The Heights: A dark story of obsession and revenge

‘Why didn’t you tell Dad that Mick did this?’ she asked.

‘What good would that do? He’d only give me another hiding for ratting on him.’

That was true. And their father wouldn’t help. He didn’t care about anything except the strike. And now Mick was on the picket with the rest of the old men, their dad was more inclined to take his word over Cathy’s.

‘Look at that!’ Heathcliff drew her attention back to the bird. ‘He’s spotted something. A rabbit maybe.’

The kestrel was hovering not far away from them. Cathy could see that the bird had its eyes fixed on the ground. Suddenly it dropped like a stone, its wings folded tight against its body until the last moment, before it crashed to earth. A moment later the bird rose from the long grass, and she could see it held something in its talons.

‘That’s what I’d do if I could,’ Heathcliff said, so quietly she could hardly hear him. ‘I’d teach Mick. I’d teach all of them.’

Cathy could hear the anger and pain in him as he spoke. She felt it too, whenever Mick hit Heathcliff. Or when one of the kids at school picked a fight with him. She reached out to take his hand.

‘Come on. I’ve got an idea.’

‘What?’ he asked, but he got to his feet to follow her.

‘Let’s go down to the Grange and pick some apples.’

They set off across the hills. Cathy kept hold of Heathcliff’s hand. She liked holding his hand. Some of the girls at school held hands with boys, but this was different. The other girls thought it was fun and they giggled about it a lot. Holding hands with Heathcliff wasn’t fun. Or something to giggle about. It was just… just what they did. Had always done. Would always do.

They reached the edge of the blue hills and, still holding hands, ran down the last slope towards the road. As they did, a car came into view.

‘Shit,’ Heathcliff said as he pulled her to a stop. But it was too late. The driver of the car had already seen them. It pulled over to the hard shoulder and a woman got out.

‘Catherine Earnshaw. Heathcliff. Come here.’

Cathy reluctantly let go of Heathcliff’s hand. It was that woman. The social worker with the stringy hair.

‘Why aren’t you two at school?’ the woman demanded in her high, raspy voice.

‘We weren’t doing nothing,’ Heathcliff said sullenly, kicking the toe of his shoe into the road.

‘Really?’ The social worker sighed and turned to Cathy. ‘What about you, madam? Have you got an excuse?’

Cathy tried to straighten her skirt and blouse. They were covered with mud and grass stains. Her shoes were wet. It suddenly occurred to her that she was cold. She was never cold when she was up on the hills with Heathcliff. But when she came down – that’s when the coldness set in. She shrugged.

‘I ought to take you both to the headmaster’s office right now.’

Cathy’s heart sank. A visit to the headmaster would mean getting her dad involved, and then there’d be shouting and Mick looking all pleased with himself because her and Heathcliff were getting a bollocking. She forced a meek smile onto her face. ‘Been to doctor’s. Dad’s on the picket so he said we should go together. Doesn’t like us wandering round on our own.’

The woman glanced up in the direction of the blue hills. ‘You’ve come from the doctor?’

‘Yeah.’

The woman checked the watch on her wrist and sighed. ‘I want both of you back in school. Right away. And I’ll check, so no skiving off again.’

Cathy nodded quickly. She arranged her face into the same look she gave her dad when she was trying to get money off him for sweets. Not that there was money for sweets since the strike started.

‘All right then. Now go. Both of you.’ The woman jumped back into her car and drove away.

‘I’m not going to school,’ Heathcliff announced.

‘Course we’re not. Come on.’ She took his hand and a few seconds later they had crossed the road and were running through the heather.

They stopped running when they reached a tall hedge.

‘This way. There’s a gap.’ Cathy pulled Heathcliff after her. She stopped and peered through the hedge before finally letting go of Heathcliff’s hand to push her way through the hole. He followed.

They were standing in an orchard. The apple trees were old and twisted and wild. Others, it seemed, knew about the hole in the hedge, because much of the fruit had already been pulled from the trees. The lowers branches were all bare, but there were still some apples quite high up.

‘There,’ said Cathy. ‘Up there. They look good.’

Heathcliff reached up to grab a branch and swung himself up. He wrapped his legs around the lowest branch and heaved himself into a sitting position. He held out his hand. Cathy reached up to take it and he pulled her up beside him. He reached above his head to grab some of the ripe, round fruit.

‘Check for grubs,’ Cathy instructed him.

‘It’s fine.’

She took an apple and polished it on the cleanest part of her blouse before sinking her teeth into the firm red skin. The apple was delicious. Juice ran down her chin, and she wiped it away with her hand. Beside her, Heathcliff bit into his apple and smiled at her.

These were the best moments. Just her and Heathcliff and no one else. She wished it was always like this.

‘Let’s go look at the house,’ Heathcliff said, tossing his apple core down to the ground.

‘Okay.’

They made their way to the far side of the orchard. There was another hedge, but like the first, this was neglected and had a hole that clearly served as a passage for people other than themselves. They ducked through into the garden.

Cathy looked up at the house. To her it seemed huge. The paint was fading and it had a deserted air, but it was so much bigger and better than any house she had ever seen before.

‘Dad says there’ll be new people coming to live here one day,’ she told Heathcliff. ‘Imagine living in a big house like this. Wouldn’t that be great? It would be like being the Queen or something.’

‘When I’m rich, I’ll buy this house for you,’ Heathcliff said. ‘And we can live in it together. Away from everyone else. No one will hurt us then.’

She turned to look at him. It was starting to get dark and the bruise on his cheek was hidden from her. Was he handsome? She wasn’t sure. She wondered, for the first time, if he thought she was pretty.

Chapter Eight (#ulink_5146d582-a1c7-59ec-8d99-5489b280639a)

July, 1984

The thumping beat of the music coming from the radio was jarred by another thumping – this time on the front door downstairs. Cathy slowly rolled off the bed. Leaving Heathcliff still sprawled there listening to the music, she darted into her father’s empty bedroom and looked out the window. Below, a woman was banging firmly on the front door. Cathy darted back behind the curtains.

‘It’s that social worker,’ she told Heathcliff as she returned to the room she now thought of as theirs.

‘Probably on about us skiving off school.’

‘Why does she have to pick on us? Everyone skives off school. You say it’s cos of the strike and no one cares.’ Cathy walked to the window and stared out into the distance.