The Move

  Chapter 7

  I had been living in London for almost two weeks. Julie and my two boys were still in Devon. My daughter Louise, who was a student at a dance academy, lived with four other girls in a rented house in Basildon and most nights I would get to speak to each of them on the phone.

  My boss, Harry, rather than use his other callout plumbers now had me to doing all the emergency night time and weekend jobs. Which was great because the extra money meant I could now save up the deposit to rent a house. I was earning good money again. Things were looking up. At this rate three, maybe four weeks, I could start looking to rent a house. Living at my mum’s had been a great help but I wanted us to be a family again.

  Finally I got the money together and went in search of a house. Jeez, renting in London was expensive. I started looking at houses in the Streatham/Mitcham areas where the rents weren’t exorbitant and I could drive into central London where all my work was without too much hassle. One thing I was sure of. I wasn’t about to repeat the mistake I made taking on Moors Cottage. This time I would take my time, look at several options before I signed up.

 

  Streatham in its heyday with its airy green spaces and the natural spring waters freely available from the well now hidden away behind the cinema on the High Street, was much favoured by the Victorian and Edwardian genteel.

  Streatham hadn’t changed. Many of those once grand family houses are now owned by unscrupulous slumlords that had ripped the guts out of them, put up paper thins walls, and installed crummy shared bathrooms, and then let them out to the poorest of the poor. The one time elegant front entrances that in the past might have had a bell pull were now disfigured by a battery of gas and water meters, one for each poky room.

  Today few would choose to live in some parts of the town, the areas where the drunks slept and died of the cold among the gravestones in the cemeteries. Along the High Street, begging for money the homeless hid in the doorways. On the common you’d find the prostitutes, and the bad guys who'd sell you all manner of crap that might get you wasted, or get you dead.

  And yet, on the edges of town, out of sight of all this crap, there were streets of nice houses, built around crescents lined with flowering cherry trees. It was on one such street that I took a look inside, number 133 Cherry tree Crescent. The whitewashed, three-bed, semi had a huge ceanothus bush in the front garden. Its vibrant blue flowers had attracted a number of bees.

  I shook hands with Mr and Mrs Brown at the front door. The interior had been recently redecorated and had new carpets. The house was their pension pot they explained. The back garden wasn’t huge but it had an ancient crooked Laburnham tree that was ablaze with yellow flowers. Mrs Brown was at pains to point out the “No Dogs or Pets” clause.

  Hmmm. Once again, Julie and I were going to have to keep our dogs out of sight. I didn’t imagine we could keep them a secret for long. Our dopey Bassett Hound, Solomon, wouldn’t cause anyone a problem, but Rats our Yorkie, he could be a noisy little devil when it came to callers. I put my trust in Mr and Mrs Brown letting us keep the dogs when they saw we were good tenants that kept the place nice, and paid the rent on time. I duly signed a six-month contract. Mrs Brown handed me the keys.

  After I shut the door behind my new landlords, I fell against it and sighed. I could have cried.

  On the drive back to my mums, hardly paying any attention to the roads, my head was already working on the details of how to get my family and our possessions up from Devon.

  It was in a phone conversation with my younger brother Lenny that I inadvertently let slip I had no money to pay for a removal lorry. He suggested that I give Sean Bell a call. It had completely slipped my mind that Sean, a long-standing friend of the family, and a kindly soul, had a modest house removal business.

  At first I balked at the idea of taking more charity. I’d had enough of eating humble pie. Asking Sean to do me a favour felt like yet another blow to my already battered dignity.

  ‘I don’t know Lenny. Thanks all the same, but I worry he might be offended.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Lenny insisted, ‘Sean’s a great guy. He can only say no. What you got to lose?

  ‘Thanks Lenny, but I really can’t,’ I said, and then thought what choice you got?

  ‘Ring him.’ Lenny insisted.

  ‘No…no., its' ok,' I said. 'You’re right. I need a favour. I will ring him.'

  I bit back on my pride and punched in his phone number. Ten seconds – fifteen seconds. He hadn’t picked up. With luck, he won’t be home. To save my wounded pride I would leave him a message. Then he picked up.

  ‘Hello…. Sean Bell speaking.’

  ‘Ahem,’ I cleared my throat. ‘Oh…h…. hi Sean,’ I said tripping over my words, ‘it’s Art… Art Blakely… Lenny’s brother.’ I was at the point of hanging up when Sean interrupted.

  ‘Hey. Art,’ He said brightly, ‘long time-no-see. How’re you doing? I hear you’ve moved to Devon. How’s that working out?'

  Had I detected I a hint of: I know already! I took a deep breath and said, 'to be honest Sean, that's why I am ringing. I need a favour.'

  ‘Hey, Art…we’re mates, and you only need ask buddy… It’s a shame the Devon thing didn’t work out. Don’t say another word. I'll help you move house. Lenny will help out, and it'll be fun.'

  Fun! I frowned. Sean had been tipped off. Lenny. I thought. My brother Lenny must have called him ahead of me.

  ‘Well, the thing is Sean, Julie and I… we need to move up to London and I was wondering if you had a removal lorry that I could borrow?’

  ‘Listen,' he said. 'You set a moving date, and I will provide the lorry and help you move.’

  ‘Well hang on Sean, the thing is…’ I hesitated. ‘The thing is… I don’t have any money. I mean I can pay for your fuel costs, and that’s to be expected… but…’

  ‘Hey, Art. That’s fine. You pay for the diesel and we’re all good eh?’

  After I put down the phone a fresh wave of guilt and embarrassment consumed me. I should have told him how much crap Julie and I had accumulated over the years.

  Tuesday. 11th April– the day before MD. (Moving Day).

  I had arranged to take a few days off work.

  At my Mums flat in Wandsworth I was up at the crack of dawn. Today was a biggie... but not as biggie as tomorrow–Moving day.

  I planned to drive the Transit van down to Devon and load that up with some of the smaller items, leaving the bigger stuff for Sean’s lorry. I was worried the removal lorry he was lending me might not be big enough, him being a small firm, I didn’t think he would have anything as big as the monster that I hired when I moved down there. I wished I had warned him how much stuff we had. The Transit van's road tax was due to expire, so this was probably the last time I'd need use it. When I got back to London with it I was going to dump it in a side road and leave the keys under the wheel arch, and then do same as I did for the Bluebird, let the Inland Revenue know where they could find it.

  8:49.

  I set off in the Transit van thinking I will top up the fuel tank on the motorway.

  I had a fresh bag of Liquorice allsorts. That’s me sorted. I was excited, I can tell you.

  On the M3, feeling the usual guilt and a bag of nerves I paid for the fuel using Smithy’s petrol card.

  On the motorway again, in my rush to get off the forecourt I remembered I had forgotten to pick up another bag of liquorice allsorts.

  14:41

  I steered the Transit onto the bungalow's driveway.

  It felt weird me being back at Moors Cottage. This lonely bungalow nestled on the edge of Dartmoor was supposed to have been a base from which we could plan our fresh start. I had a hollow feeling in my gut standing on the drive. I turned full-circle taking in the rolling moors, and the dull clumps of heather. I watched a buzzard, head down, circling on the thermals, searching for a rabbit. They came back
to me, memories of nine months ago when I stood on this drive so excited. Now what, another fresh start? How many more? God, life can be confusing, or is it the case we make it so?

  I had stopped to buy some groceries in the local Co-op. I was going to cook us a meal on the Aga. I hoped this would be the last time I ever had to cook anything one on that smelly old contraption.

  When the dogs didn’t bark when I slammed the van door I took that as a sign Julie and the boys must be out walking them.

  'Hello,' I called out. 'I'm home.' My voice echoed down the hallway. No one was home. There were boxes, packed up, all around. They had been busy. I dropped my bags in the hall and toured the rooms. After living away for six weeks and three days the whole place felt unfamiliar. It was as if I had never lived here, that's how shallow my roots had been.

  The rooms seemed darker… smaller. The cloying smell of oil from the Aga clung to my clothes like cobwebs.

  After unpacking the groceries I set about cooking a meal. I was peeling the spuds and for some inexplicable reason I got angry. Oddly, I felt Devon was to blame for the dream not working out.

  Not one to dwell on the negatives, I set my mind on looking to the future. Living in London was going to be great. Mostly I was looking forward us all living together once again, under one roof and settled... for now at least.

  When Julie and I left London to live in a council house in Crawley, we had been so young. We had a baby, Robbie. That was an exciting time for us. We couldn’t wait to move out of the tiny bedsit on Springfield Lane, Wandsworth.

  Thinking about that now I now wondered if the buzz I got living in London still coursed through my veins. What was it they say? “You can take the man out of the town but you can’t take the town out of the man."

  I was dishing up dinner when Julie and the boys, both dogs panting, walked in. The dogs, pleased to see me, jumped all over me. Julie gave me a peck on the cheek and then she asked me how the drive had been. Julie and I ate a lamb casserole and my two boys had veggie meals.

  For the first time in nine awful months sensed that we as a family now had a purpose. We were going forwards again. The future looked bright. All we needed to do now was get the last of the packing done, and then tomorrow, we load up the vehicles and then we drive off into the sunset and another fresh start.

  Having packed up everything, apart from the essentials needed for tomorrow, the tea bags, kettle, and a few other essentials, by eleven o clock, feeling knackered we were all in bed.

  7:29

  MD day.

  I pulled back the curtains across our bedroom window that faced east and marveled at the sunrise, a vista of purple, vivid orange, startling red and a soft yellow. I took this as an omen. Things, from this moment on, were all going to change and that all would be well.

  I rousted everyone out of bed and after a fried breakfast we set to work finishing the packing. We were moving not just out of Devon, but also out of the two and half years of crap that Julie and I had had to endure.

  In a phone call with Lenny who rang to say they were just leaving, I had thought, urgh, I'd hoped they were well on their way by now? Never mind. There was better news; my omen was holding up, Carl my nephew would be coming too. Another strong back would be good.

  09:10

  Sean and the others should be well on their way by now.

  The morning dragged on. The hands on my watch seemed in no particular hurry. We had lunch. Cheese sandwiches. From time to time I would go out onto the drive looking out for Sean and the others.

  13:07

  They should have been here by now. Had they had an accident or perhaps broken down?

  An hour ago, the phone line went dead because I had asked BT to switch it off. Now I had no means of knowing where they were. (Remember this was years before the invention of mobile phones.)

  I was still cursing myself for the having the phone taken out when we all ran to the gate at the sound of a big vehicle, approaching the bend at the bottom of the hill. We listened as the heavy sounding engine clattered ever closer. It was only the weekly grain truck for the farm.

  14:02.

  I was hanging around outside when I turned my head towards the sound of yet another big vehicle approaching the bend. Surely this had to be them? It was only when I saw Sean and the others waving through the windscreen that I gave a whoop of joy.

  I’d been careful in organizing the parking of the vehicles on the driveway. I needed to leave enough room for the removal truck. Parking anything on the narrow lane was out of the question; even a car would have blocked it completely.

  I ran out to the road to see the truck reverse safely between the gateposts and had to leap aside when Sean expertly reversed the truck onto the concrete drive that now resembled a used-car-lot. Julie’s Vauxhall Astra was parked up tight to the Ford Transit, which hemmed in the rusted, clapped out Ford Escort van that was never going anywhere.

  I stepped back to get a better view of the lorry. I frowned. I didn’t want to say anything but Sean’s lorry looked small. I couldn’t see us getting everything in that. Luckily, I still had the Transit and Julie’s Astra estate car.

  Having settled that matter in my head, I ran around to the driver’s door to greet Sean.

  I stood there stunned. I laughed. 'Very funny, ' I said. 'Looks authentic.' I pointed at the plaster cast on his leg that went from his foot his knee. 'It's a joke yeah?'

  'I broke my leg.' Sean said.

  I turned full circle and slapped my hand on my forehead. 'You have to be kidding me right? Don’t tell me you just drove that truck all the way down here from London with a broken leg!'

  'I just did. It's fine.'

  Lenny came round and held up his hands ready to help Sean climb down from the cab.

  ‘Sod off,' Sean said. 'I’m not disabled. If you get out the way I can get down on my own thanks.'

  I seemed to have lost the power of speech. I had no contingency plan for this. Even if he was able to drive the truck, I doubted it was legal.

  Sean hobbled off towards the house. ‘Oi! Julie,' he called out. 'Aint you got the kettle on yet?’

  Julie promptly delegated the task to me.

  ‘Don’t just stand there, Art. Put the kettle on.’

  While the others were able to joke around I couldn’t relax. There was much to get done. I left them drinking tea and eating cheese sandwiches while I made a start on loading the removal van. The plan was: we would finish the packing and loading the vehicles today, and then tomorrow, set of in a convoy, first thing.

  It wasn’t long before we had filled the removal lorry. I did a quick tour of the house to see what was left. 'Jeez,' 'I said to Julie.

  I fetched Sean and showed him.

  'Bloody hell! ' He said. 'I think I had better hop up inside the back of the truck and start packing things in tighter, else we are never going to get ll this stuff away.'

  I could see that already.

  While Sean got to work repacking the lorry the rest of us started ferrying the rest of the furniture and more loaded cardboard boxes out onto the drive.

  We could be in trouble. I knew that I could lose my deposit if we didn’t clear the house. That was when Sean came to me and said.

  'I can't get another thing in the van Art, we'll have to try and get the rest in the Transit, and some of it in Julie's car.'

  I was thinking Julie's car! She'll have the two dogs, and the guinea pigs, in their cage to fit in. How's she going to get anything else in?

  We turned out attention to the Transit, loading up that.

  Shaking my head I was looking down at the boxes and furniture heaped on the drive and thinking how did we get all that is in that bungalow?

  ‘Look at all the crap we got Julie,’ I said as if it was her fault. 'We don’t need all this. All we ever do is move it from one attic to another.’

  ‘Well I am not leaving any of it here, if that’s what yo
u was thinking.' She said. 'Besides what will you do with it? You can’t leave it here. You said so yourself, the house had to be clear to get our deposit back.’

  I wiped my brow and looked around at Sean. ‘Got any ideas Sean?’

  He shrugged. 'We can cram some of it in Julie's car. You’ve seen for yourself the removal van and the Transit are already packed to the gunnels and fit to burst.’ Sean looked back at the garage. The stuff we cant take we could dump in the bushes behind the garage.’

  ‘Nah,’ I said and pointed out the field stretching out into the distance. 'The farmer will spot it right away.’

  ‘We could take the Ford Escort van,’ Carl said. ‘We'd get the rest of it inside that?'

  I couldn’t make out if he was being serious or not. I gave a hollow laugh. ‘You are Joking?’ No one else was laughing.

  ‘Why not?’ Carl said in all seriousness.

  I found it hard to put my thought into words I said, ‘because the bloody thing hasn’t been driven in months. It has been sitting up to its arse in weeds–and it has no road tax, no MOT, and no Insurance, and even if you were to get it running– never in a million years will it make to London. Hello!’ I said looking at the blank faces around me. 'Is it me that’s suddenly gone nuts?’

  ‘I could get it going.’ said Carl flatly.

  ‘Carl will get it going, he’s great at fixing cars.’ Lenny chimed in.

  ‘You’ve got nothing to lose Dad.’ Robbie said.

  They stared at me as if it was me who needed to wake up and smell the coffee.

  ‘If you leave it here, the farmer will withhold our deposit Art, you said as much yourself.’ Julie added.

  ‘I doubt he'd care,’ I said. ‘Most likely he’ll strip it down for spare parts.'

  Engaged in this time-wasting discussion I hadn’t spotted Julie go back inside the house, When she came back out she handed the Escort van keys to Carl.

  ‘There you go Carl. See what you can do.’

  I stared hard at my wife. ’Thanks Julie.’ I said.

  ‘You’re welcome hubby.’ She said and tweaked my cheek.

 

  I was behind the garage when the surprised squeal of the van door being opened grabbed my attention. I rounded the corner in time to see Carl lean inside the van. Next thing, he leapt back waving his hands about his head.

  ‘Argh!” He cried. ‘Bloody cobwebs.’

  'Don’t waste your time Carl,' I said. 'You'll never get that old heap running.'

  ‘Yeah but if I did get it going, just think, we could shift the rest of this stuff.'

  The others were now eager to inspect the van. I wondered if perhaps it was just me?

  ‘Let’s just turn the engine over and see what happens.’ Carl said.

  ‘What’ll happen is it'll most likely blow up.’ I said stepping back a few paces and pulling Daniel with me.

  ‘You’re probably right Art,’ Carl said and then pushed the keys into the ignition lock. ‘Stand back everyone.’

  Carl turned the key. Nothing happened. Well... only a dull click. Didn’t I tell him he was wasting his time? What did he expect? The van had been idle for months; the battery will be as flat as a pancake. I had better things to do, like go check the house over. I turned to walk away when a massive bang nearly threw me to the ground. I spun around to see a pall of thick black smoke falling about our heads followed by a chorus of compulsive coughing.

  I was angry now. ‘That’s it! ' I yelled at Carl. 'Leave the bloody thing alone before someone gets hurt.’

  ‘That’s a good sign. ‘Carl said waving his hands at the fumes.

  ‘Let him have a go Art,’ said Lenny. 'See if he can get it running.'

  ‘Yeah. What’s the harm? Sean chimed in.

  Seems it was only me that cared if Carl blew himself along with the van up. The others were looking at me as if it was me that had the problem. I was thinking I might as well stop my bitching. In the end they’ll see that I was right. The bloody wreck was never going to start, and even if it did, it would never make it out of Devon, let alone get as far as London. I was just going to walk away, leave them to it; pretty soon, they’ll give up.

  ‘Ok, ok. Carl,’ I conceded holding up my hands. ‘I'll tell you what: you get it going... it's yours, to keep.' I was joking, I meant about him getting it going, as for the van, yeah he was welcome to it. I had no need of it.

  I decided I would leave them to it. I headed for the back door to the kitchen and called back over my shoulder, ‘you'll never get it started.’

  The others followed me into the kitchen leaving Carl with his head under the bonnet of the van.

  After half an hour of me still working, cleaning and clearing, the others loafing about, I became irritated by their banter and their goofing around. I wondered what it was about me, in my genes that meant I had to make a drama out of everything. Perhaps I should invest in a sandwich board and go hang about in Oxford Circus and tell people the end of the world was nigh?

  ‘Can we all please stop messing around and get going?’ I said heading for the door. 'We still have all that stuff on the drive to get rid of.’

  ‘We’re waiting for Carl.’ Julie said.

  That wasn’t helping.

  'Look,’ I said annoyed. ‘Carl is not going to get that heap of crap running, so can we all please get real here?’

  A sound, like a bomb going off scared the hell out of me. I was the first out on the drive. With the others crowded on my shoulder we stared at Carl, his face was blackened with soot. He was grinning. The Escort's engine was clattering, but up and running. 'Oh Crap!' I groaned.

  I blinked twice and scrubbed at my two-day old stubble.

  It should never have happened, the van working, after months being left to rust away! I turned away from the jubilation and congratulations being heaped on my nephew. In my head I was trying to compute the implications. This was not in the master plan. I was thinking: well at least if I had the Escort on the road we could clear the rest of the crap off the drive. However, my conscience was never going to let Carl drive off in that death trap. God knows how many traffic violations it would break.

  Had it been my decision, it would never have happened. But I had a mutiny on my hands. With Julie acting like the mutineer Christian Fletcher my authority didn’t count for much, Carl was taking the van.

  I was thinking it was all right for them, over the past couple of years I had had enough of driving about in dodgy vans. If the police pulled him over, it was in my name!

  ‘Carl.’ I said getting his attention. ‘I can see that you’re determined to make an attempt at getting this van to London. Fair enough, but I insist I get you insured.'

  ‘Ok,’ He said and shrugged, ‘If that'll make you happy. Whatever you say. Only it’d be criminal to leave it here.’

  ‘No! “ I snapped losing it. ‘You, taking it on the road… that is criminal.’

  More annoyed with myself than the others, letting them upset my plans, I headed back into the house and dug out the vans documents, which I knew, were in a kitchen drawer, left behind because I was leaving the van here. With no phone in the house I had to walk to the payphone in the village to make the call. I called up my insurance company and over the phone I arranged weekend cover for the Escort.

  When I returned to the bungalow Carl was, 'fine tuning the engine,' he said.

  ‘Carl,’ I said getting his attention. ‘I’ve had the van insured for the weekend, and I’ve also dug out the log book and I have signed the van over to you.’

  ‘Bloody hell! Thanks Art.’ Carl said straightening up and banged his head on the bonnet.

  I left Carl to: “fine-tune the engine."

  'S'okay.' I said and went back into the kitchen. Robbie and Daniel were there.

  ‘Have we got any food dad?' Robbie said. 'I’m starving.’

  I said. 'No, yo
u’re not starving. The children in Africa are starving, what you are is hungry.' (Something I always told my kids whenever they complained they were starving.)

  ‘Sorry, there's nothing in the house.' I said. 'I thought we’d get a takeaway Pizza.' This suggestion didn’t go down well. The village pizza parlour is known for adding salmonella topping at no extra charge.

  Back outside, I found Carl wiping grease from his hands on toilet tissue.

  ‘Van is all loaded. We’re done Art.’ Carl looked pleased with himself.

  ‘Well done Carl,’ I said patting him on the shoulder. I looked up at the darkening sky. ‘It’s getting cold out here, better get inside, have a hot drink.’

  I let him set off without me. He called back. ‘You coming Art?’

  'You go ahead, I'll just be a minute.' I waved. I wanted some time out here, to be on my own.

  I sat down on the bumper of the removal Lorry.

  I stretched my neck and looked up at the brooding sky. Fast moving clouds driven by a brisk westerly blotted out occasional glimpses of the stars. The full moon, shrouded like a shy naked dancer, was as big as any I’d seen this year.

  The sweaty tee shirt felt cold on my back. I wrapped my arms across my chest and saw a black shadow as fast as a hawk, flash across my vision. It swooped, and then disappeared. I guessed it had to have been a Noctule bat. They get quite big and tend to feed early evenings. Then I heard, some way off, the chilling cry of a screech owl. I was reminded of the tale of the Beast of Dartmoor. I could just see it now, stirring in its bone-strewn lair. I shuddered. Had the tale of this man-eating beast gotten to me? I dismissed the thought from my head. Most likely, I thought, Devon needed to be famous for something other than cream teas!

  I turned full circle hoping to catch another sighting of the bat. It had gone. The wind was picking up. I suspected the weather might turn, bring on the rain.

  A shriek of laughter, it was Julie, made me look back at the house. A patch of yellow, spilled out the kitchen window lit the lawn out back.

  There had always been something of the night about Moors Cottage as if it had been built on a plague pit. There had been moments when my hair would stand on end at the sound of a whisper in a darkened corner, or startled by a sudden chill in a warm room. Equally alarming were the numerous occasions when doors, of their own volition, would open or close.

  By nature, I am not one for all that spooky crap, but Moors Cottage and the encircling hills I have to say possessed all the elements of an Alfred Hitchcock thriller.

  My teeth were chattering. I hesitated for a moment before heading back to the house.

  The minuet I stepped through the door, Julie said.

  'The Aga isn’t working. We are freezing.'

  'I know, the oil tank has run dry. 'I said. It'd had been a close run thing, the oil running out. First thing I did when I got here was to check the fuel gauge. I had hoped we'd be moved out before it bled dry. A refill, the minimum charge was two hundred and forty quid. We could never have found that kind of money.

  The news was met with groans. It was going to be a cold night and we had no beds, only covers.

  I took cold comfort from knowing in a few hours we would be on our way, driving a convoy north…heading for a new life in London.

  I left the others chatting whilst I went on a tour of the Bungalow double-checking we hadn’t missed anything, me being bored, pernickety.

  My footsteps echoed on the cold vinyl tiled floor. My breath bloomed in front of my eyes. The others joined me in the main bedroom.

  Julie shrieked and grabbed hold of Robbie when she heard, we all heard, a dull thud on the celling overhead.

  ‘What was that?’ She gasped, her face ashen.

  We could hear the sound of something being dragged across the attic. My first thoughts was of the stupid story I told the vicar, the one about Boris being kept in chains up there.

  Then it stopped, the dragging noise, ended out in the hall, where we all now looked. I said aloud. ‘Relax, it’s just the wind.’

  I could see it now, in my head, the attic room, full of thousands of dead flies, spooky, too spooky to ever use, we had decided, right after we moved in.

  Julie shrieked again. We heard footsteps this time, and more noises, sounded like a cadaver being dragged across the floor.

  ‘Crap!' I heard Carl cry out.

  To get out of the room, meant crossing the hall directly under the loft hatch.

  Julie looked at me for an explanation. I couldn’t speak. I had checked and double-checked the attic and there was nothing we'd left up there.

  ‘There’s someone in the attic.’ Julie hissed.

  No crap Sherlock. I didn’t say it!

  ‘Squirrels.’ I suggested.

  ‘Yeah right with hobnail boots on!’ Lenny hissed.

  As if hypnotized and of single intent, we shuffled towards the doorway out to the hall where, not an hour ago, I had closed and locked the loft hatch.

  ‘I told you this place was haunted.’ Julie cried clinging to Robbie. ‘The ghost is angry we are leaving here.'

  Out in the hall it was my turn to gasp. The loft hatch was open and the ladder was down.

  Shoulder to shoulder, Lenny and I stared up through the opening.

  ‘Crap.’ I shouted and grabbed hold of Lenny who tried to run. We saw pair of legs drop through the hole.

 

  ‘Daniel, you little crap. What were you doing up there. You scared the hell out of us.’ I said.

  Seated on the edge of the opening and frowning, my son stared down at his enraged audience.

  ‘What?' He said like it was us that had the problem. 'Why you staring at me like that? You lot look like you’ve seen a ghost! I was just checking we’d not left anything behind.’

  ‘You frightened the life out of us.’ Julie snapped.

  Our nerves were still on edge when a gust of wind caught the bedroom door that flew shut with a bang. I heard someone break wind. I had to screw up my nose.

  ‘I found a big box of my old toys up there.’ Luke said reaching back into the attic.

  That explained the dragging noises. The atmosphere was tense. I needed to get everyone away from this bungalow, the moors, Oxhampton, and hell, get away from Devon.

  ‘Right,’ I snapped. 'Daniel, close up the loft hatch, no one is to go up there... right? ‘There’ll be no more talk of ghosts. Lets get finished. We are leaving tonight. If we set off now, we can be in London by ten o clock.’

  When I walked off the others stood their ground. I looked back and saw I had another bloody mutiny on my hands.' What?'

  'We don’t want to go tonight. We want to go in the morning.' Julie said, the Christian Fletcher of the assembly.

  They were tired, I could see that, but then so was I. And I had had it with the cold and the damp, and the creepy noises. Plus the fact we had nothing more than a few slices of bread and a few stale biscuits to eat. There were no chairs to sit on, nor beds to lie on. ‘I’m serious,' I said.' We are not staying here.’

  ‘We are not leaving tonight.’ Julie said flatly.

  I found a reasonable voice. ‘Ok, so do one of you want to tell me what’s going on?

  ‘It’s just…. I mean, what’s the hurry?’

  Lenny nailed his colours to the mast of mutiny. He said. ‘I think we should all go down the pub, have a meal… a few bevvie’s and then we can set off in the morning? London will still be there tomorrow.’

  Lenny's suggestion elicited a chorus of support. I wasn’t to know that by giving in I had triggered off a course of events that was to turn my hair grey.

  I groaned. I really couldn’t see the sense in having a team that wanted leadership by consent. This wasn’t a fekking democracy here. I was in charge.... or was supposed to be! Someone for God’s sake had to make the tough calls. I got a grip on my rising anger and paused to reflect on the cogency
of their argument. Why not? We could leave in the morning.

  Truthfully, I wasn’t happy at staying another night. Something in my gut was telling me it was a bad move. I decided I was being paranoid. I sighed. I was becoming an expert in deep, meaningful sighs.

  ‘Ok, ok,’ I said holding my palms up in defeat. ‘I’ll take you all to Smugglers Inn. You can all have a slap up meal, my treat.’

  We had to offload the stuff we'd just packed into the Astra to fit us all in. I drove.

  The route led along an ancient coach road that dissected the moors. The lights of the inn set back from the road punched a hole in the inky black sky.

  Smugglers Inn had to the spookiest pub in the whole of Devon. Choosing to come here to eat, after the incident regarding the attic, was probably the fourth worst decision I had ever made.

  Chapter 8

  20:18

  The car park at the Smugglers Inn was empty. It was out of season, you'd expect it to be quiet. I wondered if the place was even open? Although through the windows I could see lights were on inside. I knew of the pub by reputation only. People would tell me; oh you must go there. It's fascinating.

  So, here we were.