The Heights: A dark story of obsession and revenge

‘What do you care?’ Heathcliff raised his head. There was a bruise on his face.

‘Did Mick do that?’

Heathcliff shrugged.

‘I hate Mick,’ she declared.

‘I do too.’ The scowl on Heathcliff’s face softened a bit. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Cathy shook her head. ‘We’d get in trouble.’

Heathcliff stood up. ‘I don’t like being stuck inside. Everything’s too small.’

Cathy looked around. That wasn’t true. Everything was normal-sized.

Heathcliff got up and walked to the bedroom window. He looked out and down, then shook his head. ‘This is no good,’ he muttered. ‘There’s no way out here.’

‘My room has a window too,’ Cathy offered.

Cathy’s room looked towards the exposed hillsides and moors behind the estate. There were no houses to be seen, only a couple of old warehouses from the mine, and the blue hills.

‘That’s where I want to go,’ Heathcliff told her.

‘Why?’

‘Cos it’s better than in here. It’ll be just us out there.’

She looked around. It was just them already. Well, apart from her parents downstairs. Maybe Heathcliff was right. It might be good to get away from them.

‘Come on.’ Heathcliff slid the window up as far as it would go. ‘We can jump.’

Cathy leaned past Heathcliff to look out of the window. There was a coal bunker underneath her window, built up against the kitchen wall. But it still looked like a pretty big drop. ‘It’s too far.’

Heathcliff laughed. ‘Well, I’m going.’

She watched him pull his scrawny body up onto the windowsill and stare down at the bunker and the ground beneath them. He was very still for a very long time. Cathy stamped her foot. ‘Get out of the way.’

‘What?’

She pulled him backwards onto the bed and climbed onto the sill. She swung her legs out through the window and screwed her eyes tight shut, before pushing off with her hands to lift her bottom over the frame. And then she was dropping. She landed on her feet on the coal bunker and tipped forward to her knees. She crawled forward. If Mummy or Daddy heard her and came out now she would be in so much trouble. At the edge of the coal bunker she stopped. The roof she was sitting on was about the height of a grown-up but there was a dustbin against the wall. She dropped onto that, and then onto the ground. She’d done it. She spun round. Heathcliff was still watching from the upstairs window. ‘Come on,’ she said in a loud whisper.

He hesitated.

‘Scaredy.’

‘What?’

‘You’re a scaredy.’

‘I’m not.’

‘I did it.’ She grinned. ‘You have to follow me.’

In the window, Heathcliff frowned, and then swung his legs over the ledge and jumped.

They ran past the old warehouses. There were people moving around inside, but nobody cared about a couple of kids bunking off. They stopped running when they reached the blue hills. Heathcliff looked around at the mounds of loose black rock, sparsely covered with grass.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s from the mine. Everyone knows that,’ Cathy said.

Heathcliff grunted and walked off ahead of her. He was moving so fast, she almost had to run to catch up.

‘Come with me,’ she said and led him towards the tallest of the mounds.

They scrambled up the side, feeling the damp, loose rock sliding beneath their feet. When they got to the top, Cathy sat down on a patch of grass. It was wet, but better than sitting on rocks. Heathcliff didn’t seem to mind either way. He sat down next to her. They sat for a minute. From this angle, she couldn’t see the mine. And the town, in the distance, was almost pretty. After a while, Cathy looked across at Heathcliff. His eyes were wet.

‘You’re crying!’

‘Am not.’ He rubbed the back of his hand across his face.

‘Were too. S’all right. I cry sometimes. When Mummy and Daddy fight.’

‘My mam sent me away.’

He sounded so sad, sadder than anyone Cathy had ever known. She squeezed his hand. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘I want you to stay for ever. I’ll never send you away.’

He turned towards her. ‘Promise?’

Cathy nodded seriously. ‘I promise.’

Chapter Four (#ulink_68455b01-537c-5ba8-9860-898550f2e885)

January, 1983

Shirley Earnshaw paused on the steps of the Methodist Hall and undid her headscarf, patting her hair into place before she pushed open the door. She took a deep breath and steeled herself for what she knew was coming. It was five years since Ray had brought that boy back from Liverpool. Surely these women had gossiped enough by now. But as soon as she walked in the door, the looks would start, and they’d be whispering behind her back.

She wasn’t that keen on coming here anyway, but the old priest, Father Brian, was very big on the churches working together. At least that’s what he said. Shirley fancied he was actually keen on getting as much work as possible shifted onto someone else. He was retiring soon. The new priest, Father Joseph, had already arrived. He was a different kettle of fish. He’d preached the sermon last Sunday. All about the devil and the wages of sin. Shirley had a feeling that when Father Joseph took over the parish, there’d be no more mixing with the Protestants. Anyway, today the Young Wives were meeting up with the Methodist Ladies Fellowship for a talk from the new Methodist chap about missions.

The hall was more modern than the room the Young Wives met in, and bigger, with half-peeling lines stuck on the floor for badminton. There was a table laid for morning tea at the far end of the room, and a queue forming by the urn. As Shirley approached, she saw a few swift glances sent her way. She ignored them, and accepted a cup of tea, in a green cup. It was weak. Shirley usually did the teas at St Mary’s. She would never have served up pale brown water, not if they had visitors coming. She found a seat next to Gloria. Gloria had been coming to Young Wives since the fifties. Her daughter-in-law sometimes came now as well. That was fine. So long as Gloria was there, Shirley still counted one of the young ones.

The two groups of women took seats on opposite sides of the hall, eyeing each other cautiously, if not actually with hostility. At the front a tall man in a black shirt and tie was fiddling with a slide projector. Shirley sipped her tea.

One of the women from behind the tea counter came through, wiping her hands on her apron, and whispered something to the man at the front before clearing her throat. ‘Right then. Shall we start with a prayer? Erm… Reverend Price, would you like to lead us?’

There was a pause as the ladies popped their cups down on the floor and bent their heads. Shirley screwed her eyes tight closed. She always did when it was time to pray. Her mother’s voice warning her that the devil came for little girls who looked around still rang in her head. It was nonsense, of course, but the little bubble of darkness made her feel different somehow from the rest of the time, not so much closer to God as simply more distant from the drudgery of normal life.

The priest… no, not priest, vicar maybe? Shirley wasn’t sure. Anyway, whoever he was, he intoned deeply, ‘Let us pray…’