Rhos Meadow

by Lex Sinclair

  ‘Tony’s fine,’ she said in a monotone voice.

  Greg nodded, not believing Amy for one second. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘In bed... dead to the world,’ Amy managed.

  Icicles dropped into Greg’s veins freezing his blood and stopping his heart momentarily. The last words that dribbled from Amy’s slow-moving mouth had a profound effect.

  Probably true that’s why, he thought.

  ...dead to the world.

  ‘He’s not working today?’ Greg knew that Tony worked Monday to Friday nine till five and occasionally on Saturday mornings in the Meadow Garage around the rear of the Texaco filling station and Meadow Fish Bar & Restaurant.

  ‘No,’ Amy said.

  ‘Tell him I was asking ‘bout him. He can gimme a call this afternoon or this evening.’

  Amy stared through him like he didn’t even exist.

  ‘You tell him that, o-okay?’ Greg’s voice trembled as he spoke.

  ‘Okay,’ Amy drawled. Then she turned around again and trundled to the counter.

  Greg shuddered involuntarily.

  ***

  Bobbie and his wife, Abigail Hopkins decided to have their breakfast in the Meadow Fish Bar & Restaurant on Saturday morning. Both had withdrawn from the community slightly after Bobbie told Abigail about the night he and Greg had seen Tony digging up a corpse. Bobbie had chosen not to give Greg the cold shoulder ever since. He believed calling the local constabulary in spite of not having a corpse or Tony. But Greg had been recalcitrant in not supporting him.

  On Monday evening Greg had phoned the house and told Bobbie about the incident in the Texaco garage shop. Bobbie listened and silently admitted to himself that it was nice to hear Greg’s familiar voice again. However, when it mattered Greg hadn’t been interested in doing anything. Now he was calling to tell Bobbie with the same alacrity that Bobbie had hastily told him.

  ‘Perhaps they’ve come down with something, like a virus,’ Bobbie had said.

  Greg concurred. Then he went on about how it might be something more serious than that. If Bobbie had seen Amy “looking like shit” a couple of months ago and Greg had seen her at the beginning of the week looking like she’d been barely surviving on scraps she was so thin, then something was definitely amiss.

  ‘If it’s that bad they should’ve gone to the doctor’s or the hospital,’ Greg had said.

  ‘Perhaps they did,’ Bobbie replied. ‘Anything else?’

  Understanding Bobbie’s opinion, Greg said, ‘I’m sorry I didn’t agree with going to the police. I just thought you mighta been interested, that’s all.’

  ‘Yeah, it is interesting,’ Bobbie had said. ‘But even if Amy walked into the shop gnawing on Tony’s right arm, you wouldn’t do anything ‘bout it. So what does it matter?’

  ‘That’s not fair. I just didn’t want to call the police with nothing but empty holes in the ground on private property.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothin’ I can do about it, I’m afraid,’ Bobbie had said, sad. ‘You take care of yourself, Greg. Nice hearin’ from you.’ And with that he hung up.

  Caroline strolled over to their booth next to the window, notepad in hand ready to take their order. Abigail queried how she was and a few other obligatory questions. Then she ordered a hot chocolate and two slices of buttered toast.

  ‘I’ll have an orange juice and a jammy doughnut, please,’ Bobbie said.

  Caroline jotted the orders down, finding it arduous not keep glimpsing Bobbie. She had a little girl’s crush on him. She’d loved to be married to someone as benevolent and decent as Bobbie. Most men she dated were either pretentiously nice or plain ignorant. Bobbie however, opened doors for his wife and made pleasant chit-chit about the weather. Also, he never gawked at her fully developed breasts or her perky arse swish-swishing beneath the red skirt out of sight from her tawny smooth legs.

  ‘Anything else?’

  No thank you,’ Bobbie said.

  When Caroline had gone to the next booth to take another order Abigail said, ‘Are you still not talking to Greg?’

  ‘I’ll talk to him, Ab. It’s just I see no point going over old ground. If Tony and Amy are unwell, that’s sad to hear. Still doesn’t change what we both saw on that night and how one of us was unwilling to do anything ‘bout it. It’s a bit late now.’

  ‘But you are talkin to him, yes?’

  ‘Yes. Why what’s it matter?’

  ‘Cause he just walked in,’ Abigail said, gazing over Bobbie’s shoulder at Greg.

  Greg crossed the red and white linoleum to the counter and propped himself up on the stool. The red upholstery yielded to his weight. The silver aluminium reflected the resplendent sunshine. He looked at the menu and then took in his surroundings. He met Abigail’s eyes and gave a curt nod.

  Abigail regarded Bobbie intently. ‘I know what he did was not supportive but just because he acted differently to you doesn’t mean he’s not your friend.’ With that she beckoned Greg to come hither.

  Bobbie sighed.

  Greg slid off the stool and walked towards them, albeit reluctantly.

  ‘All right, Bobbie?’

  Bobbie looked up. ‘How ya doing?’ he said with palpable effort.

  ‘Been better,’ Greg said. He paused. Then he said, ‘Say if you don’t want me to join you.’

  Bobbie contemplated his next words for a few seconds. ‘Nah, come and join us, if you want?’

  Greg nodded. ‘Yeah. That’d be nice.

  Abigail slid over. Greg accepted the invitation and lowered himself.

  Abigail could see the two men were lost for words and the ambience was starting to become uncomfortable. ‘Neither of you were wrong,’ she said. ‘You both had good reason for making those decisions on that night. But what’s done is done, let fun be fun.’

  Greg smiled. ‘I like that aphorism. “What’s done is done, let fun be fun”.’ He reached over the table with an open hand. ‘Truce?’

  Bobbie took his hand in his. ‘Truce.’

  Greg opened up and told them about how he’d been up early this morning mowing the lawn, making himself a bowl of Rice Krispies and then taken the Raleigh mountain bike out of the shed and cycling over to the Gillespie place and purchased fresh eggs and two chickens.

  Atop the mountainside the seven new wind turbines rotated monotonously.

  ‘Guess the protest of not wanting a wind farm got ignored,’ Greg said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Abigail said, dreading the awkward silences.

  Caroline returned with Abigail’s two slices of buttered toast on one plate and a jammy doughnut sprinkled in sugar on another for Bobbie. She disappeared again and returned five minutes later with a steaming mug of hot chocolate for Abigail and a tall glass of ice cold orange juice for Bobbie. Greg ordered a coffee and two pancakes.

  ‘Seen Amy or Tony since the last time we spoke?’ Bobbie asked when Caroline had gone again.

  Greg shook his head.

  ‘Are you both absolutely sure you saw Tony...’ Abigail trailed off.

  ‘Yes,’ both men said in unison.

  Abigail took a tentative sip of her drink. Then said, ‘I believe you ‘n everything. It’s just I can’t get my head round Tony doing such a thing. As Bobbie said, the only way he could’ve known where the body was would be if...’ she trailed off again.

  Bobbie bit into his doughnut, savouring the taste of soft bread, sugar and jam oozing into his mouth. He chewed it with appreciation, wiped his mouth clean with the provided napkin. ‘I think Tony panicked when he saw us and either hid the body elsewhere or rushed home and in a panic confessed to Amy. Hence why she looks like death warmed over. She can probably feel her soul perishing everyday she stays silent.’

  ‘Greg, I don’t mean to be rude - but perhaps you s
hould’ve gone to the police.’

  Greg threw his hands up in an I-don’t-know gesture.

  ‘I sort of understand your point,’ Bobbie said to Greg. ‘But what we saw is what we saw. I like Tony. But if - and when I say if, I mean probably - he killed that person lying in the ground then he needs to be apprehended; plain and simple.’

  Greg nodded. ‘I know. But I got cold feet. I couldn’t help thinking what would happen if they didn’t believe us. What’d happen to us then?’

  ‘Why don’t you both go and see Tony at his house? Abigail said. ‘You can say you haven’t seen him for a while - which you haven’t - and just thought you’d drop by out of courtesy.’

  Greg noticed Bobbie’s eyebrows lifting at the mention of knocking on Tony’s front door.

  ‘Bobbie!’ Abigail hissed, scolding him for pulling a face at her prudent suggestion.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Either do as I suggested or stop talkin’ bout such macabre things all the time, both of you.’

  ***

  Tony’s blue-grey stone house with black trellis’ and a gable-roof stood at the corner of the street appeared Stygian in the shade of the sycamore tree and hedgerow circling the property. Amy’s parents’ had passed away at a fairly young age leaving everything to their only offspring. Rhos Meadow was an affluent small town. No more so than Tony and Amy who had two cars in the double garage and no food in the fridge.

  Bobbie brought the Ford pick-up truck to a halt on the corner on the opposite side of the road, applied the handbrake and left the engine running.

  ‘Are we still gonna go through with this? Greg asked in a shaky voice.

  Bobbie nodded. ‘I think so.’ He killed the motor. ‘We’re not doing anything wrong. But if Amy or Tony answer the door and look like death warmed over and invite us in we politely decline. I don’t wanna catch whatever they’ve got.’

  ‘Are ya gonna ask Tony ‘bout the last time we saw him in?’

  ‘We’ll see how things go. I’d prefer to mention it by way of conversation. But it depends on the situation.’

  Bobbie removed his seat belt. Then he looked at Greg. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Guess,’ Greg muttered.

  They got out of the truck and crossed the street. The wrought iron gate protested on its hinges as they opened it and headed down the short gravel path to the big sturdy brown door. Bobbie thumped the brass knocker and shivered involuntarily at the reverberation.

  ‘Christ. It’s like something out of a Peter Cushing Hammer film,’ Greg whispered.

  Bobbie snorted laughter and shook his head simultaneously.

  No answer.

  ‘Oh well, we tried,’ Greg said, ready to head back to the truck.

  He froze at the sound of Bobbie whacking the brass knocker on the door four times, hard.

  The latch made an audible click.

  Shocked, Bobbie regarded Greg, concern masking his visage.

  Then, using just his fingers, he pushed the heavy door. It opened slowly, emitting an eerie creaking as it moved back on its hinges.

  The fear of the frosty night hiding in the woods watching Tony digging up a corpse ignited itself inside Greg, who stuffed his trembling hands deep into his trouser pockets. Dizziness assailed him. He concentrated on his inhaling and exhaling as he took backward steps towards the gate.

  Bobbie peered into the vestibule and shouted, ‘Hello? Amy? Tony? Anyone home? It’s Bobbie Hopkins and Greg Zane! Hello! HELLO!’

  No answer.

  ‘Right, we definitely tried. Let’s go,’ Greg said sounding like a timid young boy lost in perpetual darkness.

  Bobbie stood on the threshold, contemplating his next move. What he did next would be paramount. His conscience was at conflict with himself. His head advised him to follow Greg down the gravel path, get back into his truck and forget about everything that had happened. His heart and his devotion to a good, loyal friend (who may be a murderer), advised him to keep calling out and venture inside to make absolute certain his friend and his wife were okay. They might be so sick that they required medical attention. The only way he would know this was if he crossed the threshold and took a look-see.

  ‘What if it was you?’ Bobbie asked Greg. ‘What if it was you and you needed help?’

  Greg closed his eyes in despair. ‘Don’t play on my heart strings, man.’

  ‘You go if you want but I’m doing what’s right. There’s no point hanging ‘round if all you’re ever gonna do is run and hide, Greg. I’m scared too, you know. But I also give a shit ‘bout people like Tony who does my MOT every year twenty quid cheaper than anyone else, ‘cause we’re mates.’

  Gritting his teeth in vexation, Greg strode forwards and stopped when he got to Bobbie. ‘If anything bad happens to me though, I’m gonna blame you personally, got it?’

  ‘Stay behind me and watch my back,’ Bobbie said, silently glad that he wouldn’t be going in alone.

  At Greg’s request Bobbie shouted out to Amy or Tony a couple more times to no avail. Then, tentatively, they entered Tony and Amy’s luxurious domain.

  Before them stood the staircase leading to the first floor consisting of three rooms. Bobbie knew the one directly at the top of the staircase was the bathroom. He’d needed to use it the last time Tony had invited him over to watch Floyd Mayweather Jr fighting Britain’s own Ricky Hatton on Pay Per View. The other two rooms were the two bedrooms. On the ground floor a grand living room with an arched doorway carved out by a stone mason lay empty and quiet. The study door was left wide open and the room next to it was smaller sitting room. Down the expansive hallway stood the kitchen with an en suite conservatory.

  Together, Bobbie and Greg crept across the floorboards, cringing at the sounds of creaking timber yielded beneath their combine weight. Bobbie could hear Greg’s breath emanating like wind being blown through a whistle and feel the cold draught prickling the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. He felt like turning around and yelling, ‘Breath through your goddamn mouth!’

  The kitchen was vacant of people, save themselves.

  Greg exhaled with relief. His shoulders slumped.

  Bobbie shook his head inwardly. Then he crossed the kitchen and halted as passed the large porcelain sink. Dried red streaks had trickled down the rim and snaked towards the drain hole. The deep red hue was too dark to be that of tomatoes or ketchup.

  ‘Look at this!’ Bobbie hissed.

  Greg came over and took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Blood!’

  Bobbie nodded in concurrence.

  The conservatory was empty, as well.

  The only section of the house they hadn’t seen was upstairs.

  Greg used the doorstop to keep the front door wide open in the event something unforeseen and sinister befell them. He leaned against the wall in the vestibule rubbing his face with his hands.

  ‘C’mon,’ Bobbie said in a soft, melodic tone. ‘Just a quick look. You stay behind me at all times. If it’s anything as bad as before we just hightail it outta here. You got my word. We’ll get in the truck and report it to the police this time. Okay?’

  ‘Not really,’ Greg said.

  ‘I’ll open the doors and just glance round the corner and we’re done. I promise.’

  ‘It’s not right,’ Greg said. ‘Somethin’ bad has gone down here. The blood could be a coincidence if they were here. But they’re not.’

  ‘That’s why, out of courtesy, we take a look. Nothin’ more. Just doing our duty as two loyal, caring buddies.’

  Eventually Greg nodded.

  ‘C’mon then. The quicker we do this the quicker we can get outta here.’

  Bobbie called out at the top of his voice prior to ascending the stairs, to no avail.

  What they saw upstairs was two empty bedrooms and a b
athroom where a long trail of blood ran from the floor to the bathtub filled to the brim with chewed and hacked body parts and an assortment of shrunken innards.

  Bobbie had never heard a man scream before. And for some reason the screams that perforated his ears coming from Greg was somehow more terrifying than seeing Tony digging up a corpse on the meadow where the hydraulic fracturing drilling operation took place or the bathtub filled to the brim of body parts, external and internal.

  The screams would be perforating him in the valley of his eardrums perpetually...

  8.

  NOW

  January 2015

  PCSO Eric Leibert came to, groggily. He knuckled his eyes trying to rid himself of the blurriness and focus intently on the ceiling zooming in and out of focus. Sitting upright was extremely arduous. He felt like an old man. He managed to get himself up and startled at the sight of distraught looking woman seated on the other side of the table, breathing heavily.

  It took his mind to recollect the events leading to his sudden unconscious bout. Then he remembered all too well. His brow was soaked in sweat. His neatly pressed uniform had now been reduced to a crinkly outfit that clung to him like a second skin.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Diana asked, her voice reverberating down a long tunnel.

  Eric cleared his throat. ‘I’ve been better.’

  ‘While you were out I took a look for myself,’ Diana told him.

  ‘I thought I told you not to.’

  ‘Yeah, you did. But you were out for twenty minutes or so. I needed to know what it was that shocked you so much.’

  ‘You regret not listening and taking my advice now?’

  Diana nodded. ‘I nearly fainted on the spot, myself.’

  ‘I’ve seen some pretty gruesome things: crime scene photos, TV documentaries, that sorta thing. But nothing prepares you for seeing something like what’s in there for real,’ he said pointing over his shoulder at the door leading to the men’s restroom.

  ‘Listen, I know you’re not a hundred percent, but I need to find Tulisa. If anything happens to her my life will be over. I need your help. And it’s getting dark.’