BooksBarbecue
Back The Night of the Flood
Chapters (51)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Contents
  6. 1954
  7. PART 1
  8. 1.
  9. 2.
  10. 3.
  11. 4.
  12. 5.
  13. 6.
  14. 7.
  15. 8.
  16. 9.
  17. PART 2
  18. 1.
  19. 2.
  20. 3.
  21. 4.
  22. 5.
  23. 6.
  24. 7.
  25. 8.
  26. 9.
  27. 10.
  28. PART 3
  29. 1.
  30. 2.
  31. 3.
  32. 4.
  33. 5.
  34. 6.
  35. 7.
  36. PART 4
  37. 1.
  38. 2.
  39. 3.
  40. 4.
  41. 5.
  42. 6.
  43. 7.
  44. 8.
  45. 9.
  46. 10.
  47. 11.
  48. 1954
  49. Acknowledgements
  50. About the author
  51. An Invitation from the Publisher

‘I’ll be fine,’ he said. He was desperate to be outside, to be doing something. He had to move, to breathe. Thoughts of the dead man and the whispers of the Frosts were like thick smoke clogging his throat. He wondered again about Jack’s key. It looked like a safety deposit box key, or for a safe, perhaps. Or possibly a padlock, but for what? The key was small and quite delicate: about half the length of his little finger. His thumb felt along the ridges of the shaft and he imagined it turning in a lock. It was the only thing he could think of that might save him. He would take the bike out and it would give him the chance to think.

Out on the quayside, he looked towards Beach Road and the marsh and remembered finding Jack’s body and Verity running at him like a crazed dog. Is that where she had been with Jack? It must be. It was obvious now. They’d been meeting out there, making a fool of him all this time. And how would she have seen them finding the body if she hadn’t been on the marsh itself? There was no way she could have seen him and Blowers from the house. So she must have come from somewhere out on the marsh, somewhere hidden. And he knew what he was going to do.

He didn’t bother with the delivery basket and mounted his bike, but as he was about to push off, he noticed at the other end of the quay two figures whom he recognised at once. One was small and obviously female with a green hat and coat and was talking to a tall, thin man in a police uniform. It was Muriel and the young policeman, Blowers. Cold ran through his limbs. Their heads were close up and for a second he thought with incredulity that they were kissing, but he knew somehow, by the tilt of their heads, by some stiffness in their bearings, that they were not. As he watched them, Blowers nodded his comically high, helmeted head and patted Muriel on the shoulder and left her. Then, almost as if she knew he was watching them, Muriel turned in his direction. Behind her, the policeman stopped and also turned. Muriel’s hand went to her mouth and then she raised it in a tentative wave. Arthur waved back, but as quickly as he could, without drawing attention to his actions, he pedalled off hard in the opposite direction, down the Holkham Road towards Leafy Lane and the farm.

*

Muriel saw the figure coming out of the shop at the other end of the quay and she felt a sense of déjà vu. She stood, stuck in indecision, her fingers turning purple in the sharp air.