Daniel peered over her shoulder. The room had been stripped bare. Suitcases, magazines, clothes, cigars – everything had disappeared. The wardrobe door stood open on an empty cupboard. Only the bowl of pansies shone back at them.
Daniel glanced at the wall above the bed. The painting of The Riverside had gone, leaving a dangling picture hook.
“A proper moonlight flit.” He tried to keep the joy out of his voice. “A clean sweep… Does this mean I can have my room back?”
“Did you hear Frank leave?”
“No. I didn’t hear a thing… Not even his car. He sure knows how to move around this house with the feet of a thief.”
“What did you say to him?” Mum wiped her hands on her apron. Daniel was astonished to see tears glittering in her eyes. “We need the money, Danny. He owes us a month’s money… The brewery will be furious… You never even tried to like him, did you? I bet he’s gone because of something you said.”
That evening, Daniel and Joshua moved Daniel’s things back into his study.
They pushed the bed against the wall; taped up his football and music posters; carried the computer across the landing and plugged it in behind the desk.
Daniel checked the rocking-chair. The envelope underneath it had been ripped away, leaving only a shred of white paper.
He stared out of the window.
“The trouble is, this room still stinks of Jasper’s cigars. It’ll be ages before the smell disappears. It doesn’t feel like my room any more… Every time I look out at the car park, I expect to see the Mercedes.” He turned to face Joshua. “I wonder what Purple Nose said to him… I wonder what the police found when they ran their check.”
“You’ll never know,” Joshua shrugged. “And now it doesn’t matter. The guy will find somebody else to bully. People like him always do.”
“I just wish it didn’t feel so weird,” Daniel said. “It’s like Jasper is looking over my shoulder, watching everything I do. The trouble is… ” he hesitated.
“Spit it out.”
“There are so many unanswered questions.”
“Such as?”
“Why was Jasper stalking me on Port Meadow? Why did he bother to take my photograph? Then, after he arrived, why did he pretend he’d never seen me before? Why did he scatter those peacock feathers around, as if he wanted to freak us out?”
“Forget about him. He’s not worth a second thought.” Joshua grinned at him. “It’s sculling tomorrow, remember?”
“I haven’t forgotten. It’s the only thing at the moment that’s keeping me sane.” Daniel flicked on his computer. “I only hope Frank Jasper isn’t standing on Port Meadow in his white cap, watching me.”
Haunted
That night, in what felt like an empty bedroom, Daniel tossed and turned.
The unanswered questions whirled around his mind. When at last he fell asleep, his dreams were full of memories of Frank Jasper: standing on the terrace, talking to the peacocks; prising Daniel’s fingers off the peacock fan; facing the meeting on the island in his cream suit and flashy tie, triumph glittering in his eyes. The feathers of an angel, the voice of the devil… and the feet of a thief?
The overriding questions that troubled Daniel were these. Had Jasper realised who’d betrayed him? And if he suspected it was Daniel himself, would he seek revenge?
At the crack of dawn, Daniel was spark awake, sitting up in bed.
It felt as if someone had pulled at strings that were attached to the top of his head. He thought he could hear a door closing on the landing, footsteps flitting down the stairs.
He shot across the room and opened the door: first a crack, then further.
Nothing and nobody.
He crept across the landing into his study.
Everything looked exactly as it had last night.
Did Jasper have a key to the front door, or had he returned it before his moonlight flit? Should Daniel check with Mum, as casually as he could, without alarming her? Should he keep his study locked when he wasn’t in it?
And what about the island? He could hardly keep that under lock and key.
But what if Jasper had been trespassing? The man might have left The Riverside, but what if he were still living nearby in Oxford, intent on plaguing the life out of Daniel and his family, furious with the brewery for thwarting his ambitions, desperate for revenge?
Daniel threw on his clothes, struggled to fasten his trainers with trembling fingers, and dashed downstairs. The dawn air smelt fresh and sweet. Beyond the gushing waters of the weir, the river flowed calm and tranquil. Seagulls hovered in the sky, preparing to swoop onto the bridge.
The peacocks still slept in their tree.
Daniel felt instantly soothed by their oblivion. They would have been quick and noisy to react if anyone had disturbed them.
He ran over the bridge and stopped on the dew-soaked lawn, looking for traces of footprints or the telltale butt of a cigar.
He couldn’t spot anything unusual. He looked back the way he’d come. Only his own footprints showed in the damp grass, clear and freshly marked. But still he felt doubt nagging at him, like a hand clutching his shoulder.
He ran across the lawn, scrabbled at the camouflage branch above the shelter. He skidded down the mossy steps. As he did so, the scent of a cigar wafted into his lungs.
Later, after sculling, after Joshua had gone home, he told Phil the whole story over a cup of tea.
“You’re getting paranoid.” Phil spooned sugar into Daniel’s mug. “Con men like Jasper, once they realise they’ve been rumbled, they don’t hang around. He’s probably stuck on a false beard, got himself another passport and flown off to a tropical island to bask in the sun. Good riddance to bad rubbish. He’ll be miles away.”
“So how come I smelt cigars in the shelter?”
“It might have clung to your clothes. You could have brought the scent into the shelter, but you didn’t notice it until you were inside.”
“And what about the silver Mercedes I saw in Bardwell Road this afternoon?”
“Did you notice the number plate?”
“There wasn’t time. A truck got in the way.”
“Did you see who was driving?”
“A guy with blond hair.”
“And Jasper’s hair was black as a raven’s—”
“But that’s just it.” Daniel gulped his tea. “Jasper’s a great one for disguises.” He glanced across at the river. “I kept looking for the white cap when I was sculling this afternoon. It’s like I can feel the guy’s presence.” He plonked his mug on the draining-board, watching as the liquid slopped onto the scrubbed wood. “You know what?”
Phil looked at him. “What?”
“I think I preferred it when Jasper was living with us… At least then I knew where the hell he was and what he’d probably be doing.”
“Yes, well, it’s too late now to be thinking that. Forget about him, Dan. Of course I’ll keep watching for the white cap, if you really want me to. But if I’m honest, I think it’s a waste of time. Jasper tried his luck with you and your family, and failed. He thought he was onto a good thing but he wasn’t. If you let the memory of him rattle you like this, don’t you see what he’s managed to achieve?”
“What?”
“He’s made you terrified of the future… You mustn’t let that happen.”
Daniel said reluctantly, “Easier said than done… But I see what you mean.”
“Good man.” Phil opened a small cupboard. He drew out one of the keys that dangled from a small line. “Would you lock up the tank shed for me? I need to make a swift getaway this afternoon, and you’ve got homework to do.”
Daniel pattered across the gravel path to the small wooden lock-up by the river where Phil stored the petrol tanks that fed
the launches. The sunlight had vanished, and the sky glowered with heavy clouds.
Without thinking, Daniel bent to close the door.
Then he caught his breath. Clutching the handle on the door, he swiftly counted the tanks, looked around him at the lawns and gravel path. Then he slammed the door of the shed without locking it.
He pounded back across the path.
Phil looked at him. “What’s up now, Dan? Seen the white cap again?”
“The feet of a thief,” Daniel gabbled.
“What are you on about?”
“Jasper. One of the tanks has gone. There should be eight but there are only seven. None of the launches are out on the river. All the tanks should be in the shed. I know Jasper’s stolen it… I just know it.” Daniel ran a hand through his hair. “Now will you believe me when I tell you the man hasn’t gone anywhere? Or if he has, he’s got one of your tanks of petrol with him.”
Keeping Watch
“Look, Dan, calm down, will you?” Phil zipped up his jacket. “There’s got to be an explanation… Are you sure all eight launches are securely moored? Is anybody still out there on the river?”
“No. I’m positive.” Daniel handed Phil the key to the shed. “The launches have all been secured. The guys from school left more than an hour ago. There’s nobody else around. You wouldn’t have asked me to lock up if—”
“I’ll go and check.” Phil looked at Daniel. “I don’t think this has got anything to do with Jasper. We’re small fry. Professional villains who can organise fake passports and have enough money to buy up an entire island wouldn’t be bothered to steal a pathetic little can of petrol from a boatyard… What’s in it for him?”
Daniel watched as Phil stomped across the gravel path to the shed.
Moments later he was back, frowning. “You’re right. I’ve locked the shed for the time being, but one of the tanks is missing. Can’t think how it could have happened. I’ve been working here all day and I haven’t seen anyone snooping around—”
“But when you’re in one of the boathouses, you’re often underneath a boat, or stuck in a corner doing repairs. You wouldn’t notice a thing. Anyone can get into the boatyard from the road. There’s a PRIVATE LAND notice but that’s not going to stop someone like Jasper who thinks he owns the place… Or wants to.”
“Hmm.” Phil pursed his lips. “I’ll have to report this to the police immediately. And I’ve got a meeting with my boss in Oxford in ten minutes. I’ll have to drive like the clappers to get there on time. I can’t hang around here keeping watch in case that madman—”
“No,” Daniel said firmly. “But I can. Leave this to me.”
“On one condition.”
“Which is?”
“That you ring me on your mobile the minute you see or hear anything suspicious. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Phil scrabbled at his key ring. “Catch.” He threw one of the keys to Daniel. “It’s the key to the back door of my bungalow. Use it if you need to.” Bitterness darkened his voice. “Chloe’s with Octavia, as usual, so I’ll have to trust she’s safe and sound… Promise you won’t put yourself in danger.”
Daniel dashed into The Riverside for tea. Then he grabbed a couple of textbooks from his bag and raced out again to the boatyard. He dumped the books by one of the boathouse doors, too impatient to bother with them. He decided to make a thorough check of the adjoining field, thinking fast.
If Jasper had stolen the petrol in order to burn down the pub, presumably he’d want to hide the tank as near to The Riverside as he could, under a hedge or beside a tree. He must have walked here in disguise. He’d hardly have risked driving here and parking his car, even if he had discarded the Mercedes in favour of a smaller, older, more anonymous model.
Daniel found a long branch and walked purposefully with it around the field, jabbing at every clump of nettle, every tree trunk; swishing through the hedgerows, hoping to hear the giveaway clang of metal. All he found was a half-eaten raven which stank to high heaven, a filthy old anorak, and an abandoned thermos flask, covered in rust.
Cursing, he walked back to the boatyard and sat under a tree with his books, trying to concentrate. It was a waste of time. An hour later, the boatyard as empty and quiet as ever, he dragged himself back to The Riverside for supper. Better not give Mum cause to grumble. He didn’t want to answer any questions about where he’d been. In any case, if Jasper did have murderous intentions, he was far more likely to carry them out at night, after everyone had gone to bed.
That would be the dangerous time, when Daniel would need to be not only awake, but at his vigilant best.
Fully dressed, he flopped onto his bed and propped himself on his pillows. Almost immediately he could feel himself dropping off.
He jammed himself into a chair by the window, willing himself to stay awake, staring out at the allotments and the broken line of poplars, listening as customers left The Riverside; as the sound of voices in the kitchen died; as the last cars crawled out of the car park.
He heard Mum running a bath; Dad pottering about in the office. Finally their bedroom door closed. The pub lay quiet.
Daniel pulled on an extra sweater and a jacket, wound a scarf round his neck, picked up his torch and, in his socks, tiptoed downstairs. At the back door, he pulled on a pair of Wellington boots and closed the door behind him.
The air was damp and chill. Shivering, he zipped his jacket up to meet his scarf.
He ran down to the boatyard, past the poplars, past Phil’s bungalow – he was reassured to see that Phil was back: a light burned on the porch and in one of the rooms – and down to the huddle of launches moored on the riverbank.
The water made a gentle lapping sound against the sides of the launches. He could smell the greenness of the reeds.
He longed to be out on the river, sculling his way towards Oxford, the breeze blowing against his face and through his hair: away from all the worrying about Frank Jasper.
He knelt, and ran his fingers through the chilly water.
Wishful thinking. The blades were safely locked in the boathouse, he couldn’t possibly risk taking a scull out on the river alone – and anyway he had a lot more checking to do on land before dawn…
He stood up and ran his torch beam across the gravel path, over the boathouse doors, over the sculls in their hangars. There was nothing unlocked or out of place. Nothing had been disturbed. There were no cars parked on the gravel, and neither sight nor sound of anyone in the bushes.
He turned away from the river and began to run back to The Riverside, across the gardens and onto the bridge. For a moment, in his haste, he stumbled and almost fell. He clutched wildly at the side of the bridge, told himself to slow down. If he sprained an ankle now, he’d be out of action for days. He shone the torch carefully at his feet. An owl hooted from the trees, making him jump.
The island looked dark and strange, full of lumpy shapes and bushes. Fear gripped him by the throat. He knew every inch of the island – by daylight. At night, it became an entirely different, secret place with hidden pitfalls. Surely if Jasper had decided to hide here, the only place he would have chosen to do so was the shelter.
Daniel had no choice but to go and find out.
He walked slowly and silently towards it, his heart hammering. The camouflage branch was in its usual place. He shifted it and climbed carefully down the steps. He shone the torch around the inside of the empty shelter, catching his breath with relief. Then he settled on one of the chairs, pulling an old damp rug over his knees. His eyes closed but he was not asleep. He was too cold and much too uncomfortable. He sat there, listening with every fibre of his being…
He shone his torch onto his watch. Half-past one. He should go back to The Riverside and do the same again: check the boatyard, count the launches, scan the adjoining field, then make his way onto the island a
gain.
He would keep watch all night until the first light crept onto the horizon.
Outside the house in Wolvercote, he waited for Joshua, as usual, at the bottom of the path, while Josh wheeled his bike through the gate.
“Holy cow, you look shattered.” Joshua flung a leg over his bike and began to cycle down the road, staring at Daniel. “What the hell have you been doing?”
“I’ve been on night patrol,” Daniel said proudly. He explained why. “I crawled into bed at five o’clock and slept for two hours.”
“You’re nuts. You’ll never catch Jasper, not in a million years. He’s a maniac. He’ll be miles away by now… We’ve got French this afternoon… And the Tudors… You’ll never stay awake.”
Joshua was right. Half-way through French, in the middle of writing a vocabulary exercise, Daniel laid his head on his desk and fell asleep. Alarmed, Mademoiselle Hoppe tapped his shoulder and asked him if he were ill.
“Non, je suis desolée. Mais je suis un peu fatigué,” Daniel stuttered, flushing with shame.
Going home, cycling up the Woodstock Road in a daze, he almost collided at a zebra crossing with a woman pushing a rosy-cheeked child in a buggy.
“Sorry!” Daniel yelled, his tyres screeching.
“Stupid lout!” the woman shouted back. “Look where you’re going!”
He got to The Riverside without Mum spotting him, flung his bike against the woodshed door, crashed upstairs to his room and fell onto his bed.
When he woke with a start, two hours later, he felt like crying with relief.
The clouds that had threatened yesterday had gathered weight and strength.
Nobody – not even the monstrous Frank Jasper – would try to set fire to The Riverside in the pouring rain.
A Flicker of Red
“Don’t be alarmed if you see a strange man in the gardens when you get home from school.” Mum plonked a bowl of porridge in front of him.
Where Peacocks Scream Page 9