The Hunger Trace Read online

  THE

  HUNGER

  TRACE

  First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2011

  A CBS COMPANY

  Copyright © Edward Hogan 2011

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Edward Hogan to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  1st Floor

  222 Gray’s Inn Road

  London WC1X 8HB

  Simon & Schuster Australia

  Sydney

  A CIP catalogue record for this book

  is available from the British Library

  HB ISBN: 978-1-84737-124-9

  TPB ISBN: 978-0-85720-510-0

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-85720-232-1

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Typeset by M Rules

  Printed in the UK by CPI Mackays, Chatham ME5 8TD

  To Emily

  One of the most unusual auction sales Beamish & Fisher have ever held was conducted at Drum Hill Wildlife and Conservation Centre today. For the first time, exotic and dangerous animals came up for sale along with items associated with a wildlife park business.

  The animals were viewed in their regular enclosures and the catalogue sale was conducted in the large entrance hall of the main residence. A female wallaby was sold for £510; a pair of Asian otters for £350; an ocelot for £110 and two lynx kittens for £190. The most expensive lots, however, were three life-size fibreglass dinosaurs. A triceratops fetched £800 . . .

  Dispersal sale report in The North

  Derbyshire Herald, 25 March 2010.

  EARLY SEASON

  Grouse, ptarmigan, blackgame.

  ONE

  Such a thing had never before been witnessed in the village: a small herd of ibex skittering down Drum Hill towards the main road, their thick, ribbed horns blue in the small hours, their yellow eyes catching the streetlight. They turned left at the corner and quickened their pace. The icy pavements and unkempt verges of Derbyshire were not so far removed from their natural terrain. Their reflections shimmered in the Perspex of the bus shelter and the fake stained-glass windows of the White Hart pub.

  Out on the road, the elder males bellowed. An HGV driver passing in the opposite direction brought his vehicle to a halt, and in his tired acceptance of all night wonders, reverted to handbrake, neutral. From his high cockpit view, the driver saw them as a brown larval flow, sheathed by their own breath, the young in the middle borne by the power of the current.

  The ibex passed the clock tower of the primary school and increased their speed, the raining clatter of their hooves echoing back from the bricks of the semis, bungalows and barn conversions on either side of the road. Scared and hungry, they sought higher ground. They headed for the rocky peaks, and for dawn.

  Those villagers who rose early and saw the herd from their windows knew exactly where the animals were from. A mile away on Drum Hill, Maggie took the first of the calls, swaying like a water reed by her bed in the large, bowed room. She pulled on her jeans and boots, and zipped a padded coat straight over her bra. The Land Rover had been playing up lately and she hoped it would start. In the hall she left a note for her stepson: AN IBEX SITUATION HAS ARISEN.

  Across the way, Louisa Smedley was washing meat for her hawks at the kitchen sink. Pink streaky water ran into the plughole. From the window, she could see Iroquois, the steppe eagle, on her perch on the grass. Iroquois roused herself in the blue dawn, and shook a light dusting of frost from her feathers. She turned her head sharply towards the field separating Louisa’s cottage from Drum Hill Wildlife Park. Louisa followed Iroquois’s gaze but could see nothing other than the silhouette of the big house, a shade darker than the sky. She waited, squinting. Moments later her neighbour came into view, running towards the cottage. Louisa sighed with irritation. She noted the upright gait of Maggie Bryant, the long-legged ease with which she swung over the wire fence, and the way she held back her dark curls with one hand. Louisa dropped the raw meat in the sink, and moved out of view.

  On many occasions in the past, Louisa had crept onto the lawn of her neighbours’ house, and stood outside the range of the intruder light, looking in through the large windows at David and his young new wife. Louisa had watched Maggie moving through the warm, yellow-lit rooms, before they had even been introduced. Despite her tendency to watch others – or perhaps because of it – Louisa did not like to be watched herself. She hoped that Maggie might assume the cottage was empty, although she knew this was unlikely.

  Maggie knocked loudly on the door, but then entered without waiting for a reply and stepped quickly through the hall and into the kitchen. She smelled of the clean air outdoors, along with a faint cosmetic scent – the first in Louisa’s house for some time.

  ‘Louisa, thank God. I knew you’d be awake. I need your help,’ Maggie said.

  Louisa turned back to the sink. ‘I’m busy. What is it?’

  ‘We’ve had a breakout over at the park. Some of the ibex – the big goats—’

  ‘I know what they are.’

  ‘They got loose somehow, and they’re on the road now.’ Maggie took a long breath. ‘If they get to the dual carriageway, we’ve got serious trouble.’

  ‘You’ve got serious trouble. What am I supposed to do about it?’

  ‘Well, the Land Rover won’t start.’

  Louisa took the keys to her van from her pocket, and threw them to Maggie. ‘Take mine.’

  Maggie wiped the watery smears of blood from the keys with her sleeve and looked up with an apologetic smile. ‘I need you, as well,’ she said. ‘The trailer’s at my house and we’ll need to hook it up before we go.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Louisa said under her breath. But she could not refuse. She dried her hands on her jeans and followed.

  Louisa had bought the maroon Transit van from a printing firm gone bust. A sticker on the back read Am I courteous? and gave an 0800 number. Maggie drove them over to the big house. Louisa, unaccustomed to human company in the van, noticed with some discomfort the state of her vehicle’s interior. A fur of bird lint covered the dashboard, and tiny weeds grew in the footwell, spawned from the cuttings brought in on Louisa’s boots.

  When they’d attached the trailer, Maggie put a little wheelspin through the gravel path before they began the long drop down into Detton. ‘Careful,’ Louisa said. As they descended, the mist became water on the ground.

  Louisa had watched plenty of women – usually older, and divorced – come and go from David’s park, and had thought Maggie would follow them out. Anyone could see that the park was a money pit, and if the insufficient funds were not prohibitive enough, Christopher – David’s outsized teenage son – was too much for most women. Even the hill road on which they now travelled was unwelcoming. It sloped almost vertically, bordered by knots of rusty grass and moss like body hair. Pines stood below the vehicle at alarming angles.

  Louisa did not meet Maggie, in the conventional sense, until a week after she arrived. Of course, the men in the White Hart gossiped about David’s new wife constantly. A lot younger, they said. One of them described her as exotic. Louisa thought them ridiculous. At close range, in daylight, a glance had told Louisa all she needed to know about the new Mrs Bryant: thin as a plant cane, early thirties, dusky skin, long curls, no muscle power or tits to speak of, tig
ht jeans and pretentious cowboy boots with a fucking heel. She looked, to Louisa, like a Cherokee squaw. ‘It’s great to have another girl next door,’ Maggie had said. Southern. Her words had the clarity of hail on an iron table.

  Louisa had let her handshake do the talking, and felt the cartilage slide while Maggie talked about her intention to help out with the animals. She’d worked at ‘Greenwich Park’, apparently. She’d read some zoology textbooks and some Peter Scott. Louisa did not tell her that her wholesome ideas would soon be buried in lynx shit, or drowned in a bucket of 5 a.m. fish guts. Instead, she let Maggie continue. This one’s talkative, Louisa thought. Perhaps loneliness would drive her off. Either way, Louisa had given her a month.

  How many years had it been now? Three? She still wore those cowboy boots, but Louisa saw the scrapes and cuts on Maggie’s long fingers when she changed gear, and the curls were shorter.

  Maggie circled the roundabout four or five times. Louisa sighed. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘If I was an ibex, where would I be?’ Maggie said, looking east to where Morrison’s supermarket glowed yellow, its huge synthetic awning like a frozen tidal wave. Two small limestone peaks rose up behind. ‘The big rocks,’ Maggie said.

  She drove to Morrison’s and pulled up in the car park. Louisa braced herself for a long morning, but Maggie’s instincts proved right. The ibex had crossed the fields, taking the short route towards higher ground, and they emerged in the car park a few minutes after Louisa and Maggie. Louisa had to admit they were impressive animals, for ungulates, and she could see the predicament clearly. To get to the peaks, the herd would have to cross the car park and then the dual carriageway. Grass banks flanked the exit. The traffic on the carriageway was increasing as the sky began to lighten.

  Maggie drove slowly, putting the van between the ibex and the car park exit. The van did not fully cover the escape route, and the ibex would have no problem, in any case, scaling the grass banks. ‘What are you going to do?’ Louisa said.

  Maggie shrugged.

  ‘Well, do you have any equipment?’

  ‘Only what I could pick up as I was leaving the house. Tow-rope, a little feed, a couple of sedative darts.’

  Louisa counted twelve animals. ‘You should have brought dogs,’ she said.

  They both looked at the flash of cars in the rear-view mirror. ‘If they get to that carriageway, it’s a massacre,’ Maggie said.

  ‘We’ll have to put ourselves in the way,’ Louisa said.

  ‘A toothpick in a canyon,’ Maggie said, biting her lip.

  Louisa looked down at her waist. It was a long time since anyone had called her a toothpick. Maggie stepped out of the van. ‘Stay here,’ she said. Louisa fought to control the anger that rose up to meet that command. She pulled the door closed and watched Maggie gather grit from the border of the car park and march towards the herd, who stepped about, waiting. There was an echoing crackle of horns as two males rose up onto hind legs and dropped briefly into engagement. Maggie stopped ten metres from them and threw the grit. She shouted and the whole herd backed off and re-grouped.

  The workers on the early shift had just put out the trolleys. Louisa could faintly hear the delivery trucks at the back of the supermarket, but there was nobody around. Floodlights made pockets of yellow in the blue. The wind against the van brought blankness, a sort of silence.

  Maggie turned to Louisa, held up her palm for her to stay and ran over to the supermarket entrance. She took hold of the back of a long line of trolleys and began to push. The clang of metal startled the herd and initiated a race, the ibex heading for the grass bank and the danger beyond, Maggie pushing the trolleys towards the van to cut them off in a big ‘V’.

  Louisa looked around, and saw that the gap between the van and the bank was too big. She slid into the warm driver’s seat, turned on the engine and began to reverse. Maggie thought she was trying to save her vehicle and shouted, ‘Wait’, but Louisa put the van into first, slammed on right lock and jack-knifed the trailer to create a better funnel. The jolt stirred Louisa’s blood. Everything began to converge on her: the noise of hooves and the skating wheels of the trolleys, the windows filling with the brown colour of the animals. Maggie arrowed the trolleys into the flank of the van to close the gap; the force of the blow knocked Louisa sideways. The ibex reared, bunched and bellowed, but could not turn out of the trap for the onrushing tail of their herd. Maggie got behind them, spread her arms at the base of the triangle. They were penned. Louisa watched for a moment, the ibex staring in at her, Maggie breathing hard behind them. Then she took the rope and got out.

  Maggie whistled. ‘Great job,’ she said.

  Louisa tried to control her racing heart. ‘Would have been easier with dogs,’ she said, looking at the trolleys against her crumpled bodywork.

  The sky turned grey as they worked. The older ibex, compliant now, stepped up between them, all shine and steam. As they prepared to close the gate of the trailer, one of the kids broke for the bank. Louisa reacted first and gave chase. The kid was fast, and Louisa was not used to sprinting, but she began to gain on him. As she ran, she started to smile at the weirdness of it all: the ibex caught in the glow of the supermarket sign above them, the metallic ring of Maggie’s boots following behind. Louisa’s lungs felt raw, and Maggie overtook her as the kid reached the bank. Maggie scrambled up the incline on her hands and feet, snatched at the back legs of the ibex and knocked him off balance. He tumbled back down the bank. Louisa took him chest high and they both hit the ground, Louisa with her arm around the animal’s neck.

  ‘Bosh!’ shouted Maggie.

  Louisa could feel the kid’s legs kicking against her own, and his underbelly rising and falling. She could hear the beat of his heart. His glassy eyes stayed wide open. Louisa coughed hard, as though she’d been resuscitated. Maggie got down on her knees beside her and secured the hooves until the kicking stopped.

  ‘He’s nice and warm, isn’t he?’ Maggie said.

  Louisa could barely speak. ‘It’s a male?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Louisa pushed her nose into the bristly neck of the beast, stayed clear of the budding horns. ‘What will the neighbours say?’ she said.

  ‘What will security say?’ Maggie said, pointing to the CCTV cameras trained on them from the roof of the supermarket. Maggie took hold of the ibex’s fore-hoof and waved it, then turned back to Louisa. ‘Listen, you were amazing. Thank you. I’ll sort you out with some cash for the truck. For the damage.’

  ‘Dead right,’ Louisa said. The salty breath of the ibex kid mingled with her own coffee tang. She was suddenly exhausted, and could not let go of the animal.

  Maggie was sweating. She began to unzip her coat, revealing bare skin beneath. Louisa saw this and flinched. Maggie looked down. ‘Oops,’ she said, and zipped up. ‘Shall we go?’ she asked.

  ‘Give me a minute,’ Louisa said.

  ‘You two take your time,’ Maggie said.

  Maggie drove back, making phone calls as she did so, and talking about possible ways that the ibex might have escaped. The history of the park was punctuated by break-ins. Students and animal rights activists had been the most frequent offenders, but thieves had sometimes targeted the more expensive animals.

  ‘Did David ever tell you that story about the students who broke into the park in the early nineties?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘I was working there,’ said Louisa.

  ‘Course you were.’

  David had chased them across the dark fields, caught one student scaling a fence, and sat on the kid until the police arrived with their torches to reveal the most beautiful nineteen-year-old girl David had ever seen. So he’d told Maggie that story. It irritated Louisa to think that David might have told Maggie stories about her. And she was not nineteen, and not beautiful. Although perhaps she had been, once.

  Staff from the park were waiting for the trailer when the two women returned. They detached it immediately. Louisa looked at the cold
, toad-skin stone of the house and saw the big blond head of David’s son, Christopher, appear in the window. Maggie waved up at him, but he moved away.

  ‘Can I get you some breakfast, Louisa?’ Maggie said.

  ‘No. I’ve got a busy morning. Slightly busier now.’

  ‘I’d like to say thank you.’

  ‘Taking me away from my work’s not going to do it.’

  ‘Okay,’ Maggie said. ‘I’ll drive you home.’

  Louisa frowned with confusion. ‘Why don’t you just get out here? It’s my van.’

  ‘I’d like to talk to you,’ Maggie said, shrugging.

  They drove the short distance back to the compact cottage on adjacent land. Louisa got out and inspected the dent in the panel. Maggie waited.

  ‘Like I said, I’ve got a lot to do,’ Louisa said after a few moments.

  ‘I don’t mind tagging along,’ Maggie said.

  Louisa fetched her bag and gauntlet from the cottage. Maggie followed her silently around the back, past the various moulting sheds to a horseshoe of weatherings, the wood furred with frost. They walked across the lawn, by the bank of open-fronted structures, the hawks and falcons watching them, some hunched like men in raincoats waiting for buses, some perched in the shadows. The display hawks screamed when they saw Louisa, but she ignored them. At the end of the row stood a separate chamber, built on breeze-blocks, where Louisa kept Diamond, her old tiercel peregrine. She had barely opened the mesh door before the bird was on her glove, tugging with his beak at the strip of beef between Louisa’s fingers. Louisa curled the jesses through her fingers and rested her thumb against Diamond’s breast. He turned away with his typical disdain. She hooded him.

  The two women took the pea-shingle path back to the cottage, Louisa carrying Diamond on the fist. Next to the kitchen was a weighing room with an outdoor entrance. Inside, the whitewashed walls and bathroom tiles cast a cold blue glow over the gloves and lures hanging from nails. A reclining freezer stood along one wall, plastered with the faded stickers of yesteryear’s lollies, but filled now with bags of quail, beef-shin, blast-frozen mice and day-old chicks.