A Bitter Feast(98)

Curious, Grace crept closer, afraid that the dogs would sense her, even from inside the house. When the wind dropped, she heard voices coming from the barn. Tiptoeing now, she crossed the farmyard, keeping out of sight of the door. She knew there was a crack where the frame of the door didn’t quite fit the old wall of the barn, and she thought she could peek through it.

One voice grew louder. Mark’s. “I’m sick and tired of you interfering in Viv’s business, Bea.”

Grace edged closer until she could put her eye to the gap. Mark and Bea were facing each other. Mark had been stacking hay bales and his face was red.

“I’m only saying what’s best for Viv and for the child,” Bea said, sounding bossy and just as cross. “I saw you today with Viv, carrying on. What do you think that would do to—”

“For Christ’s sake. We were not carrying on. And the child is nearly twelve and needs to grow up.”

Grace felt a little flush of pleasure at the nearly twelve. But then Mark said, “And it’s about time she had a man in her life. You’re warping that child, Bea. Viv is the only one who can’t see it. Even Jack thought so, and he had a soft spot for you.”

“Jack? What did Jack tell you?” There was something in Bea’s voice that Grace didn’t like. She almost bolted, but she was afraid if she moved they would hear her and then Bea would be really, really cross.

Mark shoved the hay fork into a bale and left it sticking there. “He saw you with Grace’s mobile on Friday afternoon. She’d left her backpack in the bar. You were spying on the kid.”

“So what if I was?” Bea said, and Grace frowned in surprise, wondering if she’d heard wrong. “It was for her own good,” Bea went on. “She should learn not to put in her pass code where people can see it. She was texting O’Reilly— Did you know that? He told her he was her father.”

Mark’s face went blank. “What?”

“Oh, Viv didn’t tell you that either, did she?” Bea said, in a nasty, baiting voice.

But Mark shook his head. “Don’t try that shit on with me, Bea. You’re not turning me against Viv. She did tell me. But she didn’t know that Grace knew.”

“O’Reilly told Grace her mum was going to take the job in London and they would all play happy families together.” Bea snorted. “And Grace believed him, the little ninny. He needed Viv for his restaurant, and Grace was a way of getting to her.”

Grace clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself crying out. It couldn’t be true. Fergus had wanted to be her dad, she knew he had. Now she just wanted to go home, but the stunned look on Mark’s face kept her rooted to the spot.

“You believed it, didn’t you?” he told Bea. “You thought Viv would really take the job. And where would that have left you? Out in the cold?” Mark took a step towards Bea and Grace shrank back.

Bea laughed but there was nothing funny about the sound. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You were there, in the bar that night,” Mark said slowly. “You must have been panicked after you saw those texts on Grace’s mobile. Maybe you decided to take matters into your own hands. Did you give him something, Bea?” He must have seen an answer in Bea’s face because his eyes went wide. “You did, didn’t you?” He sounded surprised, as if he hadn’t quite believed it until then. “What about Jack? Did he see you do it?”

“Nobody will believe you, you know.” Bea’s quiet voice was somehow scarier than her shouty one.

But Mark just shrugged, and Grace suddenly wanted to call out to him, but she didn’t. “I’m going to tell the police what I think, regardless. And I’m going to tell Viv. You can deal with the consequences.” Turning his back, he reached for his hay fork.

Quick as lightning, Bea grabbed the manure shovel that was propped against one of the sheep pens. She swung it high with both hands, like a cartoon warrior, cracking it against the back of Mark’s head with a sound like a ripe melon hitting the tarmac.

Grace doubled over, stifling a moan of terror.

When she could bring herself to look again, Mark was in a heap on the ground, and Bea was stooping over the emergency lantern Mark used when there was a power outage. Bea tipped it over, spilling the white petrol into the loose straw on the floor of the barn. Her back was to Grace now, but when Grace heard the flicking sound she knew instantly what it was—the little butane lighter Bea used to light the table candles in the pub. A wisp of smoke rose from the floor.

Grace could just make out Mark’s body slumped against the hay bale. He wasn’t moving.

She had to get help.

Hardly daring to breathe, she backed up a step, then another one. Dark clouds now blotted out the sky, leaving the farmyard in a weird gray-green twilight. Grace turned, but she’d misjudged her step and she bumped against the empty trailer, making the tow bar clank. Inside the house, the dogs began to bark.

“Who’s there?” called Bea.

Grace froze, praying that Bea wouldn’t come to see. But a moment later, Bea appeared in the barn door, peering out.

“Who’s there?” she said again, a little uncertainly. Then she caught sight of Grace on the far side of the trailer. Taking a step farther into the yard, she called, “Grace! What are you doing here?”