Life in Blackdog Street returned to what passed as normal, except that when I took Dregs for a walk, I had to take Denny as well. He proved no better than Dregs at catching squirrels. Then, one raw morning, just after breakfast, when Denny and Mrs Goodfellow were washing up, Hobbes put down his mug and cleared his throat.
‘I’m going away for a while,’ he said. ‘I’m taking Denny home.’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘How long will you be gone?’
‘A while.’
Later that morning, Billy drove them away.
25
With their departure, the house felt empty and quiet. I was often at a loose end and Dregs kept wandering around morosely, as if he’d lost something. Daphne’s visits always consoled him, almost as much as they did me and, after a few days, we settled into a sort of routine. Mrs Goodfellow, to my surprise, wasn’t as upset by Hobbes’s absence as I’d thought she would be.
‘It’s alright, dear,’ she said. ‘A week or two in the Blacker Mountains will do him a power of good.’
He didn’t return in a week or two.
If possible, her cooking reached new heights, as if she was trying to lure the old fellow back, and the result was that Dregs and I, and frequently Daphne and occasionally Sid and Pinky, were exceedingly well fed. Pinky, who’d hit it off amazingly well with Sid, had taken up permanent residence and her tea room, on the site of the unloved Café Olé, was already doing a brisk trade. We enjoyed some fine times and my feelings for Daphne grew, so that, for some time, she occupied my thoughts most of the day and quite a lot of the night.
Halloween came and went, as did Bonfire night and still there was no sign of Hobbes.
I read in the Bugle about Sir Gerald’s trial in mid-November when, having pleaded guilty to theft, conspiracy to rob, assault, arson and attempted murder, he received a substantial prison sentence. Young Rupert Payne, having been diagnosed with serious mental health problems, was detained indefinitely in an institution.
As the end of November approached, Daphne and I were spending more and more time together. One evening, after we’d been to the cinema in Pigton, and were enjoying a cuddle on the sofa in her flat, she pulled away and sat up, looking serious.
‘Andy,’ she said, ‘I would like you to stay the night. What d’you think?’
I was so taken by surprise, I was reduced to making fish faces for several seconds, before I heard myself say: ‘I think I would like that.’
The following day, I moved in with her. I expected Mrs Goodfellow would be upset when I told her. Instead, her eyes twinkled and she spent a good half hour embarrassing me and poking me in the ribs. It was all very trying, but I forgave her on account of all her past kindness, especially when she invited us to a celebratory supper. It was of course the best meal I’d ever tasted, which was saying a lot, and was washed down with a bottle of Hobbes’s best red wine. It made me realise how much I was going to miss her cooking and it said something about my feelings for Daphne that this seemed a fair price to pay.
The next surprising event came the following day when, by chance, I found a job, even if it was only a part-time one. We were at Pinky’s Tearoom and I was telling Sid about our last supper, getting so carried away with enthusiasm for the old girl’s beef and oyster pie that phrases like ‘love in a crust’ and ‘fresh as an ocean breeze’ sprang to my lips.
A young man approached.
‘Hi, Andy,’ he said. ‘Sorry to interrupt you.’
‘Oh … Hi, Phil,’ I said, recognising Phil Waring, who’d been my colleague at the Bugle, and whose life I’d saved when he was about to become an unwilling blood donor to a wannabe vampire. Since then, our careers had diverged. I was unemployed; he was the editor.
‘I couldn’t help overhearing you,’ he said.
‘Sorry.’
‘What I mean is this. Can you write about food as well as you talk about it?’
‘Umm …’ I began, before catching Daphne’s look, ‘yes, I expect so. Why?’
‘Well,’ said Phil, ‘the Fatman is retiring and the Bugle needs a new food writer. How about it?’
‘Great,’ I said. ‘When do I start?’
‘How about next Monday?’
‘Why not? I’ll see you then.’
December arrived with still no word from Hobbes. On Christmas Eve, I went to see Mrs Goodfellow, taking her a little something bought with my first pay. After fighting off Dregs’s friendly exuberance, I was enjoying a cup of tea, while discussing Christmas dinner, to which Daphne and I, Sid and Pinky, Featherlight and Billy had been invited. The old girl was chatting about teeth, while working out how to fit an ostrich-sized turkey into the oven, when Dregs leapt to his feet with a deafening volley of excited barking.
In walked Hobbes, as if he’d never been away.
‘Afternoon,’ he said, pulling up a chair. ‘Is there any tea in the pot?’
Also available
Inspector Hobbes and the Blood
unhuman I
Wilkie Martin
When the hapless Andy Caplet, then an inept local reporter, is first assigned to Inspector Hobbes he has no idea what horrors his future holds. Besides coming to terms with Hobbes’s weirdness and with the bizarre eccentricities of Mrs Goodfellow, he soon realises that not everyone is what they appear to be.
Who is behind the crime wave in town? Is it possible to catch vampirism from false teeth? And why is the secret to the mystery in the blood? These are just some of the questions Andy must answer as he struggles to make sense of this new world he’s been plunged into.
‘Odd, inventive, and genuinely very funny indeed’
Cotswold Life.
The Witcherley Book Company
ISBN 9780957635104 (paperback)
ISBN 9780957635111 (ebook)
ISBN 9780957635166 (ebook)
Scan QR code to view book sample
(www.book2look.co.uk/vBook.aspx?id=ZrFHGPVxgR)
Also available
Inspector Hobbes and the Curse
unhuman II
Wilkie Martin
Again set in the Cotswolds, this is the second instalment in the adventures of Inspector Hobbes, Mrs Goodfellow and Dregs, as narrated by the still disaster-prone Andy Caplet. It is a rip roaring, funny and moving tale of Andy's infatuation with a dangerously beautiful woman, starting off during investigations into sheep deaths and the mysterious disappearance of pheasants. These incidents appear to be connected to a rash of big cat sightings, and something horrible seems to be lurking in the woods.
Is Andy cursed to be always unsuccessful in love, or is the curse something much darker, something that will arouse his primeval terrors?
The Witcherley Book Company
ISBN 9780957635128 (paperback)
ISBN 9780957635135 (ebook)
ISBN 9780957635173 (ebook)
Scan QR code to view book sample
(www.book2look.co.uk/vBook.aspx?id=NqlwpcMhNm)
Acknowledgements
Once again, I would like to thank the members of Catchword for their support, guidance and encouragement: Liz Carew, Dr Jennifer Cryer, Derek Healey, Richard Hensley, Nick John, Sarah King, Dr Rona Laycock, Jan Petrie and Susannah White.
I would like to thank Ultimate Proof Ltd for copy-editing and for proofreading, and Cathy Helms at Avalon Graphics for the cover.
Writers in the Brewery and the members of Gloucestershire Writers’ Network have also provided much appreciated support.
Finally, a huge thank you to my family, to Julia, and to The Witcherley Book Company.
WILKIE MARTIN
Wilkie Martin's first novel Inspector Hobbes and the Blood, was shortlisted for the Impress Prize for New Writers in 2012 under its original title: Inspector Hobbes. As well as novels, Wilkie writes short stories and silly poems, some of which are on YouTube. Like his characters, he relishes a good curry, which he enjoys cooking. In his spare time, he is a qualified scuba diving instructor, and a guitar twanger who should be stopped.
&n
bsp; Born in Nottingham, he went to school in Sutton Coldfield, studied at the University of Leeds, worked in Cheltenham for 25 years, and now lives in the Cotswolds with Julia, his partner of 30 years.
Contact Wilkie Martin
Visit Wilkie's website www.wilkiemartin.com
Follow @wilkiewrites on twitter
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A Note From The Author
I want to thank you for reading my book. As a new author, one of my biggest challenges is getting known and finding readers. I’m thrilled you have read it and hope you enjoyed it; if you did I would really appreciate you letting your friends and family know. Even a quick Google+ or Facebook status update or even a tweet really can make a difference, or if you want to write a review then that would be fantastic. I’d also love to hear from you, so send me a message and let me know what you thought of the book. Thank you for your time.
Wilkie
September 2014
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3 Inspector Hobbes and the Gold Diggers Page 32
