Dead Stock

by Rachel Ward

  Ant’s mouth formed a thin line. They walked in silence for a minute or so, following the path across the field, then Ant suddenly swore. ‘Jesus Christ, Bea, there’s someone over there. Look.’ He half ducked down, although there was nowhere to hide.

  ‘Where?’ said Bea.

  ‘The other side of that hedge. There’s someone bloody there.’

  Bea squinted over to where he was pointing. Ant was right. She could see a figure walking along the river path, his form clearly visible through the gaps in the sparse hedge. She recognised the outline, a bulky jacket, a folded up tripod carried on one shoulder with a strap.

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ she said. ‘He’s the guy who showed me the kingfisher the other day. His name’s Cliff.’

  ‘He’s okay, is he?’

  ‘Yeah. Knows so much stuff about nature, and he’s the one who told me about people being at the farm.’

  ‘Hmm. Okay.’

  ‘Jumpy, aren’t you?’ said Bea. ‘You sure you want to do this?’

  Ant bridled. ‘I’m fine.’

  They carried on walking, getting closer to the farm all the time. After a little while Ant said, ‘What was he like, Bea? Your dad?’

  Bea’s felt her face flush, and Ant suddenly looked mortified.

  ‘I’m sorry, mate,’ he said quickly. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. Hardly anyone ever talks about him.’ Her face softened as she thought about him. ‘He was great. He wasn’t a noisy sort of person, but he was really funny. Just the things he said. He’d always find the bright side of things. He worked in the factory, on maintenance. Just an ordinary sort of job, but he always had something to tell us at the end of the day. He liked his job, but he lived for the holidays. When the factory was closed, we had to go away – the beach; buckets and spades, ice cream, fish and chips. Sitting on a pier somewhere eating chips out of the wrapper. “Proper job”, that’s what he called it. I suppose he was just ordinary, but . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He was extraordinary to me. He was my hero, Ant. Still is.’

  Ant seemed to be blinking rapidly. Now it was Bea’s turn to worry.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘It’s not easy for you, is it? With your dad and everything.’

  Ant wiped his sleeve across both his eyes and sniffed hard. ‘The thing is, Bea, my dad’s great,’ he said quietly. ‘He always has been.’

  ‘That’s very loyal, Ant, but, well, he does nick things from people.’

  Ant shrugged. ‘That’s just his job. It’s what he does. I know it’s not nice, it’s not right, yeah? But people have insurance, don’t they?’

  ‘God, Ant. That’s not the point. Being broken into, it’s more than “not nice”, it’s devastating. It’s a violation of the place where people should feel safest.’

  ‘Yeah, I get that now. It’s what Ayesha said. Made me feel proper ashamed, even though it wasn’t me that did it.’

  ‘So you’ve never thought about it?’

  ‘Listen.’ Ant lowered his voice, even though there was no one around. ‘He took me with him a couple of times, when I was younger, till my mum found out. Then she went mental and it stopped.’

  ‘He took you with him?’ Bea could hardly believe her ears.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What was it . . .I mean, how did it . . .I mean, I don’t know what I mean. I don’t know where to start with that.’

  ‘What was it like? Exciting. Scary. And I felt proud. Felt like he didn’t think I was a little kid any more, you know? I liked the quiet. Before you do anything, you look and you listen. That stillness, the moment before anything happens, it was a buzz.’

  ‘He shouldn’t have done that, Ant.’

  ‘No, I know. But in a funny sort of way I’m glad he did.’

  They were nearly at the farm now. Although the light was slanting through the trees surrounding the cluster of buildings, Bea felt a shiver run down her spine.

  ‘I don’t like this place,’ she said.

  ‘Shh,’ said Ant. ‘Tie Goldie up and let’s go and look round properly.’

  Bea tethered Goldie to the gatepost again and they climbed over. As she followed Ant along the side of the buildings and into the yard she noticed that he was treading softly, his feet making no sound at all, while she was managing to find every frosty, crackly leaf and scrapy bit of gravel going. His ‘training’ was kicking in.

  They stood in the middle of the yard and looked around.

  ‘What now?’ said Bea.

  ‘Shh.’ Ant held his finger to his lips.

  They both heard the sound at the same time. It was high-pitched, a whining, mournful sort of noise. Bea looked sharply at Ant.

  ‘In there,’ she whispered, and pointed at the long, low building to their right.

  They tiptoed over. There was only one window in the wall facing the yard, and a tatty, but solid-looking door. Bea pressed her ear to the edge of the door and heard the noise again. Was somebody crying?

  They skirted round the wall. There was another window at one end. The bottom edge was nearly five feet above ground level. Ant looked around and then took a thin card out of his pocket. The blue and yellow pattern told Bea it was his Costsave Saver Card. He slid the card into the gap between the window and its frame and started moving it slowly and carefully along a section halfway up the window.

  ‘Dammit,’ he muttered, as the card seemed to stick. He tried again and Bea heard a metallic noise, something moving or giving. ‘Yup,’ said Ant. Now he used the plastic as a lever and the window started to open outwards.

  With the window open, the sound was louder. They could hear that it wasn’t a human cry.

  It was unmistakeably a cat.

  Ant stood on his tiptoes and peered in. ‘I can’t see it, but there’s a load of, like, compartments, with little walls. I reckon it’s in one of them. I’m going in.’

  ‘It’s quite high up,’ said Bea, doubtfully.

  But Ant meant business. He backed away from the wall, then took a curved, loping run up and leapt at the opening. Amazingly, his front half was through on his first attempt, leaving his bum and legs dangling in the fresh air.

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Bea grabbed his feet and pushed. ‘Brace your legs,’ she called. Ant straightened his knees, making his legs rigid, Bea shoved and he shot through the window and disappeared, leaving Bea standing outside listening to a crumpled sort of thud and a noise that sounded like, ‘Oof!’ as he hit the floor.

  She stretched up and tried to see what was going on. ‘You all right? Ant, mate, are you okay?’

  There was a sort of scuffle and then she could see the top of Ant’s head. ‘Yeah. Hold on a minute.’

  Bea started jumping on the spot, pogoing to get a better view. It was like an old-fashioned flickering film, or one of those flip-books where a series of pictures form a moving image. She saw Ant moving down the row of stalls, checking each one. Then he stopped, turned towards the window and gave her the thumbs up.

  ‘What?’ called Bea. She was breathless now, and her legs were complaining. She stopped jumping and waited, leaning her back against the wall. This part was in shadow, and she cooled down quickly after her exertions. She stared at the ground, concentrating on listening out for Ant. Then her eyes focused and she realised she was actually looking at something. A bit of rubbish, a receipt or something. She bent down and picked it up. There was handwriting on it, some numbers, but as she straightened up she heard Ant call her name. She stuffed the paper in her pocket, turned round and peered up at the window. A plastic box, with a wire door at one end was emerging through the window.

  ‘Bea! Grab this, will you? Have you got it?’

  She reached up and took hold of the sides of the box. ‘Yup, got it.’

  She felt the weight of it pass to her and she lifted it down carefully. The occupant was silent as the box was passed over, but when Bea looked through the wire door, it started to miaow pitifully and she could see two gr
een eyes looking back at her, set in a dish-like face and a mass of pure white fur.

  24

  ‘Bea! This is nice.’

  Even his voice on the end of a mobile phone caused mixed feelings with Bea, but there was no time to dwell on them. ‘Sorry to ring so early, Tom.’

  ‘It’s fine. Just stepped out of the shower actually. Only wearing a towel.’

  God, this is a mistake, thought Bea, trying to shove aside the not-entirely-unwelcome mental image of Tom’s bare torso.

  ‘Tom, I’ve found a cat,’ she said. ‘It’s injured. Should I bring it into the station?’

  ‘Hold on there, you found a cat. Where?’

  ‘At some farm buildings.’

  ‘So, why not knock on the door and tell them?’

  ‘There’s no farmhouse. No one lives there.’

  ‘O-kay,’ he said. ‘How bad are its injuries?’

  ‘Well, actually they look like they’re healing up.’

  ‘But it was in distress, right?’

  ‘Yes. No. It was miaowing.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘You found a cat that’s been hurt but is better now, and it was miaowing, so you brought it home.’ He started laughing rather mirthlessly. ‘Bea, you’ve basically stolen a cat. You’d better come down to the station and turn yourself in. I’ll get the handcuffs ready.’

  ‘I haven’t stolen it. I think it’s one of the missing ones.’

  ‘Why would you think that?’

  Should she drop Dean and Tank in it? She’d given Tom names before, including Dean’s, and it hadn’t ended well. Did she really have any evidence against them?

  ‘I saw someone carrying it a few days ago.’

  Tom sighed. ‘It was probably their cat.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Bea, stop. Okay? Stop it now. Take the cat back to where you found it and we’ll say no more about it.’

  ‘You don’t understand—’

  ‘No, and I don’t want to, because it might mean you’re in trouble.’

  ‘Is there a white cat on your missing list?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s loads of the bloody things now, but I haven’t worked on it for a couple of days. You’ll never believe this, but I’m actually on the bypass body case.’

  ‘Oh! Is it a case now? Have there been developments?’

  ‘Yes. Hang on, my towel’s going. Let me sort it out.’ There was a clunk as Tom put his phone down somewhere, and a little gap and then he was back. ‘That’s better. Too cold in my bedsit to go starkers.’

  He’s in a bedsit, noted Bea. So he really has moved out.

  ‘Yeah, guess what, Bea? You know I thought it was a night out gone wrong?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They found drugs in his system.’

  ‘Drugs?’

  ‘Ketamine, to be precise. The amount he had in him, he would have been off his head, apparently. Now, I’ve just got to find out where he got it. So, the cats are on the back burner for the time being.’

  ‘Oh. Okay, but can you at least check your list of the missing ones?’

  Another sigh. ‘The file’s at work, Bea.’

  ‘So, can you check it later and text me?’

  ‘I guess so. And you’ll take it back to where you found it, right?’

  ‘No, I can’t do that. I think I’d better get it checked out by the vet.’ A little bit of her died as she thought about another vet’s bill. She couldn’t ask Bob to cover this one.

  ‘Okay, you do that. If there even is a cat.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I mean,’ and she could hear the smile in his voice, imagine his freckly skin crinkling at the side of his mouth, ‘you don’t have to come up with excuses to ring me, Bea.’

  ‘There is a cat, Tom, and I need you to check that list. You won’t forget, will you?’

  ‘I won’t forget. And remember, you can ring me any time, Bea. Any time at all.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ he said. ‘And Bea?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Look after that pussy.’

  ‘Tom, you—’ too late, he’d rung off ‘—sleazeball.’ She looked at the cat in the carrier. ‘He is a bit sleazy, but I kind of like him. Is that wrong?’

  The cat blinked at her but said nothing back.

  Bea rang into the office to request a later start. She was expecting Anna to answer, but it was George herself. She listened as Bea explained her situation and Bea crossed her fingers as she waited for a response.

  ‘Your home’s turning into an animal refuge,’ said George. Her tone was light, rather than critical.

  ‘I know. And I don’t know anything about them,’ said Bea. ‘We’ve never even had a pet before. I’m so sorry, George. I don’t really know why this is happening to me – I’m just a magnet for waifs and strays at the moment. If I can start later, then I’m happy to work later too.’

  She could hear the clicking of a keyboard in the background.

  ‘I’m looking at the rota now. We should be fine for a couple of hours, if you can get here by eleven.’

  ‘That’s brilliant. Thank you so much.’

  ‘No problem. I know what it’s like,’ said George. ‘We’ve got two cats, a dog and a rabbit, as well as the kids. It gets pretty hectic.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Bea, and then, without really thinking blurted out, ‘How do you do all that and work full-time?’

  ‘I’ve got a very understanding wife,’ said George.

  ‘Ah,’ said Bea. ‘We could all do with one of them.’ She winced as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Had she overstepped the mark?

  George chuckled at the other end of the line. ‘I’m very lucky. See you at eleven, Bea.’

  It was a good twenty-minute walk to the vet’s surgery. By the time Bea got there, the cat carrier seemed to be weighing twice as much as when she’d set out.

  The cat had kept up a noisy commentary pretty much the whole way. Bea had rung the vet in advance and didn’t have long to wait when she got there. Her heart gave a twitch in her chest when the vet came out into the waiting area to call her in. It was Simon.

  ‘Miss Jordan?’

  ‘Yes, that’s me.’

  He frowned. ‘Do we know each other? I’ve seen you somewhere, haven’t I?’

  ‘Um, no, I don’t think so,’ said Bea. ‘At least, I’ve been here this week with my dog – the dog I’m looking after. I expect you’ve seen me here.’

  He seemed to accept her burbled explanation. ‘And this is . . .?’ He looked towards the cat carrier, inviting an introduction.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Bea. ‘That’s the thing. It’s not my cat. I found it.’

  His eyebrows lifted towards his hairline. ‘Come along in and let’s have a look.’

  The cat was somewhat grumpy. It refused to come out of the little door when Simon opened it, and gave his hand a good swipe when he reached in.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Bea, then wondered why she was apologising.

  Simon undid some plastic fittings along the side of the box, and lifted the top away from the bottom. There was nowhere for the cat to hide. He scooped it up and placed it on the examination table, and gave it the once-over, feeling all over its body, listening to its heart through a stethoscope, looking at its eyes, teeth and gums.

  ‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘it’s a boy, fairly elderly by the look of the teeth. There are some injuries to his shoulder and back legs, difficult to say how they were caused but they’re flesh wounds, several days old, I’d say, and healing up well. I’ll give him a shot of antibiotic to be on the safe side and then you can take him home.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Bea. ‘I don’t want to keep him. Like I said, he’s not mine.’

  ‘Then, you’ll need to contact the Cats and Dogs Home, see if they’ll take him.’

  ‘Right.’

  He’d given the injection before Bea had a chance to ask him how much it w
ould be. Perhaps she would save that conversation for the receptionist. Simon put the cat in the carrier and fixed the lid back on.

  ‘Where did you say you found him?’ he said.

  ‘I . . .um . . .didn’t.’

  Simon looked at her. ‘So, where . . .?’

  She wasn’t quick enough to think of a lie. ‘At the farm across the fields from the Manor Road allotments.’

  ‘Hmm, don’t think I know it,’ he said. Then, without missing a beat, ‘You know, I don’t like the look of the wound on his shoulder. Perhaps we’d better keep him here, after all.’

  There was something about the way he said it. Suddenly Bea knew she very much didn’t want to leave the cat there. She put her hand on the handle on the top of the case. ‘It’s okay. I won’t hand him into the Home for the time being. I’ll keep an eye on him at home.’

  ‘No, I think he should stay here.’ Simon’s hand was next to hers now, also trying to grip the handle. This was turning into a rather bizarre tug of war.

  ‘He’s coming with me,’ said Bea firmly, and yanked the carrier away from the vet. She headed swiftly for the door and was out and into the waiting area before he could stop her. Bea didn’t stop to settle up at reception, but kept on walking, out of the main door and down the street.

  Her heart was racing and she gathered the carrier into both arms and started to run. As she puffed her way towards home, she couldn’t help seeing herself as others might – a catnapper in mid-flight – but she didn’t care. She ran as far as she could, about two hundred metres as it turned out, and then slowed to a walk, gasping and wheezing.

  She checked behind her to see if she was being followed, then stopped to get her breath back, putting the carrier down on the pavement and leaning forward, hands on knees.

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ she said to the cat, who was peering out through the wire door, thoroughly disgruntled at the shaking up he’d just had, ‘but I’m not letting go of you until I do.’

  25

  ‘You’re joking, Bea, not another one!’

  Queenie’s accent became broader when she was agitated. Bea kind of wanted to imitate her, but perhaps now wasn’t the time.