The Shade of Hettie Daynes (10 page)

The fence behind them, they turned shoreward and scrambled up the banking. Rockets were sowing stars in the sky, and flashes were followed by bangs. As they stood, stamping their feet to loosen clods of mud, something moved in the dark between the trees. Bethan saw it first. ‘What the heck’s
that
?’ she croaked.

‘
What?
’ cried Rob. ‘
Where?
’ They were glancing wildly about them when a man’s voice called out, ‘Who’s there: what the
heck
do you kids think you’re playing at?’

They froze.

THIRTY-SEVEN

THE DRY PALLETS
at the base of the stack had got the bonfire off to a brisk start. Reginald Hopwood stepped back. Three volunteer stewards had spaced themselves at intervals round the stack. They were burly villagers, whose main job was to prevent anybody getting too close to the blaze, but they’d move swiftly to curb any outbreak of hooliganism.

Hopwood scanned the gathering till he located his son. Carl was taking snapshots of the fire with his mobi, watched by Nigel Stocks and Shaun Modley. The councillor stared at them till
Carl
looked across, then beckoned him. The sidekicks came too.

‘I need you to check out the reservoir,’ he told the trio.

‘Oh, Da–ad,’ protested Carl. ‘Not tonight. We’ll miss the fireworks, and besides nobody’ll bother with the res on Bonfire Night. They’re all
here
.’

His father looked at him. ‘
Are
they? Can you be sure about that?’

‘Well no, but . . .’

‘There you are then.’

Carl looked surly. ‘What
is
it about the res anyway, Dad? Why should
you
care if plonkers put themselves in danger? It isn’t fair, me and the lads were looking forward to watching the fireworks.’

The councillor’s features reddened. ‘The
lads
can please themselves,’ he spluttered. ‘They don’t live under my roof, eat my food. You
do
. Which means you do
exactly
as I tell you at all times. Is that clear?’

‘Y–yes, Dad.’ Carl hated looking a prat in front of his friends, but he’d always been scared of his father. He looked at Shaun and Nigel. ‘Coming?’

Shaun shuffled his feet, looked at the ground.
‘No
, I reckon I’ll stick around, mate, if that’s all right.’

Nigel nodded. ‘Yeah, me too. We’ll see you later, eh?’

‘Thanks a bunch,’ snarled Carl. ‘Good to have mates you can count on.’ He turned his back on the fire, slunk away. It’d be woe betide any kid he found near Wilton Water tonight.

THIRTY-EIGHT

‘WH . . . WHO IS
it?’ Bethan moved closer to her brother.

‘Dunno, Sis. Get ready to run.’

Rob snorted. ‘In
that
mud? No chance.’

‘It’s a man with glasses,’ whispered Alison.

Harry glanced at her. ‘Glasses – you
sure
?’ There was comfort in glasses; ghosts and monsters don’t wear them.

Alison nodded. ‘Look.’

The man came out of the trees. Fireglow reflected in the round lenses of his spectacles.

Rob laughed with relief. ‘It’s Steve,’ he said. ‘Steve Wood.’ He called out. ‘It’s OK, Mister
Wood
, it’s only us. We talked here a while back.’

The historian approached. He wasn’t smiling. ‘I know,’ he growled, ‘but that was tea time. You kids shouldn’t be here this late – what if I’d been a serial killer or something? What’re you doing, anyway?’

‘We came to check out the mill,’ said Harry. ‘The one you told us about.’

Wood nodded. ‘Hopwood Mill. It’s just along there, but it’s too dark to see much, and it’s highly dangerous to walk on that reservoir bed as you’ve just done. It drops off steeply into deep water.’

‘OK,’ said Rob. ‘We get the message, but we might as well have a quick look now we’re here.’

The historian sighed. ‘It’s easier to get in and out at the other end. I’ll show you. We pass the mill on the way.’

They followed Steve along the footpath. Flashes lit the sky.

Steve stopped, pointed. ‘There, see?’

They peered across the mud, saw lengths of crumbled wall, none more than a metre high.

‘Is that
it
?’ asked Harry. ‘No chimney, no roofs?’

Wood chuckled. ‘They didn’t leave the chimney up, lad, they re-used the stone. Took the roofs off as well. Yorkshire stone, expensive. It’s in the village, I’ll show you sometime. Come on.’

‘Can’t we just go down for a minute?’ asked Bethan.

Steve shook his head. ‘No way, young lady. I told you, it’s dangerous. Come back in daylight if you can dodge the workmen, but don’t come by yourself. And
don’t
tell anybody I suggested it or you’ll get me shot.’

At the west end of the reservoir was the dam wall, the overflow, the diggers and the dumpsters. This was where the work went on by day. There was a fence across the footpath, but this one was movable because the workmen had to come and go. Steve Wood lifted the tubular steel pole and bent one end of the fencing inward to make a narrow gap between it and the boundary wall. He ushered them through and swung the pole back into position.

‘Right,’ he said, sternly. ‘Off to the bonfire now, and remember what I said. No more night expeditions, OK?’

Rob nodded for all of them. ‘OK, Mister Wood.
Daylight
only, and
you
never said we could.’ He grinned. ‘In fact we’ve never heard of you.’

Steve smiled and nodded. ‘That’s about right, lad. G’night.’

THIRTY-NINE

CARL KICKED A
pebble off the bank, watched it plop in the mud. He had on his brand new Nikes.
There’s no way I’m wading through that in these
.

Trouble was, there were footprints. Loads of them. They showed up every time a firework exploded. It looked like a bunch of people had squelched through the goo. He could go back to the fire and report all quiet. He might even catch the fireworks, but tomorrow was Thursday. Thursdays, his dad had lunch at The Feathers. What if he took it into his head to check out the res? He was daft enough. He’d see the prints.
He’d
know Carl must’ve seen them too. Life at home would be even more dodgy than usual.

Muttering to himself, he sat down and unlaced his trainers. He’d roll up his jeans and go barefoot with the Nikes round his neck. ‘And I wouldn’t be you whoever you are, when I catch up with you,’ he hissed.

Rocket flashes showed Carl that nobody was in front of him. He rounded the fence, scrambled up the bank and tried wiping his feet on grass. This didn’t work. His socks would be plastered with stinky gloop.
Not my fault
, he thought.
Dad’s fault for being a screwed-up nutcase
.

With the Nikes back on, he started along the footpath.

He was pretty sure the intruders were long gone by now, and that was fine – he didn’t fancy tackling a bunch of kids without backup. But he wasn’t going to let his dad accuse him of not doing a thorough job.
I tracked ’em
, he’d say,
made sure they’d left
.

They hadn’t though, had they? He stopped, screwed up his eyes.
Somebody’s out there, by the mill, and he’s by himself
. He smiled.
Boy, is he going to pay for the hassle he’s put me through
.

At that moment, a brilliant flash lit the sky and Carl saw his intended target clearly. She was standing two metres above the mud, on nothing more solid than air.

FORTY

‘WELL
THAT
WAS
a big waste of time,’ grumbled Harry, staring moodily at the bonfire.

‘Yes it was,’ agreed his sister, examining her shoes in the firelight. ‘And look at the state of these trainers. Mum’ll go mad.’

‘Don’t be such miseries,’ said Alison. ‘We’re here before your mum,
and
we haven’t missed the fireworks. That’s what matters.’

‘ ’S all right for
you
,’ snarled Bethan. ‘Your mum won’t even look at your shoes, and if she does she won’t give a stuff. You’re lucky.’

‘We’re
all
lucky,’ put in Rob. ‘Carl’s not here.’

Harry’s eyes searched the crowd. ‘No he isn’t,
is
he? His dad is, and both cave trolls, but not his great pink self.’

‘Probably drowning some kittens,’ growled Rob, ‘or torturing a robin. You know how he likes a laugh.’

‘Ah,
there
you are!’ Christa approached, smiling. ‘Am I in time for the fireworks?’

Bethan nodded. ‘Yes, Mum, Councillor Hopwood’s getting the stewards together, they’re about to start.’

It was a brilliant display, same as every year. The village traders clubbed together to buy the fireworks and no expense was spared. It was the one occasion when all the people of Wilton came together, and it was safer than having kids messing with fireworks of their own.

The show had reached its usual climax – salvo after salvo of large costly rockets whooshing into the sky trailing clouds of glory, when Harry spotted Carl Hopwood. He was walking through the crowd like a zombie, staring straight ahead as if nothing at all was happening above. As Harry watched, the lad approached his father, tugged at his sleeve to get his attention and spoke, gesturing back the way he’d come. To Harry’s
horror
, the councillor shook his son off and fetched him a terrific clout across the side of the head, knocking him to the ground.