Read The Beast of Bracksley Woods Online
Authors: Doreen Hayward
The Beast of Bracksley Woods
ONTENTS
C
HAPTER
O
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Debbie stepped out of the lift as it reached reception and saw that the girl behind the desk had already picked up her coat and was waiting for her. Taking a Quick glance at the girl’s name badge, she said “Thanks Gemma,” as she took the beautiful seal fur coat from the girl and slipped it on anxious to get out of the office.
“I heard the lift coming Mrs Richards,” she said. “You ought to get off home as soon as possible. By the look of that sky out there, it won’t surprise me if it’s not long before it starts snowing. It’s cold enough for it, don’t you think? You are so lucky to have such a lovely fur coat to keep you warm,” she remarked admiringly, “I’d give my high teeth to own something like that,” she sighed as she glanced towards the door.
Debbie followed her gaze and saw indeed, the girl could be right. The traffic would already be building up as the evening rush hour got underway. It was nearly five o’clock on a cold November Friday evening and already dark.
“My fur coat was a Christmas present from my late husband last year so Thank you so much for taking such good care of it and my shopping of course, while I was upstairs,” Debbie smiled at the receptionist as she took the little matching fur hat from her pocket and donned it. Picking up a bag of shopping she had left in reception while she was being interviewed. She moved towards the door. An icy blast struck into the reception area as she pulled the door open. “Oh dear,” she murmured, “I see what you mean. You could be right. It won’t be long before the snow arrives here. I’ll be off then. Goodbye.” she remarked to the girl, and stepped out onto the pavement shutting the door quickly behind her to keep the warmth in. Pulling on her gloves, she hurried towards the car park fishing for the keys as she went.
The job interview had done nothing to lighten Debbie’s mood. In fact, she muttered furiously, the whole thing had been an entire waste of time. The position as manageress in a bake house for a fancy cake shop in Bedford town centre did not sound too bad but the hours were long and the pay was very low. Furthermore, she had not liked the look of Mr Pickering. As she entered his office he was standing by the desk looking quite imposing. She saw how tall he was and how slim he looked. She was immediately aware of his piercing light grey eyes which peered at her through thick spectacles. He had dark grey hair and a thin face which made his nose look long and more like a beak. He took his place at the desk as he indicated the chair he offered her placed in front of his desk. As he questioned her briefly on all the work experience she had put down on her application form, none of which included anything to do with running a fancy bake house for a cake shop. Debbie began to feel more than a little uncomfortable as his grey eyes studied her intensely through his thick specs. Surely there was nothing wrong with the way she was dressed. She had been very careful in choosing a suitable outfit for the interview. It wasn’t exactly formal nor was it casual; Debbie thought it was just right for the occasion. She had studied her face carefully for worry lines. After the year she had just come through she worried that she might be showing age. She had only applied a very light makeup, just enough to cover any lines that might be showing. Her hazel eyes were a perfect match to her honey coloured brown wavy hair. She could see nothing amiss with the way she looked. Dressed in a bright red jumper and a black skirt with a pair of serviceable shoes with a reasonably small heel, she felt quite comfortable with her choice. Perfectly respectable but nothing over the top. Debbie could see that her answers were not impressing Mr Pickering who was studying her so intensely.
I am afraid the job you actually applied for in the bakery has been taken. We still have a vacancy in our shop that might interest you” He said giving a heavy sigh, “I realise you don’t seem to have much experience in shop work Mrs Richards,” he said at the end of the interview, “Your academic record does you credit but your lack of experience of dealing with people in a shop will probably mean that you would need further training. However, in spite of your lack of experience, your application will be considered among the rest of the applicants. “We’ll be writing to you shortly to let you know whether you have been successful. It should take a week, or there about,” he finished he said making it quite clear that the interview was over. Debbie stood up glad to escape from the office. Talk about the polite brush off she thought. Mr Pickering’s offhand attitude towards her certainly did not encourage her to hope that she might be offered a job. She wanted a job where she felt she could use her creative skills. She couldn’t get out of that atmosphere in the office quick enough, not only because of Mr Pickering’s habit of smoking that had almost choked her. She had never been a smoker and didn’t intend to be a passive smoker now. Uhf! Debbie breathed relieved to get away. What a pompous old bore, Debbie thought as the door closed behind her. She wanted a proper wage not a subsistence allowance, she fumed.
Debbie had once nurtured a dream about starting a cookery school with her own little tea shop attached where she could indulge her creative talents for baking cakes and doing the odd order for wedding cakes or cakes for special occasions. She had lots of other exciting ideas that she would like the opportunity to try but as things were, they would have to be shelved for the time being, she reflected gloomily, at least until a later date when finances allowed. Debbie couldn’t see that happening in a hurry. Climbing into her smart nearly new Mercedes car (yet another present from Mike while he still had some money) she sighed deeply and feeling even more depressed she turned the matter over in her mind. She considered she had plenty of experience for what she wanted to do; after all, she had taken a business and managerial course. Mr Pickering may scoff at her lack of experience behind a shop counter, that could easily be overcome. No. It was the rate of pay. It was so low she didn’t know if she could survive on it. Due to the hours you were expected to be on your feet, you would have thought it would have been a little more generous than what was offered. Well, times were bad and there wasn’t much work about. Beggars can’t be choosers Debbie Richards, she reminded herself gritting her teeth, if the job was offered her, she would have to take it until something better turned up and manage the best way she could. Debbie shrugged her shoulders resignedly and turning the key in the ignition. She turned on the heater to allow the car to warm up before leaving the car park.
Carefully, she made her way through the evening rush hour traffic until she reached the road which would lead her towards Bracksley and the little modernised cottage she had just bought. It lay in the quiet village of Bracksley just outside Bedford. Although the cottage had been going for a song it had needed a lot repairs doing. The roof, the rewiring, the pluming and new window frames had been horribly expensive but Mike’s parents had come to the rescue and taken up the shortfall. She knew how lucky she had been and thought that one day she might be able to make their generosity up to them.
Debbie put her foot down slightly now that she was through the worst of the traffic, at least she was able to relax a little. She might just make it before the snow began to fall. Feeling even more depressed she thought about the lonely evening that lay ahead and wondered afresh what had possessed her to choose a job in the town where she would meet this kind of heavy traffic every night on her way home and once again, cursed herself for being such a fool. She put her foot down a little to increase her speed further so that she could get home before the weather started closing in. As she turned into the lane which led down a hill to the village, the first snowflakes began to fall. She had barely started down the lane when she gasped and applied the brakes as she spotted the bicycle lying on the road in front of her. She pulled over quickly and got out to investigate. It was then that she noticed the parcels which had been flung from the bicycle as it fell. With a mounting sense of anxiety she spotted the figure of a man lying halfway in the ditch with his leg at a very peculiar angle. He wasn’t moving and she took a deep breath as she hurried towards him praying that he wasn’t dead. She saw at a glance that the figure in the ditch was the old man from the farm. She hadn’t been living in the village for very long and therefore did not know anyone yet but she had seen the old gentleman in the post office where someone had mentioned that it was old Greg Turner from Broadmead Farm.
Debbie was quick to act. She saw at a glance that the man was completely unconscious. As far as possible, She put Greg into a recovery position making sure that he could breathe and went back to her car to fetch a blanket that she kept in the boot to cover him. The icy wind was still blowing and the temperature showed no signs of rising with the coming of the snow. The immediate thing she had to do she knew of course was to ring an ambulance and report the accident. Trying to steady her beating heart and calm herself down, she took out her mobile phone and with shaking hands managed to dial 999 and ask for an ambulance. She gulped cold air into her lungs as she tried to give clear details of what she had found and the exact spot where poor Greg was lying injured. The person on the other end of the phone spoke calmly and kindly to her as he asked his questions. “Is the patient conscious, my dear,” he asked quietly. Is he bleeding?” She answered as best she could and he advised her to stay with the gentleman in case he regained consciousness before they reached him. “Just stay calm and try talking to him a bit. You never know he might here you and know that someone is trying to help him. If he does come round, you do your best to keep him comfortable and happy until we arrive, but don’t let him move.”
Even though she remained alert as she waited there in the lane shivering in the icy wind, Debbie’s thoughts went back to Mike and all the weeks she had spent in the hospital hoping for his recovery. In the end the brain tumour had won and Mike died in the early morning on July the 3rd. Since then, Debbie had struggled alone with her loss and the financial problems Mike’s illness had left her with. All the money had gone to help with the medical care Mike had needed and now she was broke and having to look for a job. She had given up the three-bedroom flat they had occupied in London and bought a small cottage in Bracksley with most of what she got for the flat. As Mike’s parents had been so generous she still had a little left over and she was determined to make do until such times as she found her feet.
When Debbie first announced her plans to her friends that she was about to move into a cottage in the country, most of them were horrified. They pointed out that Debbie would find it much harder to get over the loss of her husband away from all she knew and all her friends. Her best friend, was especially irate one evening during one of Chris’s social gatherings when the question of Debbie’s future came under discussion. Chris had been particularly close to her through the months of Mike‘s illness. He had gone from being an athletic tennis star and rapidly deteriorated into a helpless shadow of a man. Chris had been the loudest in advising Debbie not to shut herself away from her former life. “That is about the worst thing you can do,” Chris, her best friend had commented.
“I want it that way.” Debbie had objected feeling rather irritated by what she considered was none of their business. “I need some space. I need time to put my life in order,” Debbie had declared. Mike made me promise not to sit around moping,” Debbie went on. I’ve no intention of wasting my time longing for the old days to come back. I shall miss you all but I am not so far away and you can always come and visit. I have given my situation a lot of thought, Debbie went on boldly. I was once a home economics teacher you know and you must remember that I always loved cooking. I am thinking about opening a cookery school or even starting prepared meals, you see. It would be too expensive to start anything like that in London because of the high price of premises Debbie explained. First of all, I will have to get a job. I’ll soon make friends and get to know people in the village.” She had to admit to herself that she had found life pretty quiet since moving but living in Bracksley gave her time to collect her thoughts and put her life together income kind of meaningful way. She pushed all thoughts of Mike to the back of her mind as she heard a faint grown coming from Greg. Quickly, she bent her head towards him to catch whatever he may be able to tell her. “Can you hear me, Mr Turner?” She asked quietly. There was no response so she said in what she hoped was a calm voice, “Don’t worry, help is on its way. Just lie still and they will be here in no time.” Still there was no answer. Debbie remembered similar occasions when she had spoken to Mike as he lay in hospital unconscious and getting no answer when she had spoken to him. “But I expect you slipped on an icy patch on the road. I’ll make sure all the shopping is picked up,” she told him for something to say. “I hope you are warm enough. It is really cold. It has started to snow now so perhaps it will get a little warmer,” she added. Still no reply. God bless you Mike for buying me a fur coat, she murmured to herself as she shivered. The snow began to gather force and come down heavier. In the distance she heard the sound of an ambulance coming and breathed a sigh of relief.
