The front door slammed and she sighed with relief, that was everyone gone to work and school and she could have a good tidy up. She switched the radio on, what rubbish had they been listening to? She turned over to Radio 4, bound to be someone talking about something clever. At least they had put the dishwasher on, but what was that letter doing on the counter top? Just rubbish by the look of it, recycling box.
She drifted into the hall where a bright pink glove lay on the floor, Evie’s, her hands would be cold, it was frosty out. Car keys just dropped in that dish, don’t they ever think about security? Mason’s scarf left on the stairs, probably deliberately, he always insists he won’t be cold. She picked the scarf up and carried on up the stairs.
The bedrooms were a complete mess as usual, well making beds was not on her agenda. On the landing she tried to straighten up the ghastly picture, but it fell off the wall, hook fallen out. Dan would have to fix that, it was about time he improved his DIY skills. Someone was going to trip over that toy truck, put it away safely. She could do with a cup of coffee, pity she wasn’t drinking it any more. £20 note just lying on top of the dresser, put that in the money pot, see if anyone missed it.
She looked out of the front bedroom window, new people moving in across the road, how many times had that place changed hands? Library book on the floor, hmm due back tomorrow, better put it by the front door …and reading glasses on the floor, they could go safely in that drawer.
Was that the time already, end of the peace and quiet…
‘Don’t leave your school bags on the floor… no not till you have got changed and done your homework….. I can hear voices in the kitchen! Wait in the hall. It’s okay, the radio was on, but I’m sure I switched if off and I never listen to Radio Four… I’m coming upstairs to make sure you’re getting changed and not playing with… hey who knocked Grandma’s painting down.’
‘Not me it was Evie.’
‘No it wasn’t, it was Mason.’
Hello Darling, hello kids.’
‘Dan, can you fetch my reading glasses down, they’re by the bed. I need to read the instructions on this packet.’
‘Who knocked the picture down, I only put it up last week. Couldn’t see your glasses.’
‘They are with my library book.’
‘Just give me the packet, I’ll read it out to you… See what you mean about the tiny writing, well whatever you are supposed to do you have to do it for five minutes. Now where is that letter I got yesterday, I left it in the kitchen so I would not forget to phone them.’
‘Mummy, where’s my new truck?’
‘I don’t know, where did you leave it, surely it’s too big to lose.’
‘I can’t find my reading glasses anywhere and I can’t find the library book. It’s book club tomorrow and I still have two more chapters to go.’
‘Why do you have to read in bed anyway?’
‘I always read in bed.’
‘Borrow my Kindle, you can just make the writing big, now that’s funny, when did I last have my Kindle?’
‘How am I supposed to know?’
‘Evie, did you find your other glove? Mason will you put your scarf on, there’s a cold wind. What do you mean you can’t find it? Not on the coat hook or in your school bag? Look it’s getting late, I think we’d better go in the car. That’s funny, where are the car keys?’
‘Hello Darling, how was your day?’
‘Don’t ask… Dan, do you think I’m going through the perimenopause?’
‘The peri what?’
‘Brain fog, I keep losing things, or at least forgetting where I’ve put them.’
‘Everyone mislays things. You wanted a nice big house, but it’s easier to lose things than when we were in the flat. Either that or it’s haunted, like on that programme ha ha.’
‘Dan, you don’t really think… the neighbours reckon we got this place cheaper because some old lady died here and her family wanted to sell quickly.’
‘Cos they needed the money probably. Well it was our luck.’
‘Certainly was and all clean and tidy when we viewed it, not like we were expecting, good thing she can’t see it now.’
Tom again, another investigation. If they had just listened to him this could all be avoided.
Yup, he has been trying for years to tell them what really happened.
When Mary sees all this activity we’ll have to hear for the umpteenth time how she was moved from Saint Pancras.
Do you remember last year, the whole evening spoilt when Judith’s family decided it was time she moved closer to them? Wonder how she’s getting on. The last thing she wanted was to be reunited with her husband. She was so glad to come here and have some peace.
So what are we going to do this year then? We never plan early enough then it creeps up on us.
We must do something to cheer Tom up. All this investigating is going to bring back the bad memories.
Hmmm just when he was coming to terms with his situation.
Let’s all go into town, Tom won’t have to leave till the morning hopefully.
Yes a change of scenery is what we all need. Wonder if there will be much going on in town this year?
There will be by the time we’ve stirred things up, giving that Danny Robins more than enough material for his next series.
But we’ll have to start off in Mary Junior’s pub…
…and have to listen to her going on about the year with no summer and how she got the inspiration for her novel?
Yes and then she’ll get all sentimental and beg Percy to recite one of his poems.
… and one will lead to a dozen.
…and he will drift into melancholy and declare his heart always belonged to Mary and England.
At which point we will move on and see what’s happening elsewhere in town.
‘I don’t think October 31st is a very good night for doing this Boss.’
‘It’s a perfect night for exhuming a body, the locals will be keeping away from the graveyard, even if they claim not to believe in all that stuff.’
‘Why are we digging him up?’
‘His family still want answers so he can rest in peace, though he’s not getting much peace if we keep digging him up. Poor chap, last time there was no DNA, not sure what they hope to find in his bones, but that’s not our job. Ah here comes the vicar, no cracking jokes, this is hallowed ground.
‘I’m not laughing I’m feeling sick.’
‘You will have to toughen up if you want to be a grave digger.’
‘I did not want to be a gravedigger, couldn’t find another job. And I thought I would be burying people, not unburying them.’
‘Half the people in this churchyard have been moved from elsewhere, someone has to do it. Evening Vicar.’
‘Boss, did you hear voices?’
‘Nah just get on with digging.’
‘Vicar, did you hear that voice?’
‘Well um, that’s why I am here, to pray for any unquiet spirits.’
‘Such as poor Tom who was viciously murdered?’
‘But at peace now…’
Footnotes
‘Mary Wollstonecraft was buried at St Pancras old churchyard with an epitaph reading ‘Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, Author of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman: Born 27 April 1759: Died 10 September 1797.’
‘Famously, Mary Shelley spent many hours in the graveyard that held her mother’s remains and was said to have professed her love for Percy Shelley, her future husband, there.’
‘Wollstonecraft and her husband William Godwin’s remains were moved in 1851 upon the request of their grandson Percy Florence Shelley, thanks to the imminent railway works across St Pancras.’
‘Today, their remains can be visited at St Peter’s churchyard in Bournemouth, where the family tomb holds the remains of William Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, grandson Percy Florence Shelley and his wife Jane Shelley (1820 -1899).’
Is this tale true?
‘Percy drowned while sailing his boat, the Don Juan, through a summer storm across the Gulf of Spezia in Italy. When his remains were found a few days later by friend and novelist Edward John Trelawny, a fire was built on the beach and he was cremated. To Trelawney’s surprise, however, Percy’s heart would not succumb to the flames. The hardened remains of Percy’s heart were plucked from the ashes and, after an argument over who would keep the remains, were eventually given over to Percy’s wife, Mary Shelley.’
Is his heart in the family tomb?
Back to the 21st century Danny Robbins presents ‘Uncanny’ BBC radio series, TV series and podcasts investigating many strange occurrences…
This is the full version of last week’s tiny tale which accidentally turned into a mini serial.
Flora and Jim loved their new riverside cottage and could not believe their luck getting such an ideal spot in their price range. Even the name was quaint, Little Nile. Jim joked that it was just as well it had not been named Little Amazon.
‘People would think we were living in a warehouse!’
The little river that trickled past their tiny garden was actually called ‘The Seven’, not to be confused with The Severn, the longest river in Great Britain.
As they sat in the cosy sitting room enjoying a leisurely Sunday morning Flora sighed with delight
‘…and we did not even have to do any work on it. All newly decorated.’
‘Hmm, I don’t think I could live with that dreadful wallpaper for long’ replied Jim.
‘But it would be a waste to rip it off.’
‘What’s that mark on the wall?’
‘Just part of the pattern.’
‘No, it’s some sort of stain, bigger than yesterday. Perhaps there is a body hidden behind there, it is a very old cottage.’
‘You’re giving me the creeps.’
‘There is a corner peeling off by the ceiling, I could just have a peep…’
To their surprise the paper fell off in one strip revealing writing on the wall.
‘Oh how sweet, a height chart, we could keep that as a feature’ trilled Flora. ‘Five feet ten inches, 2024, some lanky teenager, we don’t know who was last to live here do we, the estate agent didn’t say.’
‘2022, five foot one inch, he must have had a growth spurt.’
‘2019, four foot six inches, a child back then.’
‘2010, four foot 2 inches, must have been very young then, how tall is your nephew?’
‘Doesn’t make sense, in nine years they must have grown more than that, unless that was a different child, pity they did not write their names. We must write their names when we do that with ours.’
‘Our what?’
‘Babies of course.’
‘1995 must have been a baby, two foot one inch, 1980 one foot six inches, must have been the seven dwarves living here, of course, hence the name of the river.’
‘Look down the bottom, can hardly read the writing, 1895, one foot one inch, The Great Flood. What’s that all about, look it up.’
‘I can’t find any great flood for that year and can’t imagine our tiny river flooding, what a hoot.’
‘We certainly would not want a foot of water in here.’
‘No chance after the hot dry summer we’ve had.’
The next day rain lashed the windows of their little cottage, but Flora and Jim did not mind.
‘It’s lovely being all cosy inside. What weather does your phone say Jim?’
‘Still no reception, but I don’t need to look at my phone to see what the weather is.’
‘No weather forecast, but it is rather liberating not having a television. Dad says we can have his old laptop to stream stuff.’
‘Once we’re on the internet. In the meantime we can go exploring and find a spot where we can get reception, just in case of emergency.’
‘I can’t imagine us having any emergencies, except not being able to order pizza!’
‘Come on, walking in the rain will be fun and when we get back I’ll have a go at lighting the fire.’
‘Great idea, but won’t the firewood have got wet in the rain?’
‘I’ll just pull logs out from the bottom of the pile, like Jenga.’
‘Looks like a real river now Flora, don’t get too near the edge, it must be at least two foot deep, ha ha. Let’s see how far along the river this little path goes.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coming on duty.
‘There is an amber alert coming into force at 15.00.’
‘Not like last year surely Sir, not after the dry summer we’ve had.’
‘We’re not taking any chances after what happened last year.’
‘At least the survivors moved out of that cottage down in the valley, can’t imagine they would have managed to sell it.’
‘Well it’s still standing, we hiked that way in the summer.’
‘Why are you playing with your phone Evans?’
‘Just looking it up on Rightmove Sir… Believe it or not it was bought last month, knock down price.’
‘Let’s hope they have been following the weather reports then. Right, we have got other problems to sort out in town, so let’s hope this rain eases off.’
Flora and Jim had reached a high point in the valley and looked down to see just a glimpse of the red roof of their cottage. The rain was even harder, if that was possible. They could hardly see the screens of their phones to check if they had any signal or any text messages.
‘It’s certainly exhilarating up here’ said Jim.
‘And so quiet, we haven’t seen a soul’ Flora struggled to make her voice heard above the wind and rain.
‘No one else is mad enough to come out in this rain. I think we’ll have to try our phones tomorrow when the weather has cleared. Best thing we can do is go back and get that fire lit.’
‘Whaaat, I can’t hear you.’
Jim signed to Flora to head back down the narrow steep track, clinging to her as he nearly slipped. The foot path had turned into a muddy stream, but they were still in good spirits enjoying their adventure. The sound of rushing water guided them back to the river, though it was hard to recognise how far they were from their cottage as they were on a part of the river that had no path beside it. Talking was impossible with the wind and rushing water and they could not see the river properly with the rain driving in their faces. The white shape of the cottage suddenly loomed out of the gloom, nearer to the river than they recalled.
‘Have you got the key Flora?’ Jim yelled.
‘No you put it in your anorak pocket.’
Flora paddled through puddles to grab at the front door in the hope they had forgotten to lock it, then remembered putting the key in her back pack. She could hardly undo the zip with her cold wet hands.
‘Unlock the door while I start fetching the wood.’
Jim slithered round the corner to where logs were stacked against the wall and was disconcerted to see water pouring down the hillside and swirling round the bottom of the wood pile. He thought of the cosy pub in the nearest town where they had enjoyed a hearty meal after first viewing the cottage. The best thing they could do was walk along the river the other way and take the gravel track that led up to the road and the bus stop. Was it quarter to or quarter past the hour that the hourly bus came along? Well they could always hitch hike.
The rain showed no sign of easing up and they were glad to get to the road.
‘Oh that’s funny, wonder why they have barriers across the road?
‘Jim, it will be getting dark soon.’
‘When a car comes along it will have to stop at the barrier and we can ask for a lift.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coordinating with the fire brigade and the Coastguard and RAF. It was turning out to be an even worse evening that with last year’s flood.
‘As far as we know most locals heeded the red weather warnings, they are checking names at the community centre now. We can’t account for any visitors staying or hiking in the area. The coastguard helicopter was only flying for fifteen minutes before it was grounded at 17.00 hours due to dangerous flying conditions. With the poor visibility they could not be certain there were no persons clinging to roofs or needing rescuing. We got the road blocks up early, so there should be no vehicles in the flood area.’
Clarissa was having a wonderful evening. At last, as a volunteer with Seven Valley Community Support, she was getting to do something exciting and useful. With power lines down, the community centre was lit with candles and battery torches. Computers were down and all they had were clipboards and pen and paper. Clarissa was in charge of the list, or registering unhoused arrivals as she put it. Her excitement grew when a young policeman pushed his way through the throng.
‘Has anybody been reported missing yet?’
‘No, all accounted for.’
‘Not so apparently, the station got a frantic call from a mother who said she had not heard from her daughter and she is not answering her mobile. She just moved into that cottage by the river, umm Little Nile?’
‘Oh goodness, surely no one is living there after what happened last year? The name?’
‘Whose name?’
‘The daughter.’
‘Oh yes, of course. Flora Dora.’
‘Are you sure? Obviously not from around here then. Anyone else living there?’
‘Her boyfriend, Jim James.’
Clarissa clapped her hands to gain attention, unsuccessfully. The police officer moved in front of her, glad of the chance to assert his authority and put on his crowd control voice.
‘Urgent, we need to know if we have a Flora Dora and a Jim James here.’
There was no response.
‘They just moved into Little Nile cottage.
There was a collective gasp and urgent mutterings.
‘They’ll be gonners by now.’
‘Yup, cottage submerged completely.’
‘Even if they got out the river will have taken them.’
The policeman moved among them trying to get any useful information.
‘They would have heard the alerts and the red warnings.’
‘Not unless they have registered for Seven Flood Alert or got the app.’
‘Slim chance they might have made it up to the road, but that’s blocked off.’
‘The army,’ called Clarissa ‘my nephew’s out there on a training exercise with the Ukrainians.’
‘Training them?’
‘No, the Ukrainians are training our lot, they can drive tanks in the most awful conditions.’
Flora and Jim had started walking along the road, best case scenario they would meet a vehicle. Worst case scenario they would have to keep walking till they came to a house or the town. Neither of them mentioned the actual Worst Case Scneario, not that they could hear a word they said to each other, nor could they read each other’s expressions. All they could hear or see was the relentless rain. Perhaps it was fortunate they had to keep their thoughts to themselves, cosy the memories of their parents’ boring little suburban houses…
It was so dark now, no street lights, not even any distant lights. There was no distance so they did not see the solid darkness looming out of the general darkness and barely heard the shouts. When they were blinded by a bright beam they had no chance of seeing anything.
‘Are you lost?’
‘Of course they’re lost corporal, not out for an evening stroll and get that torch out of their eyes.’
‘Soldiers’ stammered Flora through chartering teeth ‘are we on the firing range?’
‘No, but you must have a death wish, didn’t you heed the warnings. Names?’
They tried to say their names, but their frozen mouths did not seem to work. The soldiers got close and yelled ‘Are you Flora Dora and Jim James?’
They nodded vigorously.
‘The whole of the British army is out looking for you and half the Ukrainian army to boot.’
At the community centre Clarissa took charge of the new arrivals, she was not going to be upstaged.
‘Priority registration, have they got any rooms left at Premiere Inn, how’s the hot food coming along, we need two survivor kits over here right now, one men’s one ladies’.
She felt just like the United Nations or Medecine Sans Frontieres, though the survivor packs merely contained donated second hand clothes.
Flora and Jim soon became celebrities.
‘A good way to get to know the locals’ laughed Flora, almost restored to her normal self with hot chocolate.
‘And a free night at Premiere Inn hopefully’ added Jim.
‘Well your cottage will still be there, it’s withstood centuries of floods, though they are getting worse.’
‘Yup, it should be dried out by next August‘ added another local.
Clarissa was having a wonderful evening. At last, as a volunteer with Seven Valley Community Support, she was getting to do something exciting and useful. With power lines down, the community centre was lit with candles and battery torches. Computers were down and all they had were clipboards and pen and paper. Clarissa was in charge of the list, or registering unhoused arrivals as she put it. Her excitement grew when a young policeman pushed his way through the throng.
‘Has anybody been reported missing yet?’
‘No, all accounted for.’
‘Not so apparently, the station got a frantic call from a mother who said she had not heard from her daughter and she is not answering her mobile. She just moved into that cottage by the river, umm Little Nile?’
‘Oh goodness, surely no one is living there after what happened last year? The name?’
‘Whose name?’
‘The daughter.’
‘Oh yes, of course. Flora Dora.’
‘Are you sure? Obviously not from around here then. Anyone else living there?’
‘Her boyfriend, Jim James.’
Clarissa clapped her hands to gain attention, unsuccessfully. The police officer moved in front of her, glad of the chance to assert his authority and put on his crowd control voice.
‘Urgent, we need to know if we have a Flora Dora and a Jim James here.’
There was no response.
‘They just moved into Little Nile cottage.’
There was a collective gasp and urgent mutterings.
‘They’ll be gonners by now.’
‘Yup, cottage submerged completely.’
‘Even if they got out the river will have taken them.’
The policeman moved among them trying to get any useful information.
‘They would have heard the alerts and the red warnings.’
‘Not unless they have registered for Seven Flood Alert or got the app.’
‘Slim chance they might have made it up to the road, but that’s blocked off.’
‘The army,’ called Clarissa ‘my nephew’s out there on a training exercise with the Ukrainians.’
‘Training them?’
‘No, the Ukrainians are training our lot, they can drive tanks in the most awful conditions.’
Flora and Jim had started walking along the road, best case scenario they would meet a vehicle. Worst case scenario they would have to keep walking till they came to a house or the town. Neither of them mentioned the actual Worst Case Scenario, not that they could hear a word they said to each other, nor could they read each other’s expressions. All they could hear or see was the relentless rain. Perhaps it was fortunate they had to keep their thoughts to themselves, cosy memories of their parents’ boring little suburban houses…
It was so dark now, no street lights, not even any distant lights. There was no distance so they did not see the solid darkness looming out of the general darkness and barely heard the shouts. When they were blinded by a bright beam they had no chance of seeing anything.
‘Are you lost?’
‘Of course they’re lost corporal, not out for an evening stroll and get that torch out of their eyes.’
‘Soldiers’ stammered Flora through chartering teeth ‘are we on the firing range?’
‘No, but you must have a death wish, didn’t you heed the warnings? Names?’
They tried to say their names, but their frozen mouths did not seem to work. The soldiers got close and yelled ‘Are you Flora Dora and Jim James?’
They nodded vigorously.
‘The whole of the British army is out looking for you and half the Ukrainian army to boot.’
At the community centre Clarissa took charge of the new arrivals, she was not going to be upstaged.
‘Priority registration, have they got any rooms left at Premiere Inn, how’s the hot food coming along, we need two survivor kits over here right now, one men’s one ladie’s.’
She felt just like the United Nations or Medecine Sans Frontieres, though the survivor packs merely contained donated second hand clothes.
Flora and Jim soon became celebrities.
‘A good way to get to know the locals’ laughed Flora, almost restored to her normal self with hot chocolate.
‘And a free night at Premiere Inn hopefully’ added Jim.
‘Well your cottage will still be there, it’s withstood centuries of floods, though they are getting worse.’
‘Yup, it should be dried out by next August‘ added another local.
Flora and Jim had reached a high point in the valley and looked down to see just a glimpse of the red roof of their cottage. The rain was even heavier, if that was possible. They could hardly see the screens of their phones to check if they had any signal or any text messages.
‘It’s certainly exhilarating up here’ said Jim.
‘And so quiet, we haven’t seen a soul’ Flora struggled to make her voice heard above the wind and rain.
‘No one else is mad enough to come out in this rain. I think we’ll have to try our phones tomorrow when the weather has cleared. Best thing we can do is go back and get that fire lit.’
‘Whaaat, I can’t hear you.’
Jim signed to Flora to head back down the narrow steep track, clinging to her as he nearly slipped. The foot path had turned into a muddy stream, but they were still in good spirits enjoying their adventure. The sound of rushing water guided them back to the river, though it was hard to recognise how far they were from their cottage as they were on a part of the river that had no path beside it. Talking was impossible with the wind and rushing water and they could not see the river properly with the rain driving in their faces. The white shape of the cottage suddenly loomed out of the gloom, nearer to the river than they recalled.
‘Have you got the key Flora?’ Jim yelled.
‘No you put it in your anorak pocket.’
Flora paddled through puddles to grab at the front door in the hope they had forgotten to lock it, then remembered putting the key in her back pack. She could hardly undo the zip with her cold wet hands.
‘Unlock the door while I start fetching the wood.’
Jim slithered round the corner to where logs were stacked against the wall and was disconcerted to see water pouring down the hillside and swirling round the bottom of the wood pile. He thought of the cosy pub in the nearest town where they had enjoyed a hearty meal after first viewing the cottage. The best thing they could do was walk along the river the other way and take the gravel track that led up to the road and the bus stop. Was it quarter to or quarter past the hour that the hourly bus came along? Well they could always hitch hike.
The rain showed no sign of easing up and they were glad to get to the road.
‘Oh that’s funny, wonder why they have barriers across the road?’
‘Jim, it will be getting dark soon.’
‘When a car comes along it will have to stop at the barrier and we can ask for a lift.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coordinating with the fire brigade and the Coastguard and RAF. It was turning out to be an even worse evening than with last year’s flood.
‘As far as we know most locals heeded the red weather warnings, they are checking names at the community centre now. We can’t account for any visitors staying or hiking in the area. The coastguard helicopter was only flying for fifteen minutes before it was grounded at 17.00 hours due to dangerous flying conditions. With the poor visibility they could not be certain there were no persons clinging to roofs or needing rescuing. We got the road blocks up early, so there should be no vehicles in the flood area.’
Rain lashed the windows of their little cottage, but Flora and Jim did not mind.
‘It’s lovely being all cosy inside. What weather does your phone say Jim?’
‘Still no reception, but I don’t need to look at my phone to see what the weather is.’
‘No weather forecast, but it is rather liberating not having a television. Dad says we can have his old laptop to stream stuff.’
‘Once we’re on the internet. In the meantime we can go exploring and find a spot where we can get reception, just in case of emergency.’
‘I can’t imagine us having any emergencies, except not being able to order pizza!’
‘Come on, walking in the rain will be fun and when we get back I’ll have a go at lighting the fire.’
‘Great idea, but won’t the firewood have got wet in the rain?’
‘I’ll just pull logs out from the bottom of the pile, like Jenga.’
‘Looks like a real river now Flora, don’t get too near the edge, it must be at least two foot deep, ha ha. Let’s see how far along the river this little path goes.’
At Upper Seven Valley police station the late shift were coming on duty.
‘There is an amber alert coming into force at 15.00.’
‘Not like last year surely Sir, not after the dry summer we’ve had.’
‘We’re not taking any chances after what happened last year.’
‘At least the survivors moved out of that cottage down in the valley, can’t imagine they would have managed to sell it.’
‘Well it’s still standing, we hiked that way in the summer.’
‘Why are you playing with your phone Evans?’
‘Just looking it up on Rightmove Sir… Believe it or not it was bought last month, knock down price.’
‘Let’s hope they have been following the weather reports then. Right, we have got other problems to sort out in town, so let’s hope this rain eases off.’
Flora and Jim loved their new riverside cottage and could not believe their luck getting such an ideal spot in their price range. Even the name was quaint, Little Nile. Jim joked that it was just as well it had not been named Little Amazon.
‘People would think we were living in a warehouse!’
The little river that trickled past their tiny garden was actually called ‘The Seven’, not to be confused with The Severn, the longest river in Great Britain.
As they sat in the cosy sitting room enjoying a leisurely Sunday morning Flora sighed with delight
‘…and we did not even have to do any work on it. All newly decorated.’
‘Hmm, I don’t think I could live with that dreadful wallpaper for long’ replied Jim.
‘But it would be a waste to rip it off.’
‘What’s that mark on the wall?’
‘Just part of the pattern.’
‘No, it’s some sort of stain, bigger than yesterday. Perhaps there is a body hidden behind there, it is a very old cottage.’
‘You’re giving me the creeps.’
‘There is a corner peeling off by the ceiling, I could just have a peep…’
To their surprise the paper fell off in one strip revealing writing on the wall.
‘Oh how sweet, a height chart, we could keep that as a feature’ trilled Flora. ‘Five feet ten inches, 2024, some lanky teenager, we don’t know who was last to live here do we, the estate agent didn’t say.’
‘2022, five foot one inch, he must have had a growth spurt.’
‘2019, four foot six inches, a child back then.’
‘2010, four foot 2 inches, must have been very young then, how tall is your nephew?’
‘Doesn’t make sense, in nine years they must have grown more than that, unless that was a different child, pity they did not write their names. We must write their names when we do that with ours.’
‘Our what?’
‘Babies of course.’
‘1995 must have been a baby, two foot one inch, 1980 one foot six inches, must have been the seven dwarves living here, of course, hence the name of the river.’
‘Look down the bottom, can hardly read the writing, 1895, one foot one inch, The Great Flood. What’s that all about, look it up.’
‘I can’t find any great flood for that year and can’t imagine our tiny river flooding, what a hoot.’
‘We certainly would not want a foot of water in here.’
I was idly scrolling through Facebook on my phone when I was surprised to see a picture of myself. I never post pictures of myself on holiday, well I never go on holiday, nor do I socialise enough to appear in other people’s photos. I peered closer. It was definitely me, in that fleece I got from Mountain Warehouse, but I had never been to the Royal Albert Hall. There I was standing outside the famous round building in summer sunshine. Had I been photoshopped in?
I dashed upstairs and put my desk top computer on, I needed to look at this properly, but knowing Facebook that post could disappear any second. Even as I climbed the stairs my phone pinged with a WhatsAp message.
Hi Claire, have a good time, which Prom are you going to?
I wasn’t the only person to have seen my picture, the picture that could not be me. I would love to have got down to London and gone to The Proms, but my budget did not stretch to a city break.
I don’t take much interest in Facebook, occasionally I put a link to my blog or my website when I have a new book published. My followers are a select bunch, but it’s surprising how many readers love my series about Bunny Bunting, a private detective who solves crimes in the cut throat world of pedigree rabbit shows.
There I was again looking up at the Prince Albert Memorial, carrying my jade fleece. I had on my blue polo shirt from Edinburgh Woollen Mill. Did I have a long lost twin? Now I was sitting and looking properly I read what the post said.
Have you seen Claire? Her family are desperately worried. She went on a day trip to London with work friends, but became separated. Claire is believed to be vulnerable and does not know her way around London.
Thanks a lot, not only has someone stolen my identity, now they are calling me vulnerable?
Claire Smith is forty three years old, five foot four inches and well built.
That is me exactly, though what is well built supposed to mean? At least she has not got the same surname.
We know it’s a long shot, but if you are a Londoner, especially a music lover, perhaps you may have seen Claire at Thursday evening’s prom. She is believed to have struggled with depression lately after the end of a relationship.
That is certainly not me, unless Claire Smith has just lost her pet rabbit. Give me a Flemish Giant any day over a man… there were comments already…
Is this Claire from Carlisle, I follow her on Facebook.
Oh no, that is me, I live in Carlisle, so wonder where this other Claire comes from? Please answer and tell us Claire Smith comes from Saint Ives…shall I add a comment…
No, I am Claire Lapin from Carlisle.
Hang on, that post has disappeared.
A hospital room, now what has happened? That looks just like the picture my brother took of me after I had my tonsils out.
Claire Darling we all love you and beg you to get in touch, you are due for dialysis tomorrow at Glasgow Royal Infirmary, but if you cannot get back here in time, please call at any hospital Casualty Department.
Oh dear it gets worse and worse…
My phone rang, my brother.
‘Sis, turn on the evening news, it’s you, are you in London, lost?
‘No Sam, of course I am not, nor am I on Facebook, someone has stolen my identity.’
He laughed ‘You have got a Doppleganger!’
‘A what?’
‘Your exact double, doesn’t even have to be a relative, just someone who looks exactly like you, everyone is supposed to have a Doppleganger somewhere in the world. But I know how you can find out if she is a relative, they are calling for kidney donors, searching for a good match before its’s too late, someone to give her hope…’
‘How can you call for dead people?’
‘No, live donors, you have two kidneys. I’ve taken the number, I’ll text it over to you.’
‘But Sam, I don’t like hospitals…’
I called the number, it was one way to find out who this Claire was. The kidney business caught people’s interest and a chap spotted her at sunset on Waterloo Bridge, staring into the Thames. He called out to her, rather prematurely ‘Hey, they found you a kidney.’
Claire Smith had a kidney transplant thanks to me. No it wasn’t my kidney. We are not related at all, but I somehow found myself in the swapping chain. My kidney went to an anonymous patient whose relative was a good match for Claire. I wasn’t in the news as I had not actually given her my kidney and I certainly did not post pictures of myself in hospital on Facebook.
Lottie had not intended to search the beach for a silver spoon and told herself she was merely there for her usual early morning walk, but keeping her eyes peeled just in case. The beach was busy already. The metal detectorists would not have an advantage unless the mystery spoon was only silver plated.
A local author had planned the treasure hunt to publicise the latest novel in his Kitchen Sink Drama series. The Curse of the Cutlery Drawer was the fifth book, so presumably he was quite popular, though Lottie had never heard of him. Perhaps his fame had not reached London and the literary elite.
The author, Guy Forks, had been featured on the local news last night, though he was not seen, an actor read his words while a camera panned round his kitchen. Lottie could only wonder what the outside of his home looked like as he wished to keep his home location secret. The kitchen was unusual in the extreme. Bundles of herbs and strings of onions dangled over a huge slice of tree trunk that served as a kitchen bench. On the bench was road kill being prepared for dinner as far as she could tell. A collie appeared to have just given birth to puppies in a basket in the corner, next to a wood stove on which bubbled a huge pan with a couple of paws sticking out.
Before Lottie had a chance to peer closer and work out if the scene was actually for real, the view changed to the beach at Puddleminster-on-Sea. The actor’s voice declared that this was where the treasure was to be found and the clues were in the book. Whoever found the silver spoon would be united with the rest of the canteen of silver cutlery.
Against her better judgement Lottie had downloaded the Kindle version of the book and found herself googling the author. There was little to be found out about him.
It was an entertaining morning at least and the strange atmosphere and antics of all the beachcombers emboldened her to walk on further to the restricted areawhere she had nearly been arrested. There had been no more protests, as locals were now convinced they would become radioactive if they went too near. Lottie wondered if Guy Forks would purposely hide the spoon in this area. As she pondered, she found herself stepping through a gate that had been wrenched open. Locals had protested they did not have access to this part of the beach. Now they did, though it was a narrow strip. Behind a huge fence were forbidding looking buildings. Lottie thought she had better not linger, but as she turned to look out to sea she caught something glinting in the low morning sunlight. A thought popped into her head. She and her late husband had enjoyed visiting Liverpool and seeing Anthony Gormley’s statues standing on the sand and in the sea, disappearing and reappearing as the tides went in and out. The tide was going out so perhaps there was a statue under the water holding a spoon. That would be a challenge to retrieve.
Lottie wondered how long she had been staring out to sea before she was sure there was something emerging. It wasn’t a head… could it be a giant spoon? Guy Forks was obviously a big joker, was he also an artist trying his hand at installation art?
Lottie looked around nervously, expecting some official to say she was trespassing. How long before the tide went out far enough to reveal the strange object? She was only certain of one thing, she could not retrieve it and she had no desire to own a giant silver spoon, let alone a canteen of giant cutlery. She walked briskly, heading back to the main part of the beach, planning to tell the first familiar local she met.
Coming towards her was Geoffrey Good, the pathologist she had met at the police station, that bizarre time when a body was stolen from the mortuary. He had his friend’s dog with him, no doubt to look like he was walking the dog and not interested in treasure hunts.
‘What were you doing in the restricted area?’
‘Just having a walk, the gate was open, but I must tell you what I saw, you must come and look.’
They both looked and agreed the bowl of a huge spoon was emerging from the sea.
‘Do you know this local chap, Guy Forks?’ said Lottie.
‘Not till I heard about him on the news last night, even my wife wouldn’t read his rubbish.’
‘Oh it’s quite good actually, I mean I downloaded his book on Kindle last night, purely out of professional interest. I did fall asleep reading it before I found any clues… but whether he’s a good author or not, he has certainly created interest. He could be lurking behind a beach hut watching them all digging in the sand with no idea it will be easy to find. I know what we should do, lets tell everyone, play him at his own game.’
Geoffrey was better at commanding attention than Lottie as they started approaching people, but soon everyone was drifting to the area where the handle of the spoon was now beginning to emerge. Some people were angry at being conned, while others pointed out that Forks never said what size the spoon was. Geoffrey insisted there was no point in arguing about who could claim it until low tide was reached and they could see how the spoon was fixed to the sea bed.
People started paddling, then wading, few knew how deep the sea was or how tall the spoon handle might be. No one had thought to bring their swimming gear, but a couple of young men stripped down to their boxer shorts and discovered it was further out than they expected and out of their depth. When the police arrived to clear everyone from the restricted area, they had not heard about the treasure hunt, but decided boat reinforcements were needed to check the spoon. As everyone was now paddling in the shallows and they did not want to get their boots wet, the officers did not try to arrest anyone.
Lottie was excited to watch the early evening local news with Puddleminster being the first item. Guy Forks was unavailable for comment and nobody could retrieve the spoon as it was embedded in concrete. There was much speculation as to how it had been secretly erected overnight and other beach visitors interviewed thought it should remain as a local tourist attraction. Lottie had been interviewed briefly when Geoffrey pointed her out as the finder, but they had cut out her mention of the fact she was also a local author.
The delightful scent of roast chicken wafted out from the kitchen. Grace liked visiting her cousins, Aunty was a great cook. Playing in the garden with the others, Grace kept an eye on the back door that led into the kitchen. No one was allowed in the kitchen when Aunty was cooking, she had been in there for ages, surely lunch would be ready soon…
‘Grace, come on, your turn.’
She grabbed the ball just in time, despite being weak with hunger.
At last the back door opened.
‘Everybody to the table, not through the kitchen, come in through the patio door, go and wash your hands then get yourselves sat at the table.’
Grace was first in, there was a scrabble to get to the table, handwashing forgotten about. She tried to squeeze in, but couldn’t find a space.
‘Millie, back out in the garden and take Grace with you, you’ve had your lunch.’
Somehow she and Millie found themselves on the wrong side of the patio doors. Grace was too polite to say anything as it wasn’t her home, but Millie did not hold back from voicing her opinion of her family.
‘Call that lunch, call that a meal, same old pile of biscuits I always get, not even a chocolate digestive or some Jaffa cakes.’
‘Oh I love Jaffa cakes,’ said Grace ‘I sometimes have them as a treat, well only one…’
‘Precisely, they eat a whole packet. Hey look, they left the back door open, come on.’
Grace didn’t think they were allowed in the kitchen, even when Aunty had finished cooking, but if Millie said it was okay…’
‘Come on Grace, we’re going to get the leftovers anyway, so why wait, I’m starving.’
Grace was bigger than Millie so she was proud she could help her cousin by reaching the counter top. In seconds they were sharing what was left of the chicken. Tender slivers of meat, crunchy legs, crispy skin and the most divine roast potatoes.
‘Hey Grace, see if you can reach the last two potatoes.’
It was a stretch and a bit of a jump and as she touched the potatoes Grace knocked the heavy carving tray that was already teetering on the edge. There was a deafening crash and Grace jumped in fright. She turned to Millie to ask if they should go back in the garden, but Millie had disappeared. Before she could slip out of the door she heard an awful scream and turned to see Aunty. The strange noise was coming out of Aunty’s mouth and her friendly face had been replaced by a red angry one. Grace thought it might be wise to get in the garden as quickly as possible, but the door had blown shut. Other grownups appeared in the kitchen and Aunty was now saying words.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 