Chapter Eight
Alice was staring at Will, who was staring back at her. She had a frothy milk moustache.
“Enjoying your coffee?”
“Yes thanks.” She smiled and some froth made a break for her cheeks.
Will was highly amused, but in her vulnerable state he needed to be more responsible. “Nice moustache.”
“How long?” Alice frowned.
“About three inches.” Will grinned, knowing it wasn’t the answer she wanted.
“Tell me.”
“About three minutes.”
“Bastard.”
Will smiled the smile of a grinning bastard, and eventually passed her a napkin.
“Is it all gone?”
Will took a clean napkin and leant forward, gently wiping Alice's moustache away. When he was satisfied, he leaned back and licked the napkin. “Just one more bit there.....” He waved the spit-covered paper at her face.
“Don't you dare.” She grinned
Will grinned back. She smiled. It was good to see her smile properly again, even if she had suffered only been a momentary loss of dignity - which he just saw as normal. Her smile stretched wide, and at each end of it little upright dimples enhanced her soft cheeks. The smile that everybody wanted to see was there, and just for him. More than ever, he wanted to be her friend and he made a silent vow that he would take the best possible care of her, and her smile. If a psychopathic fan lunged at her with a gun or a knife, he would step in front of her. He valued her life above his own, because he figured in the grand scheme of things she would do a lot more good for mankind than he ever would. He figured there was no point loving someone if you weren't prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice.
“Do you love me?”
Will was taken aback. “Don't be wet.”
“I think you do.”
Will was beginning to wonder if Alice had a hotline to his brain. She seemed to know what he was thinking before he did. Maybe she was controlling his thoughts. He looked for clues in her eyes, but they were just blue and perfect. But that might be part of the mind control.
“Let's say, if had a daughter, I'd want her to be exactly like you.”
“Aww, pops. You're sweet. To be honest, I thought you fancied me, but now that would be sooo wrong. Haha.”
“I'm not a pervert.” Will lied, unconvincingly.
“Yes you are.”
Will smiled the smile of a defeated and outmanoeuvred smiling puppy. “Let's go shopping.”
“Yippee! What you gonna buy me?”
“A brain.”
“I gotta brain.”
“Yeah, but it's not normal.”
“How so?”
“It's too darn clever by half. By three-quarters. No, nine tenths.”
Alice agreed, and they set off to find a new brain. The brain shop had closed due to lack of patronage, so they settled for a pair of walking boots each. Alice insisted on wearing them in, and passed the assistant her battered designer pair to pack in the new box. The assistant guessed they cost more than he earned in a fortnight, and that she was careless to have abused them.
“Let's go walking.”
“I need food.”
“It's eleven-thirty.”
“I've been up since eight.”
Alice promised to buy him a burger and he promised to take her to a muddy hole in some creepy woods to look for a serial killer. Will had to pay for the burger and her milkshake because she'd run out of cash, so Alice promised to buy him a new car; Will thought that was a good deal. By two in the afternoon they’d exhausted the shopping possibilities of Broadford, and Will couldn't put off the inevitable. They returned to the roof-top car park. Alice walked to the edge and took in the view.
“There are lots of churches.” She was right.
“You're right. Lots of churches, a cathedral, catacombs, Roman ruins.”
“I saw the cathedral.” She was right again. They had walked through the grounds, and Will had pointed it out. She’d thanked him, as she might otherwise have missed it.
“What are catacombs? Some sort of burial chamber?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Cool! Dark and creepy, I bet.”
“You like dark and creepy?
“I like you.”
Will punched Alice, and she punched him back, harder.
“I could show you the Roman sewers.”
“Aww Will, you're so romantic.”
Will agreed that he was. “They're actually very interesting.”
“Full of shit.”
“No, it's true.”
“The sewers, not you. Well, maybe you.”
“Don't be daft, there are no Romans here now.”
“Well then, it's a date. How far is Guffwell?”
“About twelve miles.”
“So we can get there before dark?” It was getting dark around four-thirty now, and the chapel was in the middle of a wood in the middle of nowhere, and it was dark enough in daytime.
“It's a short trek, on foot. Boots OK?”
“Fine.”
They headed for the car. Will slumped in the seat and growled. He got out and snatched the flyer from the windscreen, throwing it in Alice's direction. She unfolded it and read it to herself as Will manoeuvred.
“Have fun, get fit, make friends, feel safe. Come to Broadford's only licensed Krav Maga class. Money-back guarantee – if you get mugged, we will refund you in full.”
“Krav Maga?”
Will stopped the Rover dead, jolting the unsuspecting Alice. “What did you say?”
“Err, Krav Maga.”
Will snatched the leaflet from her. “This is the same leaflet that got me mugged.”
“The same?”
“Well, not the same, but the same.” He got out of the car and walked round in a circle before jumping back in. “Nobody else got one.”
“Weird.”
“Not weird, worrying. Somebody is playing games with us – me, anyway.”
“What is Krav Maga?”
“Some sort of martial art. I don't see how it relates to us, or me. But your book, and this … something weird is going on.”
“I said that already.” Will agreed that she had.
“Does anybody else know why you're here?”
“Just mom and dad.”
“Marvin?”
“Umm, don't think so.”
“Think.”
“I'm thinking, I'm thinking.” Alice thought. “Maybe he saw the book. It was in his car.”
Will was beginning to wonder if the lump on his head wasn't quite so randomly obtained. “We need to go.”
“To the chapel?”
“Yes.”
The Rover flew down the ramp and into the street, narrowly missing a black and white horse-shaped creature.
“Was that a zebra?” Alice asked coolly, as if she might be expected to see a zebra in an English city centre
“Yes.”
“O-kkk.”
“It probably escaped from a zebra farm.”
Alice seemed strangely satisfied with the explanation.
“They're promoting zebra crossings.” Will couldn't be mean to her.
“They have their own crossings? How many zebras live here?”
“They farm them by the hundred.”
“Why?”
“Zebra meat is a delicacy here.”
“Eww, I think I'll go veggie.”
“You tried that?”
“Oh, yeah, briefly. I like meat. Wouldn't eat zebra though.”
“People like the stripes.”
“The stripes go right through?”
“Like a stick of rock.”
“You eat rocks? The British are so strange. No wonder they have bad teeth.”
“Rock is a boiled sweet. Err … candy.”
“I know that.” Alice looked smug.
Will decided he'd let her win this one, and the Rover sped out of town, headed for the hills.
Reaching the motorway, he floored the throttle pedal and expertly pulled into the outside lane, accompanied by clouds of dark grey smoke. Time to thrash it. By the time they reached the approach to Foxton Hill, he was doing 90mph, and a bit more that Alice hadn’t noticed.
“This needs a run-up,” he explained. It did, as Foxton Hill was well over a mile long and reached gradients of one-in-ten.
Alice was trying not to notice, as the car weaved across three lanes and took the left fork of the busy motorway. It slowed noticeably as it climbed, but was still touching 70 as they reached a sharp right-hand bend near the top. Will did not ease off the gas.
“Geez.” Alice looked left and was wondering what was beyond the thin row of straggly trees that were beckoning her.
Will pressed on, and as the road straightened and dipped downwards the Rover nudged 90 again.
Alice looked around at the hills and bends and forests. “This is nice.”
“Dear.”
“This is nice, dear.”
“No, deer.”
“You don't think so?”
“No, DEER.” Will pointed at a deer.
“Oh … deer.”
“What's wrong?”
Alice conceded defeat. Will was approaching his exit and slowed to 70.
“Only another couple of miles.”
The Rover edged left and along the short off-ramp, and Alice prepared for him to brake hard at the small roundabout. Will didn't brake at all, so Alice made braking actions with her feet - these seemed to have no effect, but at least she’d tried. They flew across the roundabout at 60 and entered a narrower road lined with tall, over-hanging trees. Will accelerated briefly before slowing to just 50 miles per hour, and the Rover suddenly swerved left and down a steep hill.
“You know this road well.” Alice was scared, but a little impressed.
“Very well. Could do it blindfolded.”
“Please don't.”
Will hounded the Rover through a series of tight bends and then up another steep hill, which curved sharply right and then left.
“Lot of accidents on this road,” Will casually remarked.
Alice didn't doubt it. “How many did you cause?”
Will assumed she was teasing him, and he let her have her fun. As he approached another blind corner and hill brow, he indicated left and swerved violently into a single-track road. Alice was relieved to find it was flat and quite straight. They were crossing heathland now, open country with short stubby plants and the occasional straggly tree. After a while they entered a dark coniferous forest, and Alice sensed they might be nearing the mysterious site she had long dreamt of visiting. Will pulled the car up at a gravelly lay-by and, after letting the engine idle for a minute, shut it down.
“Getting dimpsey,” he remarked, staring up at the sky.
“Who's she?”
“The last woman I brought up here.”
“How many pieces is she in?”
“Dimpsey means just getting dark, before sunset.”
“I knew that.”
“No you didn't.”
“OK I didn't, but I knew everything else. What language is that?”
“Debnshire.”
“Where's that?”
“Here, you clot.”
“Clot?”
Will had to laugh. There were few local dialects in common usage and in truth, he'd moved around the country so much he'd forgotten which were from his own tongue and which were from foreigners, or furriners as he called them. He explained what Debnshire was, and how there were heated debates over what was Devonshire and what was Cornish. Alice thought it all very odd, and didn't appreciate being called a fitty maid.
“Just means clever girl,” Will grovelled, unsuccessfully.
Alice tucked her jeans into her new boots and Will, despite thinking he'd look like a right clot, followed her example. The long grass and bracken would be wet, and the red soil would certainly leave a mark on her designer skinnies. Will rummaged in the boot and pulled out two torches, handing Alice a pretty red one.
“I get the little one?”
“It's brighter than mine.”
She pressed a button and was impressed by the nine bright, white LEDs which gave off more light than she'd imagined from such a tiny flash-light.
They clambered over a grassy bank and took a short cut through a field of bracken which came up to Alice's head. She was not amused.
“I'm not amused.”
“You wanted an adventure.”
“This isn't adventure, it's just yucky.”
Will also thought wet bracken slapping your face was yucky but, as the self-appointed man of the partnership, he couldn't admit it. Soon they reached a path, not very well trodden but sufficiently distinct to guide them the rest of the way into the small wooded area about half-way down the hill.
“Will we be able to see much?” Alice's enthusiasm was waning, like the light.
“We'll see if anybody has been digging here.”
“Marvin?”
“Yes.”
“How would he know where to come? You didn't give a precise location in your book.”
“He might work it out, there are plenty of stories that mention this place. There's one thing that might slow him down.
“What's that?”
“You'll see.”
Will led Alice through the woods, holding her hand and bashing branches out of the way. They came to a small clearing and Will stopped.
“There.”
“Where?”
Will pointed to what looked like a mound of ivy and brambles.
“That?”
“That.”
Alice's eyes gradually took in the scene. There was a building, or at least one and a bit walls arranged so as to closely resemble a building or, more accurately, closely resemble a building that had mostly fallen down. The roof had collapsed or been robbed, centuries before. All that remained was a gable end with a space for a door and a window above it, two small openings with gently curved and slightly pointed arches that were typically ecclesiastical. Hanging from the ends of the gable wall like the bleeding, amputated arms of some monstrous grey giant, were the remnants of the crumbled side walls. They showed the cross-sections to be some eighteen inches thick, solidly constructed from thousands of pieces of irregularly-shaped flint and limestone. Inside there was evidence of ancient rendering, but little else of decorative value.
The whole structure was covered in ivy and brambles, and in the space where the floor would have been there grew grass and nettles, stunted under the shade of the trees. Standing guard round the perimeter of the site, like a battery of spears preparing to repel an invasion, was a fence of black, wrought iron railings, crowned with crudely forged arrow shapes. The darker crevices had resisted the cleansing of wind and rain, and a musty, urine-tinged odour was occasionally lifted by creeping gusts of air into the path of unwary travellers.
Alice found the breach in the spear guard and clambered over a mound of dead wall. She carefully picked her way through knee-high nettles and took her place in the centre of the ruins. Slowly, her insignificant frame revolved and her eyes scanned the scene, until her brain had absorbed the spectacle in its entirety. She could see the history in her head and tried to fast forward through all 800 years of it. What at first glance appeared to be nothing more than a small pile of overgrown rubble, began slowly to metamorphose before her eyes into a strangely imposing apparition. Alice's heart swelled and her lungs stammered, as an intricately crafted mediaeval chapel rose up around her.
By the time a great, dark wooden roof hung above her head blocking out all natural light and completing the entombment, Alice was basking in the glow of a roaring orange fire, marvelling at candles dancing enticingly out of reach in waxy nooks and crannies. Delicate yellow flames mocked her eyes, and she tried to follow their ghostly forms as they flitted teasingly from one shiny pewter vessel to another. A wooden bench nudged the top of her calf and she was invited to
sit before a sturdy oak trestle, whereupon a crusty loaf and carved goblet beckoned.
“This is so cool.”
“Alice, get up. You'll get a wet ass sitting there, or stung, or bitten.”
Alice straightened her legs and made a feeble attempt at brushing a muddy, wet patch from the seat of her pants. Will pulled a wad of tissues from his pocket and, holding Alice like a scalded child, wiped the mud off. He continued to dab her backside, in a futile attempt to extract stinky moisture from the denim.
“Cheeky.” Alice was so engrossed in her fantasy, and if truth be told so relaxed around Will by now, she hardly considered the implications of having her backside molested in this manner.
Will was similarly disconnected from the reality of fondling a starlet's squidgy bits. “You're not getting in my car with a wet ass.”
“You're so romantic.”
Will put Alice down and allowed her to regain a little dignity. They exchanged smiles. Alice's was knowing, Will's simply hid a magnitude of discombobulation.
“It's getting dark, Alice.”
Alice was aware of the dark, and no longer bothered by it. She turned on her torch and held it under her chin. “You're not scared, are you Will? Woooooo oooooo. Wooooo ooo oooooo.”
Will was scared. “Of course I'm not scared. It’s just … there's nothing we can do here now.”
“OK scaredy cat, let's get you home.”
Alice pointed the white beam at the exit and led Will away. She stopped suddenly as, out of the corner of her eye, a ghostly white shape flashed across the white torchlight - which she was now waving randomly around in an attempt to freak Will out some more.
“What's that?” She honed in on the shape.
“That's what will keep Marvin away, hopefully.”
Alice moved towards it, and as it grew larger and brighter she was able to make out black Gothic lettering on the cracked wooden sign. She started to read the name of the chapel in a hushed voice.
“That doesn't say Guffwell.”
Will laughed.
“It says ….” Will slapped a large cold palm across her mouth before the word could escape.
“Don't say it out loud.” He eased his palm away, pinching her lips shut.
“Why, will a mad monk vampire suddenly appear and eviscerate us?”
“No … good word, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“Walls have ears. And so do bugs.”
“I don't think the bugs here are interested … look, they're just playing in the light.”
“Bugs of the electronic type, you numpty.”
Alice didn't know what a numpty was, but she got the drift.
“You think we've been bugged?”
“I wouldn't discount the possibility.”
“What if we were followed?”
Will frowned. “Who could follow me?”
Alice had flashbacks of looming hedges and visions of crumpled metal splattered with her precious blood. “True, unless he had a helicopter.”
Will hadn't thought of that, and it grated.
“Shit, yes. Does he have a helicopter?”
Alice's eyes smiled reassuringly. “Come on. Let's go before the SAS turn up.”
“He was in the SAS?”
Alice whispered in Will's ear. “He's a retired bus driver.” She kissed him on the cheek and tugged at his hand. “Come on 007, I'm getting spooked. Take me home.”