BooksBarbecue
Back The Hollows
Chapters (77)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright Page
  4. Dedication
  5. PART I
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. PART II
  15. 9.
  16. 10.
  17. 11.
  18. 12.
  19. 13.
  20. 14.
  21. 15.
  22. 16.
  23. 17.
  24. 18.
  25. 19.
  26. 20.
  27. 21.
  28. 22.
  29. 23.
  30. 24.
  31. 25.
  32. 26.
  33. 27.
  34. 28.
  35. 29.
  36. 30.
  37. 31.
  38. 32.
  39. 33.
  40. 34.
  41. 35.
  42. 36.
  43. PART III
  44. 37.
  45. 38.
  46. 39.
  47. 40.
  48. 41.
  49. 42.
  50. 43.
  51. 44.
  52. 45.
  53. 46.
  54. 47.
  55. 48.
  56. 49.
  57. 50.
  58. 51.
  59. 52.
  60. 53.
  61. 54.
  62. 55.
  63. 56.
  64. 57.
  65. 58.
  66. 59.
  67. 60.
  68. 61.
  69. 62.
  70. 63.
  71. 64.
  72. 65.
  73. PART IV
  74. 66.
  75. 67.
  76. 68.
  77. Acknowledgements

“Well that’s the big question, isn’t it?”

Ellie had, despite herself, rather liked Tony. There’d been a good lad in there under it all, despite a family background practically designed to beat it out of him. And rowdy or not, he’d been brave. He’d got into a brawl with his brothers when Paul Harper had tried to assault a local girl, come out of it with a broken arm and still been struggling with them when Ellie had arrived on the scene. And yet he’d been driven back from his own front door and died cornered on the ledge.

They reached the bend in the road, near the hill’s summit. “Oh my Lord,” said Milly, and pointed.

The Height was a flat shelf that stuck out beyond the bend, dotted with snow-caked litter bins and picnic tables, with a safety railing round the edge. The view from there, over Thursdale, Wakeman’s Edge and Fendmoor Heath – marred only by the pylons that marched from the Edge over Fendmoor, in a line that grew crooked where it skirted the Heath’s marshes – fetched in a small horde of tourists every summer, but what commanded Ellie’s attention now was the wall of black cloud advancing towards the peaks across the valley.

“More snow tonight,” said Milly.

Ellie didn’t answer. Around the bend from the Height, the hill road became Halliwell Way: the road to the village. Closer to home. She pressed down on the accelerator. She had work to do, and it would soon be dark again.

3.

3.

Andy Brailsford had shaken Barsall’s dust from his feet twenty years earlier, vowing never to come back. Whether he’d really shouted “Later, losers!” from his car window while departing was open to debate, but no doubt the attitude had been there: at twenty-one you thought you knew it all and could conquer the world by sheer force of will.

Five years ago he’d moved back, complete with pot belly, male-pattern baldness and a family. He’d done a number of things in the interim, but among them had been managing two failed garden centres, as a result of which someone – possibly someone who remembered his alleged parting words – had christened him “Plant-Pot”, a dubbing so popular that even his wife was now rumoured to use it.

Plant-Pot had become a store manager for the Co-Op; how willingly or otherwise he’d accepted the posting to the same store he’d once stacked shelves in for an out-of-school Saturday job was another debatable topic, but there was no disputing his lack of enthusiasm at using the Co-Op’s freezer for body storage. He cleared a space for Tony Harper’s body nonetheless; Milly was a GP, not a pathologist, so there’d be no post mortem until the roads were clear.