Chapter 11
ELEVEN
When Christa and I arrived at the police station, we were told by the desk sergeant, in no uncertain terms, that Linda wouldn’t be out for a number of hours. She would be charged with a variety of offences, including but not limited to criminal damage, and it would take a bit of time to sort it all out before she was bailed. Her shouting was a bit more subdued as we left, although we could just about hear her castigating a bored-sounding officer about him wearing leather shoes.
Christa went to debrief the other protestors after dropping me into town to sort out my clothes. We’d be spending more time in the area than we’d bargained for, due to Lairy Linda, and I wasn’t going to sit around all day looking like an extra from Texas Chainsaw Massacre .
While I searched for a public loo to rinse the paint off my hair and face, I replayed the moment I saw Penn in my head. If I’d looked shocked, he’d looked like his soul had departed his body. We’d stared at each other for a long moment, paint dripping from my chin, until Christa had said, in an incredulous voice: ‘Penn?’
The people around him had looked at each other, puzzled, and then continued fussing over the ruined paintwork on the car.
Then, as Penn’s face grew redder, and when he was just about to speak, the Glamazon had taken him by the arm.
‘Come on. Let’s get to the next drive. The birds aren’t going to fall out of the sky of their own accord.’ Then she’d given us a smug look and dragged him away to a black Range Rover.
I’d watched them speed away, my head spinning, thinking, What did I just see? Seeing Penn there, divested of his muso uniform and looking like an extra from Downton Abbey , made me feel as if I was going mad. I couldn’t conjure both versions of him in my mind at the same time; the two images were like opposing magnets that I couldn’t push together no matter how hard I tried. Who was he?
I tried to focus on something else, like getting rid of my ruined clothes, so went into a charity shop and got myself some leggings and an unseasonal pink sweatshirt with a palm tree embroidered on the front. I finished up with the warmest-looking coat I could find – a khaki military-style felt affair with gold buttons. The overall effect was as if a World War Two army officer had wandered into the ‘Club Tropicana’ video.
Christa met me outside and burst out laughing. ‘Come on, General Coconuts – I’m starving.’
‘Me too. An early morning brush with the law sure builds up an appetite.’
We hopped in the Mini and drove out into the country lanes until we found a nice-looking pub, and settled in by the fire. We ordered vegan burgers and chips and munched quietly for a while.
‘What the fuck was Penn doing there?’ she asked through a mouthful of chips. ‘And what the fuck was he wearing? And why the fuck was he shooting pheasants?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said wearily, wiping my mouth with a napkin. ‘You think you know somebody…’
But really, I didn’t know him at all. We’d barely said a civil word to each other since becoming shop-mates, and all I knew of his supposed home life was that he lived in a flatshare in a dodgy area. It just didn’t add up with this new image of a country gent with a shotgun crooked over his arm.
‘I mean… who is he?’ breathed Christa. ‘How can he go from that to that ?’ She separated her hands wide apart.
‘I know. It’s so weird. And that woman he was with; do you think that was his girlfriend?’
‘Probably. She seemed to be pretty attached to him.’ She suddenly exploded with laughter. ‘The flat cap! And the little knee-length pantaloons! I can’t believe it.’
A ripple of mirth shot through me too. ‘And his fancy-looking boots. He looked pretty comfortable with that shotgun too.’
Christa abruptly stopped laughing, her features growing stern. ‘The nasty piece of work.’
I nodded. ‘Just when I thought he couldn’t get any worse. He’s not just a music snob; it turns out he’s an elitist, tweed-wearing posho too. I bet he rides a pony and has a trust fund.’
‘Worse – I bet he’s a fucking Tory.’
I shuddered. Then Christa’s phone rang and she looked at the screen. ‘It’s Poundshop Banksy; I’d better take this.’ She went outside, mobile clamped to her ear, and I continued eating my burger.
She came back moments later.
‘She’s been bailed and she’s starving. I said I’d run over to get her and bring her back for some food. Are you alright waiting here? Save the table?’
The place was filling up with a recent surge of customers so I agreed – I could finish up my food too. Christa left, and I ordered a half pint of cider to drink with the rest of my meal.
I gazed over the bar area as I ate the last of my chips, and noticed that there were quite a few people wearing tweeds and wax jackets. Par for the course in rural Northumberland, but I had an uneasy feeling nonetheless. I noticed a few of them giving me funny looks, but then remembered that one side of my face and hair was stained lightly pink from the paint. One particular man was looking at me more intently, and he got up and walked over.
I involuntarily shrank away from him as he stood over my table, dressed in a shirt and tweed breeks and waistcoat. He had auburn hair and a matching short beard, and his blue eyes twinkled enough that my heart rate slowed a little.
‘I almost didn’t recognise you without the coat of emulsion,’ he said in an accent that I vaguely identified as from the Borders – a blended lilt of Geordie and Scottish. ‘I’m Gus.’
I shook his proffered hand. ‘Annie,’ I said, still guarded. ‘I don’t remember you from this morning.’
‘I was just coming down the hill when you left. I’d been retrieving one of the retrievers.’ He grinned. ‘So, do you make a habit of slinging paint around, or is it just on special occasions?’
‘It wasn’t me who slung it. And, if anything, the owner should be thanking me for taking the brunt of it. I just about halved the damage to their car.’ I started to relax – it didn’t appear that he was about to give me any grief. Gus gestured to the stool next to me; I nodded, and he sat down, placing his pint of stout on the table.
‘I don’t think Haz will be too worried – he’s got another four of them at home.’
‘Wow. You guys must be made of money.’
‘Not me,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I’m just the lowly gamekeeper. I look after Lord Ashcliffe’s land.’
‘And organise the shoot.’ I gave him an appraising look.
He held up his hands. ‘Guilty. But that’s the way of it out here. Besides, they all get eaten – it’s not as if they’re killed just for sport.’
I grimaced. That was just as bad in my opinion.
‘I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on that,’ I said.
‘So I won’t be able to convert you to country pursuits then?’
I shook my head but found myself smiling. Despite his barbaric proclivities, there was something disarming about him.
He took a drink and regarded me over the rim of the pint glass. ‘I wondered if you’re familiar with Perry.’
‘Oh?’ I felt my face heat up.
‘You two looked like you’d seen a ghost when you clocked each other.’
I shrugged, deciding to remain vague. ‘We’ve seen each other around. Although I didn’t know his name was Perry .’
‘That’s the Honourable Peregrine Burton-Edwards to the likes of you and me,’ he said with a wink.
My jaw dropped like it was attached to a bag of shotgun pellets. The Honourable what ? And Peregrine ? I was literally lost for words but was unable to contain a snort of laughter.
‘Right. Good to know,’ I said, playing with a beer mat, trying to compose myself.
‘So do you live in Newcastle then?’ he asked. ‘I guess that’s where you know him from. He’s been trying his hand at being a city boy for a few years now.’
‘Yeah. Newcastle born and bred.’
‘I’m down there sometimes. We should meet up – you could show me the best places for a night out.’ He smiled, holding my gaze. I didn’t know where to look – I hadn’t had any of this on my bingo card for today; the inexplicable Peregrine, or being hit on by the gamekeeper whose shoot I’d just taken part in ruining.
‘Yeah, maybe.’ To be fair, he seemed nice enough. ‘Listen… why are you being so nice to me? You should be tearing a strip off me for spoiling your day. Plus, you should know we’re at polar odds when it comes to our stance on bird slaying.’
He nodded. ‘Agreed. But I make an exception for pretty girls who’d take a face full of paint for their friend and their principles.’
Just then, the pub door swung open, and who should it be but the Honourable Penn himself. He saw me and Gus immediately, and his brow furrowed. He marched directly over to us, ignoring anyone who tried to greet him.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, as blunt as ever.
‘I could ask you the same thing, Peregrine ,’ I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
A flush spread over his chiselled cheekbones, then he turned his attention to Gus.
‘I’m surprised to see you here too,’ Penn said to him.
‘Fraternising with the enemy,’ said Gus, raising a wry eyebrow.
‘Yes.’ Penn glared at me, and I gave him an innocent, butter-wouldn’t-melt look.
‘I’m discovering that Annie here is one of the good ones.’
Penn gave him a chilly look. ‘I was coming to find you actually. Dad wants to see you. Now.’ I noticed that his normally pseudo-Geordie accent was now even more refined.
‘What about?’ asked Gus, clearly reluctant to leave.
‘He didn’t say.’
Gus sighed and sank the last of his pint. He then scribbled his number down on a beer mat and handed it to me. ‘Give me a call, city girl. We’ll make a date.’
Penn stared at the ground, his jaw tense, as Gus passed by him and left.
‘What an enlightening day,’ I said, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice.
‘I don’t have to tell you anything about my personal life.’
‘I’m not surprised you didn’t!’ I cackled unbecomingly. This was delicious. ‘I never imagined in all my wildest nightmares that I’d see Newcastle’s answer to Brandon Flowers dressed up in tweeds and a flat cap.’
‘Like I said, it’s none of your business.’
‘And an animal killer too.’ Any mirth I was feeling sapped away as I remembered the shotgun draped over his arm. A coldness rippled through me. ‘I don’t know how you can live with yourself.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Really? I thought you were bad enough in the shop, but now I think I’ve got the measure of you. This sabotage I’ve been going through – now I know how dodgy your moral code is, my suspicions might be right.’
We stared at each other stonily for a moment.
‘Again, I have no idea what you mean. Sabotage?’
‘Sabotage. The horrible comments on my social media posts?’
His expression was difficult to read, but he looked slightly troubled.
‘I haven’t left any comments on your social media. I don’t even use social media all that much. At least not nowadays.’
My nostrils flared. ‘You want me out of the shop though. You’ve got a hell of a motive.’
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. ‘Listen, I can’t be bothered with all this. I need to go back to my family. But before I do, I’ll give you some advice. Throw that beer mat away.’
‘This? I might take Gus up on it. He seems alright.’
‘He’s not for you.’
The absolute gall. ‘Not for me? Because I’m not posh enough for him, is that it?’
He shook his head, took a step back and turned away.
‘Get rid of that number. You’ll thank me later.’ And he stalked off.
I sat there, grinding my teeth, twirling the beer mat around between my fingers. With a degree of satisfaction, I tucked it into my bag.
A gust of cold wind blew through the door as it opened, and Christa came in, staring daggers at the beaters as she walked over to me.
‘Come on – we’re going.’
‘What about Linda? I thought she was wanting to eat.’
‘She made me stop for a chickpea pasty from the petrol station on the way through.’
I gathered my things, and we made for the door.
Christa clocked Penn as we walked by their group. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, you sadistic weirdo,’ she said, shaking her head.
He gave her a cold shoulder.
Just then, the door swung open, and Linda’s head poked around it. She saw us and then noticed the pack of green-and-brown-clad beaters.
‘I hope you choke on your pints!’ she yelled, sticking up double Vs. ‘You remorseless fuckers!’
We left before the barman could eject us.