Read Online The Year of the Ladybird by Graham Joyce - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Graham Joyce
Ads: Link
peered back at me with suspicion, as if I somehow meant to harm
them. I felt a wave of revulsion. My teeth chattered.
The sun appeared to come out again, and I had to blink, because I wasn’t looking at a man and a boy at all. All I could see was the railway sleeper they’d sat on. I’d somehow
hallucinated them in the morning light. I recovered and paced up the beach to the sea-blasted railway sleeper. It was festooned with the usual debris of the beach: a bit of rope, a plastic bottle,
some dried bladderwrack, an old coat hugging the sleeper. But of the man and the boy there was 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 see anything until finally I had to challenge myself not to keep looking back 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 odour 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 camp, waiting for Tony. I knew he drove a smart Wolseley saloon. Instead a two-tone Hillman Minx pulled up, with a cheerful pip
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 recognised a lad from the kitchen. I didn’t know his name. He
had buck-teeth shaping 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 cos 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. He switched 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 realise he was asking me a question. I hardly finished answering him before he asked me another question.
‘What’s yer Dad
them. I felt a wave of revulsion. My teeth chattered.
The sun appeared to come out again, and I had to blink, because I wasn’t looking at a man and a boy at all. All I could see was the railway sleeper they’d sat on. I’d somehow
hallucinated them in the morning light. I recovered and paced up the beach to the sea-blasted railway sleeper. It was festooned with the usual debris of the beach: a bit of rope, a plastic bottle,
some dried bladderwrack, an old coat hugging the sleeper. But of the man and the boy there was 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 see anything until finally I had to challenge myself not to keep looking back 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 odour 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 camp, waiting for Tony. I knew he drove a smart Wolseley saloon. Instead a two-tone Hillman Minx pulled up, with a cheerful pip
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 recognised a lad from the kitchen. I didn’t know his name. He
had buck-teeth shaping 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 cos 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. He switched 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 realise he was asking me a question. I hardly finished answering him before he asked me another question.
‘What’s yer Dad
Similar Books
