The Shade of Hettie Daynes by Robert Swindells Read Free Book Online

resented his using Carl as a watchman.
    Reginald bullied his wife as well as his son. ‘There are lots of things
you
don’t understand, Fliss,’ he grated. ‘Things about
my
family,
my
village. You’re not
required
to understand them, and neither is Carl.
I
’m the councillor –
I
’ll do the understanding. Your role is to support me by doing exactly as I say.’
    ‘Yes, Reggie,’ murmured Felicity. She knew she ought to assert herself, but it never seemed quite the right time.
    The time was at hand, though she didn’t know it.

TWENTY-SEVEN
    ‘NOW THEN, COUNCILLOR.’ Stan Fox greeted Reginald Hopwood as he plonked two tankards on the table. The councillor nodded and sat down. It was Saturday lunch time. The Feathers was busy. ‘You wanted to see me?’ said Fox.
    Hopwood nodded. ‘I’m a bit concerned about the reservoir job, Fox. Public safety.’
    ‘
Safety?
’ The reporter looked surprised. ‘When I walked past this morning the place was like a fortress. Steel fencing, big red notices. I think Forgan’s got safety pretty well covered.’
    ‘Yes, but all the same.’ Hopwood took a pull at his pint, set down the tankard. ‘A piece in the paper wouldn’t do any harm. You know – heavy machinery, treacherous mud. That sort of thing.’
    Fox grinned. ‘Not to mention ghosts.’
    Hopwood glanced up sharply. ‘
Ghosts?
’
    The reporter nodded. ‘Some chap rang the newsroom Sunday morning, reckoned his daughter’s friend had captured the ghost of Wilton Water on camera. Wanted a reporter round to have a look.’
    ‘Did you send someone?’
    ‘No, it was Sunday, only one man in. I might have sent a junior round Monday but the same guy rang back, said it was a mistake.’
    ‘Ah.’ The councillor relaxed. ‘Where’d he live, this chap?’
    ‘Oh – Trough Lane, I think.’ He nodded. ‘Yes, Trough Lane. Name of Crabtree.’
    Hopwood grunted. ‘Nutter, by the sound of it.’
    Fox nodded. ‘Maybe. I like to keep an open mind.’
    ‘Yes, but . . .’ The councillor frowned. ‘I shudder to think what’d happen if you
ran
a story like that, Fox. Take more than steel fencing to keep folk out then.’
    ‘Yes well, it isn’t going to happen.’ The reporter lifted his tankard. ‘Drink up, Councillor, it’s my shout.’

TWENTY-EIGHT
    THURSDAY, HALF PAST twelve. The gaunt young man stepped into the councillor’s path as he was making his way towards the pub, offered a magazine. ‘Here y’are, sir –
Big Issue
, top quality at a bargain price.’
    Reginald Hopwood was in an unusually foul mood, even for him. Tomorrow, Wilton Primary School was holding its Hallowe’en Hop, and as Chair of Governors he’d agreed to judge the fancy-dress competition.
Hallowe’en Hop
, snarled a furious voice inside his head.
More like Hallowe’en flop
. He didn’t like kids, despised teachers and detested fancy-dress competitions. Aged nine he’d gone in for one, done up as a carrot. He hadn’t wanted to – felt totally daft with those long green feathers sprouting out of the top of his head, but his mother had made the costume herself and was proud of it. The kids laughed and shoved him about, just as he knew they would, and of course he didn’t win. It had taken him weeks afterwards to corner his tormentors one by one and beat them up.
    ‘Buy a
Big Issue
, sir – help the homeless.’
    With the vendor directly in front of him, the councillor had no choice but to stop. ‘
You
again,’ he spat. ‘I told you before – get a proper job and stop harassing innocent pedestrians. You’re a disgrace to the village, the country and yourself.’
    ‘I
had
a job, sir. A good one. Then they made me redundant and I couldn’t find anything else. My wife left me, took the kids. I got depressed, couldn’t go out, lost the house. It can happen to anyone, sir – it could happen to
you
.’
    Hopwood scoffed. ‘You obviously don’t know who I am, you cheeky young beggar. I’m Councillor Hopwood. My family