘There’s poor little Bertie, who’s been treated even worse,’ he muttered. ‘And they say lightning doesn’t strike twice. At least we gave Owen a decent home. Rachel and I weren’t willing to take on another unwanted child, so we pretended Bertie was nothing to do with us. Which was true, but unkind.’
Near Avonmouth Owen had a puncture. He felt the sudden dragging sensation as the van lost direction and he pulled over to the side. ‘What damned bad luck,’ he muttered as he began to reach for the tools. The spare was fully inflated, something he had checked before leaving, and he thanked his foresight as he rolled it to where it was needed.
Tommy was lost in his reminiscences, explaining to his sons the reasons why he and Rachel had never accepted Owen as an equal member of the family. ‘We always presumed the boy was my nephew, but his father died before he could answer any of our questions.’
They drove towards Avonmouth, and as Gareth began to look for the turning they were to take they passed Owen. The shining van was ignored by them, its appearance so different from the usual filthy old van, that it was a moment before Ryan said. ‘That was the van!’
Gareth slowed down and managed to turn and make his way back to where Owen was just starting the engine, turning the starting handle and jumping in as the car slowed to a stop. Owen stared in disbelief at the faces of his uncle and Ryan and Gareth. How could they have found him so soon? How had they known where to come? He rejoined the road and accelerated fast. Foot down he urged the van to move as quickly as it would go.
Gareth had to wait before he could turn again and set off in pursuit of the shining green van.
Owen had reached the turning into the narrow lane that led to his new property and, seeing them closing in on him, he was desperately looking for an alternative to leading them straight there. Anything would do: a turning into another lane, a farm gate, anything to stop them finding his smallholding. If only he knew the area better.
Then, as he saw in the headlights a darkness that seemed like a narrow turning promising escape, a man appeared and raised a white-gloved hand to stop him. As the light showed him more clearly, he saw with utter despair that it was a policeman. Damn, he must have been speeding. He stopped, there was nothing else he could do, and his mind began to sort out what he could say to his uncle. Defence or attack? Probably a bit of both, but he had no excuse whatever he said.
As Gareth stopped behind the van the police were searching it, and as he walked towards Owen with Ryan and Tommy following he saw them take a box containing papers.
‘It’s all right,’ Tommy said at once. ‘It’s all been a mistake.’
‘Sorry, sir, but this is an ongoing investigation and we have to take him in for questioning.’
It was early the following morning before Ryan and Gareth set off back to the farm. They tried to persuade Tommy to go with them but he insisted on waiting until Owen had been released, which would not be for some time. ‘I have to do what I can for him. Give him my full support. Only giving half measures is what’s brought him to this,’ he said sadly.
The twins slept in the car for a few hours, uncomfortable and impatient to be home, then found a café for breakfast. When they drove into the farmyard Rachel greeted them, and Ryan ran in to see Sophie in an armchair with a leg propped on a stool, Sarah and Bertie in the kitchen with food ready to serve.
After hugging Sophie and being assured that all was well and the damage was only a severe sprain, Ryan thought to himself that now, after an unforgivable delay, he would talk to Sophie about her grandmother. Perhaps this would be goodbye to the last of her demons.