Sudden Death

Sudden Death

  AMY PETERS

  Copyright © Amy Peters, 2014

  1st Edition

  No reproduction without permission.

  The right of Amy Peters to be identified as the author of this work has been

  asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs,

  And Patients Act, 1988.

  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 living people

  or dead or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Email: [email protected]

  Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/amyauthoress

  Sudden Death

  It was the first week of their summer break. They were free from the shackles of academia for eight weeks and it was going to be one hell of a blow-out. They had decided to live it to the full. Planned in advance, they had pooled their money and had agreed upon a huge beach party piss-up. Just them; just the four of them. It would be week of pure hedonism, booze, music and cannabis on the Suffolk coast. That was exactly their goal – to simply get wasted by the sea and forget everything. No books, no lectures, no studying. No nothing.

  When Julia arrived at her boyfriend Mark’s home, she saw that he was loading up his VW camper van. She carefully parked her snazzy Mazda MX5 in the drive and killed the engine. It was a nice sports car and had been bought for her by her father after gaining excellent grades in her ‘A’ levels. That had been the motivational carrot, a sports car. And now it was hers, all hers. All nice and gleaming and fully paid for.

  “Oooh,” Julia cooed in mock elation. “Is that where some of my money went?”

  Mark smiled. “It certainly did,” he said as he hoisted a case of wine through the side door. “We’ve got wine, beer, some Jack Daniels, and heaps of food. Plus I’ve got....” He gave her a knowing wink. “Some top notch cannabis.”

  He quickly flashed a clear bulbous bag filled with green stuff. Bravado before the neighbours in ‘lotus-land’ wasn’t smart, so he did it discreetly. “I’m also bringing the BBQ stuff with us.”

  Julia nodded appreciatively. “Nice.”

  She got out of her sports car and slammed the door. She had left the hood up. No point in leaving it in Mark’s drive, top down, in case a fluke shower flooded the interior. And such were the vagaries of the UK weather that she never left anything to chance. Not even once.

  “Are the others about?” asked Julia as she looked around.

  “Tom and Melissa haven’t arrived yet,” said Mark as he carefully packed the fridge with goodies. “But they phoned a few minutes ago and said they were on their way.”

  Julia stepped into the old VW camper van and sat down. It was like crossing into another time-zone. It was ancient; a classic form of transport, but it had been recently refurbished. Mark’s father had bought it brand new back in 1972 with the help of his father. In later years, Mark’s father had passed it onto him, telling him never to sell it. Like a treasured family heirloom in the making, Mark had promised not to sell it. And he intended to pass it on eventually to his own son – or daughter. Or whatever popped out first, as he once said jocularly to Julia.

  Julia was sat down at the rear of the van. Reclining gracefully and supported by a few strategically placed cushions, Julia thought it was like sitting on a comfortable sofa. It curved nicely round and gave way to a narrow cupboard. Beside it lived a twin hob stove, a sink, and some seats that quickly converted to a pull-out bed. It was a four-berth van; a cosy, comfortable van. Mark had packed seven people into it once for a daytrip to Wales. But it was far more relaxing with just four people and that enhanced their youthful intimacy.

  Mark placed his holdall of spare jeans and tops on the vacant seat. He then lifted Julia’s bag and placed it beside his bag.

  “All gassed up and the oil has been checked. We’re ready,” Mark said proudly as he dropped the last of the food into the tiny fridge. “If we need anything else we can grab it on the road.”

  As he closed the fridge door, he heard a car pull into his father’s drive. He peeped out of the side door and saw the prow of Tom’s dented Alfa Romeo 156 draw up. When Tom and Melissa got out, Mark couldn’t help but notice yet another dent in the car.

  “Have you picked up another knock? On the wing?” Mark asked, as if trying to avoid humour but failing with the passing seconds.

  “It wasn’t me,” said Tom as he held up his hands in mock defence. “That bus pulled right out in front of me. He must have had it in for Alfas, that guy. He did look vaguely prejudicial – probably anti-Italian come to think of it.”

  Mark smiled. Tom was a loon. He was the same old Tom that he’d always known since junior school. The veritable class clown, he was even a smart arse back then. Only difference now was that he was older and taller.

  Melissa stepped in and gave Julia a sisterly hug. They had been friends since high school and it was a friendship that had lasted on into university. They even studied architecture together at the same university. To them, it was beyond just friendship. It was more like a sisterhood since Julia was an only child.

  “God, do I need this break from studying,” said Melissa with a sigh. “Talk about heavy-going.”

  Julia smiled and brushed her friend’s long dark hair away from her face. “Well, we only have another two more years to gain our honours degree, and then the real world begins.”

  Melissa made a face of sheer dread. “Oh, heavens, don’t remind me. I fear the big city life looming before me. Paying rent and early starts and weekday commuting, all crammed into some carriage. God, I hate the underground in London.”

  “Oh, you’ll do fine,” commiserated Julia. “And anyway, who says we have to find a job in London?”

  “Isn’t that where all the money is?”

  Julia smiled. Poor Melissa. As if materialism was the answer to everything.

  Julia rubbed her friend’s shoulder and helped Mark with the BBQ equipment. Tom was nosing about the VW; looking at the tyres and general bulk of the camper as if he was doing a final inspection. Mark noticed him looking over his pride and joy.

  “She’s totally solid, you know.” He chipped in, as if pre-empting any criticism before one came. “She’s like a family heirloom. She was my Dad’s from brand new.”

  Tom looked down at the registration plate. He didn’t look impressed. “1972?”

  “Yep.”

  “She’s a positive antique, Mark,” Tom said half-mockingly. “Will she make it?”

  “Well, the old girl travelled Europe during the 1970s without a hitch and she’s always been looked after; even refurbished twice – once in the late 1980s and another recently. Dad loved her and passed her onto me last year. And now it’s all mine.”

  Mark spoke affectionately about the VW as if it were a person. Tom had never truly understood this closeness between a man and his vehicle, this loving affinity for machinery. To him it had all seemed silly, puerile. But since buying the Alfa, he had gradually began to acknowledge that arcane bond between humans and machines, and on the odd occasion, had felt that warm pride of ownership himself.

  Tom patted the front windscreen. The VW looked cool, in a hippie sort of way. But he secretly harboured a sense of scepticism about its comfort levels. To him it was like a mattress only system. No sturdiness of a proper bed. And he knew that he would miss his own bed. But not wanting to sound ungracious, he had accepted and capitulated to a week of ‘roughing it’.

  Julia was leaning against the rear of the VW when Mark had finally placed t
he last of the equipment in the camper. “What time are we getting away, then?” she asked.

  “As soon as everyone is ready and have placed their baggage in the back,” said Mark. “Then we can make a move.”

  Tom and Melissa had decided on travelling light. Two pairs of jeans and a few spare tee-shirts and Converse Chuck Taylors was the wardrobe for them. That was as glamorous as they intended to get. And Julia and Mark had very much decided to follow suit. A week’s hedonism without rules or boundaries meant that they could be as bohemian as they wanted; and without incurring the wrath of any of their repressed parents.

  It didn’t take them long to load in their bags.

  Packed and ready, the four friends got into the old camper van and Mark eased the VW out of his father’s driveway and onto the road.

  Melissa and Julia sat at the rear, their long legs stretched out. Tom sat beside Mark. They were only twenty minutes into their journey when Julia helped herself to two bottles of chilled American beer and handed one to Melissa.

  “Does anyone want a drink?” asked Julia as she held open the small fridge door.

  The two men declined. Julia shrugged, so the two women chatted and drank as the two guys talked about cars and an assortment of man-chat that seemed only knowledgeable to them.

  Driving through the city was a pain. They had taken a detour through the industrial areas due to road repairs, but it hadn’t been a problem. They were soon back-on-track and out into the rural wilds of Cambridgeshire, the healthy air-cooled engine whistling away.

  Mark turned on some music and opened the windows and enjoyed the rush of the fresh country air. He smiled at the brilliant sensation of it. The cool breeze ruffled his hair. It was such a liberating feeling.

  “I tell you, man,” said Mark jubilantly. “I need this weekend break. I need to get wasted. It’s our right to get wasted.”

  “Damned straight,” said Tom in agreement. “I’ve never stopped studying and I’m still a year away from my law degree. Then it’s a job with a solicitor’s practice to complete my articles before I fully qualify. I’ll be glad when all this is over.”

  “Same with my architecture studies,” concurred Mark. “I love design and the beauty of it, but hell, I’m beat and just want to drop it all for a week.”

  Tom turned in his seat and grinned at his girlfriend. “Can’t wait to get you down on the beach later,” he said in mock prurience. And Mellissa gave him a naughty wink, and then carried on chatting to Julia.

  The VW was warm and all the windows were open. Mark missed the modern day things that he took for granted like air-conditioning. But he was stuck in an early 1970’s time capsule, and in those days, air conditioning was the domain of the privileged motorist: the Rolls owners, the Bentley people. The VW had been strictly for the lower orders, so an open window had to suffice.

  They were an hour into the journey when Melissa looked out of the window, trying to focus on whatever blurred by. “Where are we?”

  “The Fens,” said Mark as the VW clattered its way through the countryside. “We entered Cambridgeshire about ten minutes ago.”

  Melissa looked unimpressed. It was vast vistas of flat fields and drainage ditches and isolated farms: a people-less terrain of quiet agrarianism.

  “God, how boring is this?” Melissa gestured for Julia to look out as they drove. But Julia shook her head and declined. She knew the Fens. She’d driven through it before. Her father came from March in Cambridgeshire. And she had always hated the place. The place was devoid of anything for young people.

  Julia ran her fingers through her long blond hair. She was an attractive woman in her early twenties, and had that svelte build that could have been worthy enough for a modelling contract. Melissa – or Mel – as Julia called her, was more on the curvy side. An attractive woman in her own right, she had broad thighs of the kind Julia envied. Consummate child-bearing thighs, was what Julia called them. Julia’s legs were long and slender and she hated them. She was tall and looked more like a healthier version of an anorexic. But her mother was thin and so was her father, so inevitably damned by the family genes, she’d been condemned to be painfully slim and stuck with that slender and curve-less build that relied on fitted garments to give the impression of a womanly shape.

  Mark sensed their boredom and put on the radio. A local radio station crackled a song as he twiddled the tuner. Voices and static and music drifted through the camper. Then he finally snagged a clear reception and let some hip-hop band thump out a beat.

  Mark drove along the lane. The rural hamlets - that were no more than a few cottages, blinked by. Distant church spires loomed up grey and faint from behind dotted-about copses. It was certainly a tiresome landscape. And even the sunshine did nothing to enhance its remoteness. Mark just wanted to clear this godforsaken terrain and get back to civilisation. This was like the back-of-beyond.

  A few miles further up the road, they came to a diner. Mark felt thirsty having turned up his nose at the offer of a drink earlier. So he thought he’d pull in. It was true enough that they had drink onboard, but the men just wanted to stretch their legs and get out of the van for a while. They still had a few miles to go. And Mark felt that they all needed a break.

  “Anyone want to stop and stretch their legs for a bit?”

  An agreeable collection of sounds made him indicate. So he did.

  Mark pulled off the road and drove into the nearly deserted car park. The diner was open and there was an old dented Land Rover parked up. The Land Rover was a regular vehicle in these parts, so it wasn’t uncommon for farmers or their farm hands not to use these places for lunch.

  The diner looked cheap and cheerful. It was an old-style eating place of the sort favoured by truck or van drivers cutting through the Fens. No larger than a shack, but freshly painted in white and red, it looked clean enough, so Mark parked up at the far side of the car park. He killed the engine and wearily opened the door. The girls alighted through the sliding side door. Tom got out and stretched lazily as if he’d just woken up.

  “God, those fucking seats, Mark,” he moaned as he rubbed his back. “They’re bloody torture on the lumber bones. You know that I only travel luxury class.”

  Mark smiled. “You’ll survive.”

  “Only just.”

  The girls were the first to enter, closely followed by the men. Smells of cooking drifted through the entrance like a welcoming host. They stood by the counter which was unoccupied. There were ten tables in the cafe, all Formica-topped. The bench seats were finished in clean red PVC. Sounds of movement drifted through the serving hatch, and then a middle-aged waitress appeared. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, a table for four?”

  “That would be fine,” said Julia.

  “Choose any over there near the window,” said the waitress amicably. “A menu is on each table. I’ll be here when you are ready to order.” She gave a brief and friendly smile and moved behind the counter.

  Melissa sat down near the window and gazed out. It was warm and uncomfortable in the diner. There was a fan that hung above, but it looked old and out of order. It looked as if it had malfunctioned years ago and had been left in its broken state. The young woman made a disappointed face. But at least the door was wedged open to let some air in otherwise it would have been like a sauna.

  The two guys joined her and sat down. Julia had gone to the ladies. She had needed to freshen up and take a pee.

  “Anyone hungry?” asked Mark. But the faces looked negative, so he took it as a collective no. “So, cokes all round then?

  A few nods. So he waited for Julia to return.

  “Christ, this place looks like out of the ark,” criticised Melissa as she looked round. “And these seats are something else.” She made a face of discomfort to lay emphasis upon on her feelings.

  “We’ll just grab some cokes and then run. Okay?”

  “It’s
not too bad,” said Tom as he gave a warm smile to the waitress. “I’ve eaten in worse places. In fact, so have you – recall that transport cafe over in Leeds?”

  Mark smiled. “Oh god, yeah, where that chef picked his nose?”

  Melissa held up a hand to stem the flow of the gross-chat. “Boys, I think we’ll leave it right there.”

  The two men chuckled like kids. Melissa looked queasy so they shut up.

  In the ladies toilets, they heard the hand dryer start up. A moment later, Julia opened the door and stepped out. It was then that they noticed the two men sat at the corner table staring intently at them. Unseasonably dressed in worn army-surplus jackets, they ate their food, but continued to study the young people at the table. It was an unfriendly, almost judgemental kind of scrutiny that their eyes held. It made Mark feel uncomfortable. It was as if they were trying to stare him out, and it wasn’t long before they succeeded. Mark sensed that that they were indulging in some macho-thing, a sort of animalistic ‘sussing out’ that such cavemen did in nightclubs when their insecurity and copious amounts of drink got the better of them. It was as childish as it was annoying, so Mark turned away. He hadn’t come in here looking for trouble, and he didn’t intend to start any.

  Sensing the hollow victory that Mark had tacitly backed down, one of the men laughed out, then stabbed at his food victoriously with his fork.

  Julia looked at them, and then sat down next to Mark.

  Mark looked subdued. He asked Julia if she wanted a cold drink, a coke. She agreed. Mark got up from his seat then walked towards the counter. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the men nudge the other but pretended he didn’t notice.

  “I’d like four cokes, please,” he asked politely as he opened his wallet. The waitress smiled and opened the fridge. She produced four clean glasses and opened each can.

  The larger of the two men leaned back in his seat and seemed to study Mark. For a moment, a slight smile formed along his rugged face. It was evident that they had heard Mark’s educated, middle-class accent. And as he picked up the tray of drinks, the unshaven man began his goading mockery.

  “I say, wouldn’t one rather have a G and T instead, dear boy?” the large man said in a lampooning upper-class voice. “It’s frightfully hot around here.”

  The atmosphere went from pleasant to uncomfortable in a nanosecond. The waitress ignored the men.

  The other man smirked, and then laughed. It was a nasty, sniggering sort of laughter that was intended to provoke trouble.

  Mark ignored them. He had little time for uneducated yokels.

  He saw that the others were looking over at the two men. Mark tried to attract their attention to prevent them from staring. Tom looked angry. But Mark shook his head.

  “Leave it,” Mark mouthed softly. “Forget it.”

  Tom was a well-built sportsman type. A consummate rugby player, he had played for their school and was still a member of the local team. He didn’t feel intimidated and his face showed it. His eyes met the goading man’s and they both locked stares. Mark sighed at the macho impasse and told him to forget it. Tom nodded then looked down at the tray and passed the drinks to the girls.

  Mark sat down. “Let’s just drink up and get out. I’ll pay then we’ll get out of here. I don’t want to hang around here any longer than we have to.”

  “We don’t get many poofters in here,” said the voice behind them matter-of-factly, as if stating something educational. “It’s a bit too rough for them around these parts. You know, around us farming types. So who are the women – the fag hags? What’s your names, girls?”

  The waitress suddenly reacted to avert any potential altercation. “Jake, that’s enough. This is my establishment and if you can’t behave, I’d rather you didn’t come here. I told your boss, Mr Keaton, about this crap last month. Obviously you never learn.”

  Jake wiped his mouth messily, and then belched. “I’m just having some fun, Madge; just us boys having fun.” He smiled innocently. “No offence, folks.”

  It was an unapologetic remark, and the two men got up to leave. Obese and mean with it, they seemed to turn on the intimidation as they moved. It was as if they were well-versed in it. Like it was a skill they’d mastered over time and got it down to perfection, harassing people for fun.

  Jake deliberately brushed by Tom, but he got no response. Tom knew the score. He wasn’t going to have his break ruined by some cheap thug. A brawl he didn’t need, so he found it prudent to let them leave without retaliating.

  The other man, younger, with terrible acne, smiled and showed his tobacco-strained teeth. He gave the four youths a nod, and then went outside.

  Tom uttered the word ‘arseholes’ under his breath as they got into their beat-up Land Rover. It was a pleasure to see them back out of their space and drive away, squealing rubber as they swung onto the road. And the uncomfortable atmosphere inside the cafe immediately dispersed to one more friendly. Mark let out a low sigh of relief. Thank heavens they’d gone.

  “I am so sorry about that,” said the waitress apologetically. “They really are bad when they are bored. I am sorry.”

  Mark smiled understandingly. “You know them?”

  The waitress let out a mirthless laugh. “Know them? I knew Jake when he was a child. He was always a bully, and always in trouble at school. Know him? Don’t I just. He can be bad news that one.”

  “So who is Mr Keaton?”

  The waitress came round the counter and sat on the table opposite them, ready to tell a story. “Mr Miles Keaton is a business manager for the Keaton family estate that own most of the land round here. They are the local aristocrats, if you know what I mean? They’ve owned this part of the county for centuries – and they still do.”

  “And what does laughing boy, Jake, do?” asked Tom, obviously still annoyed by the badgering he’d seen his friend endure. “Or doesn’t he do anything?”

  “Oh, just a farm help, nothing more,” the waitress said dismissively. “The same goes for his friend, Paul. Normally, they’re not too bad but when they get bored – well.” She shook her head sadly. “They can be a handful then. And they’re even worse if they’ve been drinking.”

  Mark nodded and smiled. “Well, no harm done,” he said and shrugged. “Think I’ll have the bill, please.”

  The four friends drank up and Mark paid. It was hot outside when they stood in the car park. The distant fields seemed to wiggle in the lunchtime heat. It was nice to have stopped by and stretched their legs. Pity about the hick’s behaviour, but it didn’t matter. They were gone. Never to be seen again. And Mark let it drop and told an irascible Tom to forget it.

  “Come on, “said Tom as he snapped out of his petulance. “Let’s hit the road to Suffolk. Fuck the inbreds.”

  Back on the road, the whole landscape seemed to stretch out for miles. The road was long and virtually empty. In the distance, the busy A14 was the only proof that there were other examples of life around these parts. The country road was lonely, alien, but they only had another 15 miles to go and then they’d be clear of the agrarian wilds of Cambridgeshire. Then they’d be well-past the isolated Fenlands and back into the comfort of civilisation.

  A mile further on, Mark noticed an old Land Rover appear from out of a side lane. He checked the wing mirror and saw it coming up fast, its bulk starting to fill the glass. An ancient 4x4 accelerated and hung back just four feet behind them, swinging annoyingly from side to side. Mark caught sight of Jake’s broad smile in the mirror and his heart sank.

  “Oh, shit, not that arsehole!”

  Tom looked round and clenched his fist. “What the hell is this lunatic playing at?”

  The two girls looked scared as they peered out of the rear window. Tom turned in his seat, bunching two fists in readiness for a potential confrontation. If Jake wanted a piece of him he’d regret it.

  “I’ve got
their registration number,” said Mark calmly. “They won’t do anything stupid. Not here.”

  For a minute they seemed to buzz the VW, but Mark kept the speed constant. He tried to show them that he wasn’t scared or intimidated. They knew better then to ram his camper van. And after a few more minutes of swinging over the dotted line and back, the Land Rover accelerated past them, sounding its horn loudly. The 4x4 sped on and left them behind. Mark slowed to let them get further ahead quicker. He was relieved they had gone. He took a deep breath and swallowed nervously.

  “Fucking bastards,” said Tom sourly. “I’d love to pop that fat bastard. The one they call Jake. He was really asking for it back at the cafe. If he wants to try me out then I’m game.”

  “They’re wankers - just wankers,” said Mark rationally. “Just hicks with nothing better to do but harass people that don’t fit into their narrow minded views. Just forget about them, mate. They’ve gone now and we won’t see them again.”

  The girls breathed a sigh of relief and sat down. Julia looked visibly scared and shaken. And Melissa looked positively magnolia.

  “Are you two okay back there?” asked Mark as he made swift glances over his shoulder. But he could see the girls were a bit shaken by the two men. “Don’t worry, they’ve gone now.”

  “Thank god!” chimed Melissa. “I thought they were going to run us off the road.”

  “They wouldn’t have done that. Too many witnesses and I have their registration number,” said Mark smugly. “Any of that crap and they’re in the shit. And I would certainly call the police.”

  Tom was still angry. “They were still trying to push us and driving dangerously.”

  Mark nodded. He felt suddenly guilty at his own calmness. He felt a sense of regret for trying to act too cool as the girls were scared. He kept quiet and drove on.

  A couple of miles further on, Julia wanted to pee. And so did Melissa. They had just entered the forest and Mark looked for a suitable verge to pull onto, away from the road. He found a safe recess and pulled in.

  “Okay, we’ll all take a leak,” said Mark as he slowed to a halt. “That bloody coke has gone straight through me.”

  “Me too,” concurred Tom and was the first out as Mark killed the engine. Julia got up from the rear seat and slid open the side door. The sweet smell of grass and the summer air flooded into the VW. Mark breathed it all in happily. He felt better, more relaxed.

  The girls walked into the forest to find a secure place to urinate in private. Tom simply vanished behind a large tree and relieved himself. Mark got out of the VW, and then unzipped his fly near a bush.

  In the distance, a single shot rang out.

  It was a sharp crack that echoed across the countryside. Another shot rang out, the report racing across the sky like an escaped entity.

  Mark looked up, but thought nothing of it. It was just a farmer shooting vermin or small game, he thought. Occasional gunfire in the countryside wasn’t rare. Then another shot rang out, nearer, closer. It seemed to come from the other side of the forest. The proximity of the crack seemed to make him feel uncomfortable. So uncomfortable that he almost flinched.

  Tom walked over and leaned against the camper van. “They must be shooting rabbits or something,” he said as he nodded his head in the direction of the shots.

  “Or shooting clays,” said Mark.

  Tom shook his head. “Nah, that’s a rifle that is. Not a shotgun. I should know as my Dad shoots clays. And that is definitely a rifle.”

  Mark smiled and said nothing. He was ignorant of guns. Guns were a total mystery to him. He had owned a small air pistol once that his Dad had bought him, but that was as far as the interest went. All he did was shoot tin cans or paper targets. Guns had always been a macho thing, an almost esoteric interest amongst real men. Not as if he had ever doubted his own masculinity. But guns had never been interesting to him. He simply wasn’t of that mentality.

  “Where the hell are the girls?” asked Mark as he looked over Tom’s shoulder.

  “Probably gone for a walk in the forest,” said Tom. “It is nice, isn’t it? I mean, being out here, out among nature.”

  Mark nodded. And they both waited a few minutes, but the girls didn’t turn up.

  “Come on, let’s go look for them. I’ll lock up the van,” said Mark. He locked the doors and then he and Tom set off along the pathway and walked into the dense forest.