by Steve Reeder
We sprinted hard for a hundred yards or so to put some distance between us, then lunged into the hedges and waited for him. There was nothing else to do really.
As he came alongside, looking a little worried about losing sight of his quarry, I took him with my best rugby tackle. Having surprise on my side I was up before him. I clouted him behind his head with my plastered arm. He went down but was up in a flash, blood dripping onto his collar.
We traded blows for several seconds and he was getting the better of me when Michele surprised us both by hitting him in the face with a length of two-by-four. He staggered and when he didn’t fall, she hit him again. This time he crumpled to the grass and didn’t move.
“Where the hell did you find that?” I asked between gasping for air.
“It was lying here in the hedge,” she answered, pointing behind her.
“Wish I had found it first. The bastard can punch.” My cheek was bleeding and there appeared to be a lump forming under my left eye.
“What are we going to do about the other one?” she asked. I noticed it had become “we” now. I was tempted to tell her go and clout him with the two-by-four.
“We could keep going, but I don’t know where this comes out, if anywhere. So I guess we go back and try to deal with his buddy before the rest arrive on the next train, which can’t be much more than ten minutes away now.”
Michele offered me the lump of wood, but I told her to keep it. I had spotted a rock just the right size. It fitted my hand like a cricket ball. Michele looked at me strangely.
“Hey. I use to be a pretty good cricket player back in school. I could hit the stumps from anywhere on the field.”
“And how long ago was that, old man?”
“ Less of the ‘old man’, girl. And I’ll have you know that men don’t get old till they’re fifty-five, whereas girls get old at forty.”
“Oh that’s nice, so I’m going to be old before you?” she asked disgustedly.
“Yeah. ‘ Fraid so honey, but don’t worry, I promise I won’t trade you in for a thirty-five-year-old.”
We were almost back at the platform at this stage. As it came in sight the second man saw us; surprise chased annoyance across his face. I helped Michele up onto the platform. He began walking towards us, contemptuously dismissing Michele and her impromptu staff.
I let him get within thirty feet of me then threw the rock. It scored a perfect hit catching him directly between his surprised eyes. He went down without a sound. An elderly woman stood at the entrance to the platform, looking at us with horror.
“Jealous ex-boyfriend,” Michele explained. “We just couldn’t get rid of him.”
“Yes, but …but you might have killed him!” she cried.
“Oh no. Bruce here is a professional cricket player. He knows just how hard to throw,” she said, managing not to sound sarcastic at all.
I glared at her and stormed through into the ticket hall.
“Where can I catch a taxi from?” I asked the bored station clerk. He shrugged and continued counting coins in the cash register.
“There are no taxis available at this station.” The old lady said, following us through. “You have to phone for one.”
“And how long do we wait?” I inquired of her.
“Oh. Not more than twenty minutes, perhaps more today though.”
“Really? What’s happening today?” Michele asked her.
“It’s the county cricket championships. You should go, they would like that,” she said kindly, ignoring my bleeding cheek and swelling eye.
“Are there any buses leaving town soon?” I asked.
“Not at this time, dear. There is a bus to Chelmsford at two thirty-five though.” We all looked at the clock on the station wall. It read twelve ten.
In the background I could hear the next train arriving. Michele looked at me helplessly.
“Look, missus, that fellow out there has three mean-looking friends arriving on that train, and they’re serious trouble for us. Please, if they ask you, tell them we took a taxi into town. Could you do that?” I asked.
“Well, yes - I suppose I could do that. Where will you be?”
“We’ll be in the ladies’ restrooms,” I replied.
“Both of you?” she asked, horrified.
“It’s an emergency, missus,” I said as Michele disappeared into the ladies’ loo. I just hoped they would leave the station before the train did. I was planning to be back on it when it did leave.
We heard the train pull in and there was the sound of angry voices. After a minute quiet returned. Had they gone, taken the decoy? There was only one way to find out.
I peered out of the doorway cautiously. There was one young woman standing on the platform yakking into a mobile phone. The lad I had laid low was gone, leaving only a small smear of drying blood to prove he had ever been there.
The young woman spotted me and glared at me, pointing at the “Ladies” sign angrily without interrupting her one-sided conversation. There appeared to be no one else around and the train was showing signs of being ready to leave. I motioned to Michele to stay where she was for a moment and strode over to the exit. The elderly woman stood hesitantly by the ticket booth.
“Oh, there you are. Your friends, and I use the word with some reservation, have left. They are going into town in the car that the one you threw a rock at came in.”
I smiled my thanks and fetching Michele dashed for the train as the conductor blew his whistle. Now I could only hope they would be fooled long enough for us to get to London, or some place that we could catch a train back to Kent from. But it was too much to hope for.
After a short and anxious wait we changed trains at Witham, without incident. I led Michele to a carriage with three other people in it, a couple and a single man, just in case.
Chapter 26
If I thought we were out of trouble, I was wrong again.
Our three fellow travellers were only going as far as the first stop, which was the ancient town of Hatfield Peverel, a small village just a few miles up the tracks.
The three departed with a disapproving look from the woman, who took exception to my battered face. Her husband gave Michele a lingering and envious look before being dragged out of the automatic doors. The third man gave us an apologetic shrug, muttered something about family gatherings and vanished through the closing doors. We were alone again.
I crossed over to the window on the platform side and studied all seven passengers boarding the train. None looked at all threatening. I relaxed and slipped my arm around Michele. “I think we’ve lost them, honey.”
But we hadn’t of course.
The next stop was a large town or city where forty or more people were waiting on the platform to board for London. I again did my best to review everyone getting on, but there were just too many. There were three that I should have seen but didn’t.
The big man from Knockhill entered by the door farthest from me and caught my attention as he had been told to. I stood up and looked involuntarily at him and missed Frank Brown and Ginger’s brother coming in the door at the other end of the carriage. Two teenagers tried to follow Brown into the carriage but he shoved them out again and they wisely withdrew.
Brown had a six-inch blade in his right hand; the brother took out an even longer one. Frank lunged at me with the knife, forcing me backwards. Ginger grabbed Michele as she tried to clamber over the seats away from them. He dragged her back behind Frank, one hand covering her mouth. The other held the blade to her throat.
“Checkmate, don’t you think, Simon?” He smiled that evil smile of his. “I’ll have the drawings now please, or Burt will cut your girl.”
“Let Michele go. Let her come to me and I’ll give you the bloody things,” I said. Frank shook his head and nodded to Burt. He drew his blade across Michele’s neck.
“No. Wait,” I cried.
Michele continued to struggle; a thin trickle of blood ran down her throat and b
etween her breasts.
“Next time he will cut somewhat deeper. Now let’s stop messing around. Give me the drawings.”
I immediately reached over to pick up the drawing, taking my eyes off them for a moment and didn’t see what happened next but I heard the connecting doors slam open and Burt grunted horribly. He fell away from Michele dropping the knife. Brown turned to see what was going on and the big guy swung his fist at me. I saw him coming this time and blocked the punch with my plastered arm, then hit him just below his Adam’s apple with the edge of my right hand. He went down gasping for air. It wasn’t the killer blow I had inadvertently used in Algeria but it would put him out of action for some time to come.
Michele had fled into the next carriage and Jethro stood in the doorway holding a bloody switchblade. Burt was slumped at Jethro’s feet, blood dribbling from his mouth.
“Hello, Simon me old china,” Jethro said.
Brown started for me, his blade held low in his hand. Jethro leaped at Brown but as he did so, Burt picked up his knife and slashed upwards, cutting Jethro viciously across the belly. Brown’s attention turned momentarily behind him and I grabbed his knife arm.
We struggled briefly until I had the knife from him. Before I could use it, Frank wrenched himself free and raced down the aisle to the far end of the carriage and through the connecting doors to the next carriage. I let him go. The big man had already fled.
Jethro was slumped onto one of the bench seats holding his stomach. Dark red was showing through the lighter red of his polo shirt, spreading rapidly.
Burt coughed twice, blood pouring from his open mouth, and then died.
I looked at Jethro. “I’ll be right back,” I said, going in search of my girl. I found her next door, looking shaken but ignoring the attempts of two middle-aged men trying to comfort her. We went back to Jethro, hoping no one would feel inclined to follow us. I dragged Burt into the toilet and shut the door on him.
Jethro had the drawings in his hands. He saw me watching him and smiled a rueful smile.
“Effing things must be worth a lot.” He offered the cardboard tube to Michele and said, “It’ll be Colchester station coming up soon. You’d better get your girl off and out the way. The coppers can’t help but want to take an interest in this lot.”
“What about you?” I asked.
“Oh, I’ll be right behind you, don’t you worry, old son. It’s just better that you aren’t seen with a bleeding man with another one dead not far away.”
The train was slowing as it approached Colchester. We would be in the station within the minute.
“Are you going to be all right, Jethro?” I asked.
“Well, a visit to a doctor won’t be amiss, but, yeah I’ll survive. You get going, Simon.”
The train drew to a stop. Michele stepped out and I turned to Jethro.
“Thanks. I owe you one,” I told him.
“And I’ll be around to collect one day, my friend. Now go.”
Clutching the drawing in her shaking hands, Michele led the way through the ticket hall wiping a smear of blood off her neck with a blood-splattered tissue. The ticket collector looked at her ticket.
“Changed your mind, did you, lov?”
“What?” Michele asked, looking confused.
“Your ticket is for London,” he said.
“Someone mentioned that you have a castle here and we thought we would stop and have a look,” I said, drawing his attention away from Michele, who still looked very upset.
I hurried Michele through to exit and away from the station. I didn’t want to be anywhere near the place when Jethro tried to leave with blood soaking through his shirt and into his white trousers. Michele’s top was beginning to look bloody too.
We walked quickly away from the station and up Head Street into the high street looking for the bus terminus. A patrolling traffic warden directed us up the hill for several hundred yards to find it. There was one coach seemingly ready to leave with its engine idling. The driver was standing by the door chatting to a fellow employee.
“How’s your Australian accent?” I asked Michele.
“Terrible. Why?”
“I’m probably being over cautious but I’d rather no one remembers any South Africans being here today.”
“My American accent’s not bad. Shall I be a Texan?”
“Nobody wants to be a Texan, honey, but all right. Wait here a second,” I told her, dashing across the road to a Marks & Spencer’s store. I came back two minutes later with a silk scarf, a baseball cap and some antiseptic cream.
We ducked out of sight in a stationery shop while I spread the cream on the cut to Michele’s neck, then she wrapped the scarf around her neck and hid her mane of blonde hair under the cap. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it was better than nothing. Michele’s hair was very noticeable and memorable too.
The driver was about to close the doors of the bus when we scrambled aboard.
“G’day, mate,” I said. “Two please.”
“Where to?” he asked. I hadn’t even thought to see where the coach was going.
“Ah, make it all the way, mate,” I said.
“Two for Ipswich Town,” he said. “That’ll be thirty-two quid please.”
He handed me a handful of change and asked. “What happened to your face?”
I grinned as best I could and jerked a thumb at Michele. “Her ex took exception to me.” He nodded sympathetically and said something about the price of love. We sat at the back behind two German women who never stopped talking to each other.
“Where on Earth is Ipswich?” Michele asked, rubbing absently at her neck which was beginning to sting.
“It’s up north from here near the channel coast, not far from Felixstowe, which is a big container port,” I replied, wrapping a protective arm around her. “We’ll hire a car from there and make our way back tomorrow. I need to rest and you could do with some sleep too.”
Michele nodded and looking a little relieved, she snuggled up next to me and began to cry softly. I knew how she felt. It had been a hell of a day so far. A hell of a day for me and I had combat training. How Michele was coping I just couldn’t fathom. No matter how you looked at it, she was one hell of a girl.
The coach had stopped and I jerked awake with a start. Everyone else had already departed the bus and the driver was coming down the aisle.
“You’re awake then? I was getting worried you intended to spend the night,” he said cheerfully. I sneaked a peak at my watch: it was just gone four-thirty.
“Could you recommend a decent B&B for the night?” I asked, remembering to do my Australian impersonation.
“Not really my town, son, but the Lion’s Head is a nice pub with good food, and the landlord will set you right.”
I thanked him and we walked the twenty yards or so across to the Lion’s Head.
“We have no change of clothes, toiletries or anything else,” Michele wailed miserably.
“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll sort something out. Let’s just get a place to sleep first, yeah?”
Ralph, the landlord, had two rooms upstairs and readily rented us one for the night. After a hearty dinner, I took Michele upstairs and put her to bed. She was asleep in no time, the strain of the day still taking its toll.
After listening to a story of lost suitcases, Ralph suggested I go down the street to a Boots store which stayed open till seven each weekday. I bought as much of what I thought we would need that I could with the cash I had on me. I didn’t want to use a credit card. I was probably still being too careful, but I didn’t want to leave a money trail for anyone to follow.
What I ended up with was two toothbrushes and toothpaste, underwear for the two of us and a top which was going to be too big for Michele. With her hair up under the cap and a baggy top, Michele would be less noticeable than she usually would be.
I phoned Julia from a call box to let her know what had happened to us and reassure her that we would be back tomo
rrow, barring anything else delaying us. By nine o’clock I was gratefully asleep too. My last thought before sleep claimed me was that if I were Frank Brown, I would be waiting for us back near the farm.
A huge “Full English Breakfast” and an endless supply of coffee made the world look brighter. I couldn’t believe how much Michele managed to eat. Ralph gave me a knowing look as if I had tired her out last night. Typically male, I didn’t disillusion him.
We hired a Rover 600 from Hertz, or at least Michele did, and we set off towards Cambridge. I had decided that we would take the long way home just in case they were waiting for us along the way.
From Cambridge we took the A405 down to Luton and then across country to Oxford for lunch. The drive was uneventful, the weather perfect and we were both beginning to enjoy ourselves again. I detoured past the famous university to satisfy Michele’s curiosity and then headed to Cheltenham.
“Ancestors of mine came from this part of the world,” I told Michele.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Just outside town, near Brockworth Village is a farm called Coopers Hill. Have you have ever seen the annual cheese rolling, where a bunch of fun-loving nutters race a round of cheese down the hill?” Michele nodded. “That farm was in my family for several hundred years till a great-grandfather sold it and moved to Africa.”
“Simon?”
“Yeah?”
“My geography of England isn’t too good, I know, but aren’t we going an awfully long way home?” she asked with a frown.
“Yes. We are. All the way around London in fact.”
“Why would we do that?”
“Well, a number or reasons. Firstly, Frank Brown and his lads can’t find us, secondly the longer they waste time looking for us the better I like it, and most importantly, I like touring around the country with you.” She smiled distractedly, but I could tell she wasn’t a happy girl.
An hour later things were beginning to look up. The drive and the time away from danger were having a positive effect on Michele. The hunted scared look was gone and she had even smiled once or twice in the last hour.
