Read Dreamwalkers Book One - The Intruder. A Markland Garraway Paranormal Mystery Thriller Page 8

  Chapter 7

 

  October 2nd

  9.32 a.m.

 

  Markland raked his lawn. Leaves dropped from trees like dead flies. Since he’d retired he’d become a keen gardener, but hated autumn. Every day his garden was a mess. Clearing fallen leaves was a thankless task. But at least it kept his mind focused on something. He’d partially taken up gardening in honour of Joan. She loved the garden and keeping it up together. It had filled her lonely days when Markland had spent long working weeks as a detective. Sometimes he wouldn’t return home until late in the evening after an early start. When she’d left him after he’d been signed off as unfit to work, he’d let the garden go to pieces. It had become an overgrown mess. The grass had grown high, weeds were abundant and hanging baskets were left looking ugly, with brown and rotten plants dangling like vines.

  He placed the rake against the fence, bent forward and, using two pieces of hardboard, scooped up the leaves and dropped them in the compost. Just the thought of doing anything physical would have seemed impossible two years ago. His arthritis had been so severe he had been unable to walk without the aid of crutches, and only managed half a dozen steps at a time. Now he could do almost anything. He’d even taken up playing cricket again and had joined his local team’s Sunday league.

  He emptied the last of the leaves, sat on a bench and surveyed his work. He wondered whether Joan would approve of what he’d done to her garden. He thought about the meal they’d had the night before. The whole night was like making small talk with a stranger and not a reunion with his wife. He’d mentioned how he’d been keeping the garden up together and expected this to make her happy. Instead he noticed a tear well in her eye. They’d spent just over an hour in the Italian restaurant. Joan had ordered spaghetti and Markland had opted for pizza. Neither had much of an appetite and Markland had spent most of the time watching Joan push food around her plate with her fork. What little conversation had taken place had been about Joan’s sister, and her recovery from a hip replacement earlier in the year. They’d spoken about their daughters Jane and Kate, and how well Kate was doing at university, and whether Jane would ever settle down and find the right man. Nothing was mentioned about what had happened in Badock’s Wood. He was determined that he would win her back. And he hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

  He thought about the letter from Compton Wells School offering the position of part-time Attendance Improvement Officer. The school had asked him to send an email, to confirm whether he wished to accept their offer. He jumped up, brushed leaves and soil from his trousers, and made his way back to the house to send the email to confirm he would be happy to work at the school. He hoped Joan would be pleased that he’d found a new job. He was aware that she’d been worrying about him at home on his own.

  Markland took off his boots, banged them against the back wall of the house and shook loose soil from the soles. Once inside, he put on the kettle, switched on his laptop and grabbed the letter from the school. He accidently knocked the two bills which arrived yesterday to the floor, revealing the mystery letter that had been hand delivered. He glanced at his watch and saw it was just after ten. The writer of the letter had asked him to meet at the hill at ten a.m. Markland had no intention of meeting anyone in that godforsaken place. He was adamant never to go there again. But curiosity was getting the better of him, and he wondered who had sent it and why they needed his help.

  “Probably another nut who’s read Judd’s book,” muttered Markland to himself in his Scottish accent.

  He sat at his laptop and composed a quick email to Compton Wells School, confirming that he wished to accept their job offer. He would be starting work at the school on Monday 12th October, which was just under a week away.

  Compton Wells had its problems. It had not fared well in the last OFSTED report and wasn’t proud to display the rating of ‘satisfactory’ outside the school. The head teacher, Trevor Cooke, would have been elated had the rating been ‘good’. He would have been honoured to have a banner stating ‘This is a good school’ over the main entrance. Fourteen pupils had been expelled last year, three teachers had handed in their notice and truancy was rife. It would be a busy role for Markland and he was looking forward to the challenge.

  Markland was to replace John Armstrong, who had lost his job due to heavy rumours of inappropriate behaviour. Nothing had been proved, but Cooke had been taking no chances.

  Cooke submitted his own resignation two weeks later.

  He closed the lid on computer, stood up, and looked out of the lounge window and along the street. It wasn’t even eleven o’ clock and he was restless. His phone seldom rang, and visitors were few and far between. He knew it would be another long and mind-numbing day.

  I need to find a hobby thought Markland. But the truth was, he just didn’t have the motivation. He hoped the new job would bring new friends, and eventually bring Joan back into his life. Having Joan would mean everything to him. He sat in his chair with a cup of coffee beside him on the table and gazed into the middle distance and within a few minutes had fallen asleep.

  As he slept, another hand delivered note fell through his letter box.

  In just over a week, Markland’s life would become busier than he could ever imagine.