‘It’s going to be dark soon. The sun is setting in the next hour.’
‘All the more reason for me to hurry. I want to draw the sunset.’
‘Fine, but be back by nine. Leave the dog here. You still have homework to do.’ He looked at me for several seconds, then sighed. ‘Would it kill you to grow your hair longer? You look like a boy.’
I grabbed a cap off the hook nearby and put it on, then waited until he turned his back on me before rolling my eyes.I often allowed his insults to wash over me because I didn’t care what he thought about me. I thought he’d be pleased I looked more like a boy than a girl, but perhaps my larger-than-average boobs offended him or something. There was no hiding those bad boys. Or girls. Whatever.
Saying goodbye to Barney, I jogged across the village towards the hill, my drawing pad tucked under my left arm. I didn’t want to miss thespectacular sunset.
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 worddateduring 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 entirespace 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, thewhat?’
‘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 familywere 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.’
