The Camp

by Guy N Smith

  ‘He might be some time.’ She replaced the receiver and turned back to her visitor, but the warmth seemed to have gone out of her smile. ‘If you want to wait perhaps you’d take a seat out in the main reception area. I’ll call you when the General Manager’s free.’

  Norman took a seat in the big hall, found himself watching a cartoon on the television screen. Everybody around him was laughing but he couldn’t understand why. He looked at his watch. It was 10.40.

  ‘I really don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, Mr Tong.’ Tim Morrison smiled, seemed perfectly at ease unless you noticed how he fidgeted with the penholder on his mahogany desk. ‘I must apologise for not having got in touch with you but this is a very big camp and we didn’t realise that you were connected with the Maces. Apparently Sarah has a touch of summer flu and has gone to stay with relatives. Mr Mace hasn’t been well and his wife decided that a holiday camp was really no place for him to recuperate. I understand that they both left early this morning. I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more than that. If guests decide to forego their holiday, that’s their business, you understand?’

  Norman nodded. It tied in with what the supervisor had told him last night. But that did not mean it was true.

  ‘Our security officer was perfectly correct in what he told you, the Maces’ chalet has been relet. To the Jones family.’

  ‘I … I understand there has been some trouble in the camp.’ Norman was watching the other closely.

  ‘Trouble, Mr Tong?’

  ‘Two murders. A siege and a police shooting.’

  Morrison licked his lips, he seemed to go a shade paler but it could have been a trick of the light through the large smoky glass window. ‘Yes, I’m afraid there was.’

  ‘Who was the girl who was murdered on the island?’

  The other dropped his pen, it rolled to the edge of the desk but he caught it before it fell. ‘I’m afraid I can’t disclose her identity. The police are withholding it until relatives have been notified. That’s official, I can’t do anything about it.’

  Relief followed by an uneasiness for Norman. Sarah missing, Gwyn flipping his lid, Ruth wandering round the camp in a kind of trance. His stomach tightened, he felt sick. But the man opposite him was smiling reassuringly.

  ‘Really, the best thing you could do is go and see the camp doctor, Mr Tong. You’re in a state of nervous tension, that’s obvious even to me.’

  ‘I … don’t … want … to … see … your … bloody … doctor!’ Norman straightened up, stood there angry and defiant, wanted to smash his fist into the other’s smiling face. ‘I think you’re lying. There’s something underhand going on here and I’m going to get to the bottom of it. It seems to me that the Maces have been very conveniently removed from the scene, for whatever reason suits you. Well, you’re not going to find me so easy. If you won’t tell me who the dead girl was, I’ll bloody well find out for myself!’

  The pen had slipped from Morrison’s fingers again and this time he was not quick enough to catch it. It bounced on the carpet, rolled, was forgotten.

  ‘I’m a very busy man, Mr Tong.’ The General Manager buzzed the intercom on the desk. ‘Miss Hughes will show you out.’

  ‘All right.’ Norman was already on his way to the door. ‘I can see I’m wasting my time here. But I’m not leaving the camp, whether or not the Maces have gone home, and I don’t believe that they have. I’ll be around, you can bank on that, because there’s something fishy here and I’m going to find out what it is!’

  *

  Norman found himself down on the main camp car park, a subconscious instinct to flee this place of terror and lies. He had not been aware of his destination, had just walked away from the reception area, trying to collate his thoughts. Nothing made sense except that Sarah was missing and there had been a girl murdered here.

  Following the rows of parked cars, a homing instinct that led him to where his blue Escort van stood, a V-registered vehicle which was slowly succumbing to corrosion. Another few thousand miles and it would be destined for the scrapyard. He stood there looking at it, toyed with the keys in his pocket. Provided it started, and that was always a gamble, he could be out of here in minutes, away from all this. No, he couldn’t escape, it had seeped into his system just like the rust was eating away the bodywork of the van. He could not leave until he knew, one way or the other.

  ‘Problems, mate?’

  He started, had been unaware of the tall bearded man crouching by the side of the adjacent Maxi. Norman turned, saw that the car sagged on flat tyres. ‘Looks like you’re the one with problems.’ He forced himself to smile. ‘Run over a box of nails?’

  ‘I wish I had.’ The other had a worried expression on his face. ‘They’ve been let down.’

  ‘Vandals?’

  ‘Again I wish it was.’ Jeff Beebee leaned back against the car. ‘Sabotage, I’d say.’ He was puzzled when the youth nodded his agreement, no shocked surprise. It sent little icy tingles up and down his back. ‘You haven’t got a foot pump by any chance, I just want to blow these tyres up enough to get me up to the garage?’

  ‘Sure.’ Norman produced his keys, had to fiddle with the rear door lock of the van but eventually managed to prise it open. ‘It’s an old one but I think it’ll do the trick.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Jeff took the pump, began unscrewing the valve. ‘Bloody queer place this camp is.’ An urge to talk, to pour out his troubles to somebody; anybody, even a total stranger. ‘What’s your problem?’

  ‘My girl’s missing, so are her parents.’ Norman blurted it out in a rush. ‘There’s been murders. I think, and I hope to God I’m wrong, that she was killed on the island. It’s like everybody’s trying to cover up.’

  ‘You can say that again.’ Beebee began pumping with his foot, felt the air going into the tyre. ‘Tell you what, pal, let’s get these tyres blown up and then we’ll go somewhere and talk, eh?’

  ‘Fine.’ Sudden overwhelming relief in spite of his fears. ‘Come on, I’ll give you a hand.’

  The Maxi started up, Norman climbed into the passenger seat, slammed the door, had to bang it a second time. Jeff reversed out into the stony aisle, began threading his way slowly towards the exit. Out on to the tarmac, over the bridge with the miniature railway below them, a circuitous route that would take them to the camp’s garage by the main entrance.

  People thronged the road, were reluctant to move out of the way. Some youths were playing football with a brightly coloured beach ball, mothers pushing prams. A red-ringed sign said ‘Dead Slow’.

  Jeff idled in bottom gear, wondered if he might stall. He was tempted to tap the horn but he decided against it. Nobody was in a hurry, least of all themselves. The crowd parted slowly to let them through. Just three people obstructing their path, the Maxi edged up behind the trio.

  ‘Bloody hell, look at that!’ Jeff pointed at the three figures who seemed oblivious of the fact that a car was within a couple of yards of them. ‘What the devil are they playing at, dressed up like that?’

  A man in the lead, a thick dark overcoat buttoned up to a scarf which was wrapped around his neck, trousers tucked into his socks. Two women followed behind him, the one wearing sweaters and a light topcoat which fell below her wellington boots. The second woman walked stiffly, head erect, short steps because the rubber galoshes on her feet were several sizes too large for her. A thick knitted sweater with a raincoat over it. A kind of procession, looking neither to the right nor the left, hurrying. People were staring at them, pointing, laughing.

  ‘They gotta be screwy,’ Jeff Beebee grinned. ‘I guess in these holiday camps you meet the lot. Jeez, the sweat must be rolling off them!’

  Suddenly Norman tensed, leaned forward. Something about the second woman was very familiar; her walk, so dignified in spite of the ludicrous situation, the way her arms hung by her side, the short dark hair streaked with grey that fell neatly below the coloured pompom hat. It couldn’t be … but it was!<
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  ‘What’s up?’ Jeff glanced at his passenger, noted how the colour had drained from the other’s freckled face. ‘You feeling okay?’

  ‘That … that woman in front of us,’ the finger that stabbed at the windscreen shook uncontrollably, he could barely get his words out, ‘she’s … there’s no doubt about it … that’s my girlfriend’s mother!’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Billy Evans closed the door after them, tested it with his shoulder. A feeling of sadness engulfed him, they were leaving their home, they might never see it again. The snowdrifts would bury it, it would be preserved for posterity. He turned to the other two, barely recognised them. Dark glasses, hats pulled down, coat collars turned up.

  ‘Right,’ he tried to sound confident for their benefit, ‘we’re off! You two stick close to me, we don’t want to get split up.’

  ‘Billy, are you sure you know where you’re going?’ Valerie asked as she trudged in his wake. ‘I mean, we won’t be able to recognise landmarks, will we? We could get lost, freeze to death overnight.’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on the sun.’ He looked up, was dazzled even through his Polaroids. ‘Don’t you go worrying about that. Stick to the main roads, that’s the rule.’

  He couldn’t see much in spite of the fact that it was bright sunshine all around. Snow-blindness, he decided. Keep your head down, don’t look up except when necessary.

  ‘There’s an awful lot of people about.’ Valerie had to shout to make herself heard. ‘I thought you said everybody had gone south.’

  ‘These are the stragglers,’ he called back. ‘Take no notice of ’em and don’t stop to talk to anybody. Some of ’em will be pretty near to starvation, if they suspect we’ve got food they’ll likely as not murder us for it. Now, save your breath, you’ll need every puff.’

  She let him take the lead. Everywhere seemed misty and yet the sun was shining. The road beneath them felt hard enough, perhaps the wind had blown the snow off it, drifted it elsewhere. She wondered how far they were going to trek today, whether or not they would find shelter for the night. They certainly didn’t have enough food with them to last them throughout their journey, the carrier in her hand felt exceedingly light. She glanced sideways at her companion. Poor Ruth didn’t look well, she could not see her clearly but the other was fragile, wouldn’t stand up to a long walk. What if she collapsed? A terrible thought; they couldn’t just go and leave her.

  ‘Warm enough for yer?’ Valerie recoiled as the outline of a huge man loomed up, a coarse face leering within inches of her own. She clutched at Ruth’s arm, tried to drag her away. Hurry, let’s get away! Billy was right, these people could turn nasty. Ignore them, don’t argue with them.

  ‘Are you all right, Ruth?’ Valerie was breathless, afraid.

  ‘I’m fine,’ her companion answered. Unmoved, as though she did not understand. It was all the worry, not knowing where her husband and daughter were, they might even be dead. Valerie slipped an arm around her.

  Ruth was sure she was dreaming, one of those nightmares like you got when you were ill, a kind of waking dream. This could not really be happening. She felt uncomfortably hot in her thick clothing, was longing to cast some of it off but she might offend the Evanses if she did. She would have to put up with it, she just hoped that she didn’t faint. They said there was deep snow but she couldn’t see any of it, not that she could see much at all, particularly in these sunglasses; the lenses were smeared and dirty, when they called a halt she would attempt to clean them.

  ‘I can hear a car, Billy!’ Valerie reached forward, tapped her husband on the shoulder.

  ‘Bloody fools!’ He grunted but did not turn his head. ‘There’s always some silly bleeder who has to try and make it in his car, whatever the conditions. That’s why main roads get blocked with abandoned vehicles. He won’t get far, a hundred yards maybe and he’ll be stuck for good, you see if I’m not right.’

  The crowd was swelling, walking in the road ahead of them, holding them up, coming up from behind, lining the roadside to leer at them. It was very frightening. Valerie was tempted to tip out the bag of food, leave them to scavenge. Take our food, but please let us go on our way. As a last resort she would. Everybody seemed to be staring at them. Oh, God, it was awful!

  Ruth could hear the car now, it sounded very close, right behind them. She dared not look, her blurred vision fixed straight ahead of her, focused on Billy’s back. An engine revved, she quickened her pace. Suppose the driver braked, skidded on the ice, he might mow them down.

  ‘Excuse me,’ addressed to Billy, watching Valerie out of the corner of her eye, ‘I think we should move over. Somebody wants to come by.’

  ‘Bugger ’im, let ’im wait, e’ll soon find out ’e can’t get far.’

  ‘Billy, be sensible, we don’t want to be run over!’ Valerie caught his sleeve, pulled him to one side. Ruth followed them, stubbed her toe against the kerb and only saved herself by grabbing her companion. The three of them lurched up on to the pavement. A mass of faces, everybody staring at them. Go away, for God’s sake leave us in peace!

  The car moved forward, Ruth caught a glimpse of it; it seemed to be a squat model, dark brown in colour, a face pressed against the window on the passenger side. She stared at the features, thought that perhaps she ought to recognise whoever it was. No, that was impossible, she did not know anybody in these parts. She did not even know where she was.

  The passenger was shouting something, winding the window down. A young man, his words were lost in the noise of the crowd. Just as well, she thought, he was probably yelling abuse at them like everybody else was doing. The car had slowed, almost stopped, there was barely a yard separating them. And still that young man was shouting.

  Ruth turned her head away. She had never been one to engage in verbal exchanges and that was the last thing she needed right now. She thought she heard Billy Evans say something, preferred not to think what it might have been but it had the desired effect. The driver accelerated and the car moved on.

  ‘Pillock!’ Billy led them back into the road. ‘We’ll probably come across that twit again a bit further on, stuck up to his roof in a drift. You meet ’em!’

  It seemed to Ruth that the whole world was on the move today. Men, women and children, some heading in the opposite direction; nobody really knew where they were going, it was a mass exodus. But she still couldn’t see any snow and it was becoming warmer all the time. Goodness, she’d give anything for a nice long drink of lime and lemon and a squirt of deodorant. There was definitely a smell of BO in the air and she knew only too well that she was sweating under her armpits.

  ‘Hold it!’ Billy pulled up suddenly and the two women bumped into him. People were pushing past them, elbowing them rudely out of the way.

  ‘What … is it?’ Valerie whispered, clutched Ruth’s hand.

  ‘Some sort of a roadblock.’ Billy was peering ahead, wished that he was wearing his long-distance specs. ‘Can’t be sure …’

  ‘Perhaps we ought to go back.’

  ‘Don’t be a twat! We’ve got to keep going, whatever. There’s a barrier across the road, I guess they’re stopping cars, turning ’em back because there’s no way through. This is a free country, they can’t stop you walking. Come on, let’s see what it’s all about.’

  It was definitely some kind of checkpoint, Ruth would have hung back except that she did not want to risk being separated from the others. And if she did not keep up with them somebody might grab her. This crowd was in an ugly mood, she could still hear them catcalling.

  A red and white pole was stretched across the road. Close to it was a hut that resembled a sentry box; all around there were low buildings with overlooking windows. Ruth’s heartbeat had speeded up, she was beginning to feel very frightened. Their followers were hanging back as though they, too, were scared to approach this sinister place.

  Two men stood by the barrier, identically clothed in grey uniforms and wearing security helmet
s, the visors pulled down. Watching and waiting, their scrutiny singling out the advancing trio, ignoring everybody else. A ring of faces, the crowd behind had suddenly quietened.

  ‘I don’t like the look of this,’ Valerie whispered to Ruth, ‘those men look like police, but not ordinary police!’

  Ruth stole a glance behind her, wondered if it was too late to run. The crowd had closed in as if to cut off her escape route. They would pull her down if she fled and the Lord only knew what they might do to her! If this is a dream then I want to wake up now. She didn’t, stood there feeling slightly sick and faint. Oh, where were Gwyn and Sarah? She knew she was going to break down before very long. And, God, I’ve just remembered – I’m pregnant!

  Billy Evans walked forward, felt a myriad of hostile eyes focused on him. Self-conscious, afraid, he had always shunned the limelight, gone sick rather than appear in the school play when he was a boy. I can’t stand people looking at me. What d’you want? The two uniformed men had moved apart, one on either side of him. A door opened in one of the huts and another helmeted figure appeared.

  ‘Excuse me, sir, would you mind stepping into the office for a minute, the ladies with you?’ The nearest man spoke quietly as if he did not wish the gathered audience to hear him. Embarrassed but firm, trying to be tactful. We don’t want a scene, it’s bad publicity.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t like to step into your office,’ Billy Evans glared through grease-stained sunglasses, ‘and neither would my wife and her friend. Let us through, please!’

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t do that, sir.’ The third security man had moved in closer, the three of them had fanned out into a semicircle. ‘I’m afraid you can’t leave the camp,’ a whisper now that surely would not reach the watchers, ‘for your own good, sir.’

  ‘Camp! What camp?’

  The uniformed men glanced at one another, stepped a pace closer.

  ‘The holiday camp, sir. The one where you’ve been staying.’