Harvest (11 page)

“
What was that you said
back there about equipment?” Craig fired directly.

Rachel appeared caught and
avoided his stare, glancing to the floor of the lift, busying
herself by unnecessarily adjusting the strap of her handbag on her
shoulder before looking ahead to the door. Kelly spoke a silent
thank you to Craig in her head.

“
The Chambers have had
some activity in their flat...” Rachel gave in and faced them both.
“I’m pretty sure I am talking to sceptics, so I won’t bore us all
by wasting explanations that you won’t accept…” There was a twinkle
in her eye that softened her snipe.

“
Hey, I’m the believer,
she’s the sceptic...” he defended light-heartedly.

Kelly cocked her head to one
side, shrugged and flashed a smile in acceptance of her title.
“Comes with the job.”

“
They have had some
strange events centred on Amy. It can happen in times of stress,
especially with children. That’s why they asked me to come and
offer them some insight.”

“
So back there you
suggested a priest for purposes other than spiritual comfort,”
Kelly concluded, now feeling even more uncomfortable with Rachel
and the priest’s involvement.

“Yes, quite. Probably not in the manner
that you imagine though. A blessing of the property can help
sometimes, but in my opinion it is not through the power of the
priest or his religion, but the psychological effect it can have
through the beliefs of the spirits or those experiencing
phenomenon. The Chambers have agreed to let us hold a bit of a
stake-out with some equipment, to try and prove they aren’t going
mad.”

“
Don’t you think it’s’
poor timing...” Kelly had intended a breezy challenge but her
abruptness betrayed her distaste.

“
Yes, I did explain to
them that it does mean taking over the flat, which I don’t think is
fair on the little girl. My technical boy can sort something out so
the only imposition will be the presence of the cameras, and we can
record and watch the footage from a distance, but I am not sure of
the range.”

“
You mean transmitting
the image remotely?” Craig jumped in, to which Rachel nodded. “I
did a lot of work with different cameras when I was at university,
nothing too high-tech, but I know my way around.”

Kelly spotted that Craig had
suddenly become fidgety; preparing himself another angle for
involvement?

“
So there you go; that’s
my explanation.” Rachel smiled at them both in turn before
returning her gaze to the doors.

Kelly found some amusement in
Rachel not taking Craig’s bait and the briefest expression of
disappointment on his young face.

He wasn’t deterred; “I wouldn’t
mind helping. I am only two floors up from Claire so you wouldn’t
have to worry too much about boosting the frequencies. You could do
your little stake-out in my flat. Make up for me thinking you might
be a crank and dragging the law down on you.”

“
Don’t make me out to be
your ogre!” Kelly laughed, but her face was burning.

“
Oh, I wouldn’t want to
be any inconvenience to you.” Rachel waved his offer
away.

“Seriously, it’s no worry,”
Craig said dismissively with an open-handed gesture. “Could be
fun.”

Rachel rooted around in her
voluminous bag. “That’s very nice of you.” She broke her
concentration and paused briefly in her search. “It’s also nice to
know you don’t think I am mad...” Her arm rooted through her
hoarded belongings. “We should exchange phone numbers.” She pulled
out her purse and a chunky mobile phone and after some fumbling and
balancing of the items she carried she produced a scrap of paper
from her purse. “I have a pen here somewhere...”

“
Why don’t you put me on
your mobile?” Craig suggested after some time passed in Rachel’s
search.

“
If I knew how to switch
the blasted thing on, that would be a very good idea.” She produced
a pen and beamed triumphantly. “Aha!”

The lift came to a halt and
Rachel stepped out onto the ground floor, folded the piece of paper
with Craig’s phone number scrawled on it, and stuffed it into her
purse. “Well, thank you both for showing me down, and thank you
again for the offer of your flat. I will call you tonight.”

Rachel made her goodbyes and
Craig activated the buzzer that released the door, which now
worked. He held the door open for Kelly, but she held back and when
Rachel was out of earshot she spoke. “You’re buying into what
Rachel said?” she asked him incredulously.

Craig shrugged innocently. “I
have an open mind.”

His motive was obvious. “You’re
a crafty basta–” She abruptly stopped her playful abuse; the
familiarity was alien and uncomfortable. She hadn’t been as relaxed
with a man since Ian. She was shocked that after all this time of
being self-restrained she had slipped past her own defences; it
felt dangerous but frighteningly seductive.

Craig shrugged. “Well – as odd
as the whole situation is, it’s about as close to the story as I’m
likely to get.”

Despite her own reservations
that screamed against being involved, Kelly experienced a sudden
flush of disappointment, feeling left out. “So, do I get mixed up
in your obvious ploy to be at the heart of the action?”

“
Ask me nicely and you
can come too.” Craig winked, obviously happy to have turned the
tables and have her fishing for involvement. “Of course, I wouldn’t
want to interfere with your police professionalism...”

Kelly bit her tongue. He had a
cheeky streak. “All right then. Thank you. But if you end up
printing anything I wasn’t even there, okay?”

“Hey, you still haven’t
actually asked me if you can come to my place yet.”

There was flirtation in
his tone.
Kelly observed Craig warily.
His smiling bravado, the coy swagger of his head as he spoke,
the shameless twinkle in his blue eyes and his flirtatious tone
complimented by his lilting west-country accent stirred a warmth
deep within her that frightened her. A fluttering heat she hadn’t
allowed herself. She was swimming out of her depth and in panic she
lashed out to recover a stroke towards a more manageable depth.
“Look, I’m not going to beg you, Craig. If you don’t want to do
this partner –” the word “partner” stung her like an angry wasp and
caused her to fluster, “partner-thing then just say.”

Craig apologised and stepped
back defensively, obviously thrown by her sudden frustration.
“Okay! Okay. Come along. And if I get anything out of this I won’t
mention you.”

The panic was evident on
Craig’s face as he tried to fathom where he had gone wrong. It
wasn’t his wrong at all. She shamefully realised her outburst had
probably sabotaged yet another possible friend, and she experienced
a bruising anguish for actually caring. Could men and women just be
friends anyway? However, the status quo had been restored and the
anxiety caused by her familiarity had subsided.

“
How about we go for a
coffee after you finish your shift, get to know each other so we
don’t rub each other the wrong way? My treat. How does that sound?
The Ice Wharf is nice. Do you know it?”

She knew it. It was a
large glass fronted bar in the centre of Camden beside the canal,
between the green iron Chalk Farm bridge loaded with tourists and
the hump-backed coble bridge that reached into Camden’s famous
bustling market. The pubs terrace looked out over the locks, you
could sit and watch the narrow boats come and go, or watch the
crowds passing by.
A good venue for a
date.

Kelly stared impassively
through him, as if her eyes were on glass, then she looked away.
She couldn’t. “Sorry, I have plans tonight,” she lied
apologetically. Her feet flinched, caught between two opposing
urges; to go and escape, or to stay in this moment and see where it
led. To tempt him and herself. “I’d better go. I have work and I’m
already late.” She walked away, apologising blandly over her
shoulder.

Chapter
Eight

Craig approached the
door of his flat mulling over the new things the day had brought
him. He felt some satisfaction with getting a little closer to a
story, yet what the story was he couldn’t be sure. He prayed it
wasn’t a story suited to the
National
Enquirer
or
Daily
Sport.

The mystery of Kelly’s abrupt
hostility still troubled him. He had replayed the scene over and
over again in his head. He had been himself, maybe familiar and
playful, but as far as he could see he hadn’t said anything she
could take objection to. He mourned the lost opportunity of being
with someone. He had always thought the Ice Wharf would make a
great spot for a date. Camden had some great bars and restaurants
for a date, and he had always wanted to go to the Round House and
see a gig, or catch a comedy show.

The last time he had sat
down for a drink with a girl was with Vicki at the Devonshire Arms.
The Dev was a goth/alternative pub, full of waiflike moonfaced
people with thick black eye makeup, faces glinting with piercings
and clothes ranging from Victoriana to
Matrix
punk, the thrashing music louder than the
rainbow range of hair colours of the punters. It had been an excuse
for Vicki to check out the drug scene for a potential story. A
story that didn’t even make it onto her PC as the drug scene was
hardly news in Camden, and ended up with Vicki drinking him under
the table after seven pints of Snakebite. Not the experience he had
hoped for with Vicki.

Keying the door open, he pushed
his way into his flat, but before he could make it inside he was
distracted by the sound of steps closing in on him in the corridor.
A man, giant in all directions, dressed in brown cord trousers and
a tweed jacket came to a pause near his door. The man, who appeared
to be in his late thirties, caught Craig’s eye with a nod. “Sorry,”
he said, then rested his second chin heavily on his open collar and
nudged his black-rimmed glasses back into place on his podgy ursine
face and checked through a fat diary brimming with a clutter of
notes. He closed it and held it close to his extended belly. “Do
you live here? Do you know your neighbour Harry Crabb?”

Craig paused, half-in his flat,
thinking it was obvious that Craig lived there as the man had just
seen him use his key. “Er – Yeah.”

“
Oh, good,” he breathed
heavily, swiping beads of sweat from his brow. “I was meant to meet
him. I was buzzing him from outside but he doesn’t seem to be in.
Have you seen him today?”

Craig carefully looked over the
man whose very clothes exuded the same dampness that gave his skin
its clammy unhealthy appearance. “Yeah, he was in the lobby
earlier. Why?”

“
Oh, I’m Scott Bray, his
social worker. I don’t suppose you know how he is getting
on?”

Craig shrugged nonchalantly. “I
don’t really see him about very much, but he was being a bit weird
today.” Craig related Rachel’s trouble with Harry. “Is he care in
the community?”

“
No, no. I’m just
checking that he is looking after himself and his flat that’s all.
I will have to catch him another time then. Listen, Mr Crabb tends
to avoid me, so if you ever have reason for concern or complaint
for Mr Crabb I would appreciate it if you would give me a call.” He
pulled a card out of his pocket, his large hand turning his pocket
inside out in the process, scattering cotton lint and sweet
wrappers.

Craig nodded his goodbye and
closed the door on him, trying to shake the sticky calling card
from his fingers.

He might not have managed
to get Kelly to go for a drink with him, but at least she would be
coming round later for the stake-out, and he might get to know her
better. Suddenly, Benchman his headmaster at secondary school came
into his mind at the thought of the stake-out, and his mood
plummeted. Why was he playing around with a stakeout for ghosts?
He
needed
serious work. He
made himself a mug of tea and sat down at his kitchen table. He did
some mental maths, working out the incoming cash he would be
getting against his outgoings. It was okay, it would be tight but
he could get through for the next couple of months. His
calculations didn’t cheer him and in the quiet of his flat he felt
the need for company to comfort him, unsure of what to do with
himself. He thought of Vicki, but remembered she would be working.
His brother Darren would be working, but he didn’t really want to
speak to him anyway, he would only echo their parent’s advice for
him to give up on his London life and go home. He considered
checking MSN, but he wanted to physically be with someone. His
neighbour Virtue might be home with her little boy, she had said to
call in anytime, but he didn’t fancy it. And the list of people
came to an abrupt end. More fed up, he decided to trawl through the
Internet for some free porn.

Deborah Symmonds was stretched
out on the bed, propped upright by the adjustable bed facing the
ultrasound equipment. Waiting. She held on to her husband’s hand in
the subdued quiet of the room at the Royal Free hospital. The noise
of the corridor outside the private room was muted in her
distraction.

“
Ouch – Honey! I think
you’re breaking my hand...” Gary smiled in sympathy of her
anxiety.

“
Sorry,
babe...” Deborah released her grip and shifted her weight on the
firm mattress, the disposable paper sheet beneath her crackled
noisily. The memory of her nightmare was vivid in her mind. Waking
in her dream she had been unable to move, a weight had been
pressing down on her chest, something invisible pressing her down.
A green light played across the ceiling, something was in the glow,
something solid and moving. Only able to move her eyes she hadn’t
been able to see whatever it was, although she knew if she had she
might have lost her mind. It had been a nightmare, but all day the
memory of the thing that had visited her, just out of sight around
her bump, had haunted her. “I’m just nervous.” She rubbed her free
hand over the naked bump of her abdomen. The skin was tight and
distended. “I’ve been five months and it has felt right up until
now – but now there’s something
wrong...”
She frowned at the frustration of not being able to explain
the feeling she had inside of her since she had awoken that
morning.