Haunt Dead Wrong

by Curtis Jobling

  I tried to imagine Mr Hancock’s anxiety in Bradbury’s presence. Dougie and I had met the man, of course, the day we were chased through town by Vinnie Savage. Sunshine has a way of softening those harsh and horrid edges in life, dialling down the potential terror of a situation. But Bradbury had scared us both. He had an assured, confident menace.

  ‘I must have waited for fifteen minutes outside the lock-up for him to come back out. I was having a leak in the bushes when he finally reappeared and by the time I got back to the Bentley he was sitting in it. In the driver’s seat.’

  Mr Hancock shivered in spite of the sunlight upon his back. Dougie’s face glistened, his brow slick with sweat as he followed his father’s confession. His nerve impressed me. Had the roles been reversed, I doubted I could’ve stood there as my old man spilled his guts. I’d have left the room, unable to look at him, let alone listen. But my mate stayed put, feet fixed to the carpet as if nailed there. Mr Hancock caught his breath, composing himself.

  ‘I should’ve said something; insisted he move across, allow me to drive. But who am I kidding? Nobody speaks to Bradbury that way. I took the passenger seat he’d vacated and he pulled the Bentley away from the lock-up.’

  Again, Mr Hancock paused. ‘That ride . . . if I close my eyes, I can see it, now. Bradbury cursing his enemies, barking out obscenities, swerving across the road. He was all over the shop. I tried reaching, to straighten the steering wheel, keep him from driving into oncoming traffic.’

  He stopped to clear his throat. ‘The bicycle . . . I saw its lights, I shouted at Bradbury, tried to warn him. All he heard was my yelling as I hit his hands away, grabbing the wheel. He retaliated, elbowed me in the face, sent me back into my seat. Next moment, we’d hit him.’

  ‘Will, Dad. You hit Will.’ Dougie took a protective step closer to me. I swear, if he could’ve reached out and held my hand, he’d have done so.

  ‘The Bentley’s a big car. Powerful. Unforgiving. It took quite an impact for the bicycle and rider to stave a wing in. The crack on the windscreen where he rode off the bonnet tells its own tale. And you probably couldn’t see, but the roof is also dinged where he bounced off it.’

  My guts were in knots as he described the events of my death, oblivious to the fact I was stood before him. Perhaps it was the way he reeled off the details in matter-of-fact fashion, like a match report on the evening news. Every impact rushed back, shuddering through my body, causing my very being to hum and vibrate. I could feel the accident all over again, my bones breaking, body pulverised. For a moment I thought I might tear apart, right there and then, a smear of ectoplasm my parting shot on the living-room carpet. I swear, if it hadn’t been for Dougie’s passionate words, I’d have blinked out of existence altogether. Not for the first time, he was my anchor to the world of the living.

  ‘He, Dad, you keep saying he. It was Will, remember? My best friend!’

  Mr Hancock winced, pinching the bridge of his nose. The words found their way out between tear-soaked sobs. ‘I relive that journey every bloody night, Douglas. That’s my punishment, son. That’s my curse.’

  ‘He thinks he’s cursed,’ Dougie whispered under his breath as his father trembled uncontrollably. ‘He should try enduring you twenty-four/seven.’ It was light-hearted, meant to diffuse the tension I was clearly feeling. My anxiety must have been rolling off me like a tsunami and Dougie took the brunt of every wave. His banter was well meant, but misjudged.

  ‘Let him speak, Dougie.’

  We turned back to his wretched dad as he continued. ‘He got out of the car at the bottom of the road, left the engine running. Said he’d walk the rest of the way, no longer needed the lift. All I could do was stare back up the street to the top of the rise. I could see the mangled shape on the tarmac, boy and bicycle, buckled wheel still turning and catching the moonlight. I was frozen. Then Bradbury was off, but not before he’d dragged me into the driver’s seat and threatened me. It was my car, he said. If anyone ever connected him to this night, he’d tell them it was me who was driving. And I’d confess to that very thing if I knew what was good for me. Good for me . . . and my son.’

  Mr Hancock dropped to his knees, assuming the position of condemned awaiting the executioner’s axe. The blood had drained from Dougie’s face, leaving him as washed out as a pair of hand-me-down growlers. He searched my face for answers, but what was I to say?

  ‘Dude,’ I sighed. ‘I think he needs you.’

  Dougie tentatively reached a hand forward, palm down, hovering over his father. He seemed unsure of whether to touch him or not, as if he’d catch leprosy with the slightest contact. Finally he patted Mr Hancock’s shoulder gingerly, his dad shaking as if electrocuted by his son’s compassion.

  ‘Let it out,’ said my mate, roles reversed as was so often the case.

  His father sobbed, a broken man.

  ‘Just let it out, Dad.’

  SEVENTEEN

  The Major and the Mission

  ‘Bummer of a deal, Sparky.’

  The Major winced, ruffling his immaculate black quiff until it had transformed into a roadkilled crow. Dougie shifted uncomfortably against the wall outside the A&E. If anyone was looking to master the art of standing awkwardly with the weight of the world upon one’s shoulders, then my mate had just nailed it.

  ‘Sounds like your old man’s been stuck between a rock and a hard place since your best buddy here bought it. Jeez, I wouldn’t wish that guilt on my worst enemy.’

  ‘You could wish it on Bradbury,’ I said without hesitation. Neither of them disagreed. ‘What he’s put your dad through, Dougie . . .’

  Dougie shook his head. ‘He doesn’t resemble the man who raised me. He’s a mess. And it’s all Bradbury’s fault.’

  ‘And he isn’t finished with him yet,’ I added.

  ‘How so?’ asked the Major.

  ‘He’s lined up Mr Hancock for another job. Apparently this will buy him his freedom from Bradbury.’

  ‘And he can’t go to the cops because every bit of evidence points to him being behind the wheel. Man, that blows.’ The Major sucked his teeth. ‘This Bradbury; what kinda guy is he?’

  ‘A very bad one,’ I said, doing the villain a great disservice in the description department.

  ‘He’s a career criminal,’ said Dougie, picking up the story. ‘Late thirties and never done an honest day’s work in his life, if what Dad says is true.’ I thought about my friend’s choice of words as he continued; did he doubt Mr Hancock’s version of events or was it just a slip of the tongue? ‘He was born in Liverpool and moved here as a teenager. Bradbury was a bad lad before he even got here and soon had his own gang running rackets across the borough: robberies, extortion, drugs and loan sharking. Seems there’s nowt he won’t do to make a few quid.’

  ‘Sounds like a real piece o’ work,’ said the Major, breathing life into his quiff once more with a few sweeps of his hands.

  ‘He dresses in a snappy black suit, white shirt, black tie. Fashions himself on those old East End gangsters from the Sixties. Or Reservoir Dogs. Wears his black hair slicked back.’ Dougie turned to the Major. ‘Not unlike yours.’

  ‘Back up, Sparky,’ said the Major. ‘I’ve been sporting this look since the Forties. Sounds like Bradbury’s all about appearances. He’s a cheap knock-off, a hokey imitation of a villain.’

  ‘There’s nothing fake about him,’ I said. ‘You can’t underestimate him. He’s put plenty of people in hospital – you’ve probably witnessed them rolling through those doors on gurneys – and he’s lost no sleep over what happened to me. He’s a gangster alright. He’s the Real McCoy.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say, boys. As you know, when it comes to matters of the heart, I’m your man. If it’s lady trouble, look no further. But dealing with killers? I’m striking out. That’s what the cops are for, ain’t it?’

  ‘Ordinarily, yeah,’ agreed Dougie. ‘But not when Bradbury’s got my old man’s knackers in a vice. Dad has no
evidence to prove Bradbury was driving that night. Indeed, all we have is his word.’

  ‘But that’s enough, right?’ I asked, wanting to check where my pal stood on his father’s innocence.

  When Dougie spoke it was with all the integrity his breaking voice could muster. ‘I’m in no doubt about my dad’s involvement that night. He wasn’t driving. I’ve had a glimpse of the old him, and I want him back. We need to do whatever we can to make this right now. If that means watching him and Bradbury like hawks then so be it. Bradbury’s a bully. He’ll slip up sooner or later. They always do.’

  I nodded, but didn’t share his optimism. Bradbury had got this far in life taking advantage of those around him, beating, robbing, scheming and thieving. That comeuppance hadn’t arrived yet. Dougie smiled; it was half-hearted. Perhaps he was trying to show me that he was back on-topic, the two of us together again, united in the mission like Kirk and Spock. (Don’t even go there – I am so obviously Kirk in this scenario.) Maybe he was trying to show me he was confident we were going to come out of this unscathed. Like I say, his optimism was far from contagious. It was blinder than a bat in a shoebox. One that was blindfolded. Bradbury was a very bad man. Dougie tried to change the subject. We went with him, happy to be momentarily moving on from the dark subject of my killer.

  ‘Enough worrying about my dad,’ said Dougie. ‘That’ll sort itself out, no doubt and no worries. What are we going to do about this old gimmer?’ he said, directing his comment towards the Major.

  ‘Old?’ exclaimed the Major, turning his face and jutting out his jaw, skin shimmering with that ghostly blue light. ‘Do I look old to you? Look at this profile, Sparky. If it weren’t for that war I’d have been on the silver screen. I’m forever young. I got a face to break a thousand hearts.’

  ‘Break a thousand farts, more like,’ said Dougie. ‘And that was never your real hair colour. Silver screen? Silver fox, I reckon.’

  ‘Don’t disrespect the hair, kid!’

  ‘Good stuff that Kiwi boot polish. Gets a nice shine, eh?’

  The airman shook his head and looked my way. ‘He’s dead to me.’

  We laughed as one, the tension that had hung in the air having dissipated, blown away on a breeze of good humour. Bradbury seemed far from my friends’ minds as they sparred with one another. I, however, was sadly unable to shake the villain’s spectre from my thoughts.

  ‘When I ask what we’re going to do with you, let me further explain,’ said Dougie. ‘If you remember, there was the small issue of your old flame, Ruby.’

  The Major smiled dreamily, no doubt recalling some profoundly beautiful moment with his true love.

  ‘Either he remembers or that’s ghostly gut-rot,’ said Dougie. ‘Possibly something to add to the Rules of Ghosting?’

  ‘Seriously though,’ I said. ‘What do you want to do? Do you want us to deliver a message to her? Dougie could let her know that he can reach you.’

  The Major’s smile slipped. ‘What good would it do?’

  That wasn’t the reply I’d expected. ‘The world of good, surely. You loved her, didn’t you? And it’s pretty flipping clear she loved you. Still does, for that matter.’

  ‘How do you think she’ll respond if Sparky tells her he can speak to me, that I’m still here?’

  ‘She’ll be overjoyed?’

  ‘OK, kid. Try and imagine the effect a revelation like that would have on your dear old mom. Would she be thrilled?’

  I imagined Mum’s face as Dougie told her he could talk to my ghost. It wasn’t a pretty image. The Major continued.

  ‘She’ll think it’s a cruel prank. She’ll be heartbroken.’

  Dougie snapped his fingers, the light bulb moment sparking him into action. ‘Then I tell Ruby something only you could know, something personal, just between the two of you.’

  ‘Better, but still not great. Will’s mom might be able to handle a shock like that, but Ruby? You said she’s frail. News like that could do more damage than good. You going in there solo and blabbing about me could end in tears or worse. The message needs something physical alongside it, a token of proof that can ease her into the idea that I never went away. This is too big for you to go shooting your mouth off. Words aren’t enough.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Dougie’s lack of tact taken into account, what would you suggest? Last time we chatted you mentioned something about the air base.’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘Yeah, but you were interrupted by Cornetto boy here.’

  ‘I do love those ice creams,’ said Dougie as I continued.

  ‘Is there something there we could use?’

  The Major scratched his jaw, as if the action of rubbing the chiselled chin would conjure an idea into life. It fairly worked.

  ‘The mess,’ he said.

  ‘The what now?’ asked Dougie.

  ‘The old officers’ mess.’

  ‘What’s that when it’s at home?’ Dougie said.

  ‘It’s where the officers lived, right?’ I said, as the Major nodded.

  ‘Lived, slept, ate and the rest. They were our digs while we were stationed here. We weren’t with the boys in the barracks. We had a few luxuries, perks of station.’

  ‘Perks?’ said Dougie.

  ‘We had our own bar, Sparky, a pool table, leather chairs, a gramophone—’

  ‘Grandma’s phone?’

  The Major groaned. ‘Gram-a-phone. You know, for long players? Vinyl records?’

  Dougie stared at the Yank gormlessly.

  ‘A music system,’ I said, spelling it out for my hapless pal.

  The Major nodded. ‘Certainly made being far from home a bit more bearable for us.’

  ‘What about this “mess” then?’ said Dougie. ‘What’s so special about it?’

  The American’s face was serious, the cheeky grin departed as he leaned in close. ‘So, downstairs was the day quarters where we socialised, but upstairs was where our cots were.’

  ‘Beds!’ said Dougie, with another fingersnap.

  ‘Sharp as a tack, ain’t he?’ said the Major. ‘My room was in the attic, highest room of the house.’

  ‘Hang about,’ I said. ‘House? I thought you stayed in bunkers. Weren’t you in one of those Anderson shelters, like we read about in History lessons?’

  ‘We were officers, Will,’ said the Major. ‘They requisitioned a farmhouse for us on the land where the base was built. The farmer didn’t object, taking a tidy sum off the Air Force and waving goodbye to the pigswill.’

  ‘So there’s something there that could help reunite you with Ruby?’ asked Dougie.

  ‘Reunite? Hell, no. The only way that could happen would be if she died, and I’m in no hurry for that to happen. I’ve waited long enough to see her. A little longer ain’t gonna hurt. She clearly isn’t done with your world yet, Sparky.’

  ‘So what’s the item?’ I asked, cutting to the chase. ‘And where is it?’

  ‘Like I said, I was in the attic. We had a cast iron French stove up there that we used to warm the room and brew our coffee over. There was a round window at the gable end of the house that overlooked the base. My cot was beneath it, bedhead to the wall. I kept my valuables under the floorboards there, in a cigar box. Find the loose floorboard, you’ll find the one thing that can convince Ruby this is all real, not the cruel prank of some teenage punks.’

  ‘Valuables?’

  ‘Yeah, kid. My cash, family keepsakes, love letters . . .’

  Dougie and I nodded, understanding where our friend was heading.

  ‘You want us to show Ruby the letters,’ I said.

  The Major shook his head. ‘The letters are only part of it; there’s something else in there as well.’

  ‘Something else?’ said Dougie, suddenly intrigued. ‘Like what? Dirty pictures? Whisky? A gun?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the Yank in a mocking tone. ‘All of that and more, Sparky! There’s even a treasure map to a stash of stolen Nazi gold, buried on the
banks of the ship canal. No, kid. No broads, booze or bullets I’m afraid. Just give her the box. Trust me, it’ll make sense. That’s all you need to do.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘So we find the cigar box and hand it over to Ruby?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said the Major, suddenly looking awkward. ‘You don’t need to open it though, understand? She can do that.’

  ‘Understood.’ I could tell that whatever he’d stored in that box was private. This was one of those rare occasions where there was no room for goofing about. Dougie nodded in silent agreement.

  ‘There’s one other thing, though,’ I added.

  ‘What’s that?’ said the Major.

  ‘The air base isn’t what it was.’

  ‘Whaddaya mean?’

  ‘They’ve started levelling it, remember? The newspaper article I showed you: they’re knocking down the hangars, breaking up the runways and building houses over the lot.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘He’s saying that finding your cigar box under the floorboards is the least of our worries,’ said Dougie. ‘We need to see if the farmhouse is still standing. It could have been demolished.’

  ‘Demolished?’ The Major punched a fist into his palm. ‘I knew this was too good to be true. Nothing in life – or death – is ever simple.’

  ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Yank,’ said Dougie, patting his hand through our friend’s insubstantial back. ‘First things first, eh? Let’s find that farmhouse.’

  EIGHTEEN

  Bases and Boxes

  ‘How are you getting on?’ I whispered into Dougie’s ear as he snipped the last length of mesh with his wire cutters. He jumped at my voice.

  ‘You’ve an uncanny knack for the heebiejeebies, y’know?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘If it’s not your voice coming out of nowhere, it’s your ugly face looming over me every morning,’ Dougie said, dropping the wire cutters back into his messenger bag.

  ‘I do that?’

  ‘Yep. No respect for personal space. I’d say it’s a ghost thing, but you were an idiot when you were alive too.’