The Life and Second Life of Charlie Brackwood (The Brackwood Series Book 2) (12 page)

“A few weeks, maybe just over a month.”

“Have you met her?”

Lucy laughed nervously. “Why all the questions? You don’t have a thing for him, do you?”

I laughed and shook my head, embarrassed by her question. Lucy took the empty mug from my hands and placed it with hers in the sink in the kitchen.

“Well, I’m tired. I think I’ll go back to bed. It was nice having hot chocolate with you, Adam.”

“You too. I’ll stay here and keep watch.”

As I watched her leave I tried to put myself in her shoes in an attempt to find out what had caused the moment of passion I had witnessed earlier. I remembered the things she’d said about me as well as the shrine to me in her reading room. She loved me more than I’d realised when I was alive.

I thought about her husband lying in a hospital bed, his life hanging by a thread that was growing thinner by the day. Her relationship with him was rocky, and with his parents it was worse. Who exactly was the stranger snooping around Lucy’s house? Who would want to harm her?

I remembered Lucy’s comment about there being a bruise on my back when they found my body in the river. What if my death wasn’t an accident after all?

As I kept watch over Lucy, I wondered if perhaps the target wasn’t the doctor.

Perhaps it was Lucy all along.

Chapter Eleven

I woke up the next morning to the sound of cheerful chirping, a happy sound but with territorial intent. I didn’t know at what point I’d drifted off but when I looked at my watch it was almost seven o’clock. I immediately went to check on Lucy and found her twisted in the bedclothes, limbs limp and breathing heavy. It had been a warm night. She didn’t stir as I watched her and neither did Snoop. I guessed they had both had a restless time of it.

I decided to do something nice for her and remembered that the local shop stocked bagels as well as everyday items. The bagels were delivered fresh every day by a bakery in Skipton and, if you were early enough, you could usually grab a couple before the rush.

After a last gaze at her sleeping face, I made my way to the village shop that used to be my primary source of sweets as a child. As I walked I could hear seagulls flying above me, a reminder of the presence of the river close by. As the relentless and unforgiving water came into view I saw many men dotted along its banks, holding fishing rods and wearing looks of avid concentration.

I decided to walk in their direction, curious about what they’d managed to catch. As I walked I heard them talking.

“Hell fire, it’s too bloomin’ warm for these fish! They won’t feed in this temperature. Yer bait is as good as useless.”

“Ah, stop yer faffing. Yer swishing that rod about like yer ballroom dancin’ with it. If all the fish are gone, it’s cos you’ve scared ’em away.”

“Eh, I’ll ’ave you know, I have
never
been ballroom dancing.”

“Oh, aye? And I’d believe yer an’ all, ’cept yer rod tells a different story.”

They both chuckled good-naturedly.

I watched from afar as they were approached by someone who looked familiar. He was wearing a polo shirt, khaki shorts and sandals with red socks poking through. Before he even opened his mouth I recognised my father.

“Now then, lads, caught owt?”

“Nah, this dozy twonk thinks he’s Torvill and Dean.”

My father started to laugh.

“I think you’ll find Torvill and Dean were ice skaters not ballroom dancers,” the other man corrected.

My father and the first man raised their eyebrows at each other at this statement and an outbreak of elbow nudging ensued.

“Are you sure you’ve never been ballroom dancing?” the first man joked.

“‘Ave I ’eck, but I know the difference ’tween the two.”

I took some time to watch my father, becoming engrossed in his mannerisms and easy laughter. When I left them he was smiling. It was clear any troubles were far from his mind. I felt glad; I had observed enough of his pain in the afterlife.

I crossed the road to the local shop that had a billboard outside boasting about a local primary school and its recent Ofsted report. Once inside I didn’t hang about to hear the gossip that was the only form of entertainment here.

When I arrived back at the house Russ was just leaving.

“You’re here early,” he said.

“So are you.”

“Yeah, came to check on Lucy. Apparently the locks have been messed with so she spent the night in the treehouse.” He looked at me suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, came to check on Lucy… fancied a walk.”

“As long as you’re not thinking of working on the treehouse. It is Saturday after all.”

“Nah, I’m leaving soon. It’s the Folk Festival in Grassington today.”

“Ah, yeah, I might join you for that. I’ve heard they have some good ales there.”

“I’ll look for you.”

When I returned to the treehouse Lucy was awake. Still in her pyjamas, she sat on the balcony with Snoop.

“I didn’t expect you back. I thought you’d abandoned me.”

“Nah, I was just getting breakfast,” I said, holding up the bag I was carrying. “I’ve seen Russ on his way out.”

“How was he with you? I mean… he didn’t start anything, did he?”

“No, I told him I was just checking on you. I didn’t mention I’d stayed the night.”

Lucy sounded relieved. “Thank you. It’s just that he tends to jump to conclusions without finding out the truth about things.”

“I noticed. Has he always been so hot-headed?”

“Yes, even as a child. It’s one of his flaws, I’m afraid, but it also brings out the caring side in him.”

“I can see he cares about you very much.”

She almost looked guilty. “Yeah, he does.”

After our chat I excused myself and entered the kitchen. I emptied the contents of the bag and got busy preparing breakfast. As I cooked, I risked the occasional glance at Lucy through the glass doors leading on to the balcony. She looked out across the garden, her expression hard to read as always, and I wondered whether she was thinking about her husband, or Russ, or even me.

I found the tray in its usual location and used it to carry two plates and two glasses of orange juice out to the balcony.

“It’s so peaceful. I spend so much of my time up here yet I am always stunned by how quiet it is.”

“Charlie must’ve known you’d like the peace and quiet,” I said, setting the tray on the table.

“What’ve you made?” she asked excitedly.

“Bagels with smoked salmon and scrambled egg,” I stated proudly.

Lucy looked at me with a wide smile. “Did Russ tell you this was my favourite?”

“This is your favourite too?” I said, getting pleasure from the fact I’d made her happy.

“Are you kidding? I love it so much I only ever have it on special occasions.”

“Well, I hope we can call this a special occasion.”

“Of course.” She smiled shyly.

As we ate our breakfast and basked in the warmth of the sun's rays I began to wonder how she was feeling about the previous night’s events.

“Was there anything suspicious last night?” she asked.

“Not that I noticed. I did doze off but I’m a light sleeper. Any noise would’ve woken me up straight away.”

She nodded. “I don’t think I’m in any immediate danger. I know the intruder tampered with the locks but he didn’t get in, right?”

“I’d still change them if I were you, just in case,” I said as I reached for my orange juice.

“What do you think he was looking for?”

“I have no idea. A piece of sensitive information, perhaps? Jamie is a doctor, maybe he had something he didn’t want anyone else to see? Or it could just be your everyday, typical thief.” I took a sip of juice; it felt cold as it slid down my throat. “If I were you, I’d take a look in your husband’s study. See if you can find something that might be significant. If not, we can rule out my first theory.”

“Maybe,” she said thoughtfully.

After we’d said our goodbyes I left the treehouse and walked the two miles back to the cottage. On the way I saw banners had been erected in a neighbouring farmer’s field, painted with large red lettering:
Grassington Folk Festival 2015.

As I passed I saw that stalls had been set up too. Many of them contained bottles of amber liquid adorned with colourful labels and catchy names.

When I arrived at the cottage I headed straight for the shower, eager to wash the night’s sweat off my skin. I could taste the salt as it mingled with the water and ran down my face.

Once in Adam’s bedroom I chose a blue, fitted T-shirt and a pair of jeans. As I fastened them over Adam’s narrow hips I heard a burst of loud, male laughter and made my way over to the bedroom window. I could see a stream of people, laughing and high-spirited, making their way towards the folk festival. They were dressed in bright, summer clothing that revealed an array of pale skin tones as well as angry, red sunburn. Adam had olive skin, so I was lucky in that respect.

After ensuring the cottage was locked and secure, I joined the crowd. People had turned up in their hundreds and it was clear that there were more than just locals in attendance.

The clouds had now parted and the sun’s rays beamed down relentlessly. The scent of sun cream filled the humid air. I searched the crowd for Russ, but failed to detect his curly mop of hair in the mass of people.

There was a stage set up at the far end of the field with people gathered beneath it. Some of them were eating burgers or hog roast baps from the barbecue that was smoking nearby. All had bottles of beer in hand.

I made my way to the nearest beer tent and felt the temperature rise as I entered the canvas marquee. There were rows of people, young and old, queueing for a taste of the best ales. I sidestepped a man wearing a flat cap and a quilted vest, who was rolling a large cask down the centre of the aisle.

“’Scuse me,” he said repeatedly, “got me year’s supply ‘ere.”

The way he was dressed, and the fact that he was manhandling a heavy cask of ale at his age, aroused a few giggles from onlookers. I smiled to myself at the old man’s determination and moved further along in the queue.

As I waited I saw many families spending the day with their small children. The youngsters were wearing sun hats and their faces were brightly streaked with sunscreen to protect their freckled, sensitive skin. As I watched them play with their siblings my mind turned to thoughts of Timmy and I wondered what he was doing, whether he was missing me, and hoped that he was coping in my absence. It would be nice to take him to something like this. Everybody gathered together in the sun, a community coming together, all sharing the same interests. It was something all of the children who visited my treehouse in Heaven would enjoy.

“Can I help you, love?” The soft voice of the woman serving interrupted my thoughts.

“Do you have any non-alcoholic ales?”

“’Course we do”

“Could I have one alcoholic and one non-alcoholic, please?”

The woman smiled and nodded in a cheery manner despite the uncomfortable heat she would have to work in for most of the day.

My bottle had been opened for me but, with Russ in mind, I insisted the other was placed in a paper bag unopened. I shielded my eyes from the bright sunlight and made my way to the stage at the far end of the field. As I drew near, the folky sound of the group performing on-stage grew louder. There was a group of people to the right of the stage dressed in traditional folk clothing; they were dancing in a peculiar manner. I watched their smiling faces as they danced and linked arms with one another, accepting, calm and assuring. People of all ages and races had managed to come together without any hostility or aggression. The feeling of unity was familiar; it was something I felt frequently in the afterlife. I realised that on some occasions Heaven really could be felt on earth.

“There he is,” I heard someone to my right say.

I turned in the direction of the voice and saw Lucy jogging towards me. When she reached me she shoved a burger into my hand and winked at me. Her high spirits never failed to amaze me. She could be in danger, anybody could be a suspect, yet here she was, smiling and bobbing to the music. I opened my paper bag and handed its contents to Russ.

I turned back to Lucy. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d be coming.”

“No problem, I hate the stuff anyway,” she said, which of course I already knew. She was a cider girl through and through.

She took a bite of her burger and watched the band. I wondered if Russ had persuaded her to accompany him or if she had come of her own accord.

“They’re pretty good,” she said between mouthfuls.

I nodded. “I’ve been here a while, they play a pretty good set.”

“Well, I think they’re shite,” Russ interrupted. “There’s a reason this style of music died a death.”

Lucy laughed and shook her head at me. “Don’t worry, he’s a pop music kind of guy. He wouldn’t understand.”

“Hang on, what’s this?” Russ asked while reading the label on my bottle. “Non-alcoholic beer? You having a laugh?”

“No, I don’t drink… it’s… not good for me,” I admitted sheepishly.

Russ shook his head in disbelief and took a swig from his own bottle.

As time went by and the clouds rolled in, the crowd thinned out dramatically. Russ had consumed a lot of ale and his speech was beginning to slur slightly.

“So where’s the Mrs today?” Lucy asked.

“Ah… I din’t invite ’er,” Russ slurred.

“Why not? Surely this would be her thing? She loves stuff like this.”

“Nah, she’ll be givin’ a lesson t’day.”

“She’s a home tutor?” I asked.

“Yeah, she loves kids. Can’t see the appeal meself.’

“Well, I’m with her on this one and…” I turned away from Lucy as I saw a figure walk past us and disappear into the cabin of portaloos. His face was familiar.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I told the others before jogging after the man.

When I entered the cabin there was no sign of him. I heard a toilet flush as I turned on a tap. I held my hands under the warm water and waited, pretending that I was there for the same reason as he was. When he came out I studied him in the mirror. Just as before he was well dressed, with a leather jacket draped over one arm and his goatee preened to perfection. His large, hooded eyes met mine in the mirror. The last time I had seen this man was on a computer monitor as he destroyed the locks on Lucy’s home.