Read Online Haunt Dead Wrong by Curtis Jobling - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Curtis Jobling
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off the rails for a while, went a bit ga-ga.’
‘Aye. Losing a loved one can do funny things to you.’
‘Loved one?’ said Dougie, rolling his eyes as he walked down the garden path. ‘Self-praise is no recommendation.’
Dougie rapped on the door with his knuckles and waited. There were voices within, footsteps approaching before the door swung open inwards. A squat middle-aged lady stood before us, wearing a
navy-blue nurse’s uniform. Her grey hair was scraped back from her forehead, her face fixed in a suspicious frown. She looked Dougie up and down. ‘Can I help you?’
We’d been expecting to see a frail Mrs Hershey, not a heavyset district nurse. Dougie’s cheeks flushed with colour as he failed to answer.
‘You’re Ruby’s grandson,’ I said hastily. ‘Scratch that –
great-
grandson!’
‘I’ve come to see Great-Grandma Ruby,’ Dougie blurted out, before smiling awkwardly.
‘Crikey!’ said the nurse with surprise. ‘You’d better come in then, hadn’t you? This’ll make your gran’s day, bless her.’ She stood aside,
allowing Dougie to squeeze past, and called through toward the back of the house. ‘Ruby, love. It’s your great-grandson here to see you. I’m just getting my gear from the
car.’
Then the nurse was off, stomping up the garden path as Dougie crept through the bungalow. He tugged at his T-shirt collar.
‘God, I thought it was hot out there, it’s stifling in here.’
‘Old folk. They’d wear woolly jumpers at the gates of hell.’
Ruby was sat in an armchair in the back room beside a pair of patio doors that overlooked her back garden. Wild though the front garden was, the rear was another world. A carefully tended lawn
was bordered by flowers and shrubs of every colour. A wrought-iron bird table stood on the paved area closest to the doors, seed balls and feeders hanging from its edges and eaves. Tits,
yellowhammers and a solitary robin jockeyed for position, filling their happy beaks with whatever they could snaffle.
Ruby Hershey turned to face Dougie, her expression a mixture of curiosity and confusion. ‘I may be old, but I think I’d recognise my own great-grandchildren. Who are you?’
She was ancient-looking, shrivelled and shrunken within her chair. She wore a tartan blanket over her lap that went all the way down to her slippers, even though it was a glorious summer’s
day. Her eyes twinkled, belying her years, hinting at mischief and merriment. I imagined her as a young lady, and how hard the Major must have fallen for her.
‘I think you’d best tell her, mate,’ I said, ‘before the nurse returns.’
And so, Dougie did. He wasted little time, all too aware that the medical worker could be back at any moment, screwing up our plans. The story was hokum. He said he was investigating the air
base for a school history project over the holidays, her name having popped up in his research. He wanted to record her recollections about the base and the Americans who had lived there. She
seemed to buy it. Certain details were spared, such as the fact he knew the Major, who’d been a ghost for seventy years.
Dougie held a dictaphone out before Mrs Hershey, catching every word she imparted. She spoke of the fleets of bombers that soared over the town, the jeeps and trucks that thundered along the
cobbled streets. She sighed as she recounted the dance halls where the Yanks courted the local girls. She giggled as she recalled the thrill of nylon stockings, lipstick and chocolate bars, gifted
to them by smitten servicemen. She smiled as she was transported back to happier times. We could hear the district nurse in the kitchen, singing to herself, keeping busy.
‘And you fell for one of the Americans yourself?’ asked Dougie.
‘Oh, I did,’ she said sweetly, holding her bony hands to her bosom. ‘I did indeed.’
Dougie glanced my way hopefully as he continued. ‘I saw that you married one, Mrs Hershey.’
Her smile slipped, the look
‘Aye. Losing a loved one can do funny things to you.’
‘Loved one?’ said Dougie, rolling his eyes as he walked down the garden path. ‘Self-praise is no recommendation.’
Dougie rapped on the door with his knuckles and waited. There were voices within, footsteps approaching before the door swung open inwards. A squat middle-aged lady stood before us, wearing a
navy-blue nurse’s uniform. Her grey hair was scraped back from her forehead, her face fixed in a suspicious frown. She looked Dougie up and down. ‘Can I help you?’
We’d been expecting to see a frail Mrs Hershey, not a heavyset district nurse. Dougie’s cheeks flushed with colour as he failed to answer.
‘You’re Ruby’s grandson,’ I said hastily. ‘Scratch that –
great-
grandson!’
‘I’ve come to see Great-Grandma Ruby,’ Dougie blurted out, before smiling awkwardly.
‘Crikey!’ said the nurse with surprise. ‘You’d better come in then, hadn’t you? This’ll make your gran’s day, bless her.’ She stood aside,
allowing Dougie to squeeze past, and called through toward the back of the house. ‘Ruby, love. It’s your great-grandson here to see you. I’m just getting my gear from the
car.’
Then the nurse was off, stomping up the garden path as Dougie crept through the bungalow. He tugged at his T-shirt collar.
‘God, I thought it was hot out there, it’s stifling in here.’
‘Old folk. They’d wear woolly jumpers at the gates of hell.’
Ruby was sat in an armchair in the back room beside a pair of patio doors that overlooked her back garden. Wild though the front garden was, the rear was another world. A carefully tended lawn
was bordered by flowers and shrubs of every colour. A wrought-iron bird table stood on the paved area closest to the doors, seed balls and feeders hanging from its edges and eaves. Tits,
yellowhammers and a solitary robin jockeyed for position, filling their happy beaks with whatever they could snaffle.
Ruby Hershey turned to face Dougie, her expression a mixture of curiosity and confusion. ‘I may be old, but I think I’d recognise my own great-grandchildren. Who are you?’
She was ancient-looking, shrivelled and shrunken within her chair. She wore a tartan blanket over her lap that went all the way down to her slippers, even though it was a glorious summer’s
day. Her eyes twinkled, belying her years, hinting at mischief and merriment. I imagined her as a young lady, and how hard the Major must have fallen for her.
‘I think you’d best tell her, mate,’ I said, ‘before the nurse returns.’
And so, Dougie did. He wasted little time, all too aware that the medical worker could be back at any moment, screwing up our plans. The story was hokum. He said he was investigating the air
base for a school history project over the holidays, her name having popped up in his research. He wanted to record her recollections about the base and the Americans who had lived there. She
seemed to buy it. Certain details were spared, such as the fact he knew the Major, who’d been a ghost for seventy years.
Dougie held a dictaphone out before Mrs Hershey, catching every word she imparted. She spoke of the fleets of bombers that soared over the town, the jeeps and trucks that thundered along the
cobbled streets. She sighed as she recounted the dance halls where the Yanks courted the local girls. She giggled as she recalled the thrill of nylon stockings, lipstick and chocolate bars, gifted
to them by smitten servicemen. She smiled as she was transported back to happier times. We could hear the district nurse in the kitchen, singing to herself, keeping busy.
‘And you fell for one of the Americans yourself?’ asked Dougie.
‘Oh, I did,’ she said sweetly, holding her bony hands to her bosom. ‘I did indeed.’
Dougie glanced my way hopefully as he continued. ‘I saw that you married one, Mrs Hershey.’
Her smile slipped, the look
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