Read Online The Time Hunters and the Box of Eternity by Carl Ashmore - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Carl Ashmore
Ads: Link
shaggy brown dog snoring
noisily before a raging fire which crackled and popped; wooden tables, each
with a brass candlestick in its center, were dotted across the timber floor,
the tops of which were coated in thick clumps of dried wax like icing on a cake.
The oak beamed ceiling was so low that Uncle Percy had to stoop to avoid
banging his head as he spied a thickset grey-haired man sat in the corner,
drinking bitter from a pewter tankard.
‘ Sid, ’ Uncle Percy said. ‘ Sidney Shufflebottom? ’
The old man looked up. ‘ Bless my soul…if it isn ’ t Percy Halifax, ’ he said, surprised. ‘ Don ’ t see you in the boozer too often, nowadays. How you keepin ’ , son? ’
Uncle Percy walked over and shook the man ’ s hand vigorously. ‘ Not bad at all, Sid.
Good to see you. How ’ s Irene? ’
‘ She ’ s very well, ta. ’
‘ And young Zak? ’
‘ Oh, he ’ s an angel, ’ Sid replied. He
looked over at Becky and Joe and flashed a welcoming smile. ‘ And who are these two? ’
‘ This is Becky and Joe
Mellor, my niece and nephew, ’ Uncle Percy replied proudly. ‘ We ’ ve come to see Reg… is he around? ’
‘ Think so, ’ Sid confirmed, his
eyes flicking over to the deserted bar. ‘ Doreen! ’
A young woman with a heavily made-up face, popped up from beneath
the counter, chomping noisily on a piece of chewing gum.
‘ Reg about, Doreen,
luv? ’ Sid
asked.
Doreen paused, surveyed the group coolly, then tilted her head back
and screeched, ‘ REEEEGGGG ! ’ Then she gave a disinterested yawn.
Sid leaned into Uncle Percy and whispered, ‘ Sorry about Doreen.
She ’ s new
and between you and me might be in the wrong job … she appears to hate people. ’
A door behind the counter creaked open and a short, grizzled man
appeared, wearing a loose-fitting brown jacket, patched at the elbows with
uneven scraps of material; his chin showed at least three days of stubble and
his eyes looked swollen as though he hadn ’ t slept in some time.
‘ Thanks, pet, ’ Reg muttered. He
looked over at Uncle Percy, and for a brief moment his face displayed shock,
before flashing a welcoming smile. ‘ By ‘ eck, if it ain ’ t me old chum, Percy Halifax. ’
Uncle Percy smiled back. ‘ How are you, Reg? ’
‘ I canna complain. ‘ Bout yourself? ’
‘ I ’ m well, thank you. ’
Reg looked at Becky and a twinkle lodged in his eyes. ‘ Now if that ain ’ t that the prettiest face
starin ’ back at me. John ’ s girl, eh? Becky, if I ain ’ t mistaken. ’ He turned to Joe. ‘ And Joe, too. Good
lookin ’ lad, no doubt. My, I ain ’ t seen either of you since you were bairns. ’
‘ Hello, ’ Becky and Joe said in
unison.
‘ Is there any chance we
could have a little chat, Reg? ’ Uncle Percy asked. ‘ In private … ’
‘ Sure, ’ Reg replied. ‘ Come round the snug.
Doreen … giz a shout if you ’ re rushed off your feet. ’ Doreen grunted something back at him before resuming her chewing.
Reg pulled open the counter top and gestured for them to follow.
Becky found herself in a tiny room, that smelled of pipe tobacco and
stale food; half-drunken coffee mugs littered the floor and piles of unopened
post threatened to topple from a dusty mantelpiece, above which hung a portrait
of a middle-aged woman wearing a cream dress and holding a parasol. It was the
portrait that caught Becky ’ s eye.
Reg noticed and moved to her left. ‘ Believe it or not, that there ’ s one of the most
valuable painting ’ s in the world. ’
‘ Really? ’
‘ Look at the artist ’ s signature. ’
Becky ’ s lowered her gaze to a man ’ s name in the bottom right hand corner: ‘ Vincent. ’ Immediately, she
recalled an art project she did for school the previous year. ‘ Is… is that -? ’
Reg smiled tenderly. ‘ Vincent Van Gogh painted that for me in 1887. It was the first
painting he ever sold. And to be honest, he only ever sold one other in his
lifetime, so
noisily before a raging fire which crackled and popped; wooden tables, each
with a brass candlestick in its center, were dotted across the timber floor,
the tops of which were coated in thick clumps of dried wax like icing on a cake.
The oak beamed ceiling was so low that Uncle Percy had to stoop to avoid
banging his head as he spied a thickset grey-haired man sat in the corner,
drinking bitter from a pewter tankard.
‘ Sid, ’ Uncle Percy said. ‘ Sidney Shufflebottom? ’
The old man looked up. ‘ Bless my soul…if it isn ’ t Percy Halifax, ’ he said, surprised. ‘ Don ’ t see you in the boozer too often, nowadays. How you keepin ’ , son? ’
Uncle Percy walked over and shook the man ’ s hand vigorously. ‘ Not bad at all, Sid.
Good to see you. How ’ s Irene? ’
‘ She ’ s very well, ta. ’
‘ And young Zak? ’
‘ Oh, he ’ s an angel, ’ Sid replied. He
looked over at Becky and Joe and flashed a welcoming smile. ‘ And who are these two? ’
‘ This is Becky and Joe
Mellor, my niece and nephew, ’ Uncle Percy replied proudly. ‘ We ’ ve come to see Reg… is he around? ’
‘ Think so, ’ Sid confirmed, his
eyes flicking over to the deserted bar. ‘ Doreen! ’
A young woman with a heavily made-up face, popped up from beneath
the counter, chomping noisily on a piece of chewing gum.
‘ Reg about, Doreen,
luv? ’ Sid
asked.
Doreen paused, surveyed the group coolly, then tilted her head back
and screeched, ‘ REEEEGGGG ! ’ Then she gave a disinterested yawn.
Sid leaned into Uncle Percy and whispered, ‘ Sorry about Doreen.
She ’ s new
and between you and me might be in the wrong job … she appears to hate people. ’
A door behind the counter creaked open and a short, grizzled man
appeared, wearing a loose-fitting brown jacket, patched at the elbows with
uneven scraps of material; his chin showed at least three days of stubble and
his eyes looked swollen as though he hadn ’ t slept in some time.
‘ Thanks, pet, ’ Reg muttered. He
looked over at Uncle Percy, and for a brief moment his face displayed shock,
before flashing a welcoming smile. ‘ By ‘ eck, if it ain ’ t me old chum, Percy Halifax. ’
Uncle Percy smiled back. ‘ How are you, Reg? ’
‘ I canna complain. ‘ Bout yourself? ’
‘ I ’ m well, thank you. ’
Reg looked at Becky and a twinkle lodged in his eyes. ‘ Now if that ain ’ t that the prettiest face
starin ’ back at me. John ’ s girl, eh? Becky, if I ain ’ t mistaken. ’ He turned to Joe. ‘ And Joe, too. Good
lookin ’ lad, no doubt. My, I ain ’ t seen either of you since you were bairns. ’
‘ Hello, ’ Becky and Joe said in
unison.
‘ Is there any chance we
could have a little chat, Reg? ’ Uncle Percy asked. ‘ In private … ’
‘ Sure, ’ Reg replied. ‘ Come round the snug.
Doreen … giz a shout if you ’ re rushed off your feet. ’ Doreen grunted something back at him before resuming her chewing.
Reg pulled open the counter top and gestured for them to follow.
Becky found herself in a tiny room, that smelled of pipe tobacco and
stale food; half-drunken coffee mugs littered the floor and piles of unopened
post threatened to topple from a dusty mantelpiece, above which hung a portrait
of a middle-aged woman wearing a cream dress and holding a parasol. It was the
portrait that caught Becky ’ s eye.
Reg noticed and moved to her left. ‘ Believe it or not, that there ’ s one of the most
valuable painting ’ s in the world. ’
‘ Really? ’
‘ Look at the artist ’ s signature. ’
Becky ’ s lowered her gaze to a man ’ s name in the bottom right hand corner: ‘ Vincent. ’ Immediately, she
recalled an art project she did for school the previous year. ‘ Is… is that -? ’
Reg smiled tenderly. ‘ Vincent Van Gogh painted that for me in 1887. It was the first
painting he ever sold. And to be honest, he only ever sold one other in his
lifetime, so
Similar Books
