The Fearful (25 page)

Bill was even gruff with her. ‘Have you seen Doug?'

She pulled her gloves off one at a time. ‘Not since breakfast.'

‘If you do, tell him I want a word, will you?'

‘Is everything okay?'

‘Can you just tell him to stop avoiding me?' He opened the door for Tim to go first. ‘We won't be long; we've been summoned to WetFun.'

‘Oh.' Anne was obviously surprised. ‘Are you sure everything's okay?'

‘Your guess is as good as mine,' Bill said as he slammed the door behind him.

Dusk was sliding into twilight; another cold night was on its way. They walked quickly, following the shoreline. They might have been quicker rowing across, especially with the lake being so placid, but Bill never went out on the water unless it was necessary. The police had halted their search for another day because of the fading light and Tim wondered how many more days they'd keep looking. Soon some chief constable somewhere would have to make the judgement call that enough was enough. Tim couldn't help but feel thankful that it wasn't his call to make.

Most of the ghouls had also gone home, the encroaching dark and promised chill having driven them away. There were still a few persevering enough to want to keep night vigil and they stared openly as Tim and his father skirted around their little camps. They could see their breath as they walked. The fading light seemed to start at the top of the valley and lazily roll down the hills towards them, covering the trees and the far side of the lake first. The night was drawing in. It started to rain.

‘What exactly does Mr Stones want?' Tim asked.

‘Probably worried about losing business, at a guess. I don't know how much his hotel is costing him, but it's going to be far too expensive if he hasn't got anyone coming to fill it.'

‘But all these people that are here this week to see the Mourn – I know they're not water-skiing or anything, but they'll need somewhere to stay, won't they?'

‘This is just a flash in the pan. Once the papers and TV get bored of us, or a better story comes along, these people will move on too. Which is exactly what your uncle's worried about. He wants to keep people interested. He wants a proper tourist attraction, something to rival Loch Ness.' Bill sounded like he had a bad taste in his mouth. ‘I was so proud of him for that book of his. He's never finished anything in his life before, and that's a real achievement – something I know I could never do. Your granddad would have been proud too. It was something for all of us. But Doug can't leave it there. He comes up with crazy schemes he hasn't got an inkling of how to follow through. He'd try and build a theme park and Hundredwaters rollercoaster given half the chance.'

‘He wouldn't really, would he?'

Bill just grunted noncommittally.

‘But you wouldn't let him, would you?'

‘Neither will you, I hope. There may not be many of us dedicated Fearful left, but we see Mourn Home as a place of hope – a refuge. It's something time-honoured and important to us; something we can get a proper hold of in a world we all too often feel is speeding off the rails. Candy floss and cuddly toys in the shape of the Mourn; commemorative plates;
Mourn Stone keyrings – Doug's come up with them all. I feel sorry for Nessie, I really do. She's a cartoon character; a joke. The Mourn has the power to take all our lives any time it feels the whim. And I don't find that particularly funny.'

Tim didn't laugh either.

‘I'm pleased you and Jenny have some of the same respect as your mother and me for what happens here. Because it's times like this when it gets to feeling like it's us against the world.' Strong words, but when he looked at Tim he smiled.

And Tim liked that thought. Standing side by side with his father against the crashing of waves, the blowing of storms, the tremor of earthquakes. It was a heck of a change from the kid who'd been desperate to escape, but right now that didn't feel like such a bad thing. Thoughts like this helped his troubling doubts fade further and further.

They stopped briefly for Bill to have a look at the building site at the edge of WetFun. He puffed his breath out in a heavy sigh. ‘Bigger than I thought,' he said.

Foundations had already been laid and there had been more deliveries of materials since Tim had been here on Saturday. ‘How long do you think it will take to build?' he asked.

‘I'm not sure, to be honest. But I'm guessing he'll want it up and running by Easter. He's going to have to start filling it up as soon as the weather's any good.' He stroked his beard. ‘Just a bit peculiar that no one was working today. I noticed when I was out on the lake, there were a couple of trucks delivering the breeze blocks and scaffolding, but not a bricklayer in sight.'

The shoreline was even emptier this evening than on Saturday morning, although Tim saw there was a boat moored at the near jetty that hadn't been there before. It was a large inflatable with an outboard motor, like a lifeboat, but with a low pod-like cockpit that looked just about big enough to shelter the driver. He was tempted to point it out to his father, but remembered just in time that he wasn't ever meant to have been here.

He followed Bill into the clubhouse and through to the bright bar. He'd heard that the earthquake had done several hundred pounds worth of damage, but even with the lingering smell of fresh paint no one would have been able to tell. Stones had been quick to make whatever repairs had been needed.

It was one big space where everybody was on display to everyone else, no little nooks or crannies to hide like in the Dows Bridges. It was a place to be seen. The fact that the walls were mostly glass made the goldfish bowl effect complete. There were big mirrors with coloured lights shining on them, splashing eye-achingly vibrant flares back into the room. The décor was mainly aspirational photos of speedboats and yachts, or glossy advertisements for flavoured vodkas and foreign beers. Tim didn't like it. It was trying too hard. And right now he reckoned it all seemed rather silly, seeing as he and Bill raised the total number of people in the room to six – and that included the owner and the young barman.

Vic Stones was sitting with the only two real customers at a table on the far side. He stood up, excusing himself,
and came straight over when he saw Tim and his father. He waddled around the tables, pushing chairs out of his path as he came.

‘Bill, thanks for coming.' He shook Bill's hand hard, as though he was an old friend. ‘And Tim? Good to meet you.' He shook Tim's hand too. He had a tough if slightly damp grip.

Vic Stones. For almost as long as he could remember this man had been the other side, the opposition, the
enemy
.

He was a large man; everything about him was obese, from the chunks of gold he wore on his fingers to the unlit cigar he had stuffed in the corner of his mouth. He pulled a chair out from the nearest table. ‘Please, sit.' He wore a short-sleeved Hawaiian-style shirt, orange, untucked and voluminous. Beneath it he moved like a waterbed. ‘What are you drinking?' A sharp blond goatee, sharper blue eyes.

Bill shook his head, then changed his mind. ‘Actually, after the day I've had, a pint of Guinness would go down well.'

Stones nodded. ‘I know the feeling. This week was the week my horoscope simply said, “Don't ask!”' He laughed wheezily at his own joke, then turned and gestured for his barman with the unlit cigar.

‘Still trying to give up?' Bill asked.

‘No longer trying – willpower's the thing. But I still like the taste of it on my tongue.' He ordered Bill's Guinness, a Coke for Tim and a rum and black for himself. Tim watched him carefully, knowing full well that he was the same age as his father, but thinking how desperate he was to appear younger.

Tim wasn't sure what he'd expected – not a fight, obviously – so far this seemed much more affable than he'd anticipated.

Stones shuffled in the chair to get his bulk comfortable, then cleared his throat as if to mark the opening of the conversation proper.

‘They tell me they're having a tough time of it.' He gestured at the other two customers he'd been talking with. Tim recognized the two men now – scientists from the British Geological Survey who were staying at Mourn Home. ‘They've been telling me that the quake's epicentre was underneath the lake bed somewhere,' Stones said. ‘Which makes it difficult to do whatever it is they do. And what's worse is the police not wanting anyone in the water disturbing where they're trying to look. Seems like everybody's finding it tough to do their job these days.'

Bill simply nodded, letting Stones get to his point.

‘And talking of the police, I see they've gone home empty-handed yet again. I doubt they can keep up the search for much longer. You've met the lad's parents? Nice couple; decent folk. You've got to feel for them, haven't you?'

‘Yes,' Bill said. ‘Yes, you do.'

‘All they want is to be able to bury their son, say their goodbyes. I hope his body is found – for their sake.'

‘Not for yours?'

Stones sniffed, rolled his fat cigar between his thumb and forefinger. ‘I can't deny that the sooner I can get my boats back on the water the better it will be for me. But I'd like to see some of the pain taken away from those poor
people. Losing a son is terrible enough – when it's a car accident, or cancer, or whatever the hell. But having someone claim he was eaten by a
monster
? That can only be a nasty twist of the knife. I'm sure they'd much rather believe it was an earthquake.'

Tim could feel a dangerous undercurrent of animosity now flowing between the two men. It had always been there, of course, but now the switch had been flipped.

‘Nobody's saying it wasn't an earthquake, Vic.'

Stones shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘True, I'll give you that. But you'd go so far as saying the Mourn actually caused the earthquake, no doubt?'

‘It's a possibility.'

Stones made a kind of told-you-so gesture, an I-expected-nothing-less face.

The drinks arrived. Stones purposely waited for Bill to take a long swallow of his Guinness before raising his own glass and giving a hearty, ‘Cheers!' Bill was immediately uncomfortable, knowing he'd been cornered to look ungenerous and petty, and mumbled an apology as he clinked glasses.

‘So what're your plans to deal with this mess, Tim? I guess you'll be glad to knock your old man off the pedestal, won't you? Start getting things done your way? Not that people won't be sad to see you go, Bill. You'll be sorely missed by many, I'm sure.'

‘I'm not dying, Vic.'

‘Gracious, I do hope not. But Tim must be pleased to be getting his hands on the reins, eh?'

Tim couldn't help his eyes from darting to his father
then back again. ‘Not really. I'll need Dad's help anyway.'

‘Will you?' Stones affected a look of surprise. ‘From what I hear you've got enough gumption to do things the way you want whether your dad likes it or not. So your mate Roddy tells me, anyway.'

‘Roddy's not my
mate
.'

The fake surprise grew. Stones's sharp blue eyes widened. ‘Oh, right, sorry. Didn't realize. You've fallen out, have you?' He spread his hands like an innocent man and changed the subject. ‘But you, you're following in your father's footsteps, right? Tradition and all that. Can't knock that, can I? Very worthy. But what do you think? Do you reckon the police are going to find the body?'

Tim's eyes kept switching from Stones's face to his father's. Bill encouraged him to speak his mind by staying quiet. ‘Not if the Mourn attacked him.'

‘Right,' Stones nodded. ‘Not if the Mourn attacked him.' He smooched his cigar. ‘Is that what happened? Did the Mourn attack him, gobble him all up? That what happened, you say?'

‘I suppose so.'

‘You suppose so.' The way he repeated Tim's words made them sound weak. He looked out through the large plate-glass window. ‘Tell me, Tim. You ever see it?'

The question surprised him. ‘No,' he answered warily.

‘A few people have this past week, though, haven't they? That nurse, and the little lad who was skipping school. It seems to be popping its head up all over the place. Would you like to see it, Tim?'

Tim wasn't sure he should answer.

‘Seems unfair, doesn't it? Everyone else getting to see it, except you?'

Again Tim was looking at his father rather than at Stones – talking to his father, as if to convince
him.
‘I don't need to see it.'

Stones's eyes bored into him. ‘Don't you?'

‘No,' Tim said, shaking his head. But he got the feeling that Stones was looking so deep inside him he could see that this was a lie waiting to happen. It was like Stones had scratched at a scab and now the wound was beginning to bleed again. ‘No,' he said again. Yet all of a sudden, he didn't believe himself either.

Bill said, ‘I'm halfway down my pint, Vic, and I still don't know why you wanted to talk to us.'

Stones let his stare dig into Tim for a second or two longer. Tim looked down at his Coke.

‘I've got a problem with today's headline,' the big man said at last. He had the tabloid rolled and tucked into the back pocket of his trousers. He spread it out on the table in front of them.

‘I've seen it,' Bill said. ‘And I'm not happy with it either. I'll have words with Doug about it; he spoke without my knowledge.'

‘It's scaremongering, Bill. That's what it is.' He ran his large hand over the sheet to flatten the creases. ‘“The Mourn may kill again”,' he read. ‘I don't think I'm the only one in town who thinks you've gone too far this time.'

‘I've said I'm going to talk to Doug—'

Stones interrupted him. ‘They have a go at you as well, I see. Saying if it's your job to keep the lake safe, then where were you?' He sniffed. ‘But there are a lot of people upset by it, so I've called a town meeting for tomorrow night. I'm inviting whoever's interested to come here tomorrow to talk about how we're going to handle your extravagant claims. And, I suppose, your family's position in this town in general. I wanted to talk to you today so I could warn you. I thought that was the fairest thing to do.'