Take Me Home by Beth Moran

Author:Beth Moran [Moran, Beth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boldwood Books
Published: 2023-10-12T16:00:00+00:00

19

RIVERBEND

Harriet had known Aidan Hunter all her life. They’d sat beside each other at lunchtime in the tiny village school, and after Verity had heard that he always came empty-handed, she’d started packing extra sandwiches in Harriet’s bag, so they could share. Once Harriet moved to the private school, he became a face hovering on the fringes of the Riverbend bonfire night, or picnics. However, when Harriet found a trout wrapped in brown paper on their doorstep, a chunk of fresh rabbit meat or a bowl of wild mushrooms, she knew who it was from.

Her mother knew too. She always reciprocated by sending Harriet to the Hunters’ ramshackle cottage on the edge of Middlebeck with a basket of eggs or a carton of plums and the assurance that the Hunters would be doing a favour taking them off her hands; with Mr Langford away, they couldn’t possibly eat them all.

Harriet knew from the musty stench that hovered behind Aidan or his siblings when they opened the door that their house wasn’t like hers. The windows were peeling and so thick with grime, it was impossible to see through them. The scrubby patch of front garden was mainly weeds, with a pile of rusted scrap metal heaped against the rickety fence. The Hunters never invited her in like other families, let alone offered her a glass of orange squash or a biscuit. As she grew older, she understood that they were poor. Not poor like her and her mother, but poor as in bony wrists poking out of threadbare coat sleeves, and shoes held together with string.

Aidan’s three siblings roamed the village with the pinched look of growing boys who never got enough food. They were frequently in fights, often in trouble, and when his eldest brother was convicted for stealing, everyone said that it would only be a matter of time before the next one joined him in Nottingham Prison.

Aidan, however, was more likely to be found in the company of his rangy dog than with the ‘Hunter rabble’. He had far less to say than the rest of them and was far slower to speak with his fists – although it had been known. But he was still a Hunter. That family were a scourge on the village and even if you did feel a bit sorry for the youngest, who didn’t stand a chance being raised by those criminals, you’d be foolish to do any more than pass him the time of day.

Harriet wasn’t sure about that. Aidan had been quiet when they’d sat next to each other at primary school but he’d never been mean. He’d accepted her spare sandwiches with a cautious nod, and once, when she’d got home from school, she’d found a scratched metal yo-yo in her lunchbox, the string frayed and dirty. Anyone else would have probably laughed at this pitiful token of thanks, but Harriet treasured it.

Long before Verity had died, she’d stopped taking baskets to the village. Once Leonard no longer kept leaving on his mysterious trips, the parcels on the doorstep also ceased.

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