The Drowners

No book is written in isolation and this one is no exception. Many people have taken the time to answer my questions or shared their knowledge with me and I am deeply grateful.

Special thanks to Jackie for her continuing and astonishing range of information about both the probation service and the social conditions and changes of the 1980s.

Thank you to my publishers, Impress Books, who took a chance on
Death of the Elver Man
and have let me continue to roam through the Levels, causing mayhem.

Thanks to Judy for the tandem, to Jack for the custard, to Kath and Derek for the cauliflower soup and to all the readers who took the time to comment and review
Death of the Elver Man
. It is a wonderful feeling, knowing there are people out there who enjoyed the first book. I hope this one does not disappoint.

A big hello to Arnold and Rita who provided the perfect place to finish this book.

Many thanks to the media people who have given me the chance to discuss and present my work, especially Phil and Amy from Radio Tees and all at Southside Broadcasting and Siren FM. A special thanks, also, to Michelle, my wonderful proofreader.

It had been a fine evening, and Michael ‘Sticky Micky’ Franks was in a remarkably good mood considering he was several miles from home and there was no sign of anyone around to give him a lift. He stood on the doorstep of the pub peering hopefully out across the Somerset Levels for a few minutes, his swaying bulk steadied against the front wall, but the only light came from the pale moon glinting through the trees and after a short while he decided to just make his own way. Despite the late hour it was a mild night, the last of the day’s warmth radiating thinly from the tarmac of the road and a soft breeze rustling the leaves on the overhanging trees. Micky ambled along, humming to himself in a particularly tuneless fashion, his eyes flickering in and out of focus as his brain struggled to keep him upright and moving. At a bend in the road he hesitated, turning his head from side to side as he considered his options. The road was longer but had a better surface than the footpath which cut off to his left and disappeared across the Levels. He’d need to pick his way through the occasional boggy patch, and there were some
stretches where the nettles and brambles had grown over the path, but it was at least a mile shorter than the alternative and Micky wanted to get home. His head was buzzing and he knew from experience the buzzing would soon turn to an ache and then a pounding. In a rare flash of lucidity he cursed his weakness for ‘natch’ before hauling himself over the rickety stile and setting off down the narrow footpath. In his inebriated state he completely forgot this was the choice he made every time.

The air cooled rapidly as the night set in and wisps of mist began to form around his ankles as Micky toiled his way along. The moon was waning and there was only just enough light to make out the line of the footpath as it snaked through the water meadows and around the endless drainage ditches that bisected the land. He shivered, pulling his thin jacket around him as he wondered whether he might not have been better off on the main road. He might even have picked up a lift at some point. People were still friendly round about and would often stop for a lone pedestrian especially late at night. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder but the stile and the road were a long way behind him, already out of sight, and with a sigh he forged on.

He was past the old Roman brick works and heading for the bridge over Kings Sedgemoor when a flicker of light off to his left caught his attention. He stared into the darkness and was about to dismiss it as an illusion when he saw it again, a faint golden twinkling a little way off near a clump of willows. He hesitated but the mystery of the light won over his natural indolence and he changed direction, stepping carefully through the slightly muddy patches until he reached the edge of another rhyne, a wider channel cut through the peat and marsh to drain the land. The light danced before him enticingly as he stumbled along until he emerged from the undergrowth and found himself next to a small clearing, the flat black surface of the rhyne stretching away into the distance. The light flickered on the bank of the canal and next to it he saw what looked like his wallet, open on the ground.

He fumbled in his jacket pockets as he stepped forward, eyes fixed on the edge of the bank and the twenty pound note fluttering gently from the top of the worn leather. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a twenty and greed overcame caution as he knelt down and reached out to grab the money. As the light went out he felt hands grab him by the shoulders and he was hauled head first into the murky waters of the canal. The shock of the cold made him gasp and the water burned through him as it rushed into his lungs. He barely had time to struggle before losing consciousness, his last thought that it couldn’t have been his wallet because he’d left it on the kitchen table …

Alex flung herself up with a start, heart pounding and gasping for breath as she was blasted into wakefulness by an
unexpected
sound. After a moment she realized she was safe at home, in her own room, in her own bed and no-one was
chasing
her. Then she registered the noise echoing around the room, which sounded like Abba’s latest pop song being played at teeth-rattling volume. She snatched up the clock and peered at the luminous dial – it was three in the morning.

‘Oh bloody hell, what now?’ she muttered, switching on her lamp and swinging her legs out from the warmth of the covers. She flinched as her feet hit the uncarpeted floor and she gritted her teeth as she rummaged around for some socks and a jumper. It was almost the end of October and despite the lingering warmth of the late autumn sun the nights were getting cold in her house by the river. She opened the door and the noise got louder. Above her she heard Sue stirring, the crash of angry feet on the ceiling heralding her arrival at the top of the stairs.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Sue demanded, sticking her head over the banister, her fury at odds with the angelic face and flowing hair.

‘I was going to ask you the same thing,’ Alex retorted.

Sue picked her way down the stairs, moving with the delicacy of an indignant cat whilst Alex flung open the door to the back room. Impossibly the noise was even louder in there and they peered through the window seeking the source of the racket. On the far side of the river the Iron Beehive, a pub of ever-decreasing repute, was lit up by a dazzling array of flashing multi-coloured lights. Dark figures scurried back and forth, climbing on to a massive double-decker trailer where outsized Monopoly-themed models rocked and twirled in time to the music. They could hear the faint thumping of the diesel generator as the music paused for a blissful second and then started all over again.

‘God, is it that time of year again already,’ Alex groaned.

Sue stared out of the window and shook her head. ‘Will you please tell me what is going on? This is insane – is it even legal?’

Alex turned away from the window and walked back into the hallway, the noise level dropping slightly as they closed the door behind them.

‘Don’t you know?’ said Alex with a hint of waspish glee in her voice. ‘No one’s going to do anything about it, so there’s no point complaining. ’Tis Carnival.’

‘You could have warned me,’ said Sue the next morning as she hunched over her breakfast coffee.

Alex shrugged. ‘I wasn’t in town last year,’ she said. ‘I was out in that freezing cold cottage in the sticks. I had no idea there was a float at the Beehive and I guess I didn’t expect that.’ She gestured vaguely towards the back door.

‘No one in their right mind would expect that,’ muttered Sue. She was, by her own admission, not a morning person.

Privately, Alex was inclined to agree with her, but she was feeling pretty rough herself. She had not been sleeping well since the events of the last few months and had struggled to
get back to sleep even after the Abba festival ended at the Iron Beehive and a blissful silence fell over the town. She could feel the beginnings of a headache in her left temple and the light seemed unnaturally bright in the normally shady dining room. She rubbed at her eyes but that just made it worse so she ducked her head and tried sipping her coffee. Suddenly the room seemed to lurch to one side and she realized she was going to be sick. She pushed herself up from the table and dashed for the kitchen, just reaching the sink in time. Black dots danced in front of her eyes and she felt her whole body turn hot, then cold and then hot again. There was a hand on her shoulder and Sue bent over and ran the tap before lifting her upright and guiding her gently to a chair in the dining room.

‘I don’t want to seem unsympathetic,’ Sue said, ‘but you look bloody awful.’ She went back into the kitchen and returned with a damp towel and a glass of water.

‘Here, try sipping this.’ She wiped Alex’s neck and face with the towel and then stared at her, head to one side.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened,’ said Alex, trying to steady her hands. ‘Look, I’m shaking all over.’ She shook her head, trying to clear it but the room began to spin again and she leaned forwards, breathing deeply as she struggled for control over her wayward sense of balance.

‘You keep screwing up your eyes,’ said Sue. ‘Does the light seem too bright or something?’

Alex gave a tiny nod. Sue vanished into the kitchen and returned with another glass.

‘Roll your sleeves up,’ she ordered.

Alex stared at her sullenly. ‘What for?’

‘Just do as you’re told for once will you? Have you got a rash anywhere?’

Alex unbuttoned her sleeve and dragged at her jumper to reveal a scattering of small red blotches running up her arm from inside her elbow. She stared at them for a moment and blinked before looking up at her friend.

‘Well, what do you know,’ she said softly.

Sue grabbed her hand and pulled her arm out straight before rolling the glass across the inside of her elbow. The marks faded slightly but were still clearly visible.

‘I think you’ve got meningitis,’ she said. ‘I’m getting the doctor – you get back to bed now.’

Alex wriggled in the chair and managed to haul herself to her feet, swaying slightly as she hung on to the table.

‘Don’t be daft,’ she said. ‘Meningitis is what kids get. I can’t be ill today – I’m supposed to be starting my new job.’ She let go of the table, stepped towards the door and fell flat on her face. Sue leant over and hauled her into a sitting position, back propped up against the stairs.

‘I
so
hate Mondays,’ she muttered as she hurried to the telephone.

The doctor arrived with disturbing speed and checked Alex’s temperature and responses to light before helping Sue get her back upstairs.

‘It is meningitis,’ he said, ‘but relatively mild. I don’t want to take her into hospital unless I have to, but she must have someone here for the next few days. Monitor her temperature and keep an eye on the rash. If she starts to get a fever over about 101 call for an ambulance. She’ll probably need something for the headache. I’ll drop by in a couple of days but phone the surgery if you’ve any questions or worries.’ And he was gone.

Sue was left staring at the door as it closed behind him, a plastic forehead thermometer, a prescription for something she couldn’t decipher and a leaflet entitled, ‘Meningitis – don’t delay!’ in her hands.

‘Great,’ she muttered, ‘just wonderful. I could have done that without him.’ There was a stirring from the room above and she hurried upstairs to check on her friend.

Sue’s phone call to the Highpoint Probation Service offices caused total panic. Pauline, the chief administrator, took the call and relayed it upstairs to Garry, the senior probation
officer, immediately. Garry was straight on the phone to the head office, sending Pauline back down to close the front door and make sure there were no clients in the day centre.

‘Keep it calm, though,’ he said as she headed for the door. ‘We don’t want to start an unnecessary panic. Just keep the building clear until I can establish any quarantine protocols.’

‘Unnecessary panic,’ she muttered, scurrying down the stairs. ‘As if there’s such a thing as necessary panic.’

The door was wide open when she reached the ground floor and the first officers were milling around in front of the reception desk sharing stories about their weekends and wrangling over the week’s rota. Pauline pushed her way past and slammed the door just as the first clients reached the threshold.

‘Oi! What’s that for then?’ demanded an angry voice from outside. Pauline leaned against the window and called back. ‘Go home. Believe me, you’ll thank me later on.’

There was a pause and some shuffling of feet before several voices called out, ‘Is that all of ’un then? Can we all go?’

‘What about our day’s attendance? Is we gettin’ marked in, ’cos I got up right early to get here?’

There were murmurs of agreement and then the first voice said, ‘I need my bus fare. Can’t afford to go back without it. What about that?’

There was renewed knocking on the door and more raised voices, but Pauline shot the bolts home and glared at the group on the doorstep.

‘I said GO HOME. We’ll be in touch and everyone’ll get marked in for today. And you!’ She pointed at a young man with a Mohican haircut wearing a rather battered leather jacket. ‘Brian Morris, yes I’m talking to you. I’m sorry you can’t come in to get your bus fare, but I’ll make sure it’s refunded next time.’

‘Girt load of good that is,’ muttered Brian, turning away in disgust. ‘How’m I supposed to be gettin’ home then, eh?’

Pauline sighed heavily and double locked the door. At the desk the entire staff was staring at her.

‘Are we being held hostage or something?’ asked Lauren from the counter. ‘Only I’ve got a half day today on account of it being Dave’s birthday.’ She looked over the top, standing on her toes as she peered at her manager.

‘Don’t you start,’ said Pauline. ‘This is not my idea. We’ve had a call from Sue about Alex. Apparently she’s gone down with meningitis and Garry’s calling someone – haven’t a clue who – about some sort of quarantine protocol.’

The probation officers stared at one another nonplussed for a moment before Eddie Smart, a middle-aged,
middle-rank
and slightly rotund man hissed through his teeth and shook his head.

‘Meningitis – that’s nasty. Especially for young people. They had an outbreak in the school a couple of years ago and it was closed for weeks. Still, I’ve got a load of paperwork to do so I’m off to the splendid isolation of my office’. He grabbed his post from the reception desk and hurried off up the stairs, moving considerably faster than his bulk would suggest possible.

Margaret Lorde, immaculately turned out as ever, shrugged and picked up her black leather bag before making her way majestically to the first floor.

Pauline raised her eyebrows at the remaining officer, James ‘Gordon’ Bennett, who was left alone leaning nonchalantly on the counter.

‘Quarantine protocol?’ he said.

‘Don’t,’ snapped Pauline. ‘I have no idea what he’s up to. I’m just office staff and I do as I’m told.’ She glanced uneasily at the entrance and said, ‘Do you think we should put up a notice? There’ll be a whole crowd of clients any minute and I really don’t want to spend the day shouting through the door.’

Gordon grinned wickedly. ‘Perhaps a big red cross and the word PLAGUE,’ he suggested, ‘or maybe “Abandon hope all ye who enter”?’

Pauline laughed in spite of herself. ‘I think we should have that over the door anyway,’ she said as she whisked Lauren away back into the office.

Gordon frowned at the locked door, pursing his lips in thought before pulling the telephone over to the front of the desk and dialling. He drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited for a reply. When Sue finally answered she sounded uncharacteristically flustered.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked.

There was a pause as Sue identified him and then there was a heavy sigh down the phone.

‘Gordon, I haven’t a bloody clue. Alex just keeled over at breakfast and the doctor says she’s got meningitis – but “only mildly”, whatever that means. He rushed off before I could ask him anything and I don’t even know who he was. He was a duty doctor from somewhere and as far as I can see from his signature he’s called Dr Squiggle.’

Gordon pondered this for a moment.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘No spots, no headache, nothing. I’ve got to stay here though because I’m not supposed to leave Alex on her own. Not that I want to at the moment – she looks pretty awful to be honest.’

There was the sound of voices from the stairwell and the door to the office opened, the office staff trooping out to head up to the meeting room.

‘I’ve got to go,’ said Gordon. ‘I think Garry’s called one of his meetings. I’ll phone when it’s over but don’t worry about trying to get in to work. The door’s locked and we’re all inside away from any clients. Let me know if you need any shopping and I’ll get it later.’

He put the phone down and hurried after the last of the admin people, a lanky, glum woman called Alison who had been Alex’s assistant until a couple of weeks ago. He smiled at her encouragingly but she just stared back, the picture of self-pity.

‘I’m probably going to get it now,’ she said sulkily. ‘I’m the one who was working in her office and dealing with all her files.’ She sniffed, staring at him with pale watery eyes.

‘Oh, I’m sure it has a shorter incubation period than that,’ said Gordon untruthfully. Actually he realized he knew absolutely nothing about meningitis, except that it was a nasty illness and he really hoped it wasn’t very contagious.

In the meeting room there was a lot of shuffling around as people looked at one another suspiciously and tried to avoid direct physical contact whilst still appearing calm and in control. The only person who really carried it off
convincingly
was Lauren, who trotted over to her usual low chair and settled back to watch the big people panic. She hoped they wouldn’t be too long because in the rush she’d left her bag downstairs and there was particularly succulent
doughnut
inside. Lauren, for all her diminutive stature, had an extraordinary appetite and although it was barely ten o’clock she was already hungry.

Garry clapped his hands and tried to direct people to empty chairs.

‘Can we sit down please?’ he called over the buzz of conversation and the scraping of chairs being moved to slightly more isolated positions. ‘People, come on, leave the damn chairs where they are and settle down!’

Lauren leaned over towards Eddie in the seat next to her and murmured, ‘So how far do you reckon them meningitis germs can jump then?’

Eddie grinned as he looked around. ‘Most people seem to think about two, three feet. I reckon it’s too late if it’s catching anyway.’

Some semblance of order had fallen on the gathering and Garry stepped forward into the limelight, a serious figure
trying
to project leadership and stoicism in the face of adversity.