Pearced (50 page)

"I’ll lead," Stan says pulling his gun out of the leather holster at his side, we don't argue, Stan is in mode, his senses attuned to every sound and every movement.  Since we all know exactly how many times Stan has checked the piece, we are all certain that whatever befalls us now will not be due to weapon malfunction.   Of course he may have worn the thing down!  We follow him around the balcony to the door, it's a smaller version of the huge iron door behind us, but this one has no lock. Stencilled on the door a little faded with decay is the word 'OFFICE'.  I'm not sure what the Peruvian for 'office' is, or the Spanish either, but this doesn't feel right. Though planes have all their dials labelled in English don't they? Maybe it's a situation like that? I am fairly happy with this new explanation, but a little bored.

Suddenly I find myself hoping there's tea making facilities in the office.

Stan pushes the door, it resists at first, then manages to comply with a screechy yell of hinges and rust. We peer around Stan, our torches forward all looking into the dimly lit room beyond, oddly, there's a faint light on in there, that's unexpected surely?  It doesn't look very interesting to me.

It's like that part in the story that's tense and spooky because there might be something evil lurking in the dark room as the creaky door slowly opens.  The drums of the music getting heavier and heavier, the feverish violins screeching in the darkness.  Everyone holding their breaths and grabbing the person their sitting with.  Moving too slowly into the unknown, and the lights either don't work or no one thinks to switch them on.  Just torches and heavy breathing, the drums stop suddenly, but it's an anti-climax, there's either no-one there or an old lady knitting keeping rhythm to the music in her rocking chair. Well, my heart rate is normal bordering on slow, so my disquisitive side tells me, there's nothing to worry about.  There's a slight breeze suggesting there's another exit, perhaps a shaft for the rail tracks for the removal of any collected ore?

My recharged phone vibrates for attention.  Signal? 
Weird
.

Swiping the screen, anxiously waiting for any news of home, and receive a text from Jinni telling me everything at home us fine.  I am trailing behind the group attention on my handset, oblivious to anything but the handy little hand-held PA and life manager.  Then, wondering who added a wireless aerial down here for phones, a happy feeling blossoming through me, my creatures are OK, and quite suddenly I really don't care how, just happy that it is so.

JG: “Boys and cats all fine” thank goodness, she is brilliant at updating me just when I need to hear it the most, must be a gift.

TC: “Thanks, you’re a star” I mean it too, I don’t let just anyone near my animals.

JG: “Any idea when you’re coming home?” Oh, forgot to think about that.

TC: “Few days, hopefully” I’d really like to leave this place and get back home.

JG: “No probs, let me know, I'll need to get some more cat food” she must like my boys, and cats too.

TC: “I will thanks, kisses to the creatures, and thanks Tx” they’re mine and don’t forget it!

Sliding my finger over the glossy surface I close the text screen, decide I’m in a staying in touch type of mood, I text Pete too, hoping she’s having a nice time with James.

TC: “Babes, how’s your new Missoni bikini working out for you?” Bait.

PF: “Still packed up, but the Burberry dress got the desired reaction” bingo!

TC: “Where are you?” Sitting by a pool with a Martini in your hand and Tom Ford sunglasses on?

PF: “A remote retreat I was promised, sounds great?  But what that actually means is make your own cocktails! Do I look like the kind of girl who mixes her own drinks?” James does not know who he’s dealing with.

TC: “And while you’re mixing drinks what is James doing?” Give the bear a poke.

PF: “He’s doing me from behind!” So proud of her.

TC: “Nice” so jealous right now, and I hate Martinis.

PF: “Don’t you hate Martinis?” Clever.

TC: “Have a great time, enjoy your distractionless self” she’ll hate it.

PF: “See you soon honey” can’t wait.

By the time I’ve finished I stand alone on the balcony, an animated conversation resumes in the office and a smell I can't recall to memory reaches me. There's a cold and eerie feeling here, dark and damp but something else, my 'Spidey' senses are tingling, a new cologne too. I feel a sudden chill along my neck, I turn suddenly and see a face I don't
quite
recognise standing not more than a metre away from where I’m pinned to the spot scared, is it fear? I’m not quite sure.

A torch lights the face alone like a bodiless head, my own head is sending warnings of danger pinging around my cranium like a pinball with endless momentum. But the more we stare at each other the slower the ball bounces, I can hear it slowing to a stop, spin around at the bottom and still finally. Something about this face is familiar, many of the features belong to Daniel, the hair to Kurt.

"Mr Pearse?" My voice sounds quite shaky, but I’m sure now, "Graham Pearse?" I ask him and his face lights up with a huge smile that reaches his eyes. A familiar warmth in his expression.

"That's me,” he tells me softly, “
Now who are you? And what's a smart girl like you doing down in this dark and dirty pit of a mine?" A friendly question.

“I’m Tharie, Graham.” I look down at my phone, “just connecting with the real world.”

“This is the only spot where you can get a signal.” He tells me in a friendly tone, “took the engineers ages to get it working too.” He laughs, a casual, easy laugh.  He reaches for a switch on the wall I couldn't see before and a few more bulbs pop to life one by one.

"You're alive?" Not quite a question.  "Daniel...he thought you were dead." I tell him, not sure what question to ask first.

"Danny?  You know my Danny is he OK?" He approaches me frantic with his hands on my shoulders I sense no malice from this man, just sincerity, I am not scared.

"He's here Mr Pearce." I look at his face, "and Kurt too." Any tenseness on his face noticeably fades and relaxes, he takes a deep breath, smiling warmly, a smile just like Daniels.  "Daniel," I call a little too loudly, "here baby." Graham’s eyebrows fly up in surprise, but no questions follow, he just accepts it for now.

"Tharie, you wouldn't believe what we found in there....." Walking but not really looking forward, he stops dead when he sees who I’m talking to. "Dad?" And he just stares in disbelief for a moment. For another second they both stand motionless staring, then the spell breaks, and I have to step aside swiftly, Daniel runs over and they hug each other never letting go for what seems like ages.

"What happened?" Daniel looks at his Dads face taking it all in. "Never mind, stories can wait." He looks around for the others, "let’s get them out of here," he looks back at his Dad, “I need tea.”

I don't need to ask, I walk to the office doorway following a surprising familiar whiff of Chanel no.5, and there I see a well groomed, slim, middle aged woman.  She's sitting in what is a basic but well-appointed kitchen, a huge cream tin wartime enamelled teapot, with green edging, standing on the table, and an equally huge copper kettle on the stove whistling away.  She looks up at me past everyone else she’s clearly met already "tea dear?"

"Definitely." I say to Daniels Mum.

She is smaller than I’d imagined, a petite frame, wearing
ironed
authentic jeans (oh god, I try not to think about it), and little deck pumps.  A blue and white stripped Bretton, and a gold rope chain around her neck.  She has Daniels eyes and smile.   Wearing Chanel diamond earrings which looks perfect down here in this hole in the earth, I immediately like her style, but there’s something about her.  Something ugly.  Something in her smile that's not real, I begin to feel the first prickle of a rash and I need tea now. An edge. That's it, a hard edge.

"I thought you were in Florida?" I hear Kurt ask coming back into the room with his strong arm wrapped firmly across his Dads shoulders.

"That's code dear,” she tells him like a child, “we haven't had family living there in twenty years.”  She rolls her eyes, “boys, they just never listen, which as it turns out works well for us.”   She looks over at her husband, and they all giggle about that. Clearly she’s told them hundreds of times. She returns my gaze, tilts her head a little, forces a smile and doesn't blink once.  I feel like she's just taken a stroll inside my head, found nothing at all of interest, complained it needs dusting with a swipe of a finger over a surface, and left in a huff.  Where's that tea?

“My name's Barbara by the way.” She finally tells me.  You know mine, I'm thinking, it's written on the door that says 'keep out' up in my head.

The room is sparse, a fold down bed at one end, a few lights, a fridge and sink some clothes hang in a little cupboard with no door.  "We heard a spot of trouble might be coming, we have a friend at local police station and…” She notices the look on my face, “They’re not all bad down there.” She explains impatiently.  I won’t take her word for that naturally.  “He told us we should probably keep our holiday short, so we came down here.”  She gestures around the room with bony tanned fingers, very large rings spin loosely around on them, the heavy stones clink together as she moves, in a demonstration of extreme wealth.    “It's got everything we need for a few days but then we start running out of fresh water and start having to boil it."

Graham makes a face, "boiled water is nasty except if you’re making tea!"

I have to agree.

“Or we drink wine!” She adds, smiling at her husband.

"I’d need a large glass of red, full bodied, to get me into that rusty old makeshift lift.” Offers Kurt, pulling Liza close, so his Mum can clearly see to back off.

“Is that what it is?” Liza asks alarmed.

“Looks dodgy to me." Says Nigel. I have to agree with the professor about that, and if I wore spectacles, I'd be tempted to clean them right about now.

"It's the only way back out if we can't get through the house." Says Daniels Mum.  My blood sinks to my feet at hearing this.

"Babs, let’s go honey," Graham offers a hand to his wife she stands and he gives her a peck in the cheek.

"Let's drink our tea first my love, it’s all ready." So that's exactly what we do, in china cups with saucers little fingers extended in mock amusement.  The tea tastes incredible like the cup you relish having been in LA for a few days, where you can't get a good cup anywhere for love nor money!   And the ginger nuts were being passed around too. Like a family camping trip, nobody asking questions just a hushed sense that despite what has happened everyone important is here and OK.  We all just accept the situation and carry on in true British style.

"I’d like to watch the sunrise," I say, "anyone with me?" Cheers all round.

"I like her," Barbara tells Daniel, knowing I can hear, “she’s not like…” looking at me up and down, is that rude? “Like your usual…type.” Is that a criticism? “She’s….outdoorsy and very loud.”

Moi?

Message received, I’m not good enough and likely money grabbing too, or is that too cliché?

“I like it,” he tells her looking lovingly at me.

“I can tell dear.”  She brushes some hair from his face in an overly
motherly way, and he flinches away, “does she ever….” And in a whisper…”Brush her hair?”  What!  Mothers!

Bloodygoddamit!  What is it about hair with them?  But she continues, “but, expect that can be remedied…a trip to Martha's salon…perhaps?” She is now thinking out loud, does she know I can hear her?  “And some lipstick too surely.”

Merde!

“But, I er…like her.” Her tone is one of distaste, Daniel doesn’t notice it, or if he does, he's ignoring it for my sake. 

He pauses wondering whether, like everyone who has a Mum, he should say something? Decides it’s not the time, like we all do, and lets her think it's OK.  “Me too," he whispers, and I hear that too.

Bon.  Pomme frites and mange tout.  And that my friends, is all the French I know, my map reading is better.

We grab our things and I lead us up the steps, because I only have one speed, like Harry, its go or stop, so off I go. We stop several times on the way up to rest, we all have different levels of fitness but no one gets left behind and we start singing some Barbara Streisand songs to help us on our way, and the acoustics, I’d have to agree, are great. 

Nearing the summit there’s a welcoming feint glow of light, I can hear someone in the house. I stop and raise a flat hand so Stan who's behind me can get his gun out. I saw this little move watching crime drama, and that genre has proved very useful on this trip, I'm sure you'd agree?  I mean, where would we be now if I watched cake baking programmes?

Passing me in the threshold of the anteroom off the kitchen he steps out through the wedged door just as two figures come into the kitchen.  We hear voices, he has told us to stay behind in the dark so if there's any trouble he will be alone. He peers around to check them out and his hand comes off his gun and it remains holstered.  "Come up its OK." He tells us, his frame collapses in a relaxed stance, and he exhales.

As we climb the last steps and come out thankfully into air and the gleaming dark blue of before dawn.  What we see is a complete surprise, (really?), and what we smell makes our hungry mouths water.  “Martini? Shaken or stirred?” Asks Pete smiling, as she expertly skewers olives and tiny onions on cocktail sticks.  Standing at the counter in the kitchen, wearing a Missoni bikini and J brand jeans. Her huge Tom Ford sunglasses on top of her head, he hair in a shiny brushed pony. I am so happy to see her.