by steve higgs
With the wedding looming and my body feeling like it had been run over by a truck, I had staggered home yesterday afternoon and fallen into a hot bath. None of my injuries were life threatening nor would any of them still be hurting me a week from now, but right then I could barely find the bits that didn’t hurt. That was just another excuse though. I had given thought to calling Natasha to tell her about my week and my current state because I could use it to postpone seeing her and dissuade her from attending the wedding with me. I saw how weak and stupid it sounded though.
I had to break up with her. I felt awful at the prospect. I had always hated break ups. Not that I had ever broken off many relationships with girls. I was always the one that got dumped, not the other way around. This time though I needed to grow a set and be the man instead of stringing the poor girl along any further.
Making the decision to call her though didn’t solve the problem as I had lost my phone in the tunnels. Andriy had confiscated it when the bag went over my head. It might still be down there but if found by the police it would be labelled as evidence and placed into a little evidence bag, catalogued and placed on a shelf in a box somewhere and never be seen again. I could suppose there existed a slim chance I might be able to get it back, but I did not consider it worth pursuing. Either way, I had no phone to call Natasha with right now.
As it turned out, I didn’t need to. I had been cooling down after the heat of the bath, sitting quietly on my bed and thinking about what I should eat as my stomach was now rumbling when the dogs started barking. Someone was at the door.
With a towel wrapped firmly around my waist and steam rising from my skin, I opened the door a crack to find Natasha smiling at me.
‘I heard you needed some TLC.’ She said. Big Ben would be to blame no doubt. I could hardly complain though, he would have called her believing that she would come to my house, take off her clothes and make me forget the bits that hurt.
She wasn’t wrong about the desire for TLC either. Mr. Wriggly certainly wanted some. It was cold out, so I invited her in, resolving to do what was right and end our relationship before she could kiss me or confuse me and get my towel off. The very thought was already making Mr. Wriggly stir.
As she passed me, and I closed the door she started speaking, ‘Tempest I wondered how you would react to seeing me and hoped that I had it wrong, but I can see that my instincts were right. I’ll make this easy for both of us. It’s time to break up.’
I didn’t say anything. I was terrible at dealing with negative emotions from women. It was a major flaw in my personality that had never done me any favours, but here I was, getting exactly what I wanted, and I had to keep my mouth shut because my natural reaction was to argue with her.
‘I saw it in your eyes the moment you opened the door.’ Her voice cracked just a little as she shook her head and shut her eyes. When she reopened them, she said, ‘I want to thank you for not sleeping with me. I guess you were never in to me.’ I opened my mouth to protest, but she silenced me by pressing on. ‘It’s okay, Tempest, no explanation is needed. Sometimes things just don’t work out. Sometimes there is no spark even when we want there to be.’
She took a step toward me, entering my personal space where I could smell her perfume and feel the warmth of her body radiating outward. Mr. Wriggly was getting agitated three feet below my mouth which was still trying to find something intelligent and appropriate to say.
She took my hand, looked me in the eyes and kissed my cheek. ‘You’re one of the good guys, Tempest. Don’t forget that.’
Then she was gone. Out of the door and out of my life and all I felt was relief. Relief combined with a sense of confusion because I had just allowed a gorgeous woman to slip through my fingers in favour of… what?
The question was still bouncing around inside my pitifully empty skull nearly eighteen hours later as I walked the dogs through the picturesque gardens of the castle. It was done though, and this was kind of our second break up. There would be no third attempt.
At 1100hrs I was changed into my usual smart casual clothing, a combination of shirt, jeans and shoes with a jumper on to keep the cold at bay. The temperature outside demanded a coat but the bucket seats on my Porsche were too snug to allow the extra layer. I pulled out of the car park begging the heated seats to get on with warming me up as I set off to collect Jagjit. As best man it was my responsibility to get him to the venue. What I really wanted to do was sink enough gin to dull the aches I felt. This was Jagjit’s big day though so I was refusing to shirk my responsibilities or even mention my soreness and fatigue to the groom. Thankfully there were very few bruises to my face. My stomach was a mosaic of interesting colours where it had been punched repeatedly, the same effect appeared on my back, though I struggled to see it even in the mirror and in a few places on my arms, legs and shoulder. I had some scratch marks on the right-hand side of my face where I had fallen off the car but the cut to my ear was superficial and no longer visible. Other than a split lip I would be presentable enough for photographs if I got one of the ladies to apply some foundation to even out the marks I did have. I could relax and recover over the weekend; Jagjit didn’t need to know how broken I felt.
It was going to be a great day.
The Wedding of Jagjit Singh and Alice Windecote. Friday, November 25th 1630hrs
After five hours of dashing about performing my best man duties, the wedding itself was done. It would be hard to find sufficient superlatives to adequately describe it, so let’s just say it was perfect.
Alice had been radiant, her loveliness only surpassed by the width of Jagjit’s smile as he took her hand. Parents had cried, friends had cheered and many, many, many photographs had been taken.
We were now in the brief lull between ceremony and reception where guests got to chat properly for the first time, catching up with old relatives as they got a drink together at the bar. I had slumped into a chair in a corner of the room at a table by myself. I just needed a few minutes to rest before I got started again. Jagjit and Alice had a toastmaster for the evening reception which was due to start at 1800hrs. The gap between ceremony and reception planned deliberately to give time for the additional one hundred or so guests to arrive. Thankfully my role was about done, and my next task was to fetch my dogs. They would want to stretch their legs, empty their bladders and have some dinner.
‘Hey, slack pants. How’re you feeling?’ Asked Big Ben. He had seen me sitting by myself and was delivering what looked very suspiciously like a large gin and tonic. My first of the day. He didn’t wait for me to answer though. He asked, ‘Have you seen Basic’s guest?’
‘No.’ I looked about the room, curious now about who he had with him. ‘Who is it?’
Big Ben didn’t answer though, he waited for me to spot our friend where he was lounging against the bar. The view to him was blocked by other people getting drinks. As they moved away, I saw who Big Ben had been referring to.
It was the cute, but diminutive Japanese lady from the bar in Rochester. The one that had liked his air-guitar play.
‘Are they dating?’ I asked, then heard the surprise in my voice.
‘Apparently so. Hilary and Anthea were chatting with them earlier. Her name is Maisy. She’s an engineer in the aerospace industry and has a thing for large, dopey men it would seem.
‘Well done, Basic.’ I watched with awe and a little bit of jealousy as he stood with his arm around her, they were chatting about something and looked like a couple already. He had what I wanted.
Big Ben had another question. ‘Did you enjoy seeing Natasha yesterday?’
He placed my drink down which freed his hand up to make suggestive gestures.
A little tired and a little melancholy, I looked up at my big friend, ‘We broke up, mate.’
‘Really? Is that before or after you shagged her?’
‘Before.’ I picked up my glass of gin saying, ‘Thanks.’ As I took a gulp. ‘I guess you noticed that she is not here.’
&nb
sp; ‘I did. I could call you weak, but you already know that you are so instead I will point out the person that just walked in.’
Confused, I followed Big Ben’s outstretched finger to see Amanda entering the hall. She was looking around, trying to spot someone she recognised. As I watched, she spotted Hilary, smiled and waved and made her way to him at the bar. He was stood with his wife, Anthea. I watched as he introduced her to Amanda. The scene played out without dialogue as their voices were lost in the general din of conversation and background music.
Amanda looked beautiful. She always did.
‘You’re panting.’ Big Ben pointed out, derision in his timbre.
He was right. My heart was beating faster, and my mouth was hanging open.
I had it bad.
Big Ben, who was sitting next to me, leaned in closer so I would hear every one of the next words he said. ‘She broke up with her boyfriend.’
It felt like a jolt of electricity passing through my body.
‘Wh, how… How do you even know that?’ Amanda was a private person. She didn’t tell me anything about herself. How was it that Big Ben kept track of her relationships?
‘I know people that know her.’ He replied.
Patience. Patience would have tipped him off. And she would have done so, so that he could tell me.
I slowly got to my feet. They felt leaden. I was going to have to talk to Amanda. It was something I did every day without thinking about it because we worked together, now though I was beginning to sweat at the prospect.
‘Go get her.’ Big Ben cheered from behind me as I started to cross the room.
She saw me coming and waved with a happy smile. At the gesture my heart stopped for a second before restarting.
All I had to do was talk to a girl. That was what I told myself as the distance between us continued to diminish. Why was it that I felt wrestling a shark was an easier option? I checked to make sure she wasn’t looking, turned away slightly and gave myself a few face slaps. I was actually standing in the middle of the reception hall slapping my face in a bid to jolt myself into a better frame of mind.
I gave myself one last instruction to get a grip, smoothed down my jacket and went to her.
With a broad smile I said, ‘Good evening, Amanda. It’s so good to see you. I didn’t know you were coming.’
‘I wasn’t. Big Ben called, said he didn’t have a date and promised he wouldn’t hit on me.’ As she spoke, she dodged my hand shake, looped an arm around my neck and lightly kissed my face.
Another lightning bolt surged through me. She was full of energy and life and was clearly very happy. ‘How about you buy me a drink, boss?’ She asked, her voice a playful laugh as she grabbed my hand and pulled me to the bar. Hilary and Anthea exchanged glances as we both waved them a brief goodbye.
At the bar, I said, ‘How about you never call me boss again?’
‘You pay my wages.’ She pointed out.
I inclined my head to acknowledge her correctness, ‘Nevertheless, it makes me uncomfortable.’
Amanda took a pace away from me. She had a serious expression now. One that suggested she was about to say something vital or important.
‘What’ll it be folks?’ Asked a barman peering under the glasses hanging from the bar.
Neither of us spoke for a moment until Amanda broke the silence, ‘Why is that, Tempest? Why is it that me calling you boss makes you uncomfortable?’
My throat went dry and I found myself swimming inside my own head as I formed the words in my brain and tried to connect them with my mouth. I could see her in front of me, waiting for me to speak.
Like a rubber band snapping inside my head, I found the gumption I needed and opened my mouth. ‘Because I can’t date my employees.’
The planet has always conspired against me, so my statement came at the exact moment the DJ stopped the music to make an announcement.
Everyone heard me.
We were standing in a crowd of people at the bar, all of them silent now to see how she would respond. Most of them didn’t know me, they were guests and relatives of either the bride or the groom but they could all tell what they were witnessing and almost everyone from my immediate circle of friends was there too, frozen in time, waiting for Amanda to speak.
She didn’t speak though. Her eyes had been locked with mine for the last five seconds. She broke the moment by looking down to the floor. Then as if she had arrived at a decision, she looked up again, stepped forward and kissed me.
Postscript: Call from Hilary. Tuesday, 29th November 1809hrs
I hadn’t looked at my phone for hours because I had been lying in ambush and then dealing with the man I caught. The case I was on had been easy to solve, however, catching the perpetrator proved to be trickier because I couldn’t predict where he would strike next. He had been targeting children’s playparks and scaring the life out of kids while they played. That was all he was doing, there was nothing more devious going on, but I had met some of the kids he had terrorised and they were traumatised by the costumed idiot jumping out on them.
Anyway, it had been necessary for me to operate in silent mode until he fell into the trap I had arranged with the help of my clients and their children. It was cold out and we had been just about to give up when he was spotted approaching.
Now he was in custody, but the process of catching him, calling the police to our location and giving statements had eaten up another chunk of time. It was after the dogs’ dinner time and I was getting hungry myself, but I paused in my car to check my phone.
I had a stack of missed calls from Jagjit, all within the last hour. Wondering what he wanted so desperately, I pressed the button to call him, but a fresh call connected as I did. The caller was Hilary, a surprise as I couldn’t remember the last time he had called me, if ever. Usually we sent text messages.
I answered, ‘Good evening, buddy. What’s up?’
‘Hi, Tempest.’ Hilary spoke rapidly as if the message was important. ‘Jagjit called me. He’s been trying to get hold of you all for hours.’ Hilary explained.
‘I’ve been on a bust, dealing with the police and stuff. I was just about to call him. Did he say why he was calling?’ I asked.
‘Yes! He has a case for you in France. Or rather he has a client with a case. There’s a yeti on the loose!’
The End
Paws of the Yeti
Paws of the Yeti
Blue Moon Investigations
Book 10
Steve Higgs
Text Copyright © 2019 Steven J Higgs
Publisher: Steve Higgs
The right of Steve Higgs to be identified as author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved.
The book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
‘Paws of the Yeti’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to several fans that have helped bring it into being.
My thanks go to Mike Woods, Robin Hansen, Sherril Beaston, and Joann K for coming up with the name for this book. I asked the question and had many hundreds of suggestions, but these four all came up with Paws of the Yeti and it was my favourite by far since it captures the fun nature of the story.
Also in need of a very special menti
on, are some super fans that helped me to create the characters.
Hotel owner and Tempest's client - Hubert Caron suggested by Karen Bennett
Central female - Priscille Peran suggested by Liz Jennings
Rival Hotel owner - Gerard Chevalier suggested by June Brewer
Rival Hotel owner's son - Gils Chevalier suggested by June Brewer
Police chief - Francois Delacroix suggested by Nancy Buntrock
The level of detail provided for some of the characters even went as far as favourite foods and sporting achievements at school. Honestly, I think some of the people that read my books should be writing themselves.
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Note from the Author:
Hi there,
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Books by Steve Higgs
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Blue Moon Investigations
A Typo, a Werewolf, and Two Dopey Dachshunds
Paranormal Nonsense
The Phantom of Barker Mill
Zombie Granny – a Short Story
The Klowns of Kent
Dead Pirates of Cawsand
The Witches of East Malling
Whispers in the Rigging