Pinprick (14 page)

He couldn’t help agree with her, but would it have the ending he wanted? He gazed at Jennifer, this intelligent woman who was a reincarnation of the person his sister had been. He was totally amazed by her.

“Let’s go get a drink Jen.”

Something twitched in his head and he glimpsed Johnny’s smiling face beside him. “You’re getting warmer Shane.”

Jennifer stood up and they left the bus shelter and headed for The Brantham Bull.

The village really was expanding. It was strange to see something so familiar next to something that looked out of place. The houses on one side of the road had always been there but what was once a vast empty field opposite was now part of New Brantham.

A horseshoe row of shops ran around the edge of the area, the buildings had obviously been designed to suit the countryside but they were too perfect. A thatched two storey building housed a butcher, baker and delicatessen. Gift shops with tat from the surrounding areas stood neighbour to tea rooms and an expensive designer hair salon which charged three times the amount of the other hairdressers in the village. He spotted the wine bar that Catherine had mentioned, with a few yuppies drinking wine and talking on their mobiles.

Shane was determined to keep his phone switched off until he took the train back to London. It had taken a lot of will power to shut himself off from his own life but he decided to take a break and be as difficult to contact as possible. His secretary was instructed to postpone everything until he contacted her. He told her he wouldn’t stay any longer than planned; besides, he was due to be in Scotland the following week to view some possible HHS sites.

If his breakdown was something to do with coming home then surely, when he left the next day, things would start to get better?

Yes, the sooner I leave here the better,
he thought as they left the new complex and onto more familiar territory.

He turned to Jennifer. “I thought your mum had said there was a new book shop around here somewhere?”

“Yeah, it’s near The Bull, look,” she pointed a finger at a white building with painted black wooden beams.

Green creeping ivy covered its walls and framed elaborate lettering, The Brantham Bull. The pub had extended considerably since Shane’s time, a large eating area sat in a conservatory, decorated so it complimented the main building. Next door, the old farm house that used to house Brantham’s House of Oddities had been transformed into a quaint little book shop. It too was covered in green creepers that obscured its name slightly. As they approached, the gold lettering became clearer and he read Dury’s the Bookseller.

“Dury’s! The bloody farmer?” he shouted in surprise.

“Yeah,” Jennifer laughed at his outburst, “that was what most other people’s reaction was when they just happily sold up all their land and turned their old family house into a bookshop.”

He couldn’t believe the ancestors of one of the oldest families in the village had given into progression.

“I bet they felt the full wrath of the village, going in league with the enemy.”

Jennifer smirked as they passed the window of the shop. The sign hanging on the glass said closed. Shane stopped dead in his tracks as a fluorescent orange poster caught his eye. Jennifer stopped too and arched her eyebrows in surprise.

“Isn’t he the writer of that comic you had?”

Shane nodded but still stared at the poster. ‘Mark Somerfield’s London Leaves 20th Anniversary Edition, Book Signing Event.’

Paranoia seeped into his mind as he felt more and more like everything around him was preordained. The book-signing was the next morning, before he was due to leave.

His gut instinct told him to just ignore the event and just go back to London. He tried to tell himself there would be other signings, but then he remembered that the author was a recluse who didn’t do many signings.

And now that he thought about it, he recalled reading an article in a newspaper a few years back, about how Somerfield had moved to the middle of nowhere in rural East Anglia, but here? Everything was too coincidental.

“That’s awesome then, you’ll have plenty of time to go to that before your train. At least if you go to a signing in a shitty little village you might get to talk to the man,” Jennifer said cheerfully.

Even though his instinct told him to run he had to admit she had a point.

“I’ll be there.”

The only familiar feature in the pub was the wishing well that stood to the left of the bar. The little wooden well had been treated and cleaned up since he first came in with his dad as a kid. He used to stare down into its dark depths morbidly wondering what it would be like to fall in. He ran his fingers over the old wood and fished out his wallet.

“You’re not going to throw money down are you?” Jennifer said surprised her uncle believed in wishing well magic.

Shane nodded.

“I’m sure the proceeds are given to some charitable organization, they always used to be.”

He didn’t have any coins in his wallet and he wasn’t going to throw paper money down there. He smirked as an idea crept into his head.

“Well I hope it takes plastic!” Shane said and Jennifer saw a blue credit card between his first and second finger. She gasped out aloud as he casually flicked the card into the well. Shane chuckled at her shocked expression but his laughter was instantly diminished when he realised he’d thrown his new, rather than defunct, credit card into the well.

“Shit it’s the wrong bloody card!” Shane said and held his breath as Jennifer tried to reach the card.

Jennifer burst out laughing.

Shane peered over the edge. It was a miracle! His card was suspended mid-air in the tattered remnants of an old spider’s web about two feet down below the metal safety grid.

“I-can’t-quiet-reach-it,” Jennifer stretched one arm down with her face turned up, “I need longer arms. Don’t want to knock it down.” She pulled her hand back through the metal grid and stood up.

Jennifer giggled as her gangly uncle bent over the edge of the well, one bony leg pointed out like a ballet dancer, to reach his card.

As his fingertips brushed a corner of the card he stared down the well. A sudden blast of putrid air erupted from the well like a belch that reminded him of rotting meat. and Shane’s stomach rolled and immediately released a burning torrent of bile. The stench clogged up his nostrils and made his eyes stream. He could even taste it. More and more stomach acid splashed over his lips as he retched into the depths.

A tiny light, just a pinprick, shone up from far down into the well. Even though the light was small it seemed as bright as a sun beam. It shot up into his eyes and seemed to ignite the tinnitus in his head.

A purple-tinged flashback;

“Come on.” One of his friends jumped over a low wall and everything fell into silence…

Hands on his shoulders hauled him backwards…

Shane sat on the floor of the pub drinking a pint of water. His niece and a stranger stared down at him. The man, who looked to be in his early fifties, offered him a hand. Shane accepted it and allowed the man to heave him to his feet. The man was taller than Shane’s six feet, and thick set. He had a ruddy complexion above a bushy brown beard. He was dressed in a three piece tweed suit, complete with silver fob watch.

“Thanks,” Shane muttered as he wiped perspiration from his face with a hand.

“My name’s Brian Dury and you must be Brantham’s celebrity” he said warmly, with a presence which reminded Shane of Brian Blessed.

My God
, thought Shane,
a villager that hasn’t scowled at me!

“Yes. I s’pose I am,” Shane began, “So you own the booksellers?”

“Yes indeed!” Brian Dury said jovially. “My pride and joy is that there shop!”

“Well, thanks for giving me a hand there,” Shane nodded in the direction of the wishing well. He placed the credit card he was still holding back in his wallet.

“Don’t mention it, lucky I was here having a sneaky ale. I’m about to open up for the afternoon. Would you care for some refreshments? I’m sure you could do with some more water and I’m positive young Jennifer here would love some of my daughter’s lemonade.” He smiled and winked at Jennifer.

Shane raised a quizzical eyebrow at Jennifer who smiled back with a hint of embarrassment.

The shop was bigger than he expected, the building had been opened up at the back and a large extension built. Shane pretended to listen as Dury explained about how all the furniture and shelves were made from materials sourced locally.

“We had to wait so long for these units to be made Morgan thought we’d never open…”

Shane nodded politely, and regretted taking Dury up on his offer of showing him the shop. The man could talk for England and he couldn’t get a word in edgeways. Jennifer vanished into the rows of books and left them to it. Shane was about to make an excuse to leave when a woman’s voice broke through his train of thought.

“Ah I thought I heard voices,” Shane turned to the owner of the voice, a petite young lady with long raven black hair. She had unusually pale skin that enhanced her dark almond-shaped eyes. She wore a black blouse and an ankle length skirt.

“Speak of the devil! This is my daughter Morgan,” Dury said introducing the woman with pride. Morgan moved to Dury’s side. “This is our local celebrity Shane Colbert.”

Morgan smiled showing perfect white teeth.

“Pleased to meet you at last Mr Colbert, I’ve heard so much about you,” she stepped forward offering her small hand. Shane shook her hand enjoying the touch of her smooth skin.

“I would say that I hope it’s all good, but seeing as I’m not the most popular person around here I doubt that’s the case.”

Her brow crinkled. “What a terrible ordeal you went through at your dear mother’s wake. It’s such a shame people can’t express their feelings in private.”

“Oh,” he said taken aback. “You were there?”

Morgan nodded. “Of course Mr Colbert. Your mother was a good woman.”

“That she was, that she was,” Dury said soberly beside her.

“Your mother was a good customer to us. Whenever there was a latest publication of a TV chef’s book she’d be in to snap it up,” she reminisced. “She was forever watching them on TV and recreating their recipes.”

Shane didn’t know this about his mother but it didn’t really come as a surprise.

“I think she used to carry a torch for Keith Floyd.”

Dury let out a booming laugh at that, whereas Morgan laughed gently and held a hand in front of her mouth.

“We all have our guilty pleasures Mr Colbert,” Morgan said and turned to her father as if awaiting instruction. Dury patted her on the back and mumbled quietly to her. Shane watched with disappointment as Morgan sped off out of the back of the shop.

Dury led Shane to set of leather chairs amongst the shelves and sat down.

“Catherine tells me you travel a lot?”

“Yes. I’ve been very fortunate.”

“It’s good to meet another man of the world,” Dury chuckled. “I’ve been all over myself. From Timbuktu to Alaska you name it I’ve been there. It all started with-” He launched into a long list of places he’d visited while Shane wondered if Morgan was going to come back.

“…after New Orleans we travelled up to-”

“There you are,” said Shane with ill-disguised relief as Jennifer appeared. He looked at his wristwatch. “Would you look at the time! We should go or your mum will wonder what’s happened to us.

“Before you go – do you like reading sci-fi?” Dury asked puffing out his moustache. “We’ve got a famous author Mark Somerfield coming in for a book signing tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I’m a big fan as it happens.”

“In that case you should come along and I’ll arrange for you to meet him afterwards.”

“Really?” Despite his earlier doubts, Shane felt like Christmas had come early.

“Yes. It’s no trouble. He’s a friend of mine.”

Shane left the shop with a spring in his step.

They had gone back into The Bull and this time stayed away from the wishing well. The barman gave Shane a disgusted look. Shane suggested that maybe a pipe or something had leaked into the well which could be what caused the smell. The barman not wanting to taint the reputation of his pub said he would get it sorted immediately.

Shane looked at the finger shaped bruise on his hand. It was proof he wasn’t mad and if he wasn’t mad… then what was happening to him? There was something going on here. The village held the answers and he was determined to uncover them. He decided that when he returned to London the next day he would look into hiring yet another investigator.

Jennifer had asked him something.

“Sorry Jen my mind was elsewhere.”

“Never mind. Is there anywhere else you want to see in the village before you go back tomorrow?”

“Now that you mention it, something tells me I should go to the Decoy Pond before I go back. It’s where me and Johnny-” Jennifer watched as Shane’s jaw dropped and he stared in horror over her shoulder. She felt the hairs on her arms stand rigid. Her skin crawled as the temperature in the room dropped rapidly. Fear stopped her from turning round.