by Jennie Finch
Samuel made good time on his run, reaching the airfield easily within his target time. Stopping to drink a little water, he looked around, aware that others also used this space occasionally, but all was still. Listening for the sound of approaching cars, he cut across the runway and made his way to the ruined buildings at the far end. To his consternation, he saw the brush and stones that had concealed the entrance had been disturbed and there were signs of an intruder in the main room. Pulling on a pair of light cotton gloves, he felt around the wall locating his torch still in its hiding place up high on one of the lintels. Switching it on he traced the beam carefully over the floor and walls. Only when he was sure his cache had not been disturbed did he venture over to the pile of debris in the corner.
The smell of pineapple had faded over the past few weeks and he shook out the contents of his tin, examining each item carefully. It was almost time, he thought. Still, the signs of interest in his hiding place worried him. He had not evaded detection for so long by taking risks and he was so close now ….
With some reluctance he packed everything carefully in the large tin making sure he left no signs of his presence. Even his footprints, faint and indistinct on the packed mud of the floor, were scuffed and brushed smooth leaving an apparently untouched surface. The torch went in to his pocket and with a final look around Samuel hefted his tin, slightly off-balance from the bulk of his load. All was still outside in the mild morning air and he set off along the edge of the airfield, ducking around the clumps of brambles before sliding through a gap in the fence and settling into a reasonable rhythm across the marshy land.
He had no doubt that that interfering cow Bennie would contact his probation officer and he would be expected in the workshop for the afternoon session. He would have preferred to take his time over the new hiding place and maybe even pop over to the house to have another scout around and check nothing had changed but it was a long haul and he decided it was better to conserve his energy for the weekend.
The Levels are littered with old, abandoned buildings, relics of the agrarian and industrial past and Samuel had explored a large number of them. Steering clear of the more prominent footpaths, he made his way across the empty land to the disused railway line. Here he had noticed the remains of several crumbling buildings, not much more than a patch of scrubland with a scattering of broken brick on the surface. One in particular had a dropped floor and the remains of its door was still lying over the hole. Taking care not to mark the surface, Samuel eased it away from the frame and slipped his precious tin inside. It wasn’t ideal but then again it wasn’t for long. Soon the contents would be disposed of, untraceable in the thick mud of the great marsh at the centre of the Levels. Samuel always began afresh each time. It was one of the reasons no-one had ever come close to catching him.
He was exhausted by the time he reached the road into town and the sight of the bus rumbling over the pitted road was too much of a temptation. Despite his reservations he flagged it down, climbing aboard, paying the fare and sitting in silence as the green and watery landscape of the Levels flicked past the window. No-one seemed to be paying him any attention and he allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation in the corner of the vehicle. His imagination drifted towards the next few days, the time of anticipation before he was able to fulfil the desire burning inside him.
Not long, he thought. Not long at all.
It was a warm afternoon and Brian and Charlie had spent an exhausting and ultimately fruitless couple of hours crossing the runway, the metal detector becoming a dead weight as they dragged it across the broken concrete and rough scrub of the airfield. After their initial optimism wore off they found the enterprise was rather more like work than anticipated and over the next few days their approach changed from hopefully adventurous to grim determination. As the effects of an evening drowning their disappointment in Robbie’s Natural Cider, the most potent and notorious of all local ‘natch’, caught up with them, their remaining enthusiasm for the project evaporated along with their energy.
Charlie was first to crack, throwing the metal detector one way and his aching body another as he collapsed, a sweaty and bleary-eyed heap beneath the shade of a willow tree.
‘’Ent nothin’ here,’ he said. ‘Waste of time, this is. Useless girt thing.’ He aimed a kick at the detector, scuffing his trainers on the runway but failing to stir the machine into life.
‘Watch what you doing,’ Brian warned, gathering up his precious possession and pulling it out of the reach of his erstwhile friend. ‘Always takes time to find anything decent. If was easy, I reckon would be all gone by now. Probably been picked over already round here anyway. Maybe we’d be better out there.’ He waved an arm vaguely in the direction of Glastonbury, a faint smudge on the far horizon. The outline of the Tor wavered in the unseasonal heat and Brian collapsed next to Charlie, nudging him out of the way as he sought some shelter from the sun.
‘Don’t fancy lugging that old thing all the way to Glasto,’ said Charlie sulkily. He was beginning to regret his involvement in the project and was rather wishing he was home with his Gran. His stomach rumbled, a reminder it had been a long time since breakfast and neither of them had given any thought to providing any lunch. More pressing was thirst that dried his mouth and left his throat aching. Robbie’s ‘natch’ was a powerful diuretic and both lads were on the verge of disastrous hangovers.
‘Not all the way,’ said Brian crossly. ‘There’s a load of old ruins out there. Factories and forts and whatever. Can’t all have been dug over.’
He hauled his aching body upright and slung the metal detector over one shoulder. ‘Come on, I got an idea. Is an old dig over past that farm. Found some right nice bottles there once and there was lots of stuff around. You up for another go?’
In truth, Charlie wasn’t, but he was not willing to give up just yet. Wearily the two young men trudged across the airfield, slipped through the hedge and headed towards Brian’s next target.
Ada rose early, as was her habit, and trotted down the stairs in her cottage to put the kettle on and see to her chickens. Humming softly, she twitched the curtains aside and leapt back in alarm at the face pressed up against her window. Biting back a squeak, she stared for a moment before unbolting the door and, seizing a rolling pin from the draining board, hurling herself at the intruder.
‘Get away you nasty, dirty thing,’ she shouted, raising the rolling pin and brandishing it at Pongo. The goat looked at her for a moment, tilting his head to one side before turning round and sauntering back towards his paddock. A piece of washing line trailed from his mouth and he munched contentedly on the last of Ada’s dusters. Quivering with fury, Ada slapped at his hindquarters, generating a surprisingly mild sound of protest as Pongo ambled back inside his supposedly secure enclosure.
A quick examination of the fence showed the battery for the electric wires had been kicked over, presumably by the goat as retaliation for the mild shock it generated. One of the terminals had become disconnected, leaving the circuit off and the rest of the fence open to Pongo’s not inconsiderable strength.
Muttering angrily, Ada struggled to right the posts next to the paddock gate, stopping only to dash inside her kitchen and grab the screaming kettle off the stove. Finally she had the pen relatively secure and was able to go back inside where the dogs had helped themselves to the bread and bacon she’d unwisely left on the table. Surveying the mess in her kitchen, Ada felt her heart sink. Some days, she reckoned, it was better not to get up. Though at least she’d got to the damned goat before he ate her seedlings as well as the washing. And it wasn’t as if anything important had been on the line overnight. Mixed blessings, she thought as she settled at the table with a sigh. Story of most everyone’s life.
Wary of messing with the battery and either damaging the circuit or possibly electrocuting herself, Ada pottered around the garden keeping a careful eye on Pongo and the dogs. She had considered starting the day turning over the pile of chicken
manure but this was round the corner of the house, cunningly hidden between a pile of old milk crates and the remains of an Austin 40. Ada had decided a while ago that the scattered remains of larceny and failed repair projects provided excellent cover for her agricultural endeavours that were hidden away out the back. Most people took one look at the mess in the front and passed by with a righteous sniff. The chicken pile took care of anyone who sniffed too hard. Instead she dug out a new piece of washing line and strung it between the posts and turned her attention to transplanting her salad crops.
She was just considering what she was going to do about the goat overnight when Tom drew up in his battered old van.
‘Now then, Ada,’ he said cheerfully and then reeled back as Ada vented her fury on him, his fence and his goat.
‘Woah,’ he managed after several minutes of imaginative and highly personal comments. ‘Looks like you fixed it all right and there’s no harm done to the garden. Let me check it all over and start that ‘lectic fence off again.’
Ada sniffed, wiped her hands on her apron and went inside to put the kettle on, leaving Tom to reset the fence. This time he moved the battery to a box a good distance from the fence and piled some earth around it.
‘I’ll be putting a top on that,’ he observed. ‘Don’t want the current failing again on account of a bit of rain.’
Ada was mollified but still reluctant to let Tom off quite that easily. ‘Don’t know as I’d trust it again,’ she said pouring out the tea and pushing the remains of a cold pheasant over the table towards him.
Tom helped himself to a chunk of the bird and a couple of cold potatoes. ‘Got any pickle?’ he asked unperturbed.
Ada rummaged in a cupboard, slamming the door closed as she banged the jar down in front of him.
‘Said I wasn’t sure how safe he is in there,’ she repeated. ‘Give me a right scare, leering in through the window like that an’ all.’
‘Now Ada,’ said Tom tucking in to his lunch. ‘Was no harm done and won’t happen again. I’ll go round, check them posts and that battery’s well out of reach. This is girt lovely,’ he added, spooning pickles onto his potatoes.
‘Is just left over veg from last year,’ said Ada. ‘Secret is lettin’ it ferment a bit afore boiling. And a bit of honey, just to take the edge off.’
Tom shook his head in admiration. ‘Best I ever had, I swear,’ he said helping himself from the jar. ‘You ever thought of sellin’ them? I know a lot of fellahs as would give good money for summat as good as this. Nothing like a decent heap of pickle with a bite of lunch.’
Ada’s response to this idea was lost in a sudden and unexpected knocking at the front door, a sound that caused Tom to rise to his feet and glance uneasily around.
‘You expecting company?’ he asked.
Ada shook her head, equally perturbed. ‘No, I ain’t. You don’t think is someone from the river board?’
Tom stared at her in surprise. ‘Don’t reckon so,’ he said. ‘What would they be wanting with you anyway?’
The knocking was repeated as Ada nodded towards the back garden where Pongo munched his way happily through undergrowth that rightly belonged to someone else.
Tom shook his head. It was much more likely, he thought, the police had decided he’d had enough time free from their attentions and had decided to remind him he was still (and probably always would be) a ‘person of interest’ to them.
They were standing, frozen by their respective fears in the kitchen, when a face popped round the door.
‘I’m sorry to just drop in, Mrs Mallory,’ said Charlie Dodds. ‘Only I’m gasping for summat to drink. I don’t suppose you could spare a glass of water could you?’
Ada glanced at Tom, trying not to laugh aloud with relief. ‘You come on in lad,’ she said, reaching for a glass.
Charlie slipped into the cool room, his face red and shining from his long trudge across the Levels. He folded himself into a chair with a sigh of relief, bending over to push his battered army surplus bag under the table.
‘You been out looking for something your Gran can make for dinner?’ Ada asked, hoping to put the lad at ease.
Charlie shook his head as he gulped down the cold water.
‘More?’ Ada asked and he held out the glass gratefully. ‘You sip that now,’ she warned. ‘Don’t want you giving your stomach a cramp, all that cold poured in of a sudden.’
Charlie stopped for breath and set the half-empty glass on the table. ‘Thank you Mrs Mallory,’ he said shyly. ‘’Ent nothing to eat,’ he added, nodding to the bag. ‘Is – well,’ he gave Tom a suspicious look. ‘Is buried treasure.’
‘Is it now,’ said Ada. ‘And how might you be carrying treasure around with you then?’
‘’Tis too,’ Charlie protested. ‘Was down by the bottle pit, over near that old fort. We was usin’ Brian’s metal detector and there was a whole heap of glass and stuff – look.’ He hauled the bag out and dropped it on the table with a loud thump, then began to unpack it in front of them. A variety of coloured glass bottles, most of them dulled by years in the mud of the Levels, lined up across Ada’s table. Tom reached out to pick one up, raising his eyebrows to request Charlie’s permission first. He rubbed at the surface, spitting on his thumb to clean the deep blue glass.
‘This is a lovely specimen,’ he said holding the little artefact up to the light. ‘Not a lot of these around no more and I know several collectors as pay good money for blue glass. Specially of an age and this is – oh, I think maybe more’n eighty years.’
He met Ada’s disbelieving stare with a cool grin. ‘Look here,’ he said pointing to some embossed lettering on the surface.
‘Poison,’ read Ada. ‘Charming. So – what do that tell us then?’
Tom took the bottle and turned it carefully in the light from the open door. ‘Has ribbed sides – see – but nothing else stamped on it. From about 1908 was the law all poison bottles had to say “Not to be taken”. This ’ent got that so must be earlier.’ He smiled slightly and placed the bottle back on the table.
Despite herself Ada was impressed. ‘Well, you learn something every day,’ she said admiringly.
Tom shrugged modestly. ‘Just pick up stuff, hanging around markets and such. Still, is not often a lad your age knows these is worth something.’ He nodded approvingly at Charlie who was staring up in frank astonishment.
‘Oh, is not them’s the treasure,’ he said and fumbled around in the bag once more. ‘Is this,’ and he dropped a brightly painted metallic object down next to the bottles.
Tom and Ada both leapt back in horror. ‘Oh my good God,’ said Ada. Tom seized her by the arm and hustled her outside then went back, grabbed Charlie and hauled him through the door.
‘’Ent safe here neither,’ he said looking around the garden. Everywhere there were glass panels – or livestock. ‘Where are the dogs?’ he asked.
Ada put her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh, no. They’s in the front room. Oh Tom – oh no …’
‘Wait here,’ said Tom and before she could stop him he slipped back inside the kitchen.
‘What’s the matter?’ Charlie asked. ‘What about my treasure then?’
Ada stepped in front of him, blocking his way. With her hands on her hips she presented a formidable obstacle and Charlie, who was basically a sensible young man, hesitated.
‘That thing you got in there,’ said Ada. ‘That’s a bomb, you stupid lad.’
A look of horror flitted over Charlie’s face.
‘But can’t be,’ he protested. ‘Is all bright colours like someone decorated it. Why would anyone do that? And anyway,’ he added grimly, ‘’ent exploded or nothing. Oh heck.’ He sat down abruptly as the possibilities if Ada were right hit him. ‘Oh bugger. I bin jogging it around and …’ He went white and rocked slightly.
Despite her anger, Ada knelt down next to him. ‘Just sit here,’ she said hauling him to his feet and helping him over to a chair looking out over the back fence. �
�Maybe lean a bit forwards, put yer head down ’til you feel a bit better.’
Charlie flopped onto the seat, panting for breath as he stared out over the flat, watery landscape.
‘Feeling any better?’ Ada asked. She glanced over her shoulder anxiously hoping every second to see Tom appear with the dogs.
‘I’m right sorry,’ said Charlie softly. ‘Didn’t mean to be no bother to you. I just wanted a drink, was all.’ He was close to tears and still looked very pale.
‘Just sit there for a bit,’ said Ada. ‘Don’t fret – how was you to know, eh? You stay there mind. Don’t want you getting back into no danger.’
Charlie blinked up at her, squinting slightly in the bright sunlight. It seemed impossible, thought Ada, that this menace was lurking in her kitchen, bringing darkness on such a beautiful day.
Her concern for Tom growing with every minute, she hurried back down the path towards the house. She was surrounded by silence, broken only by a brief burst of birdsong from the willows across the stream. It was as if the landscape held its breath, waiting for a resolution. A scratching sound from the front of the cottage and a tiny, almost inaudible bark set Ada’s heart racing as she pushed through the new growth surrounding the side gate, pulling at the slightly soggy wood before opening a space large enough to slide through.
She gave a gasp of relief as the front door opened slowly and the two dogs wriggled their way out to safety.
‘Tom – oh thank you. Thank you so much …’ Lost for words for once in her life, Ada flung her arms around him, shedding a few tears of relief as she hugged him tight.
‘Now then Ada,’ said Tom gently disentangling himself. ‘We’s not out of the woods yet, so to speak.’ He smiled at her, patting her shoulder. ‘Don’t suppose you got a phone anywhere in there have you?’
Ada shook her head, her attention on the dogs that glided around her legs, tails wagging frantically with excitement.