Pooh Bridge: conscience stricken Read online

  The twins went back to school three days after their mother’s funeral and they assured me that they were all right.

  “Mummy wouldn’t have wanted our education to suffer,” David told me in a quiet, catching voice, fighting back his tears.

  They organised themselves for their return to school and refused any help from their grandparents or me. When I dropped them off at school, their housemaster, Mr Postance, was there to meet them. I had never come to terms with handing them over into the charge of another man.

  I had already told the twins what I intended doing and they said they empathised but told me to be careful and I was to call them as soon as I got back. Taking Mr Postance to one side I told him I would be away for a couple of weeks.

  He said he understood but his expression suggested the opposite.

  His lack of understanding really did not matter to me.

  Chapter Two

  Shrugging off my backpack, I dropped to my knees next to the bedraggled figure lying in the shallow ditch in front of me. Her long hair partially covered her face but she appeared to be in her early twenties.

  Her left arm was in full view but the other one was underneath her body, trapped as she fell. I looked around but all I could hear were the birds announcing the onset of dusk and the slight breeze-induced movement in the trees above me.

  Other than the sounds of nature, there was nothing.

  I could see in the dim light that the girl was fully clothed, which I found extraordinary. Victims of physical attack – that’s what I assumed had happened – were rarely offered the courtesy of being covered up.

  My mind was racing.

  I knew I mustn’t touch or move anything but there was something that wasn’t right and, before starting back through the woods to notify the police, I needed to know what I was dealing with.

  Flipping open the top of my backpack I reached inside for the torch and switched it on. The girl was wearing walking boots, jeans and a green anorak. There was no sign that her clothing had been disturbed. Directing the beam onto her face, I bent over and moved her hair to one side so I could see her better. Her closed eyes made her look as though she was sleeping; there was even a slight smile on her lips. Her features were Asian, although her colouring suggested that her mother or father, or even a grandparent, might have been Caucasian.

  Placing the backs of my fingers against her cheek, I expected her skin to be cold and lifeless but it wasn’t; her skin was warm under my touch.

  It took me a few seconds to find an explanation for what I had discovered. I had automatically assumed that she was dead but now there was a possibility that she was still alive. I moved my fingers down to her neck and felt for a pulse.

  It was there, strong and slow.

  Again, I looked around, trying to work out what to do and what might have happened. A couple of minutes ago I couldn’t move her because I might disturb some evidence but now I didn’t want to cause her further injury.

  Feeling round her neck there was no sign that it was broken and her posture suggested that there was no obvious break elsewhere either, except maybe her right arm.

  Slowly I reached under her head. A rock obstructed any further movement, but the side of her head felt wet and, taking my hand away, I could see in the torch light the sticky redness of her blood.

  Gently, I half lifted and half dragged her out of the ditch before using the torch again. Her hair was matted with blood but her injury didn’t seem to be that serious. I knew that if I was going to help I had to move her further away. I needed to clean the wound as best I could. She was breathing normally and her pulse was still strong and even, but her eyes remained closed.

  Other than the torch beam, the little natural light left was fading quickly. There was no way I was going to be able to get her through the woods and to a hospital without causing her more injury, and probably injuring myself as well. I took off my own anorak and covered her before looking for somewhere to erect my tent. About fifty yards away I found an even piece of ground among some small fir trees. Because of the light it took me a good ten minutes to put up the tent and lay out the sleeping mat and bag, but eventually, accompanied by a good deal of muffled swearing, I managed it.

  Retracing my steps I went back to the girl, and as carefully as the ground and the light permitted, I carried her the short distance to the tent. With a lot of manoeuvring, I managed to get her lying on the sleeping bag.

  After boiling some water and letting it cool slightly, I bathed the wound on the side of her head. The lesion wasn’t deep but obviously she had given herself, or somebody had, such a thump that she had knocked herself out.

  Searching in the small first aid box I carried with me, I put a pad over the wound and bandaged it in place. Again, I checked her pulse and concluded there was little more I could do for her other than hope she would regain consciousness soon. I needed to determine whether she was well enough to walk back to civilisation. There was no way of telling how long she had been lying in that ditch, but the blood in her hair suggested it hadn’t been for long. After removing her boots, I covered her with the sleeping bag and propped her head on my rolled-up anorak. She looked peaceful. I noticed a small twitch at the corner of her eyebrow that may have suggested consciousness wasn’t far away.

  My diet since I set off on my period of solitude had been unbalanced to say the least. During the day while on the move I relied on chocolate bars and ready-cooked snacks I bought in any small shop I passed, but for the evenings, I carried an assortment of dry rations including a bag of rice. I always had a two-litre container of water that I topped up at every opportunity. It was heavy but I regarded it as essential. With the aid of the torch, I looked through the meagre choice for that evening and smiled as I wondered if I ought to cook for two.

  Official campsites were off the agenda as far as possible and each evening I endeavoured to find a secluded spot well away from the beaten track. I spent my nights in out-of-the-way woods. I wanted to make sure that when I lit a small fire or my camping-stove it couldn’t be seen unless somebody was passing close by.

  To date, I hadn’t been disturbed.

  The county I was in was Derbyshire and about five miles northeast of Ashbourne, in a spot – according to my map – called Dove Dale. A river ran through the centre of the wooded valley but I hadn’t had time since finding the girl to see if the water was clean.

  I moved a few yards away from the tent and let my eyes get used to the darkness before unfolding the small spade I carried. After scraping a dip into the earth, I intended building a fire to heat some water for cooking. I had a camping gas stove but I tried not to use it too often, preferring to save it for emergencies – not that, until now, I’d had any.

  When looking around for twigs and small dead branches for the fire, I realised the temperature had dropped and I rather wished I had kept my anorak on. My thoughts made me glance back towards the tent, and at that moment the flap was moved to one side: a head appeared, the white bandage quite prominent in the gloom. I switched off the torch and stayed where I was to see what my guest would do.

  She came out of the tent a little further and looked about her. “Hello,” she whispered.

  I switched on the torch again and her head immediately shot round, which meant she was now looking in my direction. Her face told me how frightened she was and she withdrew a little into the tent like a tortoise retreating into its shell when startled.

  Making sure I didn’t shine the torch directly in her face, I took a couple of paces towards her. “Don’t be frightened,” I said as softly as I could. “You’ve had a nasty bang on the head.”

  She looked up at me as I got closer and I could see sheer terror in her eyes. I was afraid she was going to scream. I stopped a few feet away from her and hunkered down, shining the light on the ground between us.

  “My name’s Richard and I found you unconscious in a ditch about fifty yards away. How are you feeling?”

  She screwed up he
r eyes and regarded me uncertainly before reaching up and touching the bandage. “You did this?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I replied, aware that she spoke with a slight but noticeable foreign accent. “I don’t think you have done yourself any permanent damage but you were unconscious for quite a while. May I come a little closer?”

  She didn’t answer straight away, then she nodded but at the same time she withdrew a little further into the tent.

  “I can appreciate how frightened you must feel but you have nothing to fear from me. I want to help,” I told her.

  She screwed up her eyes again but then she appeared to come to a decision about me. “Thank you.” She came out of the tent and sat on the dry pine needles. Reaching into her anorak pocket, she extracted a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. I didn’t accept her offer of one, although the temptation was strong.

  “What happened?” I asked as she inhaled deeply and blew the smoke into the night, shaking slightly.

  She took a few seconds to answer. “I am not sure. Please,” she added, “is it possible I could have a drink of something?”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, getting to my feet. “I was forgetting my manners.” I reached for my backpack. “You have a choice – water, tea or coffee. The tea and coffee will take a little longer because I’ll have to boil the water.”

  “Some cold water will do.”

  “You were going to tell me what happened,” I said, passing her a plastic cup of water.

  “Thank you.” She shook her head. “I really am not sure but … but may I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Where am I and why am I with you?” She sipped the water.

  “It’s a long story, erm … I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

  “Ingrid, Ingrid Mesterom.”

  “Hello, Ingrid,” I said reaching across the space between us. “My name is Richard, Richard Blythe.”

  She took my hand hesitantly. “Hello, Richard.” There was the hint of a smile on her lips.

  “In a nutshell, Ingrid, I’m on a walking holiday and I came into these woods to camp for the night and I found you. I didn’t want to move you too far in case your injuries were worse than they seemed. I was waiting for you to regain consciousness before deciding what I should do next. I was going to light a fire and cook a simple meal when you woke up.”

  I watched her as she took in what I said. She was a pretty girl, with long black hair and her large eyes like jet lignite, a stone I sometimes came across during excavations. In the halo of light thrown out by the torch, she appeared quite mystifying. The bandage looked like a bandanna round her head but fortunately, there was no sign of blood seeping through it, I could assume the bleeding had stopped.

  She drew deeply on her cigarette before stubbing it out. Looking around she asked, “Did I have a rucksack when you found me?” She seemed to have accepted my explanation.

  “No, not that I saw, but from the way you’re dressed I thought you’d been out walking as well.”

  “Yes … yes, I was and I did have a rucksack,” she continued a little impatiently while looking around, although it was now quite dark under the trees and neither of us could see beyond a few feet from where we were sitting.

  “Do you remember anything about what happened?”

  Again she was silent for a few seconds, her eyes on mine, assessing me. “I am, like you, on a walking holiday and I wanted to reach a village called Mayfield tonight. There is a guesthouse there, where I intended staying the night. A man stopped his car and offered me a lift but I told him, no, I did not want one but then I realised I was not going to reach Mayfield before it was dark, so I changed my mind.” She lit another cigarette. “The man seemed all right and talked to me in the car but then he stopped talking and seemed to be looking for somewhere.” Ingrid was fiddling with her nails. “He parked his car in a car park by some woods and … and he put his hand on my leg. His attitude changed. The look in his eyes was frightening. I opened the door and ran. He got out also and chased me but he was not fit and when I ran into the woods, he seemed to give up. I carried on running but then I think I must have tripped and the next thing I remember is waking up in your tent.” She took another sip of water.

  “You did the right thing, and fortunately, other than a nasty crack to your head, nothing worse happened to you. Your rucksack - did you take it with you when you escaped from the car?”

  “I remember now, it was on the back seat so I cannot have done.” Ingrid’s accent had become more prominent and her pronunciation more precise as she related what happened to her, and I guessed, supported by her name, that – regardless of my earlier belief that she was Asian – she was either German, Swiss or Austrian, though her nationality was irrelevant at that moment.

  “What about your money and other valuables? Were they in it?”

  She shook her head. “I carry my purse in my anorak.” Ingrid reached into one of the inside pockets and extracted a brown purse which she showed to me. “I’m sorry, but it was one of the first things I checked when I woke up.”

  I shook my head. “I would have done exactly the same. Anything else?”

  “There was a camera and a mobile phone in the rucksack, some food and extra clothing but nothing of any importance … yes, there was,” she added quickly, her hand darting to her mouth. “My passport was in it, in the bottom under my clothes.”

  I reached over for my map from my backpack and spreading it out between us, shone the torch on it. I pointed to the woods we were in. “Do you know where this car park is?”

  Ingrid got onto her knees and took the torch from me. Peering at the map she traced her finger along one of the roads. “I think it would have been about there,” she suggested, pointing at a white ‘P’ in a blue square. When she turned round to look at me her hair brushed against my face, but when she realised how close she was to me she moved away quickly.

  I still wasn’t trusted.

  The car park she pointed to was one I’d passed through as I looked for the path that would take me into the woods. I didn’t remember seeing any cars, neither had I seen anything resembling a rucksack but, then again, I wasn’t looking for either.

  “Right,” I said, refolding the map. “We have a choice: it’s nearly eight o’clock and we can either get you out of these woods and into Mayfield, that’ll take about an hour or so to reach, or you can stay here and I’ll see you safely to the nearest police station tomorrow …”

  “Police station!” Ingrid said abruptly. “Why would I go to the police station?”

  Surprised by her reaction, I said, “To report what happened, of course!”

  She curled her legs under her. “But there is nothing to report. He did not do anything to me.”

  “The next female he considers attacking might not be as fortunate. You can describe the man, surely?”

  “Yes, but … I think I feel safe here with you. I will decide what to do in the morning.”

  I took that as her answer to my earlier question and again I was a little surprised. “Well, all right … would you like me to go to the car park to see if on the off-chance he discarded your rucksack? It’s dark here, but there will still be some light to see by down there.”

  “And leave me here alone?”

  “You’ll be all right. One thing I’ve learnt over the last week is that woods such as these are lonely places at night. All I’ve ever heard and seen are wild animals. It’ll only take me about twenty minutes to get to the car park and back.” I stood up. “I’ll leave you with this torch. I’ve got a spare in my backpack.”

  “Is there anything I can do while you are gone?” Ingrid stood up next to me and she swayed slightly.

  I put a restraining hand on her arm. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  She smiled. “I have a little headache but yes, I am all right. What can I do while you are away?”

  I returned her smile. “Boil some water and make us a meal?”

/>   “Of course,” she replied, her expression serious.

  I got the fire going and then, when I started to get other things together, Ingrid informed me that she was quite capable and almost ushered me away. When I walked back onto the track, I could see her busying herself with the packets of food and the single pot I carried with me.

  The improbability of my situation only hit me as I began to climb and stumble up the track towards the car park. Surrealism had surrounded my existence since I set out on my self-induced solitary confinement, and finding Ingrid the way I did only added to my extraordinary experiences. I suppose a psychologist would have said that the decision to commence my selfish isolation would let me find myself again after losing Belinda. For me, though, it was simply the need to escape from reality, and Ingrid had certainly helped on that front. There was something nagging away at the back of my mind that suggested it hadn’t been chance that had drawn me to that particular spot and at that particular moment, but other than being irritated by my own thoughts I couldn’t find an explanation.

  The path crossed the stream, courtesy of some rather slippery rocks, and as I climbed the bank on the other side and emerged from the wood, the rush of the water over the weir I had rested by earlier that evening reached my ears. It was also noticeably lighter and I was able to switch off the torch. The car park was deserted and there was no obvious sign of Ingrid’s rucksack. I was about to give up when a splash of red in some bushes caught my attention.

  On further investigation, what I’d seen turned out to be exactly what I was looking for. It couldn’t a mere coincidence.

  Picking up the rucksack by one of its handles I gave it a cursory inspection – none of the fasteners was undone, and other than being slightly damp there was no discernible damage.

  There was a lightweight sleeping bag rolled up and retained by straps under the rucksack. Retracing my steps towards the track leading back into the woods, I felt that maybe I had done the right thing in coming to look for Ingrid’s belongings.

  After re-crossing the stream, I was suddenly aware that I was not alone, and looking up I saw a man standing by a small gate leading out of the car park and onto a by-road. He was leaning nonchalantly against one of the uprights and I smiled when even in the dim light I could see he was chewing on the stem of a piece of grass. I raised my hand in acknowledgement and he nodded in return – he looked as though he was in his mid-sixties and he had a rugged appearance.