Chapel field, p.1
Chapel Field, page 1
Chapel Field
Paula Hillman
Copyright © 2024 Paula Hillman
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The right of Paula Hillman to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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First published in 2024 by Bloodhound Books.
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Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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www.bloodhoundbooks.com
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Print ISBN: 978-1-916978-66-9
Contents
Newsletter sign-up
Prologue
1. Summer 1996
2. Summer 2018
3. Summer 2018
4. Winter 1996
5. Summer 2018
6. December 1996
7. Summer 2018
8. Christmas 1996
9. January 1997
10. Summer 2018
11. January 1997
12. Summer 2018
13. Summer 2018
14. February 1997
15. Summer 2018
16. Summer 2018
17. Summer 2018
18. Summer 2018
19. September 2018
20. September 2018
21. September 2018
22. September 2018
23. September 2018
24. October 2018
25. October 2018
26. October 2018
27. November 2018
Also by Paula Hillman
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Acknowledgements
Newsletter sign-up
A note from the publisher
Prologue
Walney Island, 1945
Lenny Diamond
An evening in late summer, with long shadows and crowds of midges. Lenny Diamond pulled his truck onto a patch of shingle at the edge of the wood. No one was about, not even the last stragglers from shipyard kick-out time; he was alone. He rested his forehead on the rim of the steering wheel and tried to contain the joy threatening to punch its way out of his belly like a wild thing. He’d become a father. A father. Twenty-four hours of pacing corridors in the maternity home, smoking one roll-up after another, hoping he didn’t smell of oil and rust, then she’d done it, his Maisie-Anne: she’d given him a son.
A pail full of barley stout bottles rattled in the footwell. He grabbed one then climbed out of the truck, dropping heavily onto the shingle. From this part of the beach, it was possible to look across the water to the mainland, to a jumble of brick chimneys and the back-end of the shipyard sheds. The new housing estate, too: a place his wife coveted as much as he loathed.
The tide was halfway in, a wide band of glittery blue cutting into the drab of the mudflats. He knocked the cap of his bottle against a rock and gulped down a first sweet mouthful of the stout. A breath of sea-wind touched his face, and he inhaled deeply. Having a child was the best of things to happen. And the worst. One way or another he would have to get May and the baby a proper home. Living in the caravan didn’t bother him; he was a traveller. But she needed more.
The wood caught his eye whenever he drove through this village: Chapel Field, full of old cottages and barns, huddled together at an angle to the sea, as though they were fighting the island weather. Those places would not suit him, even if he did have money. Privacy was what he wanted, and where better than a sea-wood.
His boy had no name yet, but he was thinking something like Richard. Richard Leonard Diamond. Perhaps Ritchie for short, Rick for his friends and Rikki for his lovers. Another wash of emotion followed his next glug of beer, and Lenny had to sit for a moment and settle his giddiness. His son might have sons: being a granddad in the future was something he hadn’t thought about; a new line of Diamonds, children with his height and May’s way of smiling.
There had been the opportunity to hold his baby, given grudgingly by a pair of hefty women wearing dark uniforms, eyes like the slits in a post-box. But it had been enough. He’d not felt a rush quite like it, not even when he’d first set eyes on May. With utter certainty, he knew he would kill for this tiny boy, with his head of dark thick hair and angry frown. And he wouldn’t let him spend his life dealing scrap metal. An actor, perhaps, or an artist, that would be exactly right for little Richard Diamond.
Further along the shingle, where the borders of beach and wood blurred, were two gigantic boulders, looming upwards, peaks hidden by a mass of tangled branches. Lenny had the urge to climb, to get to the top of the world and shout his victory at the sky. Until this moment, his life had been full of small wins: a good price for copper piping, a winter passed and not gone to his chest. Today felt like he could hold his head up proudly and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with other men.
His boots had a hulking set of treads, and he was up the boulders in a few seconds and thinking he could jump from here and into the wood. He could do anything today, it was his; the universe had his back. With a swing of his arms, he flung himself forward onto a square of bramble and mud, and kept his momentum going until he’d entered the wood proper. What a place it was. The light of evening filtered through a canopy of green, becoming grainy and enveloping in the most comforting way. Lenny liked the feel of it. He knew what happened in wide-open spaces, knew the prying and judging that went on in plain sight.
The trees thinned out once he’d walked a few more paces, muddy paths trodden between them. Hardly being able to read, he had no way of naming anything but holly bushes and stringy nettles reaching for the light. That people used the wood was obvious, and he could smell smoke; woodsmoke.
He picked his way between silvery tree-trunks and shrubby overgrowth, enjoying the way early leaf fall felt like the best kind of carpet. If he could clear an area of thicket, he could build a house. Right here. May would love it. He would give her a garden and the boy could have a bedroom, and no one would stare and judge because there would be trees for protection.
‘What you doing here?’
Lenny gasped like he’d been punched. Lost in his little world of playing house, he hadn’t seen or heard the man now standing in front of him. He was dressed in the working uniform of a docker: greasy cap and jacket with a string belt, heavy boots. His face was soft and flabby, small features sunk deep. Another man appeared from behind him, the difference being his hard-edged expression.
‘All right, fellas.’ Lenny scanned around the wood: there were only two of them. Easy. ‘Cooking up some supper, are you? Feel like some company?’ He pulled the half-drunk bottle of stout from his pocket. ‘I’ve got more of this back in my truck.’
‘I asked a question,’ the first man said, then hawked up something from the back of his throat and spat on the ground between them.
‘And he should answer, shouldn’t he, Butch.’ The second man shuffled forward, pulling a cigarette from between his lips and grinding it out under his heel.
Whatever pulse of pecking-order excitement Lenny had been feeling was quickly turning into something that burned. ‘And I don’t feel the need to answer, right now. I’m doing what I’m doing. It’s not your business. Unless you’re saying this wood is private property, and I don’t think it is.’
‘Listen to him.’ The second man stuck out his chin. ‘Not from round here, are you.’ He scanned Lenny’s overalls and donkey-jacket. ‘You’re one of them gyppos what’s living down the south end. I’ve seen you. Bloody offcomers.’
That word. Offcomer. His life was contained within the sound of it. A flash of hot anger made Lenny bite his teeth together, but he wasn’t stupid. Resolution was better with no blood spilt.
‘I bet there’s good lamping up here,’ he said, deliberately relaxing his posture. ‘Not that I’m looking for new places. As you say, I live on the south end of the island and the dunes are teeming.’
The men eyeballed each other. Lenny took another swig of beer. He braced himself. He knew how quickly things could turn nasty. And they did.
The first man took two steps towards him and grabbed the lapels of his jacket.
‘Teeming with vermin is exactly what them dunes are,’ he growled. Lenny was close enough to his face that he could see the dirt ingrained in a spread of enlarged pores, smell the meaty tang of his breath. ‘So you’d better get back there. Or better still, piss off out of town altogether.’
Lenny lost his wish for good sense. He swung his fist back then swiped it into the side of the man’s head. Boxing had never been his strong point. He liked a dirty fight; temples, not chins. The man released his grip and stumbled sideways. Lenny wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. He lunged for the other man, swung his boot to groin-level and connected, bracing himself for an assault launched from behind when the man recovered.
As soon as he felt the weight across his shoulders, he let his knees buckle. His assailant was propelled by personal momentum, then collapsed in a heap of coat and boots. Lenny added a few kicks for good measure. Both men were down now and trying to find their breath. This wasn’t how he wanted the atmosphere to be between him and other people. So many times he’d tried to make a good impression, tried to find common ground, b ut the endings always looked like this one: Lenny Diamond, a line in the sand and the rest of the world crouched on the other side and snarling.
‘This isn’t what I’d planned, fellas.’ He shrugged. ‘And wouldn’t it be awkward if I turned out to be the owner of this little patch.’ When one of the men seemed to be rousing, he added, ‘I’m not. But help me out by telling me who is, before I leave you in peace.’
One of the men hauled himself up and for a moment Lenny thought he wasn’t done. Then he held up his hands and spoke through gritted teeth.
‘I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but you can bugger off. The wood’s ours. Belongs to Chapel Field folks, like, and we don’t want you and yours anywhere near.’ He turned to the other man, now also on his feet. ‘Two of us might not be able to give you trouble, but there’s plenty more who’ll join us next time, believe me.’
‘Oh, I do.’ Lenny finished the last dregs of his beer, draining the bottle slowly, keeping his eyes on the men. ‘Believe you, that is. But you’d be surprised what money can buy. And us gyppos have always got plenty.’ He threw the bottle, so it landed between them, then turned his back and stalked away, more determined than ever to own a portion of this wood.
Chapter 1
Summer 1996
Laurie
By the time Laurie arrives, evening has closed in enough to cool the air a little. She strides across the field, crows scattering in her wake, cut stalks of grass scratching at her ankles. They’d been the things her mother objected to most about her outfit. Bare ankles, with those legs, she’d said, as though Laurie had no right to be offending the world with how she looked. She’d kept quiet about meeting Marcus Butcher: that would have been something real to moan about. With a flick of her pony-tail, Laurie peers up at the tent. It’s one of those khaki monstrosities, with a pole poking through the top. A bell tent, she’d heard it called. She slaps her hand against the thick canvas of the doorway.
‘It’s Loz. Can I come in, guys?’
A low mutter of voices, then a hand appears and begins to untie the flap.
‘Mummy let you out, did she?’
‘Piss off, Butcher.’ Laurie rears away as the thick fug of cigarette smoke and sweat creeps from the tent’s interior. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ She ducks and pushes her way in.
Ruth and Pete and Jamie are sitting cross-legged, with playing-cards fanned out in their hands. From the top of the central tent-pole hangs a torch, splattering the gloom and giving everything a dirty sheen. An empty bottle of cider rolls between them.
‘Howdy,’ Pete says as Laurie sits beside him. ‘You look nice.’ His eyes flash across her shoulders and settle on the shadowy hollow at the rim of her vest-top.
‘Nowt in there for you.’ Jamie laughs.
Marcus joins the circle and picks up his cards. ‘You can be her partner for this round, Loz.’ He gestures towards Ruth. ‘Not that she has any fucking clue what she’s doing.’
‘Shut your face,’ Ruth says. Laurie slips an arm around her friend’s soft shoulders; she’s made an effort tonight. Her short blonde hair is held back with a pink circular clip and she’s wearing a sun-dress rather than her usual denim skirt and tee. Flirtation overlays her insult.
‘Now then, now then, ladies.’ Pete pouts, and gets a thump on his upper arm from Marcus.
Jamie interrupts, slamming his card-fan down on the polythene groundsheet. ‘King, queen, jack, and ace of fucking diamonds. That’s the round over before it’s even begun.’
No one speaks for a moment, and Laurie suddenly feels out of her depth. This last year of school has been all about pushing boundaries and bending rules to within an inch of their lives. Now the summer of freedom has finally arrived, she feels more like six than sixteen. Marcus Butcher is a roller-coaster of a lad, and she wants to get off. He jumps up from his place next to her and kicks the deck of cards. It scatters. Ruth twitches.
‘Talking of diamonds,’ he growls, ‘who’s up for a bit of Diamond-bashing right now?’ Silence. ‘Petey-boy?’
Laurie pretends to be rubbing at her eye, but whispers let’s go behind her hand. Ruth doesn’t respond, and before she can think any further, Marcus has unfastened the flap of the tent, and they are piling through.
Outside, the heat is beginning to fade and there is the faintest smell of seaweed on the breeze. The sky has a metallic sheen and a tiny sliver of moon, but the ice in Laurie’s veins has nothing to do with the change in temperature. When Marcus gets a hunger for tormenting the Diamond family, it never ends well. Not that they don’t deserve it, with their complete disregard for the village and its ways, their rough fences blocking public footpaths and their thieving from the shop. She’s never seen much of this, but people talk. That’s the thing about Chapel Field; everyone knows everyone else, one family keeping an eye out for the next. It feels safe.
Pete slings an arm around Ruth’s shoulder. Laurie walks with Jamie and Marcus marches ahead, making a show of lighting up, spitting on the ground a couple of times. He back-heels a loose stone, then taps it with his toe. Jamie responds, running towards him in an exaggerated way.
‘And the flanker sets up Butcher,’ he calls.
‘And Butcher scores.’ Marcus hoofs the stone into the air, an arc of glowing cigarette ash following. He dances on the spot, waving to his adoring – and imaginary – fans. Pete moves to join in, but the moment has passed. Marcus has lost his jovial expression.
‘What do you think?’ He frowns. ‘Shall we go to the house? Knock on the windows and stir them up a bit?’ He blows a smoke ring into the dusky air. ‘Anyone want a drag?’
‘Give it here.’ Pete takes the cigarette and mimics Marcus in a way that is faintly creepy. While Marcus is slim and golden and intense, Pete has thick arms and legs, heavy dark hair, and stoops to hide his height. Laurie drops behind and links her arm through Ruth’s.
‘God, I really fancy him. Marcus, I mean,’ Ruth whispers. ‘What do you think of him, Loz?’
‘He’s all right, I guess. Don’t know him really.’
‘Know him? What’s that got to do with anything?’ Ruth sighs. ‘Anyhow, we’ve known him for ages, if you think about it.’
‘Suppose so. He can be a bit nasty though, can’t he?’
‘You mean he says what he thinks.’
Laurie isn’t sure what she means. Only that she doesn’t feel easy around Marcus Butcher. He has no interest in or connection with people different to him: parents, kids from other schools, old folk, he hates them all. And that’s especially true of the Diamond family. None of them are happy about their concrete monstrosity of a house or the fenced-off land, but Marcus always takes it one step further. Ed Diamond is the same age as them, but he doesn’t go to their school – or any other, she doesn’t think – and Marcus uses this as an excuse to sling vile comments his way.
Diamond Hall is on the edge of the village, where sea-wood eats into the housing estate. It sits just above the beach and can’t be accessed without hammering on one of the two gates in its tattered fencing system. But Marcus knows a way in.
‘Let’s scoot down to the shore,’ he is saying, ‘get in the back way. Any bets we can reach the windows before anyone sees us? Fiver says we can, Petey-boy.’
Pete and Jamie set up some rough-and-tumble with him while Laurie and Ruth follow. They leave the field through a gap in the hedge and follow a tarmac path downhill to the first patchy shingle of the beach. The tideline is away in the distance and the sands are deserted. Except they’re not. Moving towards them is a dark figure, tall and shambling.
