Chapter Twelve
Nate
Laurel was quiet and jittery as they sped along the country lanes to the arm. He hoped it was something trivial and ridiculous that could wait for Laurel to deal with next week. Or even better, someone else could deal with it. She had too much on her shoulders already.
‘It’ll be okay,’ he said, putting his hand on top of hers restlessly tapping the gear stick. ‘Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.’
She cut her eyes quickly to him.
‘It’s probably boring work stuff. You don’t have to hang around.’
‘Look, if I can help, then I want to,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to do everything by yourself.’
A sad smile flashed across her face. ‘Okay.’
Laurel let out a low groan as they rounded the corner into Little Willow Farm.
There, scrawled across the kitschy, leaping sheep Little Willow Farm sign was ‘Fletcher Bitch’ in big, black, spray-painted letters.
‘Laurel, I…’ Nate started, but he didn’t have the words.
Well, that was obviously about Laurel. If he had to guess, George Hibbert would be his first, and only, one. Nate’s jaw tightened.
The headlights flashed over Robin, pointing towards the admin building, mouth turned down. As the lights illuminated the wall, he could see the big black letters ‘Fucking Fletcher Bitch’. Well, look at that. George Hibbert could use more than two words.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked, voice low.
Laurel nodded as she pulled the handbrake up, jaw tense. She was not okay.
Robin didn’t even let them shut the car door before he was on at Laurel.
‘Not enough that you’re giving him my house, you’re shagging him as well now.’
‘Fuck you, Robin,’ she snapped. ‘We were having a drink in the pub.’
‘There’s more,’ Robin said grimly. ‘Come on.’
They followed Robin through the farm to the Pick Your Own. Laurel wrapped her arms around her waist. Whether she was cold in the summer night, or whether she was trying to fortify herself, Nate didn’t know.
‘There you are,’ Jack snapped, striding towards them, taking in Nate just a step behind Laurel.
‘Yes,’ Laurel said. ‘Here I am.’
‘We’ve not touched anything, but look at what we’ve found,’ he said pointing to the shed. They gathered around the doorway and Nate peeked over Laurel’s shoulder.
‘Shit,’ she whispered. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’
‘What is it?’ he asked Robin.
‘That, my good doctor, is an empty bottle of industrial strength weed killer.’ Robin clapped him on the back. ‘It’s been dumped into the water butts that waters the Pick Your Own fruit. It has been on for hours, ruining this year’s crop, perhaps next years as well.’
‘Oh fuck,’ Nate said, the implication dawning on him.
‘Give the man a gold star.’ Robin shrugged. ‘They must have just chucked the empty bottle in there after making sure the irrigation system was switched on.’
Laurel was crouching, head in her hands. The only sound was the whirring of the irrigation system controls from the shed. The Fletcher men waited for her with bated breath. She stood up, pushing her hands through her hair.
‘Right. Jack, call the police and tell David, the lazy shit, that if he doesn’t come out right now, I’ll lodge a formal complaint.’
Jack pulled his phone out and took a few steps away.
‘Robin, turn off the irrigation at the mains and make sure the timer is turned off so it doesn’t come on in the morning.’
‘Yes, boss,’ he said, jogging away.
She turned to Bill. ‘Dad, call old man Hibbert. It was George. I know it was. Find out where he was tonight.’
‘Laurel, it’s gone ten,’ Bill said.
‘If you don’t want to call him, I will,’ she said darkly. ‘And I guarantee you, he will not appreciate a call from me.’
‘Okay, okay. I’ll call him.’ Bill squinted at his phone.
‘I’m going to check the CCTV in the office.’ She turned to him, deflated. ‘You don’t have to hang around here, Nate.’
He looked around at the Fletcher men busily doing her bidding and the farm that she had built.
‘I’ll come up with you.’
‘Okay, but you don’t have to.’ Laurel’s face was tight.
‘Look, just let me help,’ he said.
He was rewarded with a little nod, a yes, she was letting him in, letting him help her. He put his arm around her shoulders as they turned towards the admin building.
‘Laurel, David’s not happy, but he’s coming,’ Jack called. ‘Nate, can I have a word?’
‘Good,’ she called back.
‘I won’t be a minute,’ he said quietly to Laurel and jogged back over to Jack.
Jack was looking past him, watching Laurel head towards the admin building.
‘What’s up?’ Nate said, expectantly.
Now was not the time for a catch up chat.
Jack took a breath and set his jaw, face illuminated by the artificial light coming from the shed.
‘I like you, man, I do.’ His voice was steel and flint. ‘But if you hurt Laurel, then I will hold you down while Robin smashes your face in.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Hurting Laurel? They weren’t going out. They were just friends.
‘Don’t be stupid. Can’t you see the way she looks at you? And I certainly see the way you look at her.’
‘What? Like she’s my friend?’ Nate snapped. What the fuck was Jack going on about?
‘You can tell yourself that all you like, man,’ Jack scoffed. ‘You search her out all the time, you smile when she smiles. You look at her just a little bit too long.’
What? ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Whatever man. But I’m telling you, if you break her, I’ll kill you.’ Jack assessed him slowly, letting it sink in. ‘If this is George Hibbert, and I think it is, she’ll put on a brave face, but she’ll be scared.’
Nate scrubbed a hand over his face.
‘What’s George Hibbert’s thing with Laurel?’
Jack shrugged. ‘He never got over her. It was only ever a one night stand for her and it was two years ago, but now he’s got a massive chip on his shoulder. He’s bitter and spiteful, and obviously a twat.’ He glanced at his phone. ‘I’ve got to go and see Rebecca. She wants an update. See you later, man.’
Jack jogged away with a wave over his shoulder and Nate headed for the admin building and Laurel.
Deal with one thing at a time, and Jack’s wild assertions could be dealt with tomorrow.
Laurel
She was numb.
A little from the chill in the night, but mainly from the fact that George Hibbert thought she was awful enough to try and destroy her business.
He may well have succeeded.
She’d have to draft an email to send to all the Pick Your Own bookings tomorrow. The insurance company would have to be called. The local policeman, David, was on his way, but he was useless so she’d have to escalate that. The graffiti would have to be cleaned, but not until evidence photographs had been taken and who knows when that would be?
This was a family farm and it had swear words tracked all over it in big black spray paint.
Tears pricked at Laurel’s eyes and she swallowed heavily. She’d been so happy with the endorsement from the BAS and now this had happened.
She was scanning back through the digital CCTV when Nate came in and she glanced up, giving him a worried smile.
‘Any luck?’ he asked, perching next to her on the edge of her desk so he could see the screen too.
She shook her head silently, eyes glued to the screen.
After what seemed an age, there he was; George Hibbert scrabbling backwards through the different screens as she rewound to when he first arrived, bold as brass, climbing on the five-bar gate to spray paint the Little Willow Farm sign. He was wearing a black hoodie and black shorts, holdall slung across his chest, but she would recognise him anywhere.
‘It’s him, yeah? George Hibbert?’ Nate asked, squinting at the figure running across the farmyard to the admin building.
She nodded slowly. That waste of space police officer David wouldn’t do anything with this unless it was definitive that it was George. Laurel watched intently as he headed into another camera shot towards the irrigation shed. He crouched on the ground and opened the holdall, pulling out the weedkiller. Laurel stopped the playback and zoomed in on his bare calf as close as she could without distorting it too much.
‘It’s definitely him, that’s his tattoo,’ she said, tapping the screen.
‘What is it? Looks like a red and green smudge from here,’ Nate leaned towards the monitor.
‘It’s Vision, as in the comic book thing? Marvel, I think?’
She pressed play again, watching as George found the water butts and emptied the entire container of weedkiller into them, then headed to the irrigation controls, dropping the empty cannister on the floor.
He sauntered out of that shed and out of her farm like he was shit on a stick. Like he’d just pleasured a woman so well she’d never forget it. Well, newsflash, he needed a lot more practice before he allowed himself that amount of swagger.
Laurel put her head in her hands. This was deliberate sabotage because she didn’t fancy George Hibbert.
What a fucking mess.
She felt a strong hand rubbing her back between her shoulder blades, but Nate didn’t say anything and for that she was grateful.
After allowing herself a couple of shuddering sobs and a few deep breaths, Laurel straightened.
‘I need to make a list.’ Her voice was hoarse.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘What can I do?’
She gave him a little smile. ‘Nothing, Nate. Why don’t you go home, get some sleep, prep whoever it is for moving into Robin’s house tomorrow.’
There really wasn’t anything he could do.
‘I’m just going up to check the site.’ He hesitated. ‘I know it doesn’t seem like he’s gone up there, but I just want to check, you know, make sure.’
Shit. She hadn’t even thought about that. It was clear from the CCTV that he hadn’t taken the winding road up to the archaeological dig site, but that’s not to say that this was his first trip. That’s not to say that he was the only one here. Perhaps he had recruited someone else into his scheme.
She gave Nate a slow, sad nod.
‘I’ll come back, I won’t be long,’ he said.
Another nod, because she didn’t trust herself to speak. Nate squeezed her shoulder and she swallowed, a lump in her throat forming at his kindness and watched as he left the room.
Pulling herself together, Laurel began her list. Telephone calls to the insurance company, drafting emails of apologies, stabbing George Hibbert, sending emails to be delivered at 8am on Monday morning to Sylvie to keep her updated. She’d sleep at Dad’s tonight, because David was going to take a hell of a lot of coaching and hand holding to get him to do anything of substance. Who knew how long it took to report something like this? It wasn’t your usual shoplifting or car theft, not that they had much of that in Lower Houghton.
This was industrial sabotage, and George Hibbert was damn well going to pay for it.
‘Laurel.’ Her father knocked on the door frame, interrupting her frenzied scribbling.
‘Dad, it was definitely George, he’s here clear as day on the CCTV.’ She pointed to the computer screen. ‘Did you speak to Old Man Hibbert?’
‘Yeah,’
Her dad shuffled into her office and sat down. Her father looked defeated.
‘He’s coming in with George tomorrow at ten.’
Laurel stared at her father. ‘With George?’
How was that a good idea? Jack and Robin better not see him. Hell, she certainly didn’t want to see him.
‘He didn’t believe me at first, didn’t think George would do something like that. I didn’t say that I thought it was him, just asked where he had been.’ Her dad passed a hand across his weathered face. ‘He called me back and said that they’d be in.’
Laurel’s eyebrows refused to sit down on her forehead.
‘So, he didn’t actually say that George had done it?’
‘Not in so many words.’ He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. ‘Look, Laurel, he’s asked us not to do anything with the police until we’ve met with him.’
‘No way,’ she said, instantly. How could he even think about agreeing to something like that?
Her dad straightened.
‘Hibbert is my friend. He’s asked us a favour, we can do this for him.’
‘Dad, I don’t think industrial sabotage—’ she started.
He held his hand up, face hard. ‘Stop right there, Laurel.’
‘Dad,’ she started, leaning her head to the side.
How was he going to give George Hibbert a pass for something that could very well force their farm under? It’s not him who had to deal with the insurance, the bank, the balance sheet. It’s not him who had the constant worry of trying to pull the business together so they could live in the place her mother had so loved.
‘Last I checked,’ his voice was sharp, ‘I get a say in how this business is run. It’s my farm, it’s my name on the deeds.’
That cut her, hard. The room was silent. She sat back in her chair.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll meet with them tomorrow. But for insurance purposes, I need a police reference number.’
‘Leave all that until after.’
He stood up, conversation closed.
She took a breath and steeled herself. ‘No.’
Going against her father with all of his kindness and support, ignoring his definite insistence that he was right, that they should obey, was not an easy thing. Her heart stuttered nervously.
Her father turned back to her, eyes flinty hard, just like Jack’s.
‘What do you mean, no?’
‘David is on his way. I’ll have a police reference number, and I can choose whether or not to press charges after I’ve met with Hibbert tomorrow,’ she said, trying to push down the desire to revert back to a scared seven-year-old who had just broken a greenhouse window.
‘I’ll have Jack call David, tell him not to come out.’ He dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand.
Laurel persisted. ‘He needs to come out now. He needs to see first-hand, take statements, photographs, evidence. Tomorrow will be too late.’ She spread her hands wide and forced out a humourless smile. ‘I need at least that as a bargaining chip for my meeting with Hibbert.’
Bill Fletcher let the weight of his grey eyes rest heavily on her.
‘Fine,’ he reluctantly agreed. His face softened a little. ‘Are you going home or staying here tonight?’
‘I’ll go home.’ Like she’d want to stay after that dressing down from her father.
Her dad hesitated with his hand on the door frame.
‘You keep saying “I”, Laurel. If anyone is an “I” on this farm, it’s me. Not you.’ He turned to pierce her with those grey eyes. ‘You’d do well to remember that.’
Nate
There was no disturbance at the site. It was fine. Nate sighed in relief.
Fucking George Hibbert.
If he could go back and change the timeline, he would. Stop Robin from punching George Hibbert, calm things down, stop Hibbert from getting all wound up and thinking that this was a good idea.
The admin building glowed like a beacon in the dark farmyard as he strode across it, wanting to check on Laurel. Behind the barn were the farmhouses, no wonder the Fletcher’s or the students hadn’t seen or heard anything.
He was just about to open the door to the admin building when headlights flashed across the brickwork. Laurel appeared in the doorway a second later.
‘It’s David, the policeman,’ she said. She was a wilted sunflower, defeated and faded.
‘Laurel, what’s all this?’ he asked, gesturing to the black scrawl across the building.
‘What do you think it is, David?’ she snapped. ‘Sorry, David. It was George Hibbert. We’ve got CCTV footage. He’s also put weedkiller in our irrigation system for the Pick Your Own. It’s industrial sabotage. I need a police reference number for my insurance claim.’
She was succinct and to the point.
Nate looked around, frowning. Were the Fletcher men really going to leave her to deal with this by herself? Where was the support?
Well, he would be her support. Nate put his arm around her shoulders.
‘Irrigation system?’ David said, confused. ‘Pick Your Own?’ Laurel stiffened under his touch, obviously angered at the incompetence.
She took a deep breath.
‘I’ll walk you through it, shall I? Then I’ll show you the CCTV.’
He trailed after them around the farm as Laurel showed David the policeman what had happened, giving timelines as to when the Fletchers found things, what they have done to mitigate the weedkiller, the difficulties that it would then cause the business.
‘I’ll need to collect statements from your brothers and father, and…’ He looked at Nate. ‘Whoever you are.’
‘Dr Nathanial Daley,’ he said, holding his hand out.
‘Ooh, a doctor, is it?’ David said, offering a limp, dead fish handshake.
‘Yes,’ he said shortly, hoping that he exuded some kind of authority. There were some benefits of spending most of his life studying.
‘You can come back tomorrow at midday and collect statements. That should give you or whoever enough time to write up the incident and allocate it a crime number. I’ll need that when you come tomorrow,’ Laurel said, leading them back to the farmyard and David’s police Ford Focus.
He hesitated slightly as he opened the car door. ‘I don’t know if that’s enough time.’
Laurel cut him off with a wave of her hand.
‘It is enough time, David. We both know that. I need the crime number for our insurance claim. You, or whoever, bring it tomorrow when you attend to take statements. I’ll make sure my family and Dr Daley here are ready.’
David wrung his hands, trying to appease her.
‘Okay, Laurel. We’ll see you tomorrow.’
The car door slammed behind him and they both watched as he executed a seven point turn in the large farmyard to turn his car so he could drive through the wide gates. Nate shook his head in disbelief.
Laurel turned to him. ‘I’m going home now, I’m not staying here,’ she said bitterly.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
It was a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t okay.
‘I’ve had a bit of a… disagreement with my father.’ Laurel gave him a sad smile.
‘Oh?’ he said.
What could they possibly have disagreed about? This was a cut and dried issue. George Hibbert had graffitied their farm and dumped industrial strength weedkiller in their irrigation system to destroy their Pick Your Own crop. It was a criminal act, the police were called, end of story.
‘Yeah.’ She didn’t go into details. ‘Thank you though, for coming back with me. You didn’t have to.’
‘I’m sorry all of this happened.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Laurel drove off into the night, headlights flashing across the spray paint and Nate trudged across the yard back to the bunkhouse. Well, the evening had turned out to be a bit of a bust really. What had started out as a fun celebration had quickly crashed and burned with George Hibbert. What a pathetic, self-absorbed, selfish little man.
And the big brother spiel from Jack? Really? He didn’t look at Laurel too long, he looked at her just the right amount of time, like he would look at anyone. Didn’t he? Of course he smiled when Laurel smiled, because her smile was infectious. What was he supposed to do; scowl when they were talking and when she smiled? Also, how did Laurel look at him? Like he was excavating her farm, sharing her office, and yes, like they were friends. Because that’s what they were. Friends.