The Move

by Ray Timms

With my hands in my pockets because of the cold, and my head down I led the way around to the front of the pub. The entrance was an eye-opener: a mock up of horse-drawn coach. You stepped through it and out the other side into the lounge bar. ’Stand and Deliver”. The sign over it said. We paused inside the carriage to admire the extraordinary pink, chesterfield style, leather workmanship. It must have cost a fortune to have custom made? I heard an American tourist had made an offer to buy the place for a million pounds, but the family who had had it for three generations, had turned it down.

  Of particular fascination were the tables and chairs varnished to a glass-like finish made out of ancient tree roots dredged up from the nearby bogs and marshes.

  I went over to the bar. The woman sat behind it watching TV got up off her chair and smiled at me. A quick look about me confirmed my first impression: we were the only people in there.

  The others had gone off, excitedly searching through the maze of rooms, all fitted out with bog furniture and the most bizarre objects the owners could find. I got the impression the pub was a fascination for them and they would never finish adding to it.

  With some difficulty I managed to get their attention and a drinks order.

  Julie settled for glass of wine, Daniel wanted a Coke, Robbie, Lenny, Sean, and Carl, all chose different local ales. I settled for a bottle of spring water.

  I grabbed a handful of menus, and then went in search of the others. I found them gathered in a quiet area, back of the pub, sitting on bogwood chairs at tables made out of ship’s wheels. All around us were artifacts of great antiquity, and curiosity.

  Standing, I held up my glass and said. ‘Cheers everyone. Here’s to a successful house move.’

  Robbie and Carl came with me when I went back to the woman behind the bar to order our food. I had to smile at their fascination with the huge elm tree that had been fashioned into a bar with hundreds of coins hammered into its ancient cracks.

  When I rejoined the others now seated and chatting, I was attracted to a picture frame attached to the wall. On closer inspection I saw it contained a black and white photograph of a man and a newspaper cutting. In the diffused light of a tiffany wall lamp I saw the newspaper cutting had the date: 1861. The newspaper cutting referred to something that had happened in these parts more than a hundred years earlier.

  ‘Hey look at this guys.’ I said pointing.

  Suddenly everyone was at my shoulder looking on.

  ‘Urgh! What is that?’ Robbie said sounding shocked. ‘Is that a man hanging from a tree?’

  ‘Looks like it.’ said Sean frowning.

  ‘Urgh. Gross.’ Julie said backing off.

  Moving my finger slowly across the glass I read aloud:

  Highwayman Executed at Dawn.

  Notorious highwayman Ben Coulter hanged.

  “Following a trial that lasted two days, Justice of the Peace Sir Henry-Woltson-Taylor passed judgment on the unrepentant villain Ben Coulter. Wearing the black-cap his honour sentenced the rogue to be hanged by the neck until dead. Coulter declined his right of appeal and was summarily executed by hanging from the tree behind The Smugglers Inn near Oxhampton.”

  I heard a collective gasp.

  ‘Go on.’ Julie said, now apparently recovered from her earlier revulsion.

  “Three constables were needed to keep a small crowd at bay when the horse bringing the condemned man, his hands secured behind him drew to a halt under a Yew tree. When asked if he wanted absolution Coulter could be heard to laugh out loud. Local hangman, Laurie du Pont, slipped the noose over Coulters head and then stepped back. Beadle Thomas Black then asked the highwayman if he had any last words. Coulter was heard to shout out. “I’ll be back to haunt every last one of ye.”

  The Beadle slapped the horses’ rear and it took off leaving Ben Coulter to dance on the end of a rope. Coulter seemed in no particular hurry to die and it took a constable pulling on his ankles to end his agony. Later that day under the supervision of Beadle Thomas Black, in the dead of night, the highwayman’s corpse was cut down. Following the tradition reserved for murderers, the highwayman’s corpse was thrown into the Dartmoor bogs.

  Two nights later, Smugglers Innkeeper, Mr Joseph Townsend, claimed he shad seen the troubled spirit of Coulter who was stalking the moors.”

  June 1st 1761.

  ‘That’s the sort of gory story the Victorian’s loved to read about.’ I explained although I was no great authority on the matter. ‘Anyway enough talk,’ I said. The food had arrived.

  We must have been starving because the demise of Ben Coulter did not make a dent in our appetite.

  Few words were spoken while we tucked into out hot meals. Later, after a few more drinks, the conversation flowed.

  Outside in the car park, the screech of an owl had the group running for the car.

  11:07 PM

  Arriving back at Moore Cottage without the Aga to keep the chill off the place the bungalow was icy cold.

  ‘Jesus’. Lenny said rubbing his hands together. ‘It’s freezing in here.’

  ‘Yes Lenny, as I explained earlier, we have run out of heating oil.’

  I thought what was the point in reminding them it wasn’t me who wanted to stay overnight.

  Fortunately, using a torch, we soon recovered the cardboard box packed with the bedding stowed near the back of the Transit.

  Julie and I divvied up the blankets and the duvets, and then individually, everyone went off to find somewhere to sleep.

  I held no great hopes of getting a wink of sleep. I just hoped that during the night no one died from hypothermia.

  At the first hint of dawn, with my body feeling as if it been thrown down a flight of stairs and then jumped upon, I crawled out from under my duvet and drew the curtains. Fierce sunlight, making me turn my head away poured through the glass. I stood in its light and welcomed the warmth, getting thawed. Groaning bodies rolled over, arms shielded their shuttered eyes.

  Perhaps it was the beery evening. Everyone seemed subdued. We set to and loaded up the Astra.

  It was Daniel who reminded me that we needed to find a space for the two guinea pigs we kept in the back garden in a wooden cage some four feet long, eighteen inches high and just as deep.

  I cursed under my breath.

  ‘We’ll have to put them in a cardboard box and leave the cage behind. We simply don’t have room for it.’ I said anxious this wasn’t going to delay our departure further.

  ‘You can’t expect them to stay in a cardboard box for fours hours Dad! ’ Daniel protested. ‘They’ll die, or chew their way out. We have to take their cage? We’re going to need it when we get to the new house.’

  I sighed. He was right of course, but with all four vehicles now packed to the gunnels, where was I going to put them?

  The others followed me out to the garden. At our approach the guinea pigs began squeaking.

  I scratched my chin. I had an idea. Marching over to the Escort van I gave the roof rack a good shake. I turned to Daniel and said.

  ‘This is what we do. We will shut them in the bedroom end of their run, and then tie the whole thing on the roof rack.’ I saw Daniel raise his eyebrows. ‘They’ll be fine.' I said. ' Honest! They’ll be out the wind and safe as houses.'

  Daniel shook his head. 'I hope you’re right Dad.'

  The others seemed too whacked to object. Perhaps they were too tired, or hung-over to even think straight.

 

  Now grouped on the driveway, the assembly of tired house movers fidgeted in front of me when I called for their attention.

  ‘Let’s go over the plan again.’ I said trying to keep their attention. ‘I will head up the convoy.’ I ignored Lenny’s mock salute that had the others giggling like school kids.

  I shook my head and pressed on. ‘Carl: Make sure you keep the Escort van close on my tail… I want that rust heap kept out of sight; I don’t want t
he cops seeing it. Lenny: You will travel with him, in the passenger seat, and Daniel, you will go in the back and look after Solomon. I turned to Sean who was leaning on his crutch. ‘Sean, it’s crucial you keep your lorry right up tight behind Carl. If that rust bucket gets seen by the cops they're bound to pull him over.’

  Sean nodded. I saw my wife shaking her head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s you.’ She said

  ‘What’s me?’

  ‘You… you…’ My wife exploded pointing a finger in my face. ‘Why do you always have to make such a big deal of things? What is all this convoy crap?'

  ‘I don’t have time for this Julie,' I said. 'I don’t even know what you are going on about.’

  ‘I am talking about you behaving as if you are some big bloody general. Why do you have turn everything you do into a bloody military operation?'

  ‘What the hell are you going on about?’ I shouted. ‘I don’t go around acting as If I’m a general… In fact I don’t recognise that person at all! I do not run things like a military operation…. Now, if you don’t mind we have a mission to complete.’

  ‘See,’ Julie said. ‘You’re doing it again. You said, “mission.” What's that, if it's not military thinking?’

  I sighed and said. ‘Ok, ok, maybe you’re right… maybe I need to relax a little.’ I closed my eyes and waited for the red mist to evaporate. ‘I know… I know… I can get a bit anal when I’m under stress, but can we at least agree we need to have a plan… and if any of you,’ I waved my arms at the faces around me, ‘want to take over as leader, General, or whatever, I’ll be fine with that… I will step aside.’

  As I suspected, not one of them took up the challenge. I took that as a sign the rebellion had run its course.

  ‘All done giving me a hard time, have we? ’ I snapped. I pointedly did no react to the look my wife gave me. We had already wasted too much time. But was I making an issue about that? No I was not. Instead I explained my plan of action.

  ‘Right you lot. Listen up… as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, Julie, you are to take up the rear….’

  Lenny raised his hand.

  ‘Yes Lenny,' I said now fed up being interrupted. 'You have a contribution to make?’

  ‘Did I just hear you say you wanted Julie to take it up the rear!’

  While the others all fell about laughing, thinking it was funny... I didn’t. In fact I thought it was childish, but I never said as much. I waited for the laughter to abate. Then they all thought that funny, that and the look on my face. Maybe, we were all tired?'

  I took a deep breath and shaking my head I walked away, headed out to the garden to get some fresh air. I needed to get away from the snorting and hooting at my expense. Then I got as mad as hell. I went back inside the house and turned on them. ‘Will you all just shut up?’ I yelled. ‘If we don’t stick together there’s going to be chaos. I just wanted to make sure that we all travel in a tight convoy. Is that too much to ask?’

  ‘Whooo.’ Julie chided.

 

  I could feel a migraine coming on. I needed some air. I found my youngest on the drive and remembered Daniel hadn’t been at the briefing. He had his back to me. I sensed by the slope of his shoulders something was wrong. All my angere melted away. I went over to him and I put an arm around his shoulders. I saw he had written something in the ice on the windscreen of the van. When I read it I almost choked. I could hardly breathe past the painful lump in my throat He had written: “Please don’t take me away”.

 

  Jesus! What kind of Dad have I become? That one simple sentence felt like a slap across my face. I must have missed something? I must have completely forgotten to ask him if moving up to London was what he wanted. It wasn’t enough, that I should think, oh, I don’t want him to become a farm labourer, I should have at least consulted him, talked it through, my intentions... my ambitions for his future. Now I felt bad. I gave him a hug. He didn’t look round at me. I was so ashamed I couldn’t even tell him I was sorry.

  One-day. I hoped he’d understand that I was doing this for him, and Julie, and Robbie, and Louise, up in Basingstoke... for all of us.

  I rubbed his back. He looked round and gave me a pained grin.

  ‘Its ok Dad, I know.’

  That hurt.

  I walked back inside the house. The others seemed to have gotten over their fit of the giggles. I was happy to allow the matter to rest.

  ‘Ahem,’ I cleared my throat. ‘Right you lot.’ I said. 'Let’s get this show on the road’.

  Robbie came over.

  ‘You ok Dad?’

  ‘Yeah. I'm good, thanks. And you?’

  ‘I’ll be alright once we get this convoy on road.’

  ‘You and me both.’ We both did this knuckle, touching thing that I never understood. It felt good though.

 

  Saturday.

  MD day: 10:06 AM.

  After handing each of the other three drivers a copy of the new address. I explained the first stop would be the petrol station before we joined the M5. We would all fill up and I would go inside and pay. I climbed up in the Transit and then pulled out onto the lane. Watching through my wing mirror I saw Carl pull up behind me, then Sean eased out, and finally I saw Julie in the Astra. We were all lined up and ready to roll.

  With an arm signal out my driver’s window I called out. 'Convoy, Yo.'

  It was a bit like the John Wayne film I had seen at some time, couldn’t remember the name of it, but I was now the Wagon Train boss, and I was about to lead my people into hostile country.

  I had yet to discover how true that analogy was to become.

  In the shadows of the trees, out of the sun, the freeze-up last night left a treacherous film of ice on the lane. Looking down the steep hill to the bend at the bottom and the wall of trees and shrubs that hid the steep slope down to the fast flowing river, I could imagine one of the vehicles was bound to end up in it. I wasn’t prepared to take that risk so I decided to take the longer road that led to Oxhampton.

  On the outskirts of Oxhampton we picked up the A30 and headed east towards Exeter.

  Twenty-three miles on, with the M5 in sight and the convoy intact, I started to relax a little. Even Julie was keeping up!

  I was hoping that after filling up the fuel tanks at Exeter we could make it all the way to London without a single stop.

  10:37. AM.

  I led the convoy onto the forecourt of the service station at Exeter.

  I had never had to use Smithy’s fuel credit card to pay for multiple-fill-ups, so I wasn’t at all sure I would be allowed to.

  Thinking, even with all the times that I had filled up using his petrol account he still owed me, I got everyone to pull up at adjacent pumps. When I got the signal that everyone had filled their tanks I set off for the shop trying for the benefit of the CCTV cameras not to look guilty. Inside the shop I took my place at the end of a queue of six motorists, some loaded up with groceries. Try as I did I could not stop myself looking up into the unblinking eye of a CCTV camera set above the cashier desk. I could see myself, Julie and the others caught on camera having our mugshots splashed across TV screens up and down the country with the Crime Watch presenter saying, 'ring the Crimestoppers number if you know of, or if you have you seen, any these people?'

  I shuffled forward. I could feel cold sweat coursing down my back. I was now number two in the queue. I looked back at the queue behind me. There were four people waiting to pay.

  I almost jumped when the attendant caught my attention.

  ‘Next.’ He snapped.

  ‘I er…yes… Pumps 2-4-5 and 6 please.’ I said as if it was an everyday occurrence and doing my best to sound casual.

  The attendant’s eyes widened. ‘Four pumps!’

  I noted the name on the badge he had pinned on his shirt.

 
‘Yeah, I got a big job on Stan.’ I said and hoped it sounded entirely feasible. I pushed the credit card across the counter. (This was the old sign on the receipt system: before the invention of chip and pin payments).

  While Stan paid undue attention to the card I used my arm to wipe away the trickle of sweat that ran down my nose. The fixed smile on my face must have looked as if rigor mortis had set in.

  My breathing came back on line when I saw him slide the card through the card-reader.

  ‘That’ll be two hundred and twenty-two pounds, forty- mate.’ He said looking at me over the rim of his glasses.

  “That’s fine Stan…. Lovely morning outside Stan…’ My voice sounded like I had been sucking on helium.

  Stan, staring at his computer console seemed not to have heard me.

  My fingers were drumming a staccato pattern on the counter. I had to get a grip on this crippling feeling of guilt or it was all over for my mission.

  In my head I came out with the same argument that I used every time. Smithy owes you, and this was just getting what he owed you in a roundabout way.

  Stan seemed to be taking forever processing the transaction. The longer it took the more I needed a wee. Hoping the others were ready to roll I stole a look out of the window. Crap! The others were running in and out of the petrol pumps playing British Bulldog! Jesus! Hadn’t I told them not to draw attention to themselves? How was this being inconspicuous? I looked back at Stan who was still studying his computer. I badly wanted to get Julie's attention. Why wasn’t she stopping them messing about, acting like bloody school kids for chrissake! I visibly jumped when the attendant said.

  'Hey, I was speaking to you. You gone deaf!’

  'Huh?' I sounded stupid.

  ‘I said, you need to sign that pal?’ Stan had pushed a slip of paper across the counter. I could have fallen over.

  ‘D’ya want any Mars bars?’ He said and pointed at a display of chocolate bars. ‘We have them on a special. Buy one get one half price.’

  ‘I er, n…no, not today thanks,’ I said stumbling over my words. ‘I gotta watch my weight.’

  As in the past I scribbled an unintelligible name on the chit and pushed it back across the counter. I waited for my card to be returned.

  I was hopping from one foot to the other waiting. I thought about turning around and walking out, pretending I had forgotten it.

  That would have been ok because I wasn’t planning on using it after today. It’s not like I was likely to come back to Devon again, not in the foreseeable future that is... maybe never the way I viewed the place right now!

  I was growing impatient watching Stan twiddling my card around in his fingers. He seemed engrossed in something on his computer screen. I could tell straightaway I was in trouble. I imagined he could hear my heart thumping in my chest.

  I looked out the window and groaned when I saw Lenny and Robbie light up cigarettes on the forecourt. Julie was feeding the grass she'd pulled out of the grass verge to the guinea pigs. I just had to look away. I could kill them.

  ‘Excuse me mate.’ Stan said loud enough to get my attention.

  I spun around to face Stan. ‘Oh, sorry,’ I said and took a peek back at the long line of people waiting to be served. ‘I was mile’s away.’

  Stan’s face had darkened. I felt my stomach churn.

  ‘Computer says I can’t give you the card back mate.’

  I looked at Stan who was holding Smithy's credit card above, and behind his head.

  ‘It’s on my blacklist. I am instructed to keep hold of it.’

  My thinking capacity seemed to have gone on vacation. I needed a moment to gather my thoughts... any thoughts. What did he mean? Was I to be detained? Was I going to be arrested? Could I just walk out of here having filled four vehicles with diesel costing a couple of hundred quid? Would I now be expected to find some other means of paying for it? Crap!

  Losing the card wasn’t the issue here… that would probably be a good thing. I just wanted to walk out of here and drive off. If I achieved that, I was definitely going to cancel my annual subscription to the Atheist Society.

  ‘What!' Acting as if this wasn’t the first time my boss had done this I said, ' don't say my boss hasn’t paid his bill again. Jeez, what's he like? Not to worry Stan, you keep hold of the card for now, and I will have a word with him soon as I get back to the office. No problem mate.‘

  I managed a smile.

  Turning smartly, I hurried out of the shop. Striding across the forecourt I made frantic waving motions at the others who could see from the scowl that I gave them I was not a happy bunny. I yelled at them.

  ‘Quick. Get in the bloody vehicles will you. Thanks a bunch for being inconspicuous. Do you even know what that means?’

  I slammed the Transit door behind me, and afraid to look back in case I saw Stan racing after me I barked orders through my open window. ‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

  Not a single one of them seemed to be in possession of the sense of urgency needed to be a successful fugitive. I shook my head at Julie who poked her tongue out at me.

  Our little sideshow, them fooling around on the forecourt had attracted quite an audience. I gunned the engine and headed for the exit. Thinking I was the boss of a wagon train, I led my convoy onto the motorway. Feeling relieved we was on our way I gave the steering wheel a thump. ‘Yeah!’ I yelled out loud.

  The M5 being quiet should have settled my nerves but a brooding sense of an impending crisis had me rattled. I decided to remedy this with two coconut wheels. Chewing on these I began to feel a bit better. I wondered if I was addicted?

  When this was all over I was definitely going to book myself in for a check-up from the neck-up?

  I was thinking I had better get my head straight. I had a convoy to head up. There was people that needed me to be stalwart, yeah, stalwart, that’s a good word. I adjusted my bottom in the seat, opened a fresh pack of liquorice allsorts, and popped two blue jelly spogs in my mouth. (Did you know they each had a name? Google it). I felt better.

  Looking in my wing mirror I watched, Carl in the Ford Escort van slip in behind me. I was relieved to see Sean was close on his tail. Where was Julie? Typical! I couldn’t see my wife. One mile further on I was saying where the hell was Julie? Another mille: where the hell was Julie?

  I eased back on the throttle and using my wing mirrors I focused on the road behind me. No good wishing and hoping, she wasn’t there! If she wasn’t not on the same road as the rest if us where the hell was she? The long, straight incline allowed me a view of the road as far back as the service station. Not only did this allow me to discount any suggestion she had been overtaken, it also ruled out any possibility that she had pulled over onto the hard shoulder.

  Her whereabouts was a complete mystery. Now what do I do? What I did, was pop two biggies, (the four layer jobs) in my mouth and scrubbed at the two-day stubble on my chin.

  I needed to get off the motorway. I saw a sign that said half a mile on there was a junction. I could see the motorway bridge. I planned to go off there and go across the bridge, and then find a spot to park the convoy. I needed to tell the others what I planned to do.

  I checked my mirrors and signaled to go left. I saw the Escort van and the removal lorry had their indicators flashing. Thank God they were paying attention.

  According to the map I had open on the passenger seat, the junction up ahead should be the A376. I was hoping somewhere along that stretch of road we would find a layby to pull into.

  I had already decided I would drive back to the service station. I couldn’t think what else I could try. I had to find out what had happened to Julie.

  We trundled over the motorway bridge. There was no layby! I found a straight bit of road and pulled over. Carl parked up behind me and got out the Escort. Sean, for some inexplicable reason decided to pass me and steer the heavy removal lorry onto the soft v
erge. I saw the warning sign, but I don’t know if he did. I felt exposed on this quiet back road. I was thinking if a cop car were to come along right now and find us sitting here, what are they going to do? Arrest the lot of us of course!

  I looked about me. It was mercifully quiet. Not a single car had passed us.

  I jumped out of my van and ran over to speak to Sean who had the good sense not to jump down out of his cab, not with his leg in a plaster cast.

  With Sean staying put in the cab of his lorry, myself, Robbie, Carl and Daniel, gathered under Sean’s open window. None of us had any idea what might have happened to Julie. I said, ‘I am going back to try and find her.' Sean said, ‘it's best if the rest of us went on only I don't want to get pulled over by the cops.' Wondering about that I said, 'why?' He said, 'I reckon the lorry is overweight.' I had wondered that. I said, 'ok, you and Carl head off, and I will go back and find Julie. I will catch up with you either on the road or at the new house.'

  Understandably, Robbie and Daniel were worried. In these situations people tended to imagine the worst, and I was thinking the unthinkable too.

  ‘Your mum will be all right,’ I said trying to sound positive. ‘I reckon, her car’s broken down. Don’t worry, I’ll go back and find her.’

  I turned and ran back to the Transit. Before I could drive off Daniel caught up with me.

  ‘I’ll come with you?’

  How could I take him along? What if God forbid Julie had been hurt in an accident?

  ‘No, I said. 'I need you to stay with Carl and Solomon, and keep and eye on them for me. I’ll be fine Daniel... and so is your mum.'

  ‘You sure you’ll be ok Dad?’ Robbie called over.

  ‘Yeah. I'm just a bit stressed.’ I called back. ‘I just want to get us all to the new house.’

  I fired up the engine. ‘Right.’ I yelled from my open window. ‘Don’t hang about here, get moving.’

  I swung the Transit around in a tight arc on the narrow road and with a final wave I sped off.

  In my wing mirror I saw then passing round cigarettes. I shook my head.