By Irene Kappes
John Beynon strode down the lane, humming as he went. Despite his relaxed mood, he covered the 200 yards from his cottage to the quayside with considerable ease because he was a big man by any standards – six foot two and size 44 inch chest. He wasn’t fat or podgy, but beneath his pale blue polo shirt there was a hint of middle-aged spread to show for his 57 years. Neither was he especially handsome, but he possessed a pleasant countenance and a friendly, calm disposition, which made him a popular man with almost everyone he knew.
As he passed ‘The Sailors’ he whistled to Shep, his old tricolour Border Collie that was preoccupied with sniffing an interesting spot, and the dog responded obediently, resuming his place at John’s heels. The name was old-fashioned and corny, but John had chosen it for these reasons – it appealed to his somewhat dry sense of humour. Shep seemed happy with it too.
They reached the quay and turned left into the sun and along the river bank where he had left his tender. Access to his nineteen foot Alacrity out on the river was only possible a couple of hours or so either side of high tide, as the river was shallow here, but it was a cheap mooring and suited John well enough. He changed his humming to a whistle, as was his usual practice – he had been walking this route for the past twenty years, cold box held firmly in his left hand, newspaper in his right. In the cold box were two bottles of pale ale and a steak.
It was Sunday and he was in a good mood, following the service at the little church up the road. It seemed to him he’d responded well this morning. Apparently, the more doubts he had about the existence of God the more enthusiastically he greeted the vicar’s sermons. Of course that could be something to do with enjoying the challenge of discussing it with the vicar afterwards. Was there a correlation here? Correlations interested John, for he was a man of science. In his opinion, religion and science were fairly reconcilable, in that they were separate domains as far as he was concerned. Science was predicated upon a system of disproving a theory to eliminate it as a possibility. The existence of God could not be tested in this way; He was not falsifiable. However, despite this, John liked to try.
On the whole, John believed that the Christian church was a force for good; it provided a much-needed sense of community. And, after all, historically Christianity was a major contributor to civilisation and to the humane values that by and large still dominated Western societies. Yes, it had had its moments of slaughter and oppression, but that was a thing of the past, not part of the modern Anglican Church. And anyway, he enjoyed the social events and had nothing else to do most Sunday mornings.
As he passed the boatyard gate he poked his head in, nodding a greeting to Sam who was busy scrubbing weed off a recently-acquired hull (the previous owners had obviously not heard of antifoul). It seemed likely that the leaky old tub Sam had probably purchased for a song would never get into the water, but the old salt had performed miracles on more than one seemingly lost cause, so John was reserving judgement. Everyone had to earn his living somehow. All the sailboats were in the water now, apart from a couple being sold. Even the other Alacrity – belonging to a young couple who appeared most weekends – was now gone. A trendy young pair, probably from London and obviously fairly new to the game, they had asked his advice on a couple of occasions.
He trudged on towards the grass where his wooden tender lay hull side up at the back of the muddy shingle (it would have been stretching a point to call it a beach). The paintwork gleamed in the sunlight, where he had given it a new coat of blue last winter, and he turned it over to deposit the cold box in the stern. Then he dragged the little boat down the shingle, giving it a hard shove into the water as he and Shep jumped in. The dog, now sporting a bright orange life jacket, settled down on the tiny bow seat so that he would have the best view, while John sat amidships with his back to the animal and rowed out to his yacht, Mantis.
There wasn’t a lot of wind today, but it would be better nearer the estuary, making for a nice relaxing sail in the sunshine – force three to four would do nicely if he could get it.
Approaching Mantis, John swung his little skiff round, shipped the oars and stood up squarely on his two feet. Reaching up to grab the stern rail, he tied the tender onto it and deposited the cold box and newspaper on board. Next he lowered the stern ladder and climbed up. To Shep he issued a brief command to stay and then to ‘ready’, at which the dog sprang to where John had been sitting, and stood in readiness. John reached over the stern rail and grabbed the handle on the back of Shep’s life jacket, hoisting the dog up and over the rail to land with an undignified thump in the cockpit. This exercise was not one that either John or Shep was keen on, but after years of practice both recognised that it had to be done and endured it patiently.
In the early days, when Shep was a puppy it was easy. Now he weighed a good 20 kilos, which wasn’t funny for either of them. Still the dog loved the boat, and sat in the cockpit when they were underway, no matter what the weather. Although John was mostly a day sailor, sometimes they’d pop up the coast and slip up one of the rivers, anchoring up for a night or two, but that was really the extent of his adventures. It was 5 miles from his mooring to the estuary, and he knew every inch of the river and its shoreline now; he could almost have sailed it blind if he had to.
On board, he hoisted the mainsail and jib and sailed slowly out to the main river, where he was soon beating to windward. Everything was pretty basic on board – no fancy winches to hoist the sails, just plain old elbow grease, which had the advantage of keeping him fit. He did have an old echo sounder to check depth, but Mantis was a twin-keeled boat and shallow-drafted. And he had a radio in case of emergency.
As the wind was gradually picking up he decided to sail to the estuary, then back to the island in the middle to drop anchor for a couple of hours before returning at 9.30 with the tide. Perfect. He was always precise with his timing; he had seen people cut it fine with unpleasant consequences. The London couple had come in late one day, and had ended up dragging their tender the last 50 feet through the mud – not fun.
Settling down with one arm on the tiller, he searched in the cold box for a beer and opened it. He had a good technique of wrapping his arm around the tiller to free both hands to manipulate the bottle opener. Sometimes he would rope the tiller to hold course, but the river was busy on sunny Sundays, and some of the dinghy sailors were a bit unpredictable, so he preferred not to do it today. He slotted his beer into the holder on the rail, grabbed a bag of peanuts and opened them with his teeth. The nuts and an apple would keep him going until his evening barbecue. Meanwhile, Shep drank from the bucket he kept for that purpose and occasionally barked at dinghies sailing too close.
As they passed the island on their port side, John noticed a flock of gulls tearing at something on the beach, up towards the hedges that bordered the fields. The internal part of the island was private property – there was a large house available to hire that could be seen through the hedges, but John had never tried to venture further, happy to be allowed to wander the beaches and light a fire, with never more than one or two other boats anchored.
The gulls were noisy and aggressive with each other, but John couldn’t see what it was they were crowded over, although there were definitely too many for it to be a fish.
He turned his attention back to the river and tightened the jib in order to sail a little closer to the wind and clear the end of the island. Although the river was pretty wide at this point, there was a cluster of sailing dinghies on the starboard shore and he didn’t want to have to do short tacks to avoid them. He would also avoid the middle of the river now, as there were submerged sandbanks, making for some pretty shallow areas. On a neap tide, at certain times of the year, you could actually be marooned for a week if you went aground there. Even with the ability to sit upright on twin keels it was not an attractive thought to be stuck anywhere at the mercy of the water.
John was a careful sailor; despite his many years of experience and his local knowledge, he didn’t take risks. In fact it was because of those things that he didn’t take risks because it just wasn’t worth it. It was usually novices who did silly things and they paid for it. Most sailors learned from their mistakes and didn’t do it again. Water needed to be treated with respect, even a river.
Having cleared the mudbanks, he came about and began a long tack to the far shore. The river was about a mile wide here, and would continue to be until he reached the estuary, where there was a fancy marina situated on the starboard bank. It really was a perfect day for a jaunt – blue sky punctuated with big fluffy white clouds and a nice easy breeze. He checked his watch; 3.30 – time for a little foray up the coast. The conditions were perfect for it, and he’d then catch the tide for heading back up river. Accordingly, he called ‘ready about!’ to Shep, who sank down into the cockpit, while John loosened the sails, let the boom swing across to come about once more and face north east for a little tack out to sea, as there were more sand banks to be avoided close to the coast.
In all, he spent an hour and a half enjoying a bracing sail up the coast and back, before turning to head up river once again, and by 6.25, he was anchored on the south side of the island and taking down the sails. Then it was just a short row to the shore. He noticed the young couple’s Alacrity was also anchored, but they were nowhere to be seen.
He dragged the tender up the beach and while Shep ran off to stretch his legs and explore, he unloaded his cold box and other bits and pieces, dumping them in a pile not too close to the hedges. Then, whistling to Shep to follow, he set off to find some firewood, returning only when he had a small armful. You could always find a reasonable supply of dead wood if you looked far enough.
He noticed that the young couple were on their way to the shore. The young woman was rowing – and apparently doing a reasonable job of it. She shipped the oars as they approached the beach, and her partner jumped out and tugged at the tender, until she could clear the water without removing her shoes. Then they dragged the boat up the beach together. The young woman waved enthusiastically at John and he raised his hand in acknowledgement, but they headed the opposite way along the beach, obviously valuing their privacy as much as he did – for which he was grateful.
He set about building a fire and, once it was flaming nicely, opened a beer and laid back to wait for the embers to turn to charcoal, so he could cook his steak and mushrooms. It was a pleasant evening; the wind had died a little and the sun was setting on the horizon, past the end of the island, while the fire threw out enough warmth to make it comfortable to just sit and contemplate. John was fond of this part of the day, when the birds were flying back to their roosts and nature seemed to be preparing the world slowly for bed. He regarded Mantis bobbing gently in the current and felt satisfied, at one with the world. Then, as the light began to fade, he lit his tilly lamp and fried his steak. After serving his own food, he cut off a piece of meat, along with the fat and some juices from the pan, and plopped it in Shep’s bowl, on top of his dried food. Shep wagged his tail in appreciation, and man and dog tucked into their respective meals.
They had no sooner finished their last mouthful when there was a loud cry to be heard from further down the beach. Shep’s ears pricked up, and suddenly he took off in the direction of the sound. John followed, at a fair pace and, as they rounded a curve in the beach, he could see the young couple standing over something, up near the hedge. The young woman had her hand over her mouth and nose, and they looked up as Shep arrived. She called to John,
“It’s a dead sheep; it’s really horrible.”
John caught up with Shep and immediately recoiled. The dead sheep had a gaping hole where its gut had once been; it had been pecked clean.
“I saw the gulls having a go at it when I passed by earlier.”
“I wonder what killed it,” pondered the young woman.
“The gulls I expect.”
Her hand and her mouth dropped at the same time.
“You think the gulls actually killed it?!”
John nodded. “Quite possibly. They’re vicious buggers – known to attack lambs. And I’ve heard of a couple of cases of sheep – not in this country mind you. Maybe it was sick or injured.”
“Bloody hell, killer seagulls.”
John regarded her curiously. She was of Chinese ethnicity, her long straight hair, clipped back in a loose twist, was streaked with blonde, and she was slim and attractive with an intelligent look about her.
“Should we inform the farmer, do you think?” she asked.
“There is no farmer. There are no sheep on this island, apart from this one here; it’s a holiday let.”
This time her partner joined in. He was a tall young man, with glasses, and had a look of seriousness beyond his years.
“Well, no, actually, there are sheep – in the field behind.”
“No,” replied John, “no sheep here I’m afraid. Only loud city types with their parties. Probably something to do with them, although I can’t think what.”
“Richard’s right though. There are sheep in the field; we saw them.”
All this time, Shep had been sniffing the carcass, and was now following scents he was picking up on the sand, but he couldn’t seem to find a clear trail to follow; it was all confusion left by the gulls.
John trudged up the beach and looked over the hedge. “Well I’ll be. Wonder how long they’ve been there. Not heard anything about a sale. Maybe the owner has rented the land out to make a bit extra. Odd place to put your sheep. Then, turning to the couple, “Maybe we should leave it alone now,” The smell was beginning to get to him too. “I reckon it’s been dead a couple of days, judging by the smell. Maybe today’s birds were just mopping up or something.”
“Yes, it really does stink a bit,” agreed the young woman, turning to head back down the beach. “I’m Natalie by the way.”
“Yes, I remember. I’m John.”
“Richard,” her partner reminded John, proffering his hand. “You live locally, I think you said?”
“Yes, just up the lane in the village. And you’re from London?”
“Yes – for our sins. We don’t get to come up as often as we’d like, but we do our best. Natalie has to work late sometimes – she works in the Foreign Office – but we can usually get away on Saturday morning. And Bank holidays are great, although it gets pretty busy up here then. It must be nice to be able to just go out whenever you feel like it.”
“Well I’m mostly a weekend sailor myself, although I do try to do evenings in the summer. Anyway, I’ll get back to my fire now before it goes out.”
He whistled for Shep, and the two of them made their way back along the beach.
“Nice dog!” Natalie called after him. “What’s his name?”
“Shep.”
“Bye Shep! Bye John! See you next week!”
John waved in response, and Richard returned the gesture.
Back at the fire, John lit the tilly lamp and a cigarette and lay back to gaze at the stars that were now appearing. It was 8.30 and he was thinking about getting back to the yacht. He finished his cigarette, put the fire out with some water and sand, collected up his things and headed down to the tender.
It was 10.30 when he slid the tender onto the beach again and dragged it up to safety, turning it upside down to keep it dry inside. The moon was out and there was only a gentle breeze. In fact it had dropped so much at one point that he’d had to put the engine on for the last part of the journey back, which irritated him somewhat; he didn’t like using the engine unless he really had to, preferring the sound of the bow slipping through the water in the quiet of the evening rather than the vibration of the engine. Still there were times when it was best to be pragmatic.
He made his way slowly up the lane to his old stone cottage and slipped the key into the green front door. Shep was sniffing round the garden, checking out who or what had been there in their absence. He raced round the side of the cottage to the back garden, barking at something in the bushes by the back fence. John meanwhile opened the door on the left of the passage and dropped the cold box on the table in the middle of the kitchen. He switched on the light and unlocked the back door, whistling for Shep to come in. The dog obeyed and began chasing his water bowl round the floor to request a drink of water. John obliged and Shep drank gratefully while his master put the kettle on and headed back across the passage to the sitting room – the cottage was basically a two up two down – where he turned on the two table lamps and the TV. Despite Shep’s presence, the house always felt empty in the evenings – ever since his wife, Jane had died eight years ago – and he liked to fill it with another human voice. This done, he returned to the kitchen and made a good strong cup of tea.
Installed in the sitting room with tea and biscuits he picked up his newspaper and began to tackle the crossword, allowing the sounds of the voices on TV to become background. Shep was settled on his bed by the door to the passage. After a while John’s head began to drop forward and he slipped into a doze.
He was awoken by a loud bang coming from the upstairs bedroom. He shook himself awake and listened hard. Shep, who was also on his feet and had started to bark, followed John in hot pursuit up the stairs. Opening the door of the bedroom, John was shocked to see a mess of blood on the window, and opened it to peer down below. When he closed it again and ran back downstairs Shep was already barking to be let out of the front door, and he threw himself through the doorway in order to pounce on the seagull lying on the ground. But it was clearly already dead. Shep changed his mind and shoved it with his paw instead, then his snout, sniffing all the while.
It wasn’t the first time a bird had crashed into a window of the cottage, but never as violently as this one. The second odd seagull incident in one day; what a strange coincidence. John liked coincidences. People always read too much into them, preferring to see some kind of conspiracy or supernatural occurrence than just the plain simple fact that weird things happened – quite often really.
He fetched some rubber gloves, picked up the bird and wrapped it in some newspaper. Then he put it in the shed. Tomorrow he would bury it by his grapevine; dead birds were good for feeding a vine – as long as you buried them nice and deep to prevent foxes from digging them up.
Then he locked up, put Shep’s bed down at the foot of the staircase and climbed the stairs to bed. He would sleep well tonight.
………………………………………………………………………………..
It was the following Sunday before he managed to go sailing again. It had been a busy week in the car showroom that he worked in, and the tides had not been right on the evenings he could have managed. Added to that, it had rained all day on Saturday. So Sunday it was, and even that meant missing the church service to catch the tide. But it was a lovely bright day, with quite a fresh breeze and he was really looking forward to getting out on the water.
During the week, he had seen two further incidents of seagulls demonstrating somewhat extreme behaviour. The first was when his neighbour had been attacked as she put the rubbish out. She had suffered a nasty gash to her forehead, but had somehow managed to fight the bird off with the rubbish sack. The second had involved a group of birds that were fighting each other. And he had heard from the barman in the pub that a gull had flown in through the open door and proceeded to go berserk in the bar. Luckily no one had been hurt, but vicious gulls became the talk of the village and there was even mention of getting the RSPCA down. John thought it was a sad testament to village life that this was about as exciting as it got. However, there had been no further incidents for a couple of days now, although two dead gulls had been spotted near the river. John noticed that everyone was calming down and feeling a little less nervous about the pterodactyl threat.
When he climbed on board Mantis, she was still a little wet from the rain, but the sun and the breeze were doing their job and he figured they would soon be dry. Once everything was stowed, he hoisted the sails and set off down river. He would stop off at the island again on the way back, as the tide was right.
As he passed the island he cast a look over the beach, but there were no gulls to be seen. Whatever had set them all off it had passed – well, hopefully. But no sooner had he had this thought than a gull came swooping down as if from nowhere, making a beeline for him. He ducked to avoid it and raised his head just in time to see it dive straight into the sea, while Shep began barking and leaping about wildly. Astounded, he calmed the dog and watched for the gull to surface – but it never did. What on earth was going on with these creatures? It was like something out of Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’. Perhaps there was a disease killing them off, he wondered, as had happened with seals several years previously. Whatever it was, it was becoming a bit of a hazard. He made a note to look it up on the internet later.
Meanwhile, he turned his attention back to his sailing and tightened the jib just in time to pass the end of the island, making it out to the estuary in record time. The wind was a good force five, pushing six at times, and it had kept many of the dinghy sailors off the river. Despite the gull attack, he was thoroughly enjoying himself, but given Mantis’s modest size and how much she was heeling over even in the river, he decided not to tack up the coast. It was important to know your boat’s limitations – as well as your own. He would just enjoy a few sails up and down the river before anchoring up at the island for a late lunch. Then he would aim to be back on his mooring by 6.30 at the latest.
When he anchored up at around 2.30, he saw Richard and Natalie were already ashore. He loaded the tender with his lunch and lowered Shep over the stern. As soon as he made contact with the shingle on the island, Shep sprang out of the tender and bounded over to the couple. They seemed pleased to see the dog and Natalie made a huge fuss of him.
“Is it ok if I give him a piece of cheese?” the young woman shouted to John.
“If it’s cheddar or some kind of hard cheese,” John responded. “Soft cheese isn’t good.”
“It’s Manchego,” came Natalie’s reply. “It’s hard sheep’s cheese.”
“Right up his street then – being sheep.” John trudged up the beach after Shep. “Tell him to buzz off if he’s bothering you; he won’t leave you alone if he thinks he’s going to get some attention.”
“He’s a lovely dog and we don’t mind him at all,” Natalie assured John.
“Have you had a good sail?” Richard enquired. “It was getting a bit breezy for us I must admit, so we thought we’d have a lazy afternoon on the beach.”
“Yes, it’s wise not to push it – don’t want to end up on a sandbank,” agreed John. “You had any more trouble with seagulls? They’ve been playing up all week. One nearly took my eye out earlier.”
“No! really?” Natalie exclaimed. “We haven’t seen any actually – well not live ones anyway. But, guess what? We found a couple of dead ones up the beach. Do you think they got poisoned by the dead sheep?”
“Would you like a beer?” offered Richard. “We have plenty. You’re welcome to join us.”
“I’ll sit for a minute, but I’ve got plenty of beers in here thanks.” He pointed to the cold bag and unzipped it to take out a bottle, and sat down on the edge of their blanket.
“A couple of dead ones, eh? This is all very strange. Never seen seagulls behaving like this I can tell you. I was wondering if they’ve got some disease or other that’s affecting them. I was going to look it up later. Let’s have a look at the dead ones. Up the beach you say?”
Richard jumped up. “Yes, just over there. I’ll show you.”
All three of them made their way up the beach, with Shep leading the way. Sure enough, there were two dead gulls lying ten feet or so apart. John bent down to get a closer look at one of them and then stood up, scratching his head in puzzlement.
“Looks like they’ve been dead a few days. That’s when things were at their worst in the village.” He moved further up the beach. “Sheep’s gone, I see. It was round about here, wasn’t it? I remember the gap in the hedge. Wonder if the rest of them are still in the field.” He looked through the gap, but the sheep were all gone.
Natalie and Richard came up and stood behind him, but Shep suddenly darted through the gap in the hedge. There was a yell on the other side and a man appeared. He was about forty, dark-haired and wearing a wax jacket.
“Get your dog out of here! This is private property. You’re not allowed beyond the beach.”
John whistled for Shep, who returned obediently to his owner. “Sorry,” said John, “no harm done. We were just wondering where the sheep had gone. Are you farming here now?”
“Mind your own bloody business and keep your dog off my property in future. I’ve got a rifle for shooting rabbits. Be a shame if I missed and hit the dog. That’s not a threat, but rules are made for a reason. Understand?”
“Of course, if you’re the owner,” replied John, totally unruffled. “No law against looking though. “
The man glared at him again, but John was undaunted. “I see the dead sheep’s gone. Never seen birds attack like they’re doing at the moment.”
“Now look here. There are no sheep and I don’t know anything about seagulls attacking. The show’s over, so go back to your picnic. If I had my way you wouldn’t be allowed on the beach.” And with that he turned and walked off at a pace.
Natalie’s mouth was wide open. “Wow! What a miserable bloke. You were great though. It really wound him up when you answered him back.”
“But I never mentioned seagulls.”
“No,” said Richard, “I noticed that. He clearly knew it was gulls.”
“Not only that,” added John, “I reckon he had at least one in the sack he was carrying. I’m sure I saw some feathers sticking out. And there’s no way he’s the owner. The person who owns this place is Australian, and it’s hired out by an agency.”
“Oh, really?” said Richard. “I wonder who he is then. All a bit fishy, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” John was mulling it over.
When they were sitting back on the blanket, he said, “I think I’ll go back to Mantis and get my binoculars.”
“No need,” announced Natalie brightly, “got mine in here.” And she pulled out a small pair of binoculars from her rucksack.
“Nat likes to spy on people on their boats,” explained Richard.
“It’s not spying! I’m just interested, that’s all.”
Richard laughed. “Well isn’t that just another way of saying you’re spying?”
“No, it’s not,” she insisted.
“Nat wants to work for MI5,” Richard continued mischievously.
Natalie ignored him. “Are you going to have a look at the house up there?” she asked John. “That’s a good idea.”
“I am,” he replied and, taking the binoculars, walked back up the beach, with the other two in tow.
The man was nowhere to be seen when they reached the gap in the hedge, and John stepped through and stood on a conveniently-placed tree stump to scan the house and other buildings set back behind another hedge at the far end of the field. Richard and Natalie waited expectantly.
“I reckon that bloke was hiring the place,” he informed them, “But what were the sheep for I wonder? And where have they gone?”
He descended from the stump. “There are a number of other buildings, as well as the main house,” he continued. “Mostly it’s hired out for parties – city types. No sign of any sheep or anything that looks even vaguely farm-like. No machinery, tractor, sheepdog – not even a couple of chickens. There’s certainly been no sudden conversion to farming.” He handed the binoculars to Richard who jumped up on the stump.
“There’s a jeep by the barn place,” added Richard. He jumped down and Natalie took her turn.
“Oh my goodness!” she exclaimed, “there’s a man appeared with a rifle, and he’s getting into the jeep.”
“Don’t mess about Nat,” said Richard.
“I’m not! Look for yourself. We should get out of here in case he comes back this way.”
“He’s driven round the other side,” John reassured her, looking through the binoculars again, “but we should move anyway. Was it the same man? I didn’t get a chance to see him before he got into the jeep.”
“No,” Natalie responded, “He looked fat and had a beard. Blimey, these are a nasty lot. What on earth are they up to?”
Sitting back on the blanket once more, they continued to discuss the matter.
“I’ve a good mind to go and have a snoop sometime – when it’s dark. Something’s a bit odd about the whole thing if you ask me. That bloke was too keen to get rid of us, he lied about being the owner, denied any knowledge of the dead seagulls and they’ve been keeping sheep here. I’ve met his type before and he wasn’t up to any good I can tell you.”
Natalie was intrigued. “Do you mean a criminal?”
“Yes,” John replied, “he tried to involve my wife’s brother in something very nasty. Luckily he wasn’t stupid and went to the police. There were arrests made.”
“Oh my god, that sounds awful,” said Natalie.
“I’ll come with you if you like,” offered Richard.
“Richard don’t! What if you get caught John? They’ve got rifles. They seem like really nasty types to me.”
“I’ll be careful; won’t take any chances, eh John?”
John nodded. “We won’t go beyond the far hedge; there might be dogs we didn’t see. All the same, maybe Natalie’s right. I don’t want to get you two into any trouble. It’s probably nothing anyway.”
“Don’t feel responsible for us,” Richard countered. “We can make up our own minds. I’m definitely up for it, as long as we go in the dark. In fact, why don’t we go tonight? We were going to stay here anyway, as it’s a bank holiday tomorrow. We can sail back in the morning. The wind’s supposed to drop a bit then.”
John thought it over for a moment. “Well, I could stay I suppose. I hadn’t planned to. But as you say, it’s a bank holiday.”
“Ok, that’s settled then,” Richard said. “And we’ve got plenty of food on board, so we can have a barbecue.”
John nodded, then added “but I think we should wait until midnight at least. I didn’t see any dogs, so hopefully we won’t set anything off, but we’ll have to be careful in case. And we’ll have to have a good escape route back to the beach. Natalie should stay on board with Shep.”
Richard nodded and Natalie concurred. “Don’t worry, I’m not in any hurry to come with you. I just hope you’re careful, that’s all. I’ll use the binoculars, so I can keep an eye from on deck. If there’s moonlight, I’ll be able to see a bit, and if there’s not, I’ll at least see if there’s any disturbance. I know, why don’t you take a torch and flash me SOS if you’re in danger? I could dial 999.”
“Hmm,” Richard didn’t seem sure. “As long as they won’t see it too.”
“No, said John, “no torches. Better to just be quiet and stay on this side of the hedge. We’ll take my binoculars, so we can get a good look. I don’t really know what I’m expecting to find – I’m getting a bit old for these sort of antics, but something about that bloke disturbed me. Then on Tuesday, I’ll contact the agency and find out how long it’s hired out for, see if I can poke around a bit and make up something to find out who they are.”
They left it at that and passed a pleasant afternoon on the beach. John realised he had skipped his lunch and so they made an early evening barbecue and sipped beer and chatted for a bit afterwards. Then the three of them made their way to their respective boats to rest for a few hours before the two men set off for the beach in John’s tender, leaving Shep cuddled up with Natalie on deck. The old dog loved all the attention she bestowed on him and he barely seemed to notice John slipping away with Richard.
Luckily it was a fairly dark night, with plenty of cloud cover and just the occasional break when the crescent moon peeped through. The two men slipped quietly through the gap in the hedge, skirted the edge of the field and picked up the rough track that led straight down to the house. The track was bordered by hedges most of the way on both sides which, although it provided cover, made it even harder to see where they were going than in the field.
Richard was picking his way along the hedge on their right, when he tripped up a large mound and pitched headlong onto it. He found himself sinking into something soft, but it was definitely not grass.
John had stopped a little ahead and called back to him in a low voice, “you ok? What happened”
“Oh Jesus Christ!” came the response, “I don’t believe it!”
“For Christ sakes keep your voice down,” insisted John, “or we’ll have them all over us. We still can’t be sure they don’t have dogs.”
“Sorry.” He lowered his voice, “Oh Jesus. Oh that is rank. It stinks.”
“What the hell is it?” John was by his side now.
The response came in a loud whisper this time. “It’s bloody seagulls, that’s what it is. Dead bloody seagulls! And I fell right into the middle of them.”
“Christ!” John intoned, keeping his voice low. “They stink alright. So much for not knowing anything about dead seagulls. They must have been collecting them up and dumping them here to burn or bury I suppose. There’s definitely something wrong here. We should pick one up on the way back. Whatever is killing them has to be in them; we’ll get it tested and find out. I think maybe we should risk using a phone flashlight for a bit, but just keep it low for goodness sake.”
“Ok,” Richard agreed.
“And, by the way,” John added, “it’s actually better to use a low voice rather than a whisper, if you can. It doesn’t carry as far.”
“Ok.” Richard complied.
They set off again and made it to the end without further incident. There was no sign of life in or around the house, but still John indicated to turn the flashlight off, a little before they neared the end of the track. There was no gate and no gap in the hedge to get back into the field. He wondered if it was maybe a mistake coming down the track, but it was done now.
They stayed close to the hedge and surveyed the surroundings. They were looking at the back of the house, with two outbuildings. Directly in front of them was what looked like a small annexe to the main building, and to the right of the house was a barn, in front of which a jeep was parked. Richard decided to punch the licence number into his phone, just in case.
The main house was a large mock Tudor build, probably from the 1970s. There was a lawn winding round to the front of the buildings, where it looked as if there was something of a landscaped garden. A wide, sandy, gravel drive swept round to the back of the house where the jeep was parked.
“Looks all very innocent, doesn’t it?” John commented. “No sign of dogs, thank goodness.”
“No, but what’s that noise?”
John listened, but shook his head.
“There it is again,” said Richard. “It’s sheep.”
“Well, so it is,” said John, “I hear it now. It’s very faint. Sounds like a single sheep.”
Richard was straining to hear. “It’s coming from the barn. There’s a window. Do you think you could give me a bunk up?”
“I promised Natalie to keep you safe. But, ok then. We’d better be quiet and quick. Mind the noise on the gravel.”
They followed the grass round to the right before attempting to creep slowly over the sandy gravel where the stones were at their thinnest, but it was necessary to tread extremely carefully. There was a flower bed bordering the barn and John stood in this and gave Richard a leg-up. The latter peered in through the window, but indicated that he couldn’t see. He pulled out his phone and shone the flashlight through the pane. A pair of eyes were caught in the beam and the owner bleated loudly. Richard quickly shone the light around the interior before jumping down and signing to John that they should go.
They retraced their steps hastily and didn’t speak until they were back on the track heading towards the beach.
“Well,” demanded John, “what did you see?”
Richard took a deep breath. “First of all, the sheep – only one sheep it seems, just like we thought, and a tarpaulin thrown over something on the other side. That’s about it.”
“I wonder what was under the tarpaulin,” mused John. “How big was it?”
“About four feet high, I guess, and maybe six feet wide. It went back to the wall – a few feet I suppose. And why just one sheep? Where are the others?”
Their conversation was interrupted by voices coming from the side of the house, and instinctively they flattened themselves against the hedges, one on either side. They were now about twenty yards from the house end of the track, but they both began to creep slowly back towards it. There were two men making for the barn deep in conversation. John and Richard strained their ears to listen, but whatever the men were saying was unintelligible. Suddenly, as the barn door closed behind the two men, there was a loud rifle shot, and the sound of the sheep bleating loudly as it went down. Richard jumped in surprise and cast a look over at John. A few minutes later, one of the men emerged carrying what looked like a string of sausages, turned on the tap on the outside wall and began cleaning them in the running water. Then he returned to the barn briefly, before both men came out dragging a plastic sack with something heavy inside, presumably the dead sheep. They disappeared round the side of the house.
John and Richard made their way back to the beach and they were soon installed with Natalie, drinking a cup of tea and relating their story to her.
“Oh my god, Richard,” she exclaimed when she heard about the men appearing, “it could have been really awful; you could have been caught!” But then she followed up with, “it’s pretty exciting really isn’t it? But what do we do now?”
“Police?” suggested Richard. “Do you reckon it’s drugs?”
“Certainly looks like it,” responded John. “I’ve heard that they get them to swallow it by packing it in those sausage shapes, and the customs can’t pick it up on X rays for some reason. Presumably not all the sheep had them, just enough to make it profitable.”
“But all those sheep,” Natalie observed, “they must have cost a lot of money, to then slaughter them all.”
“Nothing compared to what the drugs are worth,” John assured her. “And they probably didn’t slaughter them all anyway. They were probably brought in for a farm. I know the sergeant at the police station in town. I’ll go directly to him tomorrow morning. Where’s the dead seagull we picked up? I’ll take that with me, so they can get it tested. I imagine the dead sheep had heroin or whatever in its gut and that’s what’s been driving the seagulls crazy and killing them.”
“It’s on deck still,” Richard informed him.
Natalie frowned. “But if all the sheep have gone, and presumably that was just one that they missed, they could be miles away by morning. How will they track them down? Shouldn’t we go now?”
“How Nat? Tide’s low. We can’t get back now. And it’s a hell of a conversation to have on the phone or radio, assuming we can contact the right person.”
“Yes, but she’s right,” John intervened, “and there is a way back actually.”
Richard was sceptical. “What? Sail up river again and moor up and get a taxi all the way back? It’ll cost a fortune. I’m not sure how practical that is.”
“No,” said John, “there’s the causeway – from the other side of the island to the mainland. It will be uncovered while the tide’s still low, but we’d have to hurry. The only thing is, it’s in full view of the house, if anyone happens to be looking out of the window.”
Richard looked concerned. “We wouldn’t have to go back through the field, would we?”
“No, we could trek round via the beach, but we’d need to get a move on. Then we could walk back to the village and pick up your car. That would be quicker than going up to my cottage I reckon. What do you say?”
“I want to come as well this time,” Natalie added. “I don’t fancy staying here all that time, not knowing what’s happening.”
“I’m not sure Nat,” said Richard.
“Yes,” was all she replied.
“Ok,” said John, “it’s agreed then. We’ll all go.”
“Just one thing,” Richard added, “can you guarantee to keep Shep quiet?”
The dog pricked up his ears and sat up at the sound of his name.
“Yes,” responded John, “although he won’t like it. I’ve got a muzzle on board, which I had to use for a while when he kept licking a cut. I’ll fetch it and we’ll go.”
The other two simply nodded. It was settled.
Luckily it was still pretty cloudy, as they set off once again in Natalie and Richard’s tender. They soon reached the beach and hauled the little boat onto the shingle. Then they set off at a pace round the island. John had never walked round this far before, but he had seen from Mantis that there was a good deal of privacy afforded by the trees and hedges bordering the beach. It was a perfect hideout for drug-running. And at least it meant they didn’t have to worry about being seen until they reached the causeway, but he was certainly anxious about what would happen if they were spotted on it.
When they came to the beginning of the causeway, which was really no more than a stony track, it became clear just how easy it was to be seen from the house, as the causeway led directly up to the driveway on this side of the buildings.
“Maybe we should try and walk off the track,” he posited. “Then we might just get a bit of cover from the trees either side of the driveway. The only thing is, the mud. It might mean slow going, or even be too soft, and we need to be fast.” For once he was indecisive. “What do you think?”
“We could cover our faces and hands in mud, so as not to be too visible,” suggested Natalie.
Richard was in agreement. “Do you know, I think that’s a good idea Nat. Then we can just leg it down the causeway. The moon’s still pretty covered by cloud.”
“Ok,” agreed John, and they proceeded to smother their faces and hands in thick, grey mud, assisting each other to ensure every bit was covered.
“What about Shep?” asked Richard.
“I’ll do his white fur. It’ll hose off easily enough,” said John, and he proceeded to cover the collie’s white patches in mud. Shep didn’t seem bothered, if perhaps a little puzzled, which he showed by tilting his head to one side. But he was definitely not happy with the muzzle and kept trying to remove it with his paw at every opportunity.
When they had finished muddying up, which only took a couple of minutes, Natalie couldn’t help but laugh.
“You two look ridiculous! I’m so glad I put a hat over my hair. I wouldn’t fancy that full of mud. But it really does work. Just don’t run off and leave me or I’ll never find you.”
“Yes,” it’s pretty good camouflage,” admitted John. “I can barely see you if I step back a few yards – or Shep, come to that.”
Pleased with their handiwork, and certainly somewhat reassured by the cover it offered them, they set off at a jog, with Shep in the lead, charging backwards and forwards in front of them.
They had covered about half the distance to the shore, when John called in a low voice for them to hold on. He was watching headlights moving along the road that followed the river. Suddenly, he called Shep to heel and began issuing urgent instructions to the other two.
“It’s going to turn onto the causeway. Get onto the mud and lie flat – quick. Then don’t move.”
He grabbed Shep and threw himself flat, pulling the dog down next to him. Natalie and Richard followed suit on the other side of the track. The three humans lay face down and completely still, their hearts pounding in their chests. Shep growled quietly at the inconvenience, but didn’t attempt to move.
John’s suspicions were confirmed when the car’s headlights arced round and shone down the causeway towards them. Instinctively, they all pushed themselves harder into the mud. The car – or rather, jeep – was going at quite a speed considering the roughness of the track, and it soon bumped past them. They breathed a collective sigh of relief as it disappeared up the driveway, but they didn’t move until John, who had twisted round to get a view of the house, gave the signal.
“They’re in the house,” he announced. “Let’s go, quick!”
They covered the distance to the shore in double-quick time and didn’t stop until they had scrambled up the shingle and were through the trees onto the road.
“Oh my god, I don’t believe I just did that!” exclaimed Natalie breathlessly.
“Everyone ok?” John gasped, equally out of breath.
“Uh huh,” came the breathless replies.
“Better get going,” urged Richard. “They might come back.”
They set off along the road in the direction of the village. It didn’t take them long to cover the mile or so, but they were constantly checking over their shoulders or peering through the trees to see if the jeep returned down the causeway. But there was no sign until, a little before the village, they were nearing the entrance to the boatyard. Natalie gave the alarm.
“Headlights on the causeway!”
They sprinted the last 50 yards and, spotting the boatyard gates open, they dived in, tucking themselves behind the wall just as the headlights became visible on the road. They could hear the jeep approach, and they waited for it to pass. But it didn’t. It stopped outside the boatyard and began to turn in.
“Christ!” exclaimed Richard.
Natalie was the first to move. “Behind the boat!” she screamed in a whisper, not registering the irony of the statement.
The three of them dived behind an old, blue Westerly Centaur that was undergoing a refit. But Shep had already disappeared into the depths of the boatyard. John was worried.
“Shep’s gone off. If they find him…”
The jeep was making its way to the far side of the boatyard. John risked a couple of low whistles, in the hopes that Shep would come. There was no response, and they saw the headlights extinguished and heard the engine die down. John began to creep around the edge of the boatyard, looking for the dog. Richard and Natalie were beside themselves, as they heard voices from the direction of where the jeep had parked.
“We should get out of here,” said Richard, and he peered round the bow of the boat. “They could see our legs if they shone a torch this way.” He was right; the boat was mounted on a cradle.
“Ok,” Natalie was shaking, “tell me when it’s clear.”
“Go!” whispered Richard, and the two of them made a beeline for the entrance, slipping out onto the road just as Shep came bounding up behind them. John was hot on his tail.
“He was sniffing out a rabbit hole,” John informed them. “I overheard the conversation by the jeep though. There are two blokes, the ones we saw this afternoon. I reckon the fat bloke is the new boatyard hand. I wondered why the boatyard was open. Derek can’t be involved; he’s far too straight, so it must be the new bloke. I thought he looked shifty from the moment I set eyes on him. I bet Derek hasn’t got the faintest who he’s taken on.”
“What do we do now, carry on to the car?” asked Richard, glancing nervously back at the boatyard.
John thought for a moment. “I think you two should carry on to your car and head for the police station in town. Try and explain as best you can, without sounding like a couple of loonies. Speak to Sergeant Wilkin on the desk if you can and mention my name – you might have seen him – stocky guy with a balding head, a bit older than me, pops into the Sailors with a black Labrador sometimes. Take Shep with you.”
“What about you?” Natalie demanded. “You’re not going back in there are you?”
“Yes I am. I want to see what they’re planning. I’ve a feeling they might be going to sail out with the morning tide, which means we’ve got a bit of time yet. I’ve got my phone. Text me when you’ve spoken to the police.”
“Ok,” responded Richard, “but put your phone on vibrate and for goodness sake be careful.”
“I will. Oh, and better clean the mud off as best you can, or they’ll definitely think you’re loonies.”
Natalie and Richard set off down the road in the direction of the village and their car. John slipped back into the boatyard just in time, as one of the men strode down to the gate and locked it shut. John cursed under his breath and then crept round to the river side of the boatyard where, having opened the gate on that side the other man was engaged in unloading crates from a fancy Beneteau yacht moored against the pontoon in the river.
So they weren’t planning to sail out. “Why the hell did they bring the drugs here?” wondered John. Why not just take them straight from the island to wherever they were destined for – probably some kind of distribution centre in one of the big cities, where they’d be sent out to dealers to hook kids who knew no better, on this crap. The whole idea made him sick to his stomach. He really hoped they could stop these bastards.
After about fifteen minutes, they started to load the crates into the jeep. Then one of them made a call on his mobile, while they smoked cigarettes, leaning on the jeep. John was getting impatient to know what was happening with Richard and Natalie. It was taking too long. He looked at his watch – half an hour now. That was plenty of time to cover the five minutes into the village and then drive the couple of miles to the town. He had just decided to call them, when he felt his phone vibrate against his leg. He pulled the mobile out of his trousers pocket and retreated further back into the boatyard, tripping over an empty tin of varnish in the dark.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself, and quickly pulled himself together. What’s happening?” he whispered.
“We’re at the police station,” came Richard’s voice down the phone. “We had to change the tyre on the car. And Sergeant Wilkin had just left.”
“Christ! So what’s happening? I’d hoped we might catch them before they left,” John replied impatiently.
“Don’t worry, it’s all under control.” Richard was calm. “I’m putting Sergeant Wilkin on. We caught him in time, and a police car is on its way.”
“What? Is that all? They’re armed!” John hissed.
There was a sound of voices in the background, and a new voice came down the phone.
“John?” It was Sergeant Wilkin.
“Listen, Tom. They’re unloading the drugs from a boat into the jeep. They’re not going to sail out. They’re going by road. Richard has the licence number in his phone. But they’re armed Tom – rifles at least. And I reckon they’ll be off any minute. A couple of officers isn’t going to handle this.”
“Ok, I’ll get onto the officers. They’re not planning to challenge them, just watch where they head for the moment. If they’re going by road, then so much the better. We’ve got the number plate of the jeep from the young man here. Anyway, listen carefully. Stay hidden; don’t do anything at all, until they’ve gone. Then ring the young man here. If you can see whether they turn towards the village, that would be helpful, but don’t – I repeat, don’t take any risks.”
John ended the call and sneaked back to his viewing point, careful to avoid the tin. The two men were closing up the yacht. Once they had finished they jumped back into the jeep, stopped just insides the gates on the river side of the yard to close them and drove slowly back through the boatyard to the gates on the road side. John made his way carefully back round the edge of the yard and watched from behind the Westerly.
His heart was thumping in his chest. Please God the police car was waiting and out of sight.
He watched them drive out, lock the other gates and turn towards the village. He hoped Derek had been alerted; he didn’t fancy being stuck in the boatyard. He grabbed his phone and rang Richard.
“They’ve just left – and they’re going towards the village.” He pocketed his mobile once more and then went off to find the tap, to clean the mud off his face. After that he returned to the gate, realised he had nothing to do now and sat down on a crate and waited.
It was pretty dark in the boatyard, but the crescent moon was just peeking out from behind the clouds. He reflected on the night’s events. Whoever would have thought? Mad seagulls on heroin, drug-mule sheep and drug-running gangsters, all in a sleepy Essex village. It was like something out of The Sweeney – except for being in Essex. More like Midsomer Murders then. And all because they saw a dead sheep being attacked by gulls and he’d been on the island at the same time as Natalie and Richard. There it was again – coincidences. Well he’d had enough excitement for one night. Still, he had to admit it had been rather exciting, if a little terrifying at times.
He was jolted out of his ruminating by headlights at the gate. He was about to leap behind the Westerly again when her realised it was a police car. Another car pulled up behind and Derek emerged and began unlocking the gates – well that was a relief. The two cars drove in, followed by a third. Natalie and Richard climbed out of the police car, along with two officers, and a woman got out of the third car.
Natalie ran over and hugged John. “Thank goodness you’re ok. We were worried you might get caught.”
“Good work,” said John.
“You too,” responded Richard.
“We make a good team,” added Natalie beaming with pride at having stopped a major crime.
Derek, on the other hand, seemed somewhat disturbed by the whole affair. He mumbled something about checking the office and went off with one of the officers.
The other officer introduced the woman, who turned out to be a detective – a Sergeant Wellbelove. John wondered if she was, given the supposed sexism in the force. But then things had changed a lot since he was young. Sergeant Wellbelove was in her late thirties, friendly, efficient and, although he was sure he wasn’t supposed to think it, reasonably attractive. She was pretty tough looking though, with short dark hair and a quirky sort of smile – a boyish sort of attractiveness that John had always liked.
She began to question the three of them about the events, from their first encounter with the dead sheep to what had happened in the boatyard, getting them to walk her through their time in the boatyard and asking them to leave nothing out, as the slightest detail might be important. They did their best to cover everything, including the pile of dead gulls in the field. Afterwards, Derek returned to answer questions about Keith – the man he had taken on temporarily – and about general comings and goings and aspects of security in the boatyard. Then she asked them to repeat it all on record at the police station.
Natalie was horrified. “But I’m so tired! It’s nearly light.”
“Yes,” agreed John, “me too. Can we do that in the morning? I’d like to head home and get a few hours shut-eye. Do you two want to kip at my house? Then perhaps we can borrow a tender tomorrow Derek, to get back to our boats later on?”
“Yes, of course. You can take my spare inflatable with the outboard.”
Natalie and Richard were more than happy to follow John’s plan, and so they set off for his house, with Shep in tow once more. They agreed that they would sleep for a few hours, then a police car would come for them at midday. They would meet Sergeant Wilkin for a late lunch in the Sailors to get an update and fill in the gaps, before taking the tender out to the boats.
All three slept very soundly, and John made them strong coffee and porridge when they awoke around l1.am. At midday the police car arrived as arranged and they spent a gruelling hour and a half being grilled by detectives, before signing their statements and heading back to the village. By two o’clock they were settled down to sausage and mash in the Sailors and a round of pints bought by Sergeant Wilkin as promised, who made much of demonstrating that he was only having a quick shandy as he was on duty later. He had his dog, Blackie, in tow, and Shep immediately began sniffing all around her, tail wagging affably.
The others waited until they were all seated and had all had their first sip of beer before they launched into questions.
“So, did they get them?” “Where did they go?” “Was it a big haul?” “Was there any shooting?”
“Alright, alright,” Tom waved them down.
“They wouldn’t tell us anything at the station,” Natalie complained. “You’d never think we were the ones who did most of the work.”
Sergeant Wilkin frowned sternly. “Settle down young lady before you get carried away with yourself, and I’ll tell you what I know. Things have to be done right you know. There’s a little more to it than you realise.”
And so he began to disclose what he knew – or at least, what he was prepared to tell them, thought John.
It turned out that the two men were part of a gang that detectives had been investigating for a while. The police knew that the drugs were coming in somewhere on the east coast, and they knew that they were ending up in London – Hounslow, to be more precise. But there were pieces missing from the jigsaw, such as where exactly the drugs were landed. And although there had been drugs smuggled across borders before, inside animals – including sheep – it had never occurred to police or customs that someone might try importing such a large shipment into the UK that way. It was probable that they had even moved them into a new set of sheep in France, but there was still much to uncover and even more that neither the sergeant nor his boss was privy to.
“It was heroin by the way,” said Sergeant Wilkin, “destined for sale in London. Anyway, it’s not going anywhere now because they got the lot. There was that load that came in on the yacht plus another load that came in with the sheep you saw.”
“You mean there were two different lots?” John raised his eyebrows, surprised. “So they brought that load in by boat and the other load in by sheep – so to speak.”
Tom nodded. “That’s about the sum of it. And they caught the sheep lot as well, when they followed the boat lot.”
“And I thought it was the same load that they were going to sail out with. I wonder why they brought them two different ways. Why not just use two boats?”
“Who knows?” shrugged Tom. “Probably spreading the risk, trying out new routes for the future? Keep changing your tactics and you have less chance of being spotted I guess.”
“That’s quite a big haul then, for the police to have found,” Richard commented.
“You know they should legalise it?” Natalie chimed in. “It would bring it out in the open, stop the gangsters and be easier to control.”
Sergeant Wilkin, not a supporter of such views, gave her a dirty look. John interjected hurriedly, “I think that’s a discussion for another day. What else do you know Tom?”
Tom explained that he understood they had managed to arrest some of the other gang members when the loads reached London, but they hadn’t succeeded in getting to the top of the chain of command. Although it did mean they had shut down a considerable amount of the operations for now at least, and sent a message to those at the top. Any more than that he couldn’t tell them without jeopardising future operations. In fact, he had probably told them more than he should have done, and he expected them not to go around blabbing too much because loose tongues cost lives. This last point was delivered very sternly, with a pointed stare at Natalie.
John summed it up. “So the criminals got caught and we escaped alive. All in all, a job well done, I reckon.”
“Here, here,” intoned Richard, and he raised his glass. “To team work.”
“To team work!” they echoed in unison.
Sergeant Wilkin emptied his pint glass of shandy and stood up. “Well, I must be off. I’m on duty later and I need to give Blackie a walk and feed her first.”
“Thanks Tom, for the update. Let us know if you hear any more.”
“Yes, please do,” Natalie added enthusiastically.
“And thanks for all your help last night,” added Richard tactfully.
Stay out of trouble from now on you lot,” insisted the sergeant. Don’t go thinking you’re the Famous Five!”
“Four,” laughed Natalie, and Shep barked in agreement.
“Five with Tom, “added Richard.
“Leave me out of it. And forget any ideas in your head about legalising drugs, young lady. Not on my watch.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll straighten her out,” Richard assured him, shaking Tom’s hand and casting a mischievous glance at Natalie.
The ‘Famous Four’ settled down to another round of drinks and mulled over what Tom had told them. Finally, at around 4pm they headed back to the river, to pick up Derek’s inflatable. By 5 o’clock they had arrived at the island where John dropped off the couple at their Alacrity. They said their goodbyes and then he set off again, steering the inflatable in the direction of Mantis. Natalie called after him, waving.
“Bye John, Bye Shep. See you next weekend!”
He raised his hand in acknowledgement. Then, on reaching Mantis and having hoisted Shep aboard once again, John weighed anchor and hoisted the sails for a breezy trip back to the mooring. Towing the inflatable as well as his own tender, did not make for a very satisfying sail, as he’d never attempted such a thing before, and had to keep checking over his shoulder, and he was glad when he was finally back on land and heading up the lane to his cottage.
He unlocked the front door, dropped his bags in the passage, switched on the TV in the sitting room, then went to the kitchen and filled Shep’s water bowl. He put the kettle on, made a full mug of steaming tea, grabbed a couple of biscuits from the tin and parked himself in his armchair in the sitting room. Ten minutes later he was snoring gently, head bent forward, newspaper resting on his lap and a half-full mug of tea next to him. It had been a long night and a long day.
