The Moth Man (Alex Hastings Series)

by Jennie Finch

  Cursing himself for a soft old fool, Tom had one last try.

  ‘Come on, I’ll take you to mine and you can sleep on the couch,’ he said. ‘Get some supper in you and you’ll feel better.’ It occurred to him this might be seen as a rather dubious proposition on the lad’s part. It also occurred to him that, although he had very little worth stealing he was opening his home to a total stranger. He would have been greatly encouraged had he known neither possibility occurred to Brian.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ada was surprised the first time Tom arrived at her gate with Brian Morris in tow. Brian cut a slightly hang-dog figure, though was much improved by a wash, some breakfast and the loan of a clean shirt. Tom nudged the lad through the gate past the dogs who were sniffing and giving suspicious growls.

  ‘Go on then,’ said Tom.

  Brian looked down at the ground, scuffing his feet in the dirt.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Sorry for what?’ asked Ada. ‘What’s all this then, Tom?’

  Brian sneaked a look at Ada before returning his gaze to the area around his feet.

  ‘Sorry ’bout all the trouble with Charlie and stuff,’ he managed. ‘Was me as found them bomb things in the bottle tip. Didn’t mean no harm, Mrs Mallory.’

  Ada stood looking at him for a moment, arms folded across her chest. Then she shook her head and sighed. He was so like her Kevin in many ways and he had some manners at least.

  ‘No real harm done,’ she said. ‘Apology accepted. Now, come in and we’ll have some tea.’

  Brian flashed a smile at her and his whole face suddenly seemed illuminated. Then he turned his head, sniffed and stepped off the dirt path, away from the open kitchen door.

  ‘Is that an Anglo-Nubian you got?’ he called excitedly, ignoring the dogs who hurried after him and threatened to snap at his heels.

  ‘Well, what do you know,’ said Tom softly. He followed Brian across to the enclosure where Pongo was trying to get his great head over the wire without getting a shock from the current.

  ‘Mind now!’ Tom called. ‘Is electric that fence. Give you a bit of a buzz.’

  Brian stopped just short of the wire and lifted his arm, holding his hand out so the goat could sniff at him. After a moment Brian reached forward and stroked Pongo gently on the nose.

  ‘Is a beauty,’ he said, turning to look at Tom with shining eyes.

  ‘Don’t you two be coming into my kitchen if you touch his head,’ called Ada. ‘You wash off under the tap first.’

  Brian grinned at Tom.

  ‘Stud goat?’ he asked.

  Tom found himself grinning back. ‘Reckon. Though he’s here on loan, doing a bit of land clearing. All Bob’s young ‘uns is his get, so Bob’s bought in a new stud. They fight something awful so Pongo had to go, poor old fella.’

  Brian nodded understandingly.

  ‘’Ent he a bit lonely, out here on his own?’ he asked. The goat was nudging at his shoulder and Brian obligingly resumed petting around the animal’s chin and ears.

  ‘You seem to know an inordinate amount about ’em,’ said Tom.

  Brian shrugged. ‘Was goats on the farm down at the Borstal I was at,’ he said. ‘Most kids, they won’t go near ‘um but I liked ‘um better’n the pigs. Got more brains than chickens and even horses. Enjoyed looking after the goats, I did. There was Alpines too but these is the best, I reckon. Give nicer milk too.’

  ‘You two want this tea or not?’ Ada called from the kitchen.

  ‘Come on, lad, don’t do to get her riled,’ said Tom and together they rinsed off and heading into the house.

  After the tea Brian headed back out to Pongo again, the dogs following him.

  ‘Seems a decent enough lad. Just needs a bit of a helping hand,’ commented Tom.

  Ada gave him a hard stare.

  ‘You’s planning something,’ she said. ‘Don’t you give me that innocent look neither. I know you, Tom Monarch and you is up to something.’

  Tom laughed, raising his hands in protest.

  ‘I’m as surprised as you,’ he mused. ‘Never thought to see a lad like him so struck with goats. Still, he’s got nowhere to go, nothing to do and he’s a sniff away from getting into real trouble. Next time he’s for the big prison and that’s going to finish him off. I was thinking, maybe he could stay with me for a bit and we could see if that probation officer could find him a place in the farm college. She done right by Kevin.’

  ‘What do you care ’bout some little hooligan boy from town?’ Ada asked. ‘You’s taking a big risk, letting him stay at yours.’

  Tom struggled to find the words to express himself. In truth, he wasn’t sure exactly why he felt the need to offer Brian a hand but, just as he couldn’t pick up a stray dog off the road and then abandon it again, he felt a responsibility for the boy. Tom had never had a child of his own and he was cut off from the rest of his family by the consequences of his marriage outside the tribe. In spite of his recent past and his numerous dubious business practices, Tom was a good man and he wanted to make a difference to someone.

  ‘Just seems like the right thing to do,’ he said with a shrug.

  Brian turned up with Tom each morning that week and after a couple of days the dogs stopped following him around, contenting themselves with lying in the shade, snapping at early season flies and watching as he worked around the little smallholding. Pongo had done sterling work on the rough scrubland to the left of Ada’s garden and Tom was eager to repeat the process on the other side.

  ‘Make all the difference, having an extra pair of hands,’ he said as they sat around the kitchen table eating the lunch Ada had prepared for them all. ‘If’n you can help with the digging we can maybe get the fence moved over and not have to get a second lot. Ada can keep an eye on Pongo while we does the building.’ Tom smiled at Brian over his cup of tea.

  ‘I can’t come tomorrow,’ said Brian. ‘I got to go an’ do something. I’m sorry,’ he said to Ada. ‘Just – is something I need to do.’

  Ada frowned at Tom before reaching out to touch Brian’s hand reassuringly.

  ‘You don’t need to be saying sorry all the time,’ she said firmly. ‘Is nice having you here but you don’t owe us nothing. You got your own life to lead. Don’t need to be hanging around all the time with us old ‘uns.’

  Brian turned bright red and almost spilled his tea in his confusion.

  ‘’Ent that,’ he said. ‘I really enjoys this. Feels as if I’m doing something, for a change. Is only, I got to finish off something afore I start anything new.’

  ‘Hope it ’ent nothing a bit dubious,’ commented Tom. ‘Wouldn’t want to be harbouring no fugitive, would we.’

  ‘What did you say that for?’ asked Ada crossly when Brian was back in the garden and out of earshot.

  ‘Well, what’s he got to finish off? All he ever done for years is get into trouble,’ Tom grumbled. ‘Still, I can take you into town tomorrow. Cast our votes and see if there’s anything worth having in the market. What you say?’

  ‘I don’t reckon I’m casting no vote,’ said Ada firmly. ‘Pack of thieves and liars, the lot of ’em. Don’t listen to us and don’t pay no mind soon as they’s voted back in. You ever see one of ’em down here in the winter storms? Bet they’s not even own a decent pair of wellies.’

  ‘If you’s on the list then you should vote,’ said Tom firmly. ‘Only way we can register any opinion and is more important then ever this time. You want this lot to think they done a decent job? I for one want to tell ’em they’s not.’

  He rose and went to Ada’s clock where the post was starting to mount up again. Flipping through the litter of paper, he pulled out a white card and held it up.

  ‘See, you got a voter’s number, right here. You come with me tomorrow into town.’ He began to shove the rest of the envelopes back out of sight when the return address on one caught his eye.

  ‘Ada,’ he said softly and held it out to her. ‘When
did this ’un arrive?’

  Ada took it from him, turning it over a couple of times in her large, rough hands.

  ‘Don’t recall,’ she said finally. Maybe couple of days ago.’

  They stood for a moment, both staring at the envelope before Tom sighed.

  ‘Better open it?’

  In silence Ada tore the top off the brown envelope, pulled out the letter and read it, before taking a couple of steps backwards.

  ‘Steady now,’ said Tom, seizing her arm and helping her into a chair.

  Ada held out the letter, her face frozen in disbelief as Tom read its contents.

  ‘Well,’ he said finally. ‘Seems you is now a rich woman. Even if they decided your Frank was guilty of – let me see now – “contributory negligence”, that’s still a good chunk of money. You got a bank account?’

  Ada shook her head.

  ‘What would I be doing with one of them?’ she asked scornfully.

  Tom flipped the letter over and waved the slip at the back towards her.

  ‘Need one now,’ he said. ‘Got to pay this into a bank account or something like it. Can’t expect the corner shop to cash this like they does yer widow’s pension.’ He squinted at the cheque, counting the figures again to make sure he’d got it right.

  ‘Reckon most of the shops in Westonzoyland don’t see six thousand pounds from one year’s end to the next.’

  Alex rose early on Thursday and hurried off to the polling station to cast her vote. The papers were full of speculation, last-minute opinion polls and quotes from the notable and the knowledgeable and according to some of them it was a forgone conclusion. According to others it was too close to call. So, she thought, as she marked the ballot paper and posted it in the metal box, no-one really knew.

  She was early in to work that morning too, carrying an unusually large bag over her shoulder. She waved towards Lauren and Pauline who were standing by the reception counter but did not stop to chat.

  ‘What’s up with her then?’ Lauren wondered as she watched her friend manoeuvre the heavy bag through the doors and hurry on towards her office.

  Pauline shrugged. ‘Who knows. I expect she’s trying to get all her preparation ready for the session this evening.’

  Lauren nodded, remembering it was the penultimate class in Alex’s Alcohol Education group. So far it seemed to have been a success, with only one of the participants falling foul of the law since attending and a drop in the number of tipsy clients propping up the desk in the day centre. Lauren knew Alex had some unorthodox ideas and Gordon had vetoed several of her more imaginative plans, but even so, the whole scheme had been well received and it seemed likely the magistrates would adopt it as a viable alternative to sentencing for the numerous alcohol-related incidents they faced every day.

  In the privacy of her office, Alex unpacked a portable television, a small tape recorder, two joysticks and a black plastic boxed keyboard bearing the logo ‘Commodore 64+’. The last items were her Christmas present to herself, a moment of total indulgence she had rarely regretted. Telling herself it was important to keep up with modern technology, she had started to use it as a word processor, only to find she needed a separate printer as neither of the machines at work would read the floppy disks she used. With a show of reluctance she put her educational aspirations to one side and dived joyously into the new and exciting world of video gaming.

  Most of the games involved hunting for treasure, exploring strange buildings or (her personal favourite) helping a small red ant avoid death at the claws of large purple scorpions. Several, however, did have an educational element to them. She had spent several happy evenings running a cartoon builder around some scaffolding whilst attempting increasingly complex mental arithmetic and was pleased to discover her grasp of the seven times table was greatly improved.

  Her focus today was on the racing game. The object was to drive a motorcycle at high speed around a racing circuit, preferably faster than both a real-life opponent and those controlled by the computer. Alex and Sue had once sat up late into the night steering and crashing their riders until they agreed they were far too intoxicated to drive. It had been a salutary experience and Alex hoped the young men who insisted they drove better after a drink or two would learn something from the game.

  There was, however, one drawback to her scheme. She needed them to experience what the difference between ‘sober’ and ‘a bit tipsy’ made to their ability to manoeuvre the little bikes, and that meant she had to defy Gordon. In the bottom of her filing cabinet was a case of beer and half a dozen water glasses. Each was marked to show how much beer comprised a unit (a surprisingly small amount). She also had a police-issue reusable breathalyzer to test the lads after each ‘crash’.

  All she needed was an empty office building so she could run the session without interruption and she had chosen the evening with care. On election night everyone would be eager to get home, to watch the shape of the next five years unfold through the miracle of television. Alex was prepared to contain her desire to see some politicians humiliated if it allowed her to run the class undisturbed.

  When the offices emptied, she moved her computer game and flip chart into the main room of the day centre, stowing the illicit beer and glasses in a box behind the corner table. As the class arrived she encouraged them to relax, chat and play a few games of pool, a welcome change from the serious approach she had maintained in the previous sessions. When she was sure they were all nicely loosened up she ran through a few of the key points from the earlier classes and was pleased to see they had all remembered at least some of the information.

  Most of them knew what a unit of alcohol was and could list the main side-effects of excessive drinking. They could cheerfully discuss liver damage and the possible damage to the brain, the impact of dehydration and the total lack of effective cures for a hangover. What was concerning her was their difficulty in linking all this to themselves and to real life. Most of them still maintained they could ‘manage’ an inordinate amount of alcohol and still function normally. For at least half of them this meant they thought they could drive quite safely after five or six pints. The evening she had planned was designed to disabuse them of this notion.

  The first round of ‘racing’ went fast as the class took to the game with juvenile enthusiasm. Even the sole middle-aged man in a suit, a drunk driver sentenced to the class by an enthusiastic magistrate, entered into the spirit of the competition. Before long there was a leader board marked up on the flip chart and everyone was clamouring for a second go. Alex let them all try a second run and, as they finished, handed each of them a single unit of beer by way of a ‘reward’. Several of the brighter lads eyed her suspiciously but the lure of a free drink was too much of a temptation and they all swigged their way through their glasses before embarking on a third set of races.

  The next lot of scores were not as good as the first two and when everyone had finished Alex handed round the reusable breathalyzer. Everyone was under the drink-drive limit but another drink pushed them over it, though no-one admitted to feeling any effect whatsoever. It was surprising how much difference the last two drinks made – surprising for them anyway. Half the players crashed their bikes and no-one finished even close to their original times.

  It was a rather sobering experience for all concerned, Alex thought as she packed up the computer, threw the bottles in a plastic bag for discrete disposal in the outside bins and rinsed out the glasses. Locking up behind her, she failed to notice one window was still lit on the upper floor. Heading off home through the empty car park, she forgot that Ricky, still slightly traumatised by the events of last week, had taken to parking his car in the old bike shed, out of sight (and hopefully range) of the main building. Hurrying through the back gate into a now deserted park, she didn’t feel Ricky’s angry eyes fixed on her retreating form.

  As soon as she was out of sight, Ricky hurried down the stairs, cancelled the alarm and began a search of the day centre. He
had been disturbed by the sounds from Alex’s class and stormed down the stairs to protest the interruption. At the door he had stopped, watching through the glass as a group of young men jostled and laughed, drinking beer and playing some stupid computer game. No wonder she seemed so popular with the clients, he thought. This was a disgrace – thoroughly unprofessional and probably verging on fraud. He wondered what Gordon would make of it but stopped as he remembered Gordon’s days as acting senior were about to come to an end.

  Ricky knew the new senior from his days at college and he knew exactly what she would make of the situation. All he needed was some evidence to back up his complaint. After ten minutes searching he found it in the form of a dirty beer glass that had rolled out of sight under the table. Coupled with the used breathalyzer tubes and Alex’s scorecard for the computer game which he found torn off and shoved into her bin he had more than enough. Satisfied by his evening’s work, he reset the alarm and headed off to catch the early election results. Ricky could wait for his revenge. In a few weeks someone with the right sort of attitude was going to take over and Alex and her little cabal were in for a nasty surprise.

  Thursday morning was fine and bright and Brian rose early, preparing tea and toast for Tom before they left the house.

  ‘Sure you don’t want a lift some place?’ Tom asked.

  Brian shook his head and waved as he set off across the marsh, hopping over the narrow rhynes and dodging the boggy places until he reached Langmead Drove, the ancient track cutting across the lowland towards the airfield. He knew it was foolish but he really had to try one last time with the metal detector. There was something good out there, he knew. Something waiting for him that would transform his life. Such was the lure of easy money and Brian could still not ignore its call.