Tunnels 06 - Terminal by Roderick Gordon Page A

rules,’ she said, peering at Chester from under her red mane, which hung loosely in front of her face. This was a surprising new development because she usually took so much care over her appearance, but today was one of her designated ‘bad hair days’ as she called them.
    She’d informed her grandfather and Chester that as it was only the three of them in the cottage she wasn’t going to all the effort of washing her hair every morning. It was too much of a ‘hassle’, she said, because lugging hot water from the Aga all the way upstairs was such a chore, and there was no way she was prepared to take a cold bath. Besides – she’d gone on to tell them – as they were in the back of beyond and there was zero likelihood that anyone would drop in to see them, what was the point?
    Chester wasn’t sure whether to be flattered she was so relaxed in his company, or to be put out because she wasn’t making an effort for him.
    Stephanie returned the pieces to each end of the board, but not in their usual positions. ‘So, as we’re playing my game now, pretend all these are queens. Except, of course, for thetwo boring kings.’ She looked up at Chester. ‘Get ready for a trouncing, Chucky Boy.’
    ‘Well …’ he began, glancing back to his book left open on the armchair. He didn’t want to get into this, but was unable to come up with an excuse at such short notice.
    ‘Pull up a pew, and prepare to meet thy doom,’ Stephanie said, pointing at the chair opposite her. ‘You know, your face looks better,’ she said, as he was slow to do what she’d asked. ‘My moisturiser’s really helping.’
    ‘Yes, thank you for that,’ Chester said, touching his forehead where the small scabs were healing. His eczema had broken out all over his face and hands like never before. Old Wilkie suggested that it was more than likely to have been triggered by what he’d been through, but Chester preferred to tell himself it was because of the damp in the cottage. ‘I’m less of a freak show now,’ he said uncomfortably.
    Stephanie smiled. ‘You never w—’
    She was interrupted as the door from the kitchen swung open and Old Wilkie entered, with someone who appeared to be a soldier following closely behind. The man was wearing an SAS windproof smock with the hood up, which he now pulled back.
    ‘Parry!’ Chester burst out as he recognised the grey-bearded face and craggy features, and rushed over to him. ‘I had no idea you were here!’
    ‘Hello, lad, how are you?’ Parry said warmly, gripping Chester’s hand in both of his. ‘Sorry to have left you out here for so long.’
    ‘We thought you’d forgotten us,’ Stephanie said.
    Parry acknowledged her with a quick smile, then turned towards Chester again. ‘I came as soon as I had a chance.Things have been a bit chaotic to say the least.’ As Parry spoke, Chester took in his beige beret, noticing the winged dagger on the badge. ‘Yes,’ the old man said. ‘I’ve been helping the Regiment out. But, more importantly, tell me how you’ve been?’
    ‘Better, I suppose,’ Chester replied flatly.
    ‘Oooh, I must look such a mess,’ Stephanie mumbled as she began to tidy her hair, darting looks at the doorway where Parry had entered from in case someone else was about to come through.
    ‘Have you heard from anybody? From Will or Elliott? Or Drake?’ Chester asked. ‘Are they back?’
    Parry had taken out his satphone and now passed it from one hand to the other. ‘No, but it’s too early to give up hope on them yet. Who knows what they walked into when they arrived down there? Perhaps they got the job done, but met resistance on the way home,’ Parry answered in a measured way, although Chester caught the slight frown on his face before Stephanie butted in.
    ‘But how did you get here, Parry?’ she said. ‘We didn’t hear you arrive.’
    ‘By chopper,’ Parry replied. ‘It’s just about the only way to get around these days.’
    ‘So have we got