Page 40 of Hot Ghost Summer

Two burly men, dressed in dark jeans and long-sleeved black T-shirts that have no place in this weather, have the yard gate pulled wide open and a rope around Brigid’s neck.

“Hey!” I yell, storming forward. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The men freeze and their shoulders jerk upward in a stiff flinch. Ceasing their brutish tugging on Brigid’s neck, their ruddy faces turn my way. As if surprised to see me, their eyes grow round and wide as they swallow the evening light.

I’m only steps behind Brigid, when they frantically resume their tugging. She lets out a distressed series of sharp bleats, and I see red.

“Get the fuck off her!” Dropping my shoulder, just like they taught me for rugby at school, I barrel into the nearest dickhead and send us both clattering onto the sun-baked ground.

He grunts when he lands, and all the air rushes out of his lungs in a whoosh.

His friend tightens a tattooed hand on the rope that lassos Brigid, and the other forms a fist that he raises in front of his face like he’s some retired semi-pro boxer.

“You don’t need to be putting your skin in this, kid.” He pants, sweat glistening in the crease where his bald head meets his neck. “Ain’t nothing to do with you.”

I’m back on my feet, teeth clenched hard. “It is, though.” I gesture toward Brigid with a nod. “She’s everything t’ me, and she’s going nowhere. Let her go, and I’ll let you walk out o’ here.”

His friend is getting up off the floor, slowly because he’s winded, and my gaze drifts beyond the pair of meatheads to the other animals beyond the gate. A set of wide-spaced golden eyes stare back.

The man scoffs. “Look, kid, I’ve got twenty years and a hundred pounds on you. I don’t know who you are, but there’s no way this place is paying you enough to take a beating. Go home. You saw nothing.”

I reply with my fist.

He blocks me from hitting his nose, assuming that I’ll come straight at him, but I’m not here to dance. That’s Brigid he’s gotten hold of.

My blow to his temple sends him reeling, and he lets go of the rope. Ignoring it, I push forward, and he staggers back. Still dazed, he trips over his friend, and I reach for the top rail of the metal gate and hurry to pull it shut. Not only will that put another line of defence between those two and Brigid, but it also puts one between me and Theodore.

Devil-goat hates me in his field, and maybe the daft lump let these two walk through it, but he just saw me step in to lay them out and he won’t stand for that.

By the time I’ve got the latch back in place, both men have just about made it to kneeling. I lean over the gate to drop the deadbolt into the ground, and a sharp, echoing clang like a struck anvil rings through my skull before I register the pain. The metallic tang of copper and warm blood floods my mouth when my right jaw, cheekbone, eye socket, and forehead ricochet off the sheet of metal that reinforces the gate.

Theodore.

Ignoring the burning pain that flames up the side of my face, I recoil back to my side of the gate.

“You little shit, I’ma have you for that,” vows the bald man, who’s bleeding profusely from the cut I made to his eyebrow.

Theodore drops his head in readiness, but this time his death stare is aimed at the man on the ground who only just rolls out of the way before that hard and hot head crashes down where his hip was a moment ago.

“Fuck it, Russ, this goat’s a bastard. I’m out of here. Let’s go,” the man on the ground urges as he scrambles to his feet in time to avoid Alvin and Simon’s approach.

The men beat a hasty retreat up the centre of the paddock, and I commit their faces to memory. Russ is taller and thinner than baldy, and has the kind of facial hair that’s no longer stubble but not quite a beard. Both speak with east or central London accents.

I watch until they climb over that rickety back fence and drop out of sight in the park beyond. My heart pounds, its echo blooming as pain through the right side of my skull. The swelling is already forcing my right eye shut and my lips to feel fat, but I don’t pay it any mind and turn my attention back to Brigid.

Her big brown eyes are so wide that their whites are visible. “Shhh, Bridge. You’re okay, girl. I’ve got you.”

Slowly, telegraphing my arm, I bring my hand to rest flat against her neck. Her heart is racing just like mine, but she permits my touch. The rope, although loose, shows the marks and divots in her fur where it cut in when they tugged her.

“Let’s call Jayne, eh?” I speak softly, helping us both to calm. “She’ll bring you a biscuit for being a brave girl, I’m sure.”

I pat my shorts, checking the pockets for my phone, but it’s not there. Looking around, I finally spot it half under the hay trailer where I must have dropped it in my rush. As I call Jayne, I gently lean against Brigid to guide her back inside the safety of the dairy.

“Theo?” Jayne’s voice is an instant comfort. “Not like you to call, everything okay?”

“Um, no, Jayne.” Saying that out loud prompts a tremor to set into my muscles that I can’t fight off. “Some guys just broke int’ the farm, and I think they tried t’ steal Bridge.”

“Oh, Theo!” Her immediate concern promotes tears to build in my eyes, and I struggle to latch Brigid’s stall gate. “I’m on my way. Are you okay? Did you call the police?”