Read Online The Ghost in the Electric Blue Suit by Graham Joyce - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Graham Joyce
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no sign.
I cast around, still looking for them. The empty beach was now a hostile, echoing place. A sudden stench came off the water and turned my guts. I told myself what I’d seen was all a trick of the light. But I didn’t believe that. Not for one second.
I recovered and moved on. I glanced back a few times to see if I could catch sight of anything, until finally I had to challenge myself not to keep looking over my shoulder. Now I didn’t feel at all like going to explore the lonely dunes. Instead I walked on for about two miles. There was a very faint breeze coming off the water, and the bad odor went away. I’d been holding my breath against it. Instead, salt air and the mild electrical charge of the gentle waves was something I could inhale again. I walked on, starting to feel better, with the sun rising steadily over the water.
AT MIDDAY I stood outside the main gates of the resort, waiting for Tony. I knew he drove a smart Wolseley Saloon. Instead, a two-tone Hillman Minx pulled up, with a cheerfulpip on the horn that was clearly directed at me. I noticed two figures in the back but I couldn’t see the driver. The passenger door opened.
I was astonished to see Colin behind the wheel. He was wearing a dark suit and a blue tie. I hesitated.
He leaned across the seat. He tilted his head sideways and closed one eye. “Get in, son.”
I climbed into the passenger seat. Colin set off without a word, and when I turned to check out the passengers in the back I recognized a lad from the kitchen. I didn’t know his name. He had buckteeth that shaped his mouth into a permanent sneer. The other passenger I didn’t know at all. He had his head back on the seat upholstery and, with his eyes closed and his mouth open, appeared to be dozing.
Pretty soon we were heading away from the coast into the flat, open countryside of Lincolnshire. I didn’t want to stare at Colin, but he looked very different in a suit and tie. I wouldn’t say he looked neat: He was one of those men for whom even a close shave can never quite get rid of a blue shadow. He caught me looking.
“Nice car,” I said, wanting to break the uncomfortable silence.
“That’s ’coz it’s British,” the lad from the kitchen said.
“Where are we going anyway?” I said.
“Fifteen minutes, twenty at tops,” Colin said. “Most traffic west will be goin’ another route.” It wasn’t an answer to my question but I gathered that it was the only answer I was going to get.
Colin had scrubbed up and I could smell something like carbolic soap on him. That and a metalwork smell. Heswitched on the car radio. A local news reporter was banging on about the unusual drought conditions. A hosepipe ban had been introduced and several grass fires and woodland fires had scorched areas of land in southern England. Colin cursed the government, as if they had engineered the drought conditions to blight the country.
“It’s the mad scientists,” said the boy in the back with bad teeth, “puttin’ ice seeds in the clouds.”
“Oh fuck off with that,” Colin said, and he snapped off the radio.
After he’d put another few miles on the clock, without taking his eyes off the road Colin said, “Where from?”
It took me a couple of seconds to realize he was asking me a question. I hardly finished answering him before he asked me another question.
“What’s yer dad do?”
I told him about Ken’s construction business.
He sniffed noisily. “Movver working, is she?”
“No.”
He had an odd style of driving, tucking his chin into his chest and looking up from under his brow. It reminded me of a boxer’s defensive stance. We drove through the Lincolnshire countryside with all the windows of the Minx wound down. The land was dusty and parched and we occasionally passed roadside signs: DANGER: YOU ARE ENTERING A DROUGHT AREA, CONSERVE WATER . But somehow it didn’t concern me and I had faith that every natural order would soon be
I cast around, still looking for them. The empty beach was now a hostile, echoing place. A sudden stench came off the water and turned my guts. I told myself what I’d seen was all a trick of the light. But I didn’t believe that. Not for one second.
I recovered and moved on. I glanced back a few times to see if I could catch sight of anything, until finally I had to challenge myself not to keep looking over my shoulder. Now I didn’t feel at all like going to explore the lonely dunes. Instead I walked on for about two miles. There was a very faint breeze coming off the water, and the bad odor went away. I’d been holding my breath against it. Instead, salt air and the mild electrical charge of the gentle waves was something I could inhale again. I walked on, starting to feel better, with the sun rising steadily over the water.
AT MIDDAY I stood outside the main gates of the resort, waiting for Tony. I knew he drove a smart Wolseley Saloon. Instead, a two-tone Hillman Minx pulled up, with a cheerfulpip on the horn that was clearly directed at me. I noticed two figures in the back but I couldn’t see the driver. The passenger door opened.
I was astonished to see Colin behind the wheel. He was wearing a dark suit and a blue tie. I hesitated.
He leaned across the seat. He tilted his head sideways and closed one eye. “Get in, son.”
I climbed into the passenger seat. Colin set off without a word, and when I turned to check out the passengers in the back I recognized a lad from the kitchen. I didn’t know his name. He had buckteeth that shaped his mouth into a permanent sneer. The other passenger I didn’t know at all. He had his head back on the seat upholstery and, with his eyes closed and his mouth open, appeared to be dozing.
Pretty soon we were heading away from the coast into the flat, open countryside of Lincolnshire. I didn’t want to stare at Colin, but he looked very different in a suit and tie. I wouldn’t say he looked neat: He was one of those men for whom even a close shave can never quite get rid of a blue shadow. He caught me looking.
“Nice car,” I said, wanting to break the uncomfortable silence.
“That’s ’coz it’s British,” the lad from the kitchen said.
“Where are we going anyway?” I said.
“Fifteen minutes, twenty at tops,” Colin said. “Most traffic west will be goin’ another route.” It wasn’t an answer to my question but I gathered that it was the only answer I was going to get.
Colin had scrubbed up and I could smell something like carbolic soap on him. That and a metalwork smell. Heswitched on the car radio. A local news reporter was banging on about the unusual drought conditions. A hosepipe ban had been introduced and several grass fires and woodland fires had scorched areas of land in southern England. Colin cursed the government, as if they had engineered the drought conditions to blight the country.
“It’s the mad scientists,” said the boy in the back with bad teeth, “puttin’ ice seeds in the clouds.”
“Oh fuck off with that,” Colin said, and he snapped off the radio.
After he’d put another few miles on the clock, without taking his eyes off the road Colin said, “Where from?”
It took me a couple of seconds to realize he was asking me a question. I hardly finished answering him before he asked me another question.
“What’s yer dad do?”
I told him about Ken’s construction business.
He sniffed noisily. “Movver working, is she?”
“No.”
He had an odd style of driving, tucking his chin into his chest and looking up from under his brow. It reminded me of a boxer’s defensive stance. We drove through the Lincolnshire countryside with all the windows of the Minx wound down. The land was dusty and parched and we occasionally passed roadside signs: DANGER: YOU ARE ENTERING A DROUGHT AREA, CONSERVE WATER . But somehow it didn’t concern me and I had faith that every natural order would soon be
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