by Guy Adams
‘Is that …?’ Fratfield’s eyes narrowed.
‘Who do you think it is? Thanks to your handling of this, my cover’s blown. Do you want me to clear up your mess?’
‘I’m perfectly capable of handling this on my own,’ Fratfield replied. ‘As I told you before, I don’t intend to become indebted to you.’
‘Fine.’ The rain began to fall again, the Bride turning to face the two men, her momentary indecision gone. Toby held the gun out, grip first, to Fratfield and tapped at his own forehead. ‘Then let’s get this done with. One shot and we can get on with more interesting things.’
Fratfield gritted his teeth, not comfortable with this thing ordering him around. ‘Fine,’ he said, snatching the gun. ‘I’d make yourself scarce if I were you, otherwise this might hurt.’
He pointed the gun towards Toby whose face suddenly changed. ‘Oh,’ he said, his voice normal again. ‘Hang on. I think there’s something in the barrel that shouldn’t be there.’
‘What?’ Fratfield’s face fell as the penny dropped and he turned the gun around to look at the barrel. Stuck in the end was a rolled-up piece of paper. He plucked it out. The curse.
‘Gotcha!’ said Toby. Then, in the voice he had used while pretending to be controlled by the other presence: ‘Never take anything from anybody. Remember?’
Fratfield turned the gun back towards Toby and pressed the trigger. It jammed.
‘Bad luck,’ Toby said, turning his back on the man and walking back to Tamar.
The Bride leapt from the ghost train, the mechanical skeleton clicking forward one last time, then, with a squeal of shearing metal, the whole thing came loose and tumbled forward.
Fratfield was staring at the Bride, at what was left of her face, revealed as the wind pulled her hair apart. She opened her mouth and a jet of brackish water sprayed out, hitting Fratfield in the eyes. He put up his hands, unaware of the skeleton’s head scything down until it hit him square-on. There was the crash of metal, the popping of light bulbs, the splitting of fibreglass and the crack of bone.
‘You hit me,’ said Tamar, staring at Toby.
‘Yes, sorry, I was trying to be convincing, you see, and I thought …’ She slapped him hard and he shut up.
‘You will not do it again. Stupid man.’
‘No.’
With an angry sigh, she hugged him. ‘I am glad you are not dead.’
The Bride stood up from the ruin of meat and bone that had been Bill Fratfield, looked at the two of them and, beneath her black hair, what was left of her lips turned into a smile. Then she was gone and the rain went with her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE END
a) Warwick Hospital, Lakin Road, Warwickshire
Fratfield cried out as a bolt of pain lanced through him. He sat up in his hospital bed, his hand moving to the dressed bullet wound in his abdomen.
‘Are you all right?’ asked the nurse who had been adjusting his drip.
‘No,’ Fratfield replied. ‘I …’ he couldn’t explain the pain. He caught the vague smell of candy floss and burned electrics. ‘There was something …’ One of his other selves, he realised. Something had happened to one of the duplicates.
‘I’m all right,’ he said, lying back down, the pain still crackling through his body.
‘Actually,’ said the nurse, her voice taking on a distinctly different tone, ‘you’re not. In fact you’ve made a right mess of things.’
‘Excuse me?’ it took Fratfield a few seconds to realise he was no longer talking to the nurse.
‘In fact, you’re about …’ the nurse inclined her head as if listening to something, ‘three minutes away from being surrounded by security officers. You’re blown. They’re coming for you.’
Fratfield made to get out of the bed but the drugs in his system and the pain from his wound threw his balance and he slid to the floor.
‘Not in a good state, are we?’ the nurse asked, tugging playfully at the plastic tubes that still connected Fratfield to the drip behind his bed. ‘Let’s be honest, you’re going nowhere. You’re trapped. You’re done.’
Fratfield tried to stand up but his head was swimming and he couldn’t get his thoughts straight.
‘Unless of course,’ the nurse said, squatting down next to him, ‘you’d like a bit of help? It’ll come at a price, naturally, but I imagine you’d rather pay it than face what Her Majesty’s Government has in store?’
Fratfield looked at her and knew that he was lost.
A few minutes later, the hospital ward was in chaos as a team of Rowlands’ men entered, pushing their way past complaining staff and into Fratfield’s room.
By then, of course, it was empty.
b) Section 37, Wood Green, London
August Shining put down the phone and settled back into his office chair.
‘Nothing?’ asked Toby.
‘He’s in the wind,’ admitted Shining. ‘Last seen approaching Dover. Anyone else and I’d hold out a chance of them picking him up at passport control, but not him. He’s too good. They found the owner of the car he stole dumped in a layby. One more dead body added to the list.’
‘It could have been more.’
‘Yes,’ Shining admitted, ‘it could have been. I’m afraid I can hardly look on this as our brightest day, though. We caught him as much by luck as judgement.’
Toby got up from his desk, moving slowly, still aching from his experiences of the last few days.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘at least we still have one of them.’
Shining nodded. ‘And that’s sent the powers that be into freefall. King has worked wonders backing up our story, but there are still those who refuse to believe we’ve caught a double agent as well as killing him and letting him escape.’
‘It does get confusing.’
‘Hello, boys.’ April entered in her usual excitable manner. ‘Just wondered if you wanted to pop out for lunch. I’m taking Tae-young and Jae-sung to an all-you-can-eat buffet before they have to fly home.’
‘Too much to do here, I’m afraid,’ said Shining, ‘but give them our best.’
‘Darling boy,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek, ‘I think you both already did that.’
She stood next to Toby. ‘And how is …?’ She pointed upstairs.
‘Fine,’ he said, smiling. ‘Actually, we’re going out tonight.’
‘A date!’ she screamed and then buried her face in his shoulder as if embarrassed by her outburst, something Toby knew she never could be.
‘We’re just going for a drink,’ he said. ‘It’s no big deal. It doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Nonsense,’ she said, ‘you never know what these things lead to.’
EPILOGUE
SIX MONTHS LATER
From the other side of Little Green, a driver beats his horn twice in quick succession. It echoes like a musical sting from a trumpet, bouncing around the buildings of Richmond. Toby Greene, a man who is doing his very best to appear relaxed, nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound.
‘A little on edge, old thing?’ asks the voice in his ear. ‘Do try not to scream in panic at every bit of traffic noise.’
‘It’s all right for you,’ Toby mutters, keeping his lips still and his voice only just loud enough for the small mic in his bow tie to pick up. ‘The worst thing that can go wrong for you this afternoon is that your sister embarrasses you. Again.’
August Shining leans back against the wrought-iron gate where he’s waiting and smiles. ‘True. Now get a move on or the whole thing’s blown.’
‘What do you think I’m trying to do?’ Toby replies, breaking into a run.
He glances at his watch. The clock is indeed ticking and he has only minutes left in which to pull this off. Failure, as is so often the way in his life these days, will mean the threat of a sound beating, maybe even death.
He breaks across the road, narrowly avoiding the path of a motorbike whose slipstream tugs at his jacket.
‘Careful,�
� says Shining. ‘That sounded too close for comfort.’
‘Yes, yes.’ Toby sighs, wondering if having his superior commenting on his every move isn’t a distraction too far. ‘You just be ready your end and let me worry about what I’m doing.’
Out of the corner of his eye he suddenly spots his target. The car is pulling past the train station and heading in his direction.
‘The car’s coming!’ he says.
‘Well, move then! You mustn’t let her see you!’
Toby darts through the door of a nearby pub. ‘A taste of Ireland’, it promises. Looking around, it only seems to offer a taste of sullen misery.
‘There ain’t a fucking dress code,’ says an old man sat by the door, eyeing up Toby’s suit as he works his way through an apple juice and vodka.
‘Obviously not,’ Toby replies, noting the old man’s combination of stained anorak and tracksuit bottoms.
He watches the car pull past the front of the pub, gives it a couple of seconds to make sure the traffic will have moved on a little way and then steps back out onto the street. He can see the car a short way in the distance. He hangs back a little, wanting to make sure he’s not spotted in the rear-view mirror.
‘OK,’ he says into the microphone, ‘I need a quicker route. I need to steer clear of the main road but somehow get ahead of them.’
‘Already on it,’ Shining replies. He’s scrolling through the maps app on his phone. ‘Right . . . You feeling fit?’
‘Just do it.’
‘Then get across the road.’
Toby runs between the traffic, following his superior’s instructions all the way.
‘The street you’re now on runs parallel with the main road,’ Shining tells him, ‘but when you get to the end you’re going to run into them again so you need to be a little more creative. You need to be heading north.’
‘North,’ Toby replies. ‘Great.’
He cuts into the central courtyard of a block of flats and looks around. No rear exit. ‘Creative,’ he sighs.
An old woman is manhandling her shopping through the pass-coded entrance door to the flats beyond. He tries to look casual – an almost impossible task given the suit he’s wearing
– coming up behind her and helping her lift the wheeled trolley through.
‘Thank you, dear,’ she says.
‘My pleasure,’ he replies. ‘I don’t suppose you live in one of the flats over there, do you?’ he asks pointing in the direction he needs to go.
‘Number 12a,’ she replies. ‘Just there.’ She points directly opposite them.
‘That’ll do,’ he replies. ‘I need a massive favour.’
‘Toby,’ Shining asks, sighing at the flurry of negotiation going on in his earpiece, ‘I hate to rush you . . .’
‘I’m on it!’ Toby replies.
‘Who are you talking to now?’ the old woman asks. ‘God?’
‘He would love to think so. Which way?’
She points along the poky entrance hall. ‘Bathroom’s at the back there. Second on the left.’
‘You’re a wonder,’ Toby replies, kissing her on her forehead.
‘Well,’ she shrugs, ‘when you’ve got to go . . .’
He dashes into the bathroom, relieved at the sight of the window that looks out over the road behind. He opens it and drags himself through. It’s tight, and there’s a moment when the latch catches on his belt, but with a little wriggling he manages to get through, hanging by his fingers from the sill. He’s looking out over the green. The car should now be approaching from his left. All he has to do is get ahead of it.
He drops to the ground, keeping his legs loose so that he rolls.
Brushing the dust from his suit as he runs, he crosses into the park and begins to sprint. The car will have to drive along the road he has just crossed, then turn the corner and drive up the far side. If he can just get to the far corner before the car does, he’ll cross the road before them.
‘I can see you!’ says Shining. ‘You’re going to make it. Keep running, they’re just behind you.’
Toby doesn’t bother to reply, saving his breath as he tries to move even faster. He risks one quick glance behind him and he can see the car moving along the road he just crossed. He just has to complete the diagonal before they turn the corner. He can see Shining now, beckoning to him from a few yards away. There’s a hedge at chest-height, bordering the edge of the green, but it’s dense and he vaults it, springing down on the other side in a shower of leaves and a pair of slightly scratched palms.
‘Made it!’ Shining laughs, beckoning for Toby to move ahead of him through the gate.
Toby notices the car turning onto the road just behind them. He walks ahead of Shining and past the ornately painted sign declaring the place to be the ‘Church of the Sacred Mind’. The curly letters that make up these words are surrounded by stylised pictures of brains.
‘I can’t believe you convinced us to use this place,’ he says, trying to catch his breath.
‘Nonsense, it’s perfect, a solid humanist ceremony and a cracking buffet lunch. As well as being a legally ordained minister and demonologist, Pleasance is a cracking cook.’
The car that Toby was avoiding pulls up in front of the building and April gets out.
‘See, darling?’ she says to the car’s other passenger, ‘I told you he wouldn’t be late.’
Tamar steps out and smiles at the man who is about to become her husband. ‘He does not dare,’ she says. ‘He knows I would kill him.’
‘Ah,’ Shining sighs, ‘young love.’
‘Here they are!’ shouts Pleasance Bellvue, minister of the Church of the Sacred Mind and occasional agent for Section 37. ‘Everything’s ready for you in the garden, my loves, you’ve a splendid turnout.’
She is a giant of a woman, six and a half foot of Jamaican descent. When she offers enthusiasm, the world can be in no doubt of the fact.
She takes Toby and Tamar’s hands and then wraps them both in a bear hug that leaves an already slightly breathless Toby feeling unconsciousness can only be seconds away.
‘Go through,’ Pleasance tells them, finally releasing them, ‘have a mingle. I’ve just got to turn the samosas over.’
Toby takes Tamar’s hand and they step out through a large pair of patio doors into the garden.
It’s a massive courtyard, its walls lined with ivy that has been threaded with fairy lights. Against the far wall, there is a small raised dais, surrounded by white drapes and sprinkled with petals. A banner above it reads ‘Tamar and Toby, The First Day Of The Rest Of Their Lives.’
‘There’s a thought,’ says Toby.
‘She puts my name in front,’ says Tamar, squeezing his hand. ‘She is a wise woman.’
As they step out, the small group of people gathered around a central buffet table turn and give an enthusiastic round of applause. Someone wolf whistles. Toby notices it’s Cassandra, who is wearing a dress that appears to have been constructed out of bomb-damaged net curtains.
‘You’re finally here, then,’ says a voice to Toby’s right. It’s his father, staying as close to the exit as possible. ‘Trust you to know so many mentals. I dread to think what your mother, God rest her soul, would have said.’
‘Congratulations?’ Toby suggests, before quickly changing the subject. Today was going to be a happy day, he was damned if he’d let it be otherwise. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘Aye, well, I was down anyway. Couldn’t miss this, could I? Never thought I’d see the day.’
‘Hello, Roger,’ says Tamar, taking his hand. ‘It is nice to see you again.’
Toby smiles. She’s a better liar than he is. When he’d first introduced them six weeks earlier, during a torturous weekend at his father’s cottage in Wales, he had suspected it had taken a considerable effort on her part not to break Roger Greene’s neck. He had found her several times hiding in the bathroom and pulling faces in the mirror.
‘Sure you don’t mind inhe
riting such a father-in-law?’ he had asked.
‘Death comes to us all in the end,’ she had replied with a smile.
‘Nice to see you, too,’ says Roger to Tamar, speaking slowly and loudly as if to an idiot. Toby has tried to explain that, however strangled her English occasionally sounds, she can understand him just fine. Roger is clearly not yet convinced. ‘I hope you know what you are doing? Not too late to back out you know . . .’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ says Toby.
‘You know what they say,’ Roger sighs. ‘Marry in haste . . .’
‘Before the baby arrives?’
Roger Greene turns to see the glamorous figure who has joined them and his eyes light up. Toby smiles, his father always has had an uncontrollable libido.
‘Well, hello,’ he purrs, making no attempt to hide his appreciation of the new arrival. ‘The afternoon’s looking up.’
‘Oh, you charmer,’ the new arrival replies.
‘Dad,’ says Toby, ‘this is—’ but a raised hand stops him.
‘Don’t spoil the surprise,’ insists Alasdair Forge, white witch and female impersonator. ‘I’m sure your father will find out in good time once we’ve got to know each other a little better.’
Alasdair puts his arm around Roger Greene and leads him towards the buffet table. He doesn’t attempt to stop the old man’s hand as it makes its slow way down his back before coming to rest on his left buttock.
‘I think your father will be angry,’ says Tamar.
‘Won’t he just? Don’t worry about it.’
‘I wasn’t.’ She kisses him on the cheek.
‘You sure you want to go through with this?’ Toby asks her. It is not the first time he’s asked the question.
‘I would not be here if I did not,’ she replies. ‘You are a good man and you make me laugh. I could do worse.’
‘So romantic. You didn’t mention your uncontrollable lust for me.’
She smiles at him. ‘See? You are always funny.’
