The Hiding Place(60)

I head back out the door and walk down to the fish-and-chip shop.





25





The Fox looks even more run-down and dilapidated tonight. It’s decaying, I think. As if my presence here has started some sort of chain reaction. As if this small, shriveled place has been held in some mummified state and now a crack has appeared, a little bit of oxygen admitted into the rarefied environment, and suddenly everything is rotting from within.

I push open the doors and walk inside. A quick appraisal informs me that Hurst is not here and nor are any of his goons. A few elderly patrons—probably the same ones from the other night—vegetate at tables, staring into their pints of ale and lager tops.

Beth isn’t here yet but I spot one familiar face. Lauren is back behind the bar, which, while not exactly evoking rainbows, sunshine and tweeting birds, is at least better than Nosferatu’s surly countenance.

I smile. “All right?”

She stares at me as though she has never seen me before in her life.

“Joe Thorne. Teacher. We bumped into each other up at the old colliery site.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” Her face moves a little. Could be a smile. Could be a twitch of annoyance—hard to tell. “So, what can I get you?”

“Erm, bourbon, please. Double.”

“Make that two.”

I turn. Beth stands at my side. Her hair is loose for once and falls around her shoulders in semi-dreadlocks. An oversized leather jacket swamps her small frame and makes her legs, in sprayed-on black jeans and DMs, look even skinnier.

A nose ring glints as she grins at me. “You are the talk of the staffroom, Mr. Thorne.”

“Really? Might explain why my ears are burning.”

“Yeah, well, that might also be the effigy Simon has of you that he is sticking pins into.”

“I imagine he is overcome by sorrow at my premature departure.”

“If singing ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Morning’ is evidence of his sorrow, then yes.”

Lauren plonks both glasses down upon the bar. The delivery is abrupt but, just by glancing at them, I can tell she has been generous with the measures.

“Nine pounds, please.”

“Thanks.” I pay with my last twenty, wondering how far over my overdraft I currently am and how long before the bank stops all my cards.

Beth picks up her glass. “Shall we?”

We walk toward a table in a far corner. One thing the Fox does have going for it is plenty of dim, dusty corners in which to lurk if you would rather not be seen or overheard.

Beth sits herself down on one of the hard wooden chairs and I follow suit. We both take sips of our drinks—mine a bit larger than hers.

“Soooo,” she says meaningfully. “Want to tell me what really happened?”

“What’s Harry said?”

“You have taken a leave of absence for personal reasons.”

“What does the grapevine say?”

“Oh, you’ve had some kind of breakdown, Hurst Senior got you sacked, you’ve been abducted by aliens—that type of thing.”

“Right.”

“So which is it?”

“Aliens, naturally. They have taken over my body and my real self is in a cocoon in the cottage.”

“Hmmm. Almost believable…except everyone saw Hurst with Harry today.”

I look down into my glass. “I lied to get the job here. I faked a reference from my old school. I did not leave under a halo so much as under a cloud. Harry found out.”

“O–kay. What did you do at your old school that was so bad?”

“Nothing, actually. But I intended to steal money from the school safe to pay a debt.”

I watch her take this in. “But you didn’t?”

“No.”

She nods, considering. “So how did Harry find out—?” Then she holds up a hand. “No, wait. Simon. Didn’t Simon mention he knew you from somewhere?”

“Yeah. And I’m guessing Simon knows Hurst.”

“I didn’t realize he did…but then Simon is just the sort of bum bogie who would stick himself up anyone’s arse to get a bit further up the ladder.”

“Bum bogie?”

She raises her glass. “And that’s being kind to him.”

“Well, obviously being a bum bogie works. Because here I am—currently and probably permanently—jobless.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Harry likes you. The kids seem to like you. Harry knows he’ll have a hell of a job filling that post.”

I shake my head. “Hurst won’t let Harry take me back on.”

“You and Hurst aren’t really ancient history, are you? What is it between you two?”

I put my glass down and look at her across the table. In the dim light she looks younger again. It softens the faint lines around her mouth and on her forehead. Her dark eyes seem very wide and her skin very soft and pale. I feel a tug. I wanted one thing about this place to be good and honest. Just one thing.

Beth frowns. “What are you staring at? Have I got something on my face?”

“No…” I pause. “Nothing.”

She continues to stare at me, suspiciously. Then she says: “So you were about to tell me about you and Hurst.”