Overstretched

Chapter 2

TWO

From his window at the very top of the house, Carson spotted the twin beams piercing the rain and watched the big four-by-four attempting to tackle the track. He chuckled to himself, picked up the binoculars, and peered through the gloom. After a moment, he managed to focus on the vehicle but found he could not pick out the details, so he gave up, went to his bed and gazed at his unread paperback. He deliberated on what to do before ‒ seized by a surge of energy ‒ he tore out of his room and took the stairs two at a time.

He found the old man in the study, bent over his writing desk, glasses perched on the end of his nose, face almost pressed into the pages of a large book. The wood crackled in the grate, music played softly in the background. Without moving he asked, “Problem?”

Carson went to the fire, rubbing his hands. “There’s a car.”

“Coming here?”

“The other house, I think. It’s stuck.”

“Ah.” The old man licked a finger and turned a page. “They’ll be our new neighbours I shouldn’t wonder. They’ve come a long way. Filthy night.”

“Should I go and see if I can help in some way?”

The old man shrugged. “Do you want to?”

“They’ll never make it up the hill, not in this. A tank would struggle.”

“And what can you do, eh?” Another page turned. “If you help them out and leave the car where it is ...” His voice trailed away. “It will slide down the hill, Carson. Best if they swung around and found somewhere else to stay. Try again in the morning ... things always appear better in the daylight.”

“What about the house? Should I go and light a fire or something?”

The old man sighed loudly, pushed himself back in his chair and glared at the younger man. “Why the hell are you so b****y interested all of a sudden, eh? Like the look of her, do you?”

Carson blanched, looked down at his feet. “From the photograph you showed me, I’d say she’s b****y gorgeous.”

“Yes, I thought it might be something like that. You’re too damned predictable, that’s your problem.”

“Well what do you expect, living in this b****y place, stuck in the middle of nowhere?”

“Poor, lonely you.” He shook his head and returned to his book. “Do what the hell you like, Carson. Build them a fire, turn down the beds, welcome them with open arms and let her see what a fine physical specimen you are. You never know, she might show some interest. Women usually do.” He sniggered. “What’s the name of the current one?”

“Ellen.”

“Ah yes. Ellen. Married, isn’t she? Why do you always go for the married ones? Thrill of the chase, more of a challenge?” He ran his forefinger under a line of typescript. “I suppose I should envy you. But I don’t.”

Carson bit his lip, wanted to tell the old man to f**k off, but knew he never would. Despite his words, life here was good. He had independence, steady work, excellent pay. No ties, no responsibilities and, of course, when the old man died he’d be well looked after in the terms of the will. All in all, the future seemed bright, and as for the present, the chance for some extra-curricular activities with another good-looking woman was not something he wanted to jeopardise. Ellen satisfied him, up to a point, but lately, she seemed preoccupied, never able to give him more than the occasional hour here and there. This new one, she could prove exciting. The old man had his own plans and hopefully, she might feature prominently in them.

“Go on, see if you can lend them a big, helpful hand.” He smiled, shaking his head, enjoying how agitated Carson appeared. “Grin. You’re such a friendly, helpful type, I’m sure they’ll appreciate anything you can do.”

So as not to jeopardise anything, Carson kept his mouth shut, swung around and closed the door. He stood for a moment in the hallway, torn between going upstairs to bed or actually doing what the old man intimated. He doubted he could help much anyway unless forcing open the back door could in itself be deemed ‘helpful’. It would be the only way he could get inside, having no key. Making his decision, he pulled on Wellingtons and the thick waxed Mackintosh, adjusted the hood and stepped outside into the porch.

He checked he had the torch, made sure everything worked and plunged into the downpour.

As it turned out, he did not need to force the door so he pushed it open and stared into the total darkness. He fumbled for his torch, pressed it on and trained the beam into the black, straightaway picking out the big range, the oak table, cupboards and fittings. He groped for the light switch on the wall but then decided to leave it. If they managed to return sooner rather than later, they may wonder why a light was burning. He stepped inside and eased the door shut.

Standing for a moment, he wondered what he was doing there. Was he really going to make the time to build a fire, turn down the sheets, just as the old man had suggested? For what purpose? Maybe plant the seed inside the wife’s pretty head?

Yes, of course that was the reason. If she looked as good in the flesh as she did in the photo … He shook himself, throwing out a fine spray of rainwater which fell, for the most part, over the table. Ignoring this, he took another step. His boots squelched across the floor tiles and, shining the torchlight downwards, he noticed the large footprint in the film of dust. Pulling out a stool from under the table, he tugged off his boots and proceeded to move through the house.

Soon, he was shivering. The house, not lived in for months, was not only filthy, it was bone-achingly cold. The lack of light increased the oppressive feelings of gloom and depression which seemed to ooze out of every corner of this unfriendly place. He wished he’d never come, but now that he had …

He stacked up the living room fireplace with firelighters and damp logs before realising his stupidity; he cursed out loud. There were no matches. He sat and gazed into the grate, wondering what to do.

Then, the brainwave.

He found a pencil and, after a brief search, some paper and scrawled his note. Folding it neatly, he left it propped up on the mantelpiece. True, he might find it first – the husband – but that didn’t really matter. Another seed planted.

Feeling pleased with himself, Carson left the room, returned to the kitchen and pulled on his boots. Taking a deep breath, he went outside to face the elements again.

Leaving his footprint on the kitchen floor.