The Neighbour

CHAPTER ONE

The sun glared into her eyes, causing her to squint. Drawing a hand up to her brow to shade the view of the land stretching out in front of her, Wendy Hall, small and slight of build with long chestnut hair and ice-blue eyes, allowed a slow smile to cross her lips. This was it. It was perfect.

“How much did you say you wanted for the three fields?” she asked, trying to hide the excitement in her voice.

“Seventy thousand.” Mary, a rosy-cheeked farmer’s wife, smiled indulgently. She knew that look and could empathise with this slip of a girl in front of her.

Mary knew what it meant to work hard all your life to fulfil your dreams, and if she could give this pleasant girl a helping hand, she would. Mary and Dave didn’t work these fields anymore and were selling the farm off in lots.

“Sooo…” Wendy turned around and looked across the road to the other fields that were available, “These are for sale as well?”

“They sure are, but if you want my advice,” Mary grinned, “These are the best. You have a water supply and the electric transformer’s in the bottom field.” She winked and Wendy knew that she was hinting that there would be no costs for amenities to be put in.

“Ok then, it’s a deal.” Wendy turned and shook Mary’s hand, both knowing this gesture sealed the transaction better than any solicitor’s paperwork. Mary grinned back; she liked Wendy’s style, the girl had integrity.

“We’ll get the paperwork sorted and the monies transferred. I’ll go home and break the news to the family.”

The CD player blasted out AC/DC, expressing better than words the excitement and energy of how Wendy felt. This was it, the first step on the commitment she and John had made the year before. Wendy had always loved horses. She literally lived and breathed them. People would watch her work or compete with them and be amazed at her instinctive gift with the equines she met. “She’s a natural,” they would say, “Got horses in her blood.” Wendy had worked hard and learned technique combined with academic study, gaining her professional qualifications at the age of eighteen. Eight years later, disaster struck and she fell ill. “Give up working with horses or die,” the doctors had told her. She had seriously thought about the latter, but her faithful horse needed her. She couldn’t abandon her friend since childhood, so she had forced herself to learn the new skill of office work and over the following decade had put her clever mind to developing accounting, design and administration.

All the time, her horse remained her escape from the mindlessness she saw in her tedious new world, but it was during this nine-to-five existence that she had finally met her husband, John. At just under six feet tall, he towered above his delicate wife, his athletic figure reflecting his active lifestyle of martial arts and forestry. Wendy had given up thinking she would marry as she neared thirty but, lo and behold, he was suddenly there with his black hair and striking green eyes set in rugged features. Best of all, he was willing to share her love of horses. The main selling point was her horse approving of him and so, within a year of meeting, they wed and set up home in a modest terrace house.

After they were married, John had to give up his forestry work and look for something more mundane that paid a regular wage. He worked hard in a factory job as they both struggled to fit into the normal rhythms of routine working life. The evenings, however, belonged to horses. He grudgingly accepted the fact that his wife was a horsey woman, and that this was why he loved her. Eventually, he decided ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’ and asked if he could learn to ride on Wendy’s old horse. Wendy was delighted when John showed an interest and was astonished to discover that he had a natural talent and newfound love of equestrianism.

A few years after on a dark winter’s night, Wendy had to make the awful decision that every responsible horse owner dreads. She had to put her faithful old horse to sleep. She was devastated and John watched the love of his life shatter into a million pieces, a shadow of the woman he married. They struggled on for a year but John knew he was losing Wendy as her personality and spark for life seemed to disappear bit by bit each day.

One bright spring morning, he asked Wendy to take a drive with him and they made a journey out to a yard where Wendy’s old horse had once lived. As they were greeted by the yard owner, Wendy shed tears as she looked around at the memories held in the very brickwork and saw her old horse at every turn. They were led into one of the stable blocks and there standing in the stall was a striking brown and white four-year-old horse staring at her. There was a moment when everyone seemed to hold their breath as the young horse stared deeply into Wendy’s eyes and she stood unblinking staring into his. Her face seemed to change and light brightened the greyness of grief from her heart. It was love at first sight and Wendy was whole again. John knew then he had done the right thing; a horse person needed to have a horse or they would never be complete.

With the purchase of Wendy’s new horse, an enthusiasm and yearning grew in both of their hearts. They struggled on for almost five years in this existence, with Wendy being made redundant three times as the recession hit hard on the country. John slogged away at the factory, with neither of them satisfied or fulfilled in their lives, so their thoughts turned to a radical idea. What if they sold everything they owned and purchased land, giving up their nine-to-five jobs to do what they loved most – train horses?

The car wheels crunched on the gravel driveway of her parents’ house before slowly coming to a halt. Taking a deep breath and opening the car door in one swift movement, Wendy stood straight and looked at the small group in front of her. Mum, Dad and John were all watching her with bated breath. One year ago, Wendy and John had sold their house and virtually all of their possessions and had stood in this very driveway with two suitcases of clothes and a couple of boxes of picture and ornaments. Mary and Arthur, Wendy’s parents, had kindly given up their spare room for the couple as they hunted for land to build their dream on, but it was tough going in the small house. They were constantly under each other’s feet and an almost scripted politeness in conversation permeated between them as each tried not to show their frustration at the lack of privacy. “Well?” Mary asked.

“It’s perfect,” beamed Wendy as she nodded to John, who wore a mixed look of relief and apprehension as the dream became reality. “I’ve given a verbal confirmation, so we need to get the paperwork sorted.” Ever the practical family, Mary and Arthur nodded quickly and hurried inside intent on calling solicitors and getting the ball rolling.

The year of living with her parents had not been wasted for Wendy and John. They had carefully budgeted exactly where their frugal monies could be spent and had researched exactly what they needed. A company specialising in stable construction had already been commissioned for the first eight stables and was waiting for the go ahead. A tractor had been purchased ready for delivery, an ancient 1974 model still going strong and gutsy, and an even older static caravan with Sixties décor, single pane windows but a working boiler and watertight roof was also poised ready to be placed in its last home. Everything was ready. They had some money to spare; not much, but enough to see them through the first year if necessary, till the business could be established. John had found a part-time job with a gardening company to bring in some extra cash. This was it; the dream had to become a reality.

That night, Wendy had a vivid dream. She was walking across fields towards a woodland. A soft breath behind her, so familiar and so missed, caused her heart to skip. As she continued to walk through the moonlit grass, heavy with dew beneath her feet, the cold moisture exhilarating rather than chilly, a familiar companion moved up alongside her.

“Hello, Witch.” Wendy didn’t speak the words out loud; she felt them form in her heart.

“Hello, Wendy.” Again, the words were not words, they were feelings that formed the shape of the greeting in her soul.

Her old friend tilted her head towards her, the huge eyes shining with youth and vitality. Wendy smiled and laid her hand on her horse’s neck. They walked into the ancient oak woodland stepping into a grove formed by seven towering three-hundred-year-old oak trees intermingled with hawthorn, beech and rowan. The small clearing they encircled was a carpet of bluebells dancing in the light breeze and luminous in the strange light.

“We are home.” Her soul vibrated with the voice of Witch as Wendy looked back across the fields that looked vaguely familiar. Slowly, she realised it was a different view of the land she had bought, a view from the three acres of wild woodland included in the purchase. As she watched, a strange, dark cloud formed in the distance at the edge of her land.

“It stirs, it feels your power.” Witch gazed beyond over Wendy’s head and sighed deeply.

“What stirs, Witch? What are you talking about?” Wendy felt a knot of anxiety deep down and she shivered in her sleep. Witch looked at her, the fire of her beautiful spirit filling Wendy with courage.

“A challenge you must face.” Wendy reached up and her horse lowered her head into her chest.

“This is the last time I will see you, isn’t it,” she whispered, an ache growing in her.

“In this world, yes. You have The Professor now, he will guide you, and eventually another, a mirror of you.”

“I love you, Witch.”

“And I you.” The horse started to fade till she was nothing more than mist that caressed the heads of the bluebells before creeping away to the other place.

Wendy stood alone for a while and wondered why she was not awake. A strange rumbling grew around her. At first she couldn’t quite understand the source, but she wasn’t afraid. It was strangely comforting. Looking around, her eyes fell on a large oak standing slightly apart from the others. As she stared, the rumbling vibrated through her and she knew it was the spirit of the oak speaking to her. Wendy smiled softly and bowed to the ancient guardian. As she stood up, everything seemed to fade into darkness, disappearing like Witch’s mist, slowly turning to a pinkish glow. Wendy realised she was awake and the glow was the daylight shining through her eyelids.

Lying quietly for a while, she pondered on her dream. Witch had come back to give her a message and Wendy knew better than to ignore it. Her new horse, The Professor, had been sent to help her. Wendy didn’t just have a gift; she contained an ancient power, something that had to be channelled and controlled with discipline and caution. Her grandmother had the sight and the power but had been afraid of it and had kept it hidden, but not Wendy. She had embraced it and was drawn to the world of the equine and the spiritual teachers that walked among them. Wendy knew that when the time was right, they would make themselves known.

CHAPTER TWO

On the fourth of April 2004, Wendy and John stood at the top of the track and viewed the land that was now theirs. A lot of thinking had gone into where the best place would be to put the yard they were planning to build, and they had settled on the bottom of the top field at its flattest point. From this piece of ground they had the fields in front, behind, and to their right. On the left was the woodland, and there were no close neighbours; after living in a terrace house for seven years, this was a godsend. At the bottom of the field on the right, they could just see the roof of the last dwelling at the end of the track as it crouched behind high hedges, just as the land dropped from the gentle gradient to the side of a hill leading to the river.

John kissed Wendy and jumped into the car. “You sure you got this?”

“Yeah, no worries, I’m just going to cut through the fence down there and make room for the tractor being delivered, it can sit on the field for the moment.”

“The haulage guy said they would be here by one, and some hardcore should be delivered for three. You can make a start on the driveway in with the tractor.”

John shut the door and drove away, frustrated he couldn’t help at the moment, but his job was to bring in a living wage. Wendy waved him away then started down the track, wire cutters and thick gloves in her hand. The top strand of barbed wire would have to be removed from the fencing. It was too much of an injury risk for horses, but the stock fencing mesh looked in good condition, perfect for their hoped-for herd. Wendy knew she could remove the barbed wire later; the main priority was going to be making a gateway into the field where they wanted to build. The sun was welcoming and warm on a fine spring day and Wendy couldn’t help but smile. She felt free, her spirit soaring as it drank the energy from the land.

“Ok,” she said to herself, “This will do nicely.” She started on the fence, clipping her way through the mesh and top strand, cutting it into sections and piling it to the side.

Once cleared, she grabbed the naked fence posts and rocked them back and forth till they slackened and could be pulled up. Ever the resourceful thinker, she stacked them in a separate pile in case they needed to use them again elsewhere. As she finished and stood with hands on hips admiring her work, the sound of a footstep further down the track caused her to turn. Walking towards her in a strange, rigid gait was a tall, gaunt man in his late fifties. His face had a yellow, unhealthy pallor and a dirty-looking beard clung to his chin. Despite being dressed in clean, casual clothes, there was something dirty and unkempt about him.

“Hi there, I’m the new owner of these fields.” Wendy smiled her best ingratiating smile, but her internal alarm systems were going wild. The stranger stopped and looked at her with nasty eyes.

“So it’s you.” His voice was gruff with a nervous tremor. “Well, well… I mean, you need to do something about your drainage.” Wendy looked at him perplexed; his rudeness had not been lost on her, nor his confrontational manner. She wondered if he was speaking in some sort of secret code that only he knew.

“Drainage?” she said as she put down the wire cutters and took off the gloves. Seeming to gain courage, the stranger puffed out his chest and gesticulated wildly at the fields.

“Your fields flood all the time and it’s causing erosion on my land. You need to get this sorted.” He motioned for her to follow.

Wendy felt her instinctive protective energy wrap around her; there was something very wrong about this guy. She looked at the field she had been working on. It had a gentle gradient leading down to the flat section they were planning to build on, and the grass was healthy and thick with no hint of stunted growth by perpetual waterlogging. She walked at a safe distance behind the stranger, who she had surmised lived in the last house.

“See, see, look at this.” Without permission, he boldly opened the gate and strode down the largest of the three fields that started with a gentle slope and finished with a steep hillside that made its way down to the river. “I mean, I had to pay for that hardstanding at the gate.” The man gestured behind him, and Wendy wondered why someone would pay for something to go down on someone else’s land. She looked down the hill. “It floods all the time there.” He pointed to a corner of the field. “You need to redo all of the drains in this field.” By now Wendy was getting a bit angry with his attitude.

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?” she asked, knowing full well he hadn’t said.

“Reginald Jordan.” He glared at her accusingly.

“Oh right, do you like to be called Reg, Reggie…” Before she could finish, he cut her off coldly.

“It’s Reginald.”

“Right.” Wendy gritted her teeth. “Do you live over there?” She pointed to the hidden cottage.

“Yes, and this is my land.” He pointed to the fields in front of the cottage and below her field. “You’re causing erosion, you need to fix your drains.”

“So you keep saying.” Wendy felt her fury rise. “Tell me, Reginald, is there some sort of strange anomaly in this area that affects the laws of gravity?” Reginald looked at her perplexed, his mouth hanging open like a guppy fish at feeding time.

“What?”

“Well, it seems that this is the only place on the planet that water can pool on the side of a hill.” Wendy looked at him. “That’s a three-to-one gradient, the grass is not stunted, and there are no reeds or rushes that you would see on any waterlogged ground or flood plain.” Reginald took a step back in surprise. Wendy drove home her advantage; clearly Reginald had assumed she knew nothing about land or land maintenance, and he was about to be corrected.

“If your land is flooding or there is erosion, it’s not coming from my field. I can’t help the fact that you live at the bottom of the hill.” She watched with satisfaction as Reginald turned on his heels and marched back up the field. She followed, once more keeping her distance.

“Drainage… flood… need fixed…” Reginald muttered his mantra to himself as he hopped over the fence back into his own property. She watched him disappear into his house then walked back up to her newly made driveway entrance. The niggle inside her wouldn’t leave; there was something very wrong with Reginald.