Chapter 7
GRAHAM
Graham’s day drags, mainly because he’s counting down the minutes before he has to leave to walk to the village hall to meet Karen before the town meeting at six.
And he’s not counting the minutes in a good way, like a little kid would do on the run up to Christmas, but in a very bad way, like a doomsday clock counting down to oblivion.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to converse with Karen, because he does, but it’s the whole talking to people in general he finds challenging these days.
Perhaps it’s because he spent so many years in the police force, constantly having to speak to people, trying to get the truth from them, to figure out what they’re hiding behind their words.
Nowadays, he’s all peopled out.
He knows how his old friend, Mr Mallow – or old nemesis, depending on how he looks at it – feels when in a room full of strangers.
Graham has made many public speeches in his time, so talking with the lovely Karen shouldn’t be a problem for him, but it is.
Or at least, it will be. Because he knows she has an ulterior motive for meeting him early.
She thinks it’s some sort of date and that’s because he made the absolute blunder of saying the word date during their last encounter.
Damn it. Even at his age, he still turns into a blubbering mess around a pretty woman. All he wants from Karen this evening is some information, but he also doesn’t want to push her away and cause her to think he’s not interested because he is, but just … not … right now.
Does that make sense? Graham’s not sure.
He gets to the village hall bang on five and tries to open the double doors.
Locked. He steps back, looking up at the tall building.
Like the rest of the buildings in the village, it’s showing its age with peeling paint on the doors and window frames, not to mention the crumbling bricks at the corners.
The sign on the front of the hall says “Bethgelert Village Hall: Founded in 1875”.
‘Graham!’
The sound of Karen’s voice startles him. He turns to see her waving at him from across the road. She walks up to him, twirling a set of keys around her fingers.
‘Punctual as always,’ she says.
Graham says nothing as she unlocks the doors. They enter side by side. The inside of the hall is no more impressive than the outside. Tired. Worn. Bland.
‘Since you’re here, Graham, would you mind giving me a hand putting out the chairs?’
‘I didn’t realise I was here to work,’ he replies with what he hopes is pure comic timing.
Apparently, it is because Karen chuckles as she switches on the lights, blasting the entire space into a yellow haze.
‘So,’ he finally says, once he knows where the chairs need to be placed. ‘What can you tell me about the tree?’
‘The Hanging Tree,’ says Karen.
‘The … I’m sorry, the what?’
‘How long have you lived here, Graham?’
Graham places a chair next to another. ‘Ten months or so.’
‘And in that time you’ve never heard about The Hanging Tree, despite living opposite it?’
‘I guess not.’
Karen shrugs. ‘I suppose it’s not surprising considering its history. People don’t like to talk about it much. It carries with it a rather morbid topic of suicide.’
‘With a name like The Hanging Tree, I’d be surprised if it didn’t come with some sort of dark history.’ He doesn’t mean to sound insensitive, but if Karen is offended, she doesn’t let on. ‘What’s the story then?’
‘A hundred years ago, a local farm boy hung himself in the tree. He was only twenty. The locals couldn’t understand the reason.
His family were in shock, but refused to talk about it or draw any attention to the fact he took his own life.
Over the past hundred years, as most stories do over time, the story has been distorted and warped and now no one really knows what happened.
The residents have changed it to suit them.
They started saying that the boy was evil, that his whole family were evil and that his death kickstarted a curse that’s been sweeping through the village, attacking all the founding families. ’
‘The founding families?’
‘Yes, there are several families who have lived in Bethgelert for many years, going back centuries, including the Hammel family. John Hammel was the boy who died.’
At this point, Graham looks up from straightening a chair so it’s level with the one next to it. ‘Did you say Hammel?’
Karen blinks several times. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
Graham wants to ask her more about the curse, but he needs to follow this possible lead. ‘Do you know anyone by the name of Sophia Hammel?’
Karen’s eyes widen. Graham’s heart races at the prospect of finding some answers. ‘You know who she is?’
‘Certainly. She’s Frank Hammel’s daughter. Frank used to own Rosemore Cottage; your humble abode, I believe.’
‘Used to?’
‘It’s changed hands a few times in the past ten years, but yes, Frank used to own it.
The Hammel family lived there for generations, but eventually Frank rented it out as a holiday home before it was bought and sold several times.
Then, you came along. Frank suffered through some tough times financially, so he was forced to sell it. It’s not easy running a farm nowadays.’
Graham scratches his chin, running his fingers over his bristly beard. ‘Was Sophia ever found?’
Karen’s eyes narrow this time. ‘Found?’
‘I’m led to believe she went missing ten years ago.’
Karen stares at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing. ‘Goodness me, Graham. Whatever gave you that idea?’
He’s aware their topic of The Hanging Tree is long forgotten, but this puzzle of Sophia Hammel is enough to keep him pressing on.
He delves his hand into his jacket pocket, ready to bring out the poster to show her, but something stops him.
He’s not sure why he doesn’t tell her about the makeshift poster. Call it an ex-detective’s intuition.
‘No reason,’ he says. ‘Does she live around here then?’
Karen’s eyes flick left and right and Graham notices a slight flush creep up her neck. He was in the police force long enough to learn how to read people, and this woman is nervous.
‘She, uh … no.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Quite sure.’ She attempts a smile, but her jaw quivers. ‘It was a difficult time for her family.’
‘Why is that?’
Karen gulps. Graham can’t help but notice that their job of lining up the chairs for the village meeting has also been forgotten. They’re standing in the middle of the hall, facing each other.
‘Ten years ago. She … well, she started saying some strange things and the village didn’t like it.’
‘The village?’
‘The village committee, yes.’
‘Who runs this village committee now?’
‘Mostly the founding families. Frank is the man in charge, mostly, but Graham, I’m not sure you should be sticking your nose into this.
Sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude and insensitive, but Frank Hammel, Sophia’s father, went through a very difficult time with his daughter, even before ten years ago when his …
well, it’s not my place to say. I shouldn’t even be telling you this. ’
Graham looks around. ‘There’s no one here but us, Karen. Tell me, if Sophia isn’t missing and she doesn’t live with her father in the village, then where is she?’
Karen bites her bottom lip. ‘Um, you know, I’m not …
’ At that moment, the double doors to the village hall spring open and several people walk in with smiles across their faces, happily chatting, but when they see Graham and Karen standing in the middle of the hall, they freeze like rabbits caught in headlights.
One is an older man, roughly Graham’s age, and he’s wearing a flat cap and a tweed blazer. Very smartly dressed.
Karen snaps out of her trance and positively beams with joy at having a distraction. ‘Goodness, we’ve got carried away, haven’t we?’ She starts placing the chairs out again, avoiding Graham’s gaze.
The older gentleman in tweed steps forward, his hand outstretched. ‘Noswaith dda. It’s about time you finally joined the village committee meeting, Mr Williams.’
Graham shakes the man’s hand. His grip is firm. Maybe too firm for a friendly gesture. The men lock eyes and Graham can’t quite work out whether he’s about to get his head bitten off or invited into the fold.
‘Yes, well, Karen promised me there would be banana bread.’
Karen gasps. ‘Oh goodness, I’ve forgotten the blasted banana bread.’
Graham lets out a little chuckle.
‘I’ll just quickly nip back home and get it. I only live up the road.’
‘Oh, Karen, please don’t think that …’
‘Nonsense, Graham. I made it for tonight’s meeting. It’s my own fault I forgot it. I won’t be a moment. I’ll leave you in the capable hands of … Mr Hammel.’ She says the name firmly, without emphasising it, but she widens her eyes at Graham, who notices and nods his thanks.
So … this is Frank Hammel, Sophia’s father.
But clearly, he’s a popular man because Graham doesn’t get the chance to speak to him alone at all.
Mr Hammel is soon swept into another conversation, so Graham finishes placing the chairs, by which time several more people have entered the hall and introduced themselves to Graham.
Karen returns with her banana bread and everyone mingles, the volume in the hall gradually increasing until Frank Hammel’s voice echoes above it.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, please all take your seats and the meeting can begin.’
Graham isn’t sure what to expect from the meeting, but he sits and listens quietly, memorising people’s faces. Despite having lived here a while, he doesn’t know everyone by name, so it’s certainly useful to hear people talk.
Frank appears to be the leader, guiding the discussions and topics to keep them on track.
There is talk of expanding the village market square, which is met with a resounding yes, and there is also a discussion about what is happening with the empty shop in the centre of the village.
No one seems to have the spare cash to rent it out, which doesn’t surprise Graham.
He’s not sure how farmers get by as it is.
He stays quiet and no one asks him for his opinion.
But then, the tree is mentioned and there’s a low murmur of disapproving voices when Frank explains how dangerous it is.
At this point, Graham raises his hand. The whole room turns and looks at him. ‘If the tree is so dangerous,’ he says, ‘then why is it not cordoned off?’
A few murmurs follow his question. It’s Frank who answers. ‘We did try that several years ago, Mr Williams, but unfortunately a lot of kids around here still continue to climb it. You must have noticed since you live opposite the hill.’
‘I can’t say I’ve noticed kids climbing it, but I did find something interesting hanging in it this morning.’
The whole room descends into silence, like the mute button has been switched on. Graham holds Frank’s stern gaze. Karen is sitting just off to the side of him, so he’s not sure what she’s doing, but he’s assuming she’s regretting her decision to invite him along right about now.
‘You’re talking about the scarecrow, I assume,’ says Frank.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about that, Mr Williams. It’s a harmless prank the local kids like to play on the run up to Halloween.’
Graham thinks of the papers he found on the scarecrow this morning, burning a hole in his jacket pocket; one of which mentions Frank’s daughter by name. It seems an odd Halloween prank to play, but he stays quiet, and listens to the rest of the village meeting.
There is talk of destroying the tree, but the majority of the people want to keep it.
As Graham thought, it’s an ancient monument of sorts, part of the village's history. Frank agrees to not have it cut down yet. Every once in a while, one of the residents shoots Graham a dark look, but he doesn’t open his mouth again, and then, when the meeting draws to a close, Frank Hammel leaves quickly, exiting out the back door of the hall.
Graham says goodbye to several people, including Karen, though she doesn’t seem as friendly as before. He grabs a slice of banana bread on his way out, biting into it as he walks back home.
Damn, that’s good banana bread.