professionals and after our conversation that afternoon I felt that with her involved I could, for now.
For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening I worked hard, focussed on my mountainous task. With appropriate care I packed and sealed and stacked and recorded. By the time my brain and body let me know they’d had enough it was dark out. I surveyed the fruits of my labour, compared it with the list of books, looked at what remained to be done and went to the pub for a meal and a cold beer not much happier than when I’d started and feeling more than a little overwhelmed by what was left to do.
*
I walked into the pub to find it much busier than on either of my previous two visits. But then it was the weekend. I ordered a pint at the bar without molestation. I caught sight of Pam looking in my direction. She nodded, etched a half-smile, but didn’t come over. She looked busy.
Standing alone further along the bar was someone else I knew. Seeing him gave me an idea. I moved along to stand next to him. We exchanged greetings. He mumbled something about being sorry about my aunt. I didn’t see the need to mention my uncle’s fate and add to his awkwardness. I wasn’t talking to him for sympathy.
‘You still working for Flashman?’
He said he was. Flashman was the builder who owned the big yard at the back of what was now my property. I told him something of the mystery surrounding my relatives’ disappearances. He listened. I asked him if he was in or around the yard about the end of the working day on Wednesday. If he had been, he might have seen something. He thought about it. Then shook his head.
‘Wednesday was a late finish. I didn’t get home till gone six. I took the van home ready for early start on Thursday. I didn’t go to the yard. Sorry.’
I thanked him and offered him a pint. He said he already had one in the wood.
‘I can ask the others with stuff in there if you like?’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Flashman sectioned the yard off a couple of months ago. He rents space in there for storage. You’ve seen the containers?’ I nodded that I had. ‘They’re not all his.’
That prompted my memory of the small hours when I’d seen a van and men in there loading something into the back of it. I’d gone back to sleep and forgotten all about it.
‘Who does he rent them to?’
‘A plumber’s got one in the far corner, the blue one; the yellow one nearest the fence is rented by some bloke from London. Keeps his weekend fishing gear and a jet ski for the kids in there. Bit of a wide boy by all accounts. Don’t see much of him this time of year.’
I was about to say that I’d seen someone in the yellow container early that morning but decided against it. I thanked him again and said I’d be glad if he asked the plumber for me.
I headed towards the restaurant area at the back of the pub. As I got to the dividing door it was pushed open and a couple of loud voices heralded the entrance of someone I really didn’t want to see.
The large fat frame of Darren Pike filled the doorway. He was talking over his shoulder. When he turned to see me in front of him his face twisted into a malevolent sneer. I would have liked to ignore him and just go through to the other bar but he had other ideas and as he was blocking my way there wasn’t much I could do about it.
Darren Pike was someone I’d known from school. He had the charm, the intellect and the appeal of Play-Doh. He’d been a bully then and he’d never grown out of it. He was older than me by three years, taller than me by six inches, heavier than me by at least thirty kilos, and stupider than me by a long way. He was also nasty and trouble. We’d grown up together in the same village, gone to the same schools and we had always naturally disliked each other.
I waited, hoping he might just pass me. I wasn’t in the mood. I was never in the mood for him.
He stood his ground and in my way. ‘Look who it is?’
I had
For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening I worked hard, focussed on my mountainous task. With appropriate care I packed and sealed and stacked and recorded. By the time my brain and body let me know they’d had enough it was dark out. I surveyed the fruits of my labour, compared it with the list of books, looked at what remained to be done and went to the pub for a meal and a cold beer not much happier than when I’d started and feeling more than a little overwhelmed by what was left to do.
*
I walked into the pub to find it much busier than on either of my previous two visits. But then it was the weekend. I ordered a pint at the bar without molestation. I caught sight of Pam looking in my direction. She nodded, etched a half-smile, but didn’t come over. She looked busy.
Standing alone further along the bar was someone else I knew. Seeing him gave me an idea. I moved along to stand next to him. We exchanged greetings. He mumbled something about being sorry about my aunt. I didn’t see the need to mention my uncle’s fate and add to his awkwardness. I wasn’t talking to him for sympathy.
‘You still working for Flashman?’
He said he was. Flashman was the builder who owned the big yard at the back of what was now my property. I told him something of the mystery surrounding my relatives’ disappearances. He listened. I asked him if he was in or around the yard about the end of the working day on Wednesday. If he had been, he might have seen something. He thought about it. Then shook his head.
‘Wednesday was a late finish. I didn’t get home till gone six. I took the van home ready for early start on Thursday. I didn’t go to the yard. Sorry.’
I thanked him and offered him a pint. He said he already had one in the wood.
‘I can ask the others with stuff in there if you like?’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Flashman sectioned the yard off a couple of months ago. He rents space in there for storage. You’ve seen the containers?’ I nodded that I had. ‘They’re not all his.’
That prompted my memory of the small hours when I’d seen a van and men in there loading something into the back of it. I’d gone back to sleep and forgotten all about it.
‘Who does he rent them to?’
‘A plumber’s got one in the far corner, the blue one; the yellow one nearest the fence is rented by some bloke from London. Keeps his weekend fishing gear and a jet ski for the kids in there. Bit of a wide boy by all accounts. Don’t see much of him this time of year.’
I was about to say that I’d seen someone in the yellow container early that morning but decided against it. I thanked him again and said I’d be glad if he asked the plumber for me.
I headed towards the restaurant area at the back of the pub. As I got to the dividing door it was pushed open and a couple of loud voices heralded the entrance of someone I really didn’t want to see.
The large fat frame of Darren Pike filled the doorway. He was talking over his shoulder. When he turned to see me in front of him his face twisted into a malevolent sneer. I would have liked to ignore him and just go through to the other bar but he had other ideas and as he was blocking my way there wasn’t much I could do about it.
Darren Pike was someone I’d known from school. He had the charm, the intellect and the appeal of Play-Doh. He’d been a bully then and he’d never grown out of it. He was older than me by three years, taller than me by six inches, heavier than me by at least thirty kilos, and stupider than me by a long way. He was also nasty and trouble. We’d grown up together in the same village, gone to the same schools and we had always naturally disliked each other.
I waited, hoping he might just pass me. I wasn’t in the mood. I was never in the mood for him.
He stood his ground and in my way. ‘Look who it is?’
I had
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