The Man in the Moss by Phil Rickman Read Free Book Online Page B

said hoarsely.
                Ma nodded again. Behind her, out on the pub forecourt, a
huge cheer suddenly went up. The new landlord must have appeared.
                'You knew,' Ernie said. He could feel the blood draining
out of his face. 'You knew ...'
                'It were the custom,' Ma Wagstaff said, voice very drab.
Three times dead. See, Ernest, I were holding out the hope as this'd be just a
body ... some poor devil as lost his way and died out on t'Moss.' She sighed,
looking very old. 'I knew really. I knew it was goin' t'be what it is.'
     
                'A sacrifice?' It was growing dark.
                'Not just any sacrifice, We're in trouble, Ernest.'
     
    Sometimes Shaw wanted to
say, I feel like just being with you
is illegal.
                Some
mornings he'd be thinking, I've got to get out of this. I'll be arrested. I'll be
ruined.
                But then, all through the day, the longing would be
growing. And as he changed to go out, as he looked in the mirror at his thin,
pale face, his receding hairline and his equally receding jawline, he saw why
he could never get out ... not as long as there was anything she wanted from
him. Not as long as he continued to change.
                They drove to a country pub and parked the Saab very
noticeably under a window at the front, being careful to lock it and check the
doors. He wondered how exactly she'd stolen it and obtained the keys, but he
knew that if he asked her she would simply laugh at him.
            In the pub, as usual, he
couldn't prise his hungry eyes from her. She sat opposite him, wearing an old
fox fur coat, demurely fastened to the neck. Shaw wondered if, underneath the
coat, above (and inside) her black tights, she was naked.
                With that thought, he felt his desire could lift their
heavy, glass-topped, cast-iron table a good two inches from the floor.
            'You could arouse the dead,'
he said, almost without breath.
            'Would you like to?' Therese's
lips smiled around her glass of port.
            'Pardon?'
            'Arouse the dead?'
                He laughed uncomfortably. Quite often she would say
things, the meaning of which, in due course, would become devastatingly
apparent.
     
    Later, two miles out of
Macclesfield town, Shaw driving again, she said, 'All right, let's deal with
this, shall we?'
            'What?'
                But she was already unzipping his trousers, nuzzling her
head into his lap. He braked hard, in shock, panic and uncontainable
excitement. 'Yes, Shaw,' she said, voice muffled, 'you can stop the car.'
                'Somebody ... somebody might see us ... you know,
somebody walking past.'
                'Well,' Therese said, burrowing, 'I suppose somebody
might see you ...'
                Five minutes later, while he was still shivering, she
said, 'Now let's get rid of the car.' She had the interior light on,
re-applying lipstick, using the vanity mirror. Her fur coat was still fastened.
He would never know if she was naked underneath it.
                'How are we going to get home?'
                'Taxi. There's a phone box across the road. I'll ring up
for one while you're dispensing with the car.'
                A shaft of fear punctured his moment of relief. 'Disp ...
? How?'
                'I seem to remember there's a bus shelter along here.
What ... about a quarter of a mile ... ? Just take it and ram it into that.'
                He just stared at her. Through the windscreen he could
see high, evergreen, suburban hedges, sitting-room lights glimmering here and
there through the foliage.
                Shaw said weakly, 'Why don't we just leave it somewhere?
            'Parked, you know