by Dan Moore
‘You can put your arm around me if you like.’
Tiffany. He’d been to the movies with her only once, yet she’d forever be associated with the place. They’d shared their first kiss at a mid-afternoon screening of what had been the latest horror flick. He knew her words would be imprinted on his mind forever.
He glanced at Scarlett. She’d let hair fall across the side of her face that he could see, big green eyes studying him through the auburn curls. Her lips parted as she smiled. He felt her hand crawling down his wrist, destined for his fingers. He eased himself further into the squashy seat and smiled back at her. He had nothing to worry about, he could relax. He must have looked daft, sitting bolt upright, munching his popcorn like a dog wolfing down a treat.
His insistence that they watch something gory had been voted down, three votes to one, in favour of the latest Hollywood rom-com. He’d thanked Lucas for siding with the girls. What a mate! He didn’t mind really, so long as Lucas stopped egging him on every time Scarlett wasn’t looking. If anything happened between them, and it was a big if on his part, it’d be on his and Scarlett’s terms, not on Lucas Hawkins’s.
He looked up at the screen as the opening title sequence began to roll, the dishevelled male protagonist staggering through an urban avenue, shirt un-tucked, scuffed shoes crunching through orange leaves.
Brilliant! thought Freddie. Just what I need! The story of a heartbroken lad, not much older than himself, struggling to come to terms with a loss (he’d skimmed through the free magazine out in the foyer). He didn’t care much for happy endings – life wasn’t like that. He thought of Mum, of the pain her sacrifice had caused him. He’d about as much chance of a happy ending as he had of seeing the Loch Ness Monster. But he knew deep down that the only chance he’d ever have of realising a happy ending would be if he were to move on. Life, he’d started to realise, rewarded the go-getters.
Scarlett’s fingers reached his hand. He gulped. He let her fingers wrap around his and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. And that’s when he saw him, close to the front of the packed house, blonde hair standing out even in the near darkness. The lad he’d seen leaning against the bale, the lad who so resembled the long departed Noel Davidson. Surely, surely it was him… But how could it be?
He’d wait to see if the lad left to go to the toilet at all, or to the atrium to stock up on popcorn and sweets. He’d follow him out, confront him; put an end to all of this. Failing that he’d wait until the end, push his way through the crowd and hope to catch him before he disappeared again. Warm breath tickled his ear.
‘Harvey used to bring me here all the time. I had to pay for myself, of course. This is where he asked me out, this very screen in f–’
‘–Ssshhh!’ came a hiss from the moviegoers around them.
Why wouldn’t she give it a rest on Harvey? wondered Freddie. He really didn’t care. He just wanted to watch the film.
‘Do you miss your ex?’ she asked.
‘Trying not to think about her, you know.’
‘–Ssshhh!’
‘Hey! Keep it down there fella!’
Why did she have to go and mention Tiffany? thought Freddie. Why did everyone assume he wanted to pour his heart out to them about the most private of subjects? Yes, he often wore his heart on his sleeve when he felt aggrieved but emotions – real emotions – would always lose their way as they ascended his throat, the remnants ejecting from his lips in a hoarse babble. He squeezed her hand again.
‘Let’s just watch the film, eh?’
But how could he concentrate on a film he didn’t particularly care to watch with everything going on? Freddie wondered. He decided to keep tabs on the blonde-haired lad. Scarlett didn’t seem to notice his lack of interest in the film, or indeed her. He only hoped she wouldn’t quiz him on the rom-com afterwards.
Several times Noel’s lookalike turned to glance along his own row so that Freddie was afforded the slightest glimpse of his face. But the light from the screen simply wasn’t enough to illuminate his features. The lad really could be anyone. He had to be sure before he confronted him.
After what seemed an age he slid his Samsung from his pocket with his free hand, checking the time. The film had only been running for an hour. He still had thirty minutes to wait.
‘Turn it off,’ someone shouted from the back. ‘Didn’t you hear the warning?’
‘All right, all right, calm down,’ he said without turning round. ‘It’s crap anyway.’
He felt Scarlett’s head come to rest against his arm. At least he had one supporter in the room. But was he really ready for this? He certainly didn’t want to lead her on. Why can’t I just have some fun, like everyone else? He shifted uneasily beneath the weight of her head, sitting up a little straighter in his seat, prizing his fingers from her grasp.
‘I don’t want you to thi–’
‘–is it me?’ she asked suddenly. ‘Aren’t I as pretty as her?’
‘No, I didn’t mean – what?’
‘Forget it!’
What a disaster! A gap began to form between them, a gap that became so wide they were practically sitting on their neighbour’s knees by the end of the film. Finally, mercifully, the protagonist got back with the love of his life and the screen faded to black, the end credits rolling. Freddie jumped to his feet before anyone else on his row.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, ignoring the grunts aimed in his direction as he pushed his way towards the aisle. He turned back towards Scarlett, her forehead creased, eyebrows straightening. ‘Just need to check something. Meet you out in the foyer.’
He reached the aisle and bounded down the steps, taking three at a time. Fellow moviegoers either got out of his way or pulled their companions away before he bulldozed through them. As he reached the bottom two rows, searching through the crowd for blonde hair, an elderly man sporting a walking cane rose gingerly from his seat and stumbled out onto the steps.
‘Granddad! Look out!’
The hunched figure collapsed back into his seat, the blow cushioned by his irate granddaughter.
‘He had a hip replacement last year, you idiot!’
Customers turned up ahead upon hearing the commotion, parting as he charged for the door. He pushed his way through people desperate to escape, no one wanting to get held up in the multi-storey next door.
‘What’s the rush pal?’ a ruddy-faced man bellowed.
He reached the exit, stumbling out into the corridor, the door held open by a disinterested attendant. Moviegoers from the screening of a different film streamed out of an exit across the way. Brilliant! thought Freddie. He’d never find him now! Who’d come up with the scheduling? Even he knew two packed screenings leaving simultaneously would cause problems. He’d a good mind to fill out a form and drop it in the suggestion box.
If only he was six-foot-six, he’d be able to glance over the sea of heads, pick the Noel lookalike out no problem. A group gathered outside the toilets slowed the fleeing moviegoers, forcing them into a bottleneck. Bumping shoulders with strangers he pushed his way onwards until suddenly, he reached the atrium. He’d lost him, blown his chance.
The residents of Ravenby-le-Wold would go on being paranoid, would continue drawing their curtains before dark, hurrying home in groups. Madness! But perhaps they enjoyed the mystery, the fear it induced, thought Freddie. Life could be tedious, especially in a place so remote the local bus service passed through just twice a day. Noel’s ghost gave them something to gossip about, something to scare their kids into behaving themselves with.
‘If you’re not in bed before dark Noel will get you,’ was one expression he’d already heard.
He’d come to a standstill, agitated figures squeezing past him, hurrying to beat the rush to the car park. He knew he might as well wait for the others or even go back to meet them, explain why he’d left in such a hurry. He didn’t doubt they’d think him crazy. Did Scarlett think she’d had a lucky escape? Lucas and Jess would have a right good
giggle at his expense.
Turning back towards the corridor he’d just emerged from, he scanned the crowd. Where were they? Why were they taking so long? Surely a teaser scene hadn’t followed the credits… Does the film seriously merit a sequel? he thought, frustrated. The smell of hotdogs kick-started the rumbling in his stomach. All this hard work had messed up his appetite. He peered across at the confectionary counter and froze. It was him – it just had to be him! Unkempt blonde hair, patched up jacket.
‘Hey!’ Freddie shouted.
Several people shot anxious glances his way, one elderly lady backing away from him.
‘Oi!’
This lad held the key to Ravenby-le-Wold’s salvation! thought Freddie. He couldn’t lose him a second time. Freddie sprung like a greyhound from a trap, his knees buckling, his shoulder crashing into something solid. Popcorn rained down on him.
‘What the–’
Gasps, squeals, a rumble of disapproval.
As the blonde-haired lad turned to face the commotion, strong hands seized Freddie firmly around the waist.
‘Outside! Now!’
His ears were on fire, the sensation quickly spreading all over his face and down his neck. It wasn’t him, the features far too blunt. The hair was blonde, the clothes not exactly designer, but it certainly wasn’t the Noel lookalike from the public footpath. What a fool he’d been! Who was he to accuse anyone else of being paranoid or obsessed? As he was escorted roughly from the atrium he heard pounding footsteps, and Lucas’ proud voice:
‘Freddie, whatever’s the problem?’
‘I thought I saw a ghost,’ he said.
9
Freddie upended his boot, patting the muddy underside with his palm, ejecting needle-like shards of straw which fell like confetti over the rugged doormat. He knew that in the average household this act would be tantamount to high treason. But the back porch of the farmhouse had been reserved for boots, patched-up overalls, hats, winter jackets. What would Rhona have made of all this? He often wondered why she’d never volunteered their house as a show home for the estate.
‘We won’t be back ‘til five-ish so carry on with the tidying up ‘til four,’ said Greg, brushing past Freddie, wearing what looked like a brand new suit.
‘It must be important,’ said Freddie, hopping around on his free foot. ‘Are you off to renew your wedding vows or something?’
‘All will be revealed later,’ said Elizabeth, exiting the kitchen, dressed equally as smartly as her husband, in a long black skirt and white blouse.
What are they up to? Abandoning work early… dressed-up… acting all secretive…He’d ask Jess if she knew anything about this lunchtime date.
‘Have fun,’ he said, watching them trot sheepishly around the side of the house towards Greg’s truck. He’d wondered why they’d been in such a rush to get the routine, day-to-day tasks out of the way before dinner.
Greg had left plenty for him to be getting on with, and he didn’t plan on disappointing his boss, especially after the embarrassment of the ruckus which had followed the misunderstanding at the cinema. He’d not put up much resistance when security had expelled him, largely because of how ashamed he’d felt at falsely identifying the lad from the public footpath.
He cursed his luck. Why did a bloody policeman have to saunter past at that precise moment? Why? He seriously needed his fortunes to improve. And it hadn’t been any regular bobby either, but one who’d clearly had a bad day. He’d tried taking his telling off like a man, he really had. But ten minutes in, with the copper still laying into him, something finally snapped.
‘Just who do you think you are?’ he’d said, loud enough for the growing crowd – which included his three blushing friends – to hear. ‘You’re certainly not my dad, and only he can speak to me like that.’
‘Can he?’ asked the policeman. ‘Well, perhaps I’ll speak with him, then, and see what he makes of your behaviour.’
‘Go for it!’
He’d regretted the words the moment they’d left his mouth. But he knew he couldn’t take them back, not with the crowd egging him on, and with PC Take-on-the-world on his case.
Dad hadn’t been impressed, and when Rhona had grabbed the phone from him Freddie’s humiliation had been complete.
‘I’m disappointed in you, Freddie – you’ve really let me and your father down,’ she’d said. ‘First the stealing, now this… I expected more from you…You haven’t been brought up to behave this way… It really isn’t good enough…’
‘Love you too!’ he shouted into the phone. He’d hung up, broken into a smile. He loved cutting Rhona off before she’d had the chance to deliver a verdict.
He headed for the yard, a dark corner of which needed a good sweeping. He’d helped Greg clear the dingy area the day before. They’d removed rotten pallets, bags stuffed with bale band, and a stockpile of tools (mostly broken) which had more than likely been out of use when Ursula lived at Ridge Farm as a young girl. An epic spring clean was well underway, but as he’d seen and frequently remarked upon, the farm certainly needed it.
He could see the sweeping brush propped up against a stone wall as he neared the once cluttered corner. He glanced briefly past the sheds and out across the hillside. In the three days that’d passed since the misunderstanding in the atrium of the cinema, he’d decided it would be for the best if he gave up his pursuit of Noel’s lookalike. There had to be a rational explanation, but it wasn’t his problem to solve. It must be a distant relative or something! he concluded.
He’d kept his head down and worked hard since the incident, going out of his way to avoid contact with Scarlett. He hadn’t replied to any of the twelve text messages she’d sent him. The first few messages hadn’t been too bad. She’d commiserated him on bumping into the wrong policeman on the wrong day. But the general taste of the messages had soured with his failure to reply, so much so that the twelfth and final message had all but told him never to contact her again. That suits me just fine!
He gripped the brush tightly (noticing that his hands had already toughened somewhat) and began sweeping the filth into piles, leaving a steadily growing cloud of dust behind him. He could feel the effect of the manual labour in his chest, and in his whole body. He felt fitter, stronger, more disciplined. He felt alive.
But the repetitive, mundane nature of the work quickly sent his mind wandering. Every nook and cranny of the farm held opportunity. He considered the non-use of space, as well as the misuse of certain areas; a waste. Such a small farm, and an unprofitable farm at that, needed to make use of every square inch. He challenged himself, if only hypothetically, to come up with ideas which might turn Ridge Farm into a profitable enterprise once again.
Turning the disused outbuildings into roadside stalls seemed a no-brainer, and making use of the farmhouse’s spare bedrooms as a bed and breakfast would also bring in extra income, but what else could be put to use?
He looked around. Of course, all this old junk! Yes, it was junk to them but surely someone could do something with it? A few of the rusty pieces of machinery might even be museum pieces! He’d bring the idea of a farmyard sale up with Greg. He knew he was a proud man, but to hell with that! He’d noticed a look of resignation in Greg’s eyes of late and he didn’t like it.
‘Hey!’
He spun round, the brush slipping from his hands, clattering on the concrete.
‘You scared the life out of me, Jess.’
‘Sorry, Mr Jumpy,’ she said, raising a hand to shield her mouth and nose from the dust. ‘You tidying up again!? This isn’t like dad at all.’
‘Perhaps he’s just making use of the extra pair of hands?’ he said, his cheeks tingling. ‘The rodents are doing just as well as the livestock, from what I’ve seen.’
‘I suppose.’
Something tickled his chin. Bloody spiders! He lifted a hand to brush the arachnid away when his leg began to vibrate. He dug about for his Samsung – no text message. No missed call. He m
ust have imagined it!
‘Is everything ok?’
‘Umm yeah – fine.’
He rammed the mobile back into his pocket. He knew he needed to push Tiffany Angle as far from his mind as possible, for his own sanity.
‘Do you fancy a drink?’ asked Jess, placing a hand on his arm. He could feel the tenderness of her fingers through the sleeve of his t-shirt, tensing instinctively. ‘Oh, you have been working hard!’
The tingling in his cheeks fuelled a raging fire. He knew his face would turn bright red.
‘Oh, I don’t know. Your dad left me a really long list of jo–’
‘Well,’ she said, linking arms with him, ‘as his only child and heir to his dynasty I insist you take a break. Besides, you’ve done plenty already and he’s hardly going to notice you’ve taken a twenty minute breather.’
‘What if they come back?’
‘Relax, Freddie,’ she said, sidling up to him. She turned, the slight breeze catching her hair, whipping his burning cheek. ‘This is supposed to be the summer holidays. Enjoy yourself!’
‘Ok, boss!’
‘And loosen up a bit. Friends are allowed to link arms!’
He gulped.
‘I do know.’
‘Lucas isn’t going to punch you for walking me back to the house.’
But Freddie wasn’t so sure. And thankfully Lucas couldn’t read minds! He wanted the walk back to the farmhouse to stretch on for miles and miles.
‘What were you thinking about when I snuck up on you?’ she said, as they set off across the yard.
‘Nothing.’