The Accursed Moor

Chapter 3-1

3

The car park was full that morning and Ralph had to park out in the street. He fed the meter with three hours’ worth of coins and trudged through the rain to the main entrance. The security guard gave him a cursory glance, wrote something in a file, and went back to his computer. New regulations meant that everyone had to be clocked in and out so that records could be kept of who was and who was not putting in the required hours. Ralph hated the constant piling on of new rules. Every day there seemed to be something new. His stomach went into a tight knot as he thought about how much his job had changed, how it continued to change, but he didn’t speak. There was no point; nobody ever listened to him.

Upstairs, the office was silent, the computers not yet switched on. He preferred this time, a few precious moments of solitude. Within twenty minutes, the place would be alive again with the hum of voices, raised in anxiety as the pressure of work grew. He went into the tiny staff room and picked up the kettle, trying to keep his mind in neutral. The more he thought about his situation, the greater his stress levels became. All he had to do was get through the day, keep his eyes off the clock. It began now, as he swilled the kettle out and poured in fresh water, then switched it on. He heaped two teaspoonfuls of instant coffee into his mug, leaned back against the sink, folded his arms and dreamed about the Moor.

He promised himself that when he had finished work for the day, he would take a stroll up to Brown Willy and allow the quiet to permeate into his joints. He needed the solace. If it were still raining, then he would wear another coat. All he needed was some time alone.

One of the girls from accounts came in and gave him a brief smile. He watched her as she dropped a tea-bag into her mug. She was an attractive girl, and it struck him right then that he had never heard her speak. Perhaps she didn’t want to. That was nothing unusual. No need to speak when you had your head buried in spreadsheets all day.

“Ah, Ralph.” It was Nigel Willis, the assistant manager, all glowing cheeks and beaming grin. A large man, he virtually took all of the remaining space in that cramped room. He put his arms around the girl from accounts and squeezed. She squealed, made a pathetic attempt to escape, and Willis nuzzled his mouth into her neck. “God, Helen, you smell divine.”

“Good night was it, Nigel?”

He turned her around and beamed, hands still holding her by the hips. “It would have been even better if I’d shared it with you.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen.” She forced his hands from her and tilted her head slightly. “I’m making tea. Do you want one?”

“I do, my love. However, for the moment, I just have to have a word with young Ralph here.” He turned his head around, the grin set on his wide, florid face. “Can you give me two minutes, Ralph?”

Ralph grunted and followed Willis out of the staff room and down the corridor. In his office, Willis pressed the door shut and went around his desk and stabbed at the computer keyboard. He waited a moment and sighed. “Here it is. We’ve had a message from Head Office. Came in at seven-thirty this morning, just as I got through the b****y door.” He squinted as the screen flashed. “We’re streamlining some of the services we’re offering, Ralph and I think it’s going to cause some concern amongst our customers—current and future.”

Trying hard not to keep the boredom out of his voice, Ralph shook his head and fell into one of the armchairs that were positioned against the wall. “What sort of streamlining?”

“The floods, Ralph. Claims have gone through the roof, and we’re simply not in the position to process them all. We have to tighten up who can claim and who can be insured. ‘Act of God’ Ralph. That’s the credo now.”

Ralph closed his eyes. This was so b****y typical of the crap he had to deal with. He needed to get away, to escape from all this mediocrity. Life had to be better than this. There was a time when he had dreams, ambitions. Where had all the years gone, all of those feelings of hope? All of it buried beneath an ever-growing pile of bureaucratic bullshit.

“It’s going to get worse,” continued Willis. “Cornwall’s been badly hit, hundreds of families homeless, perhaps thousands. Businesses and homes destroyed. There’ll be wanting their money, Ralph. So, we have to be very careful who gets what, and how much.”

“If they’ve paid their premiums…Surely we have to pay out?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Read the guidelines, Ralph. We have to make it as difficult as we can for these people. We can’t afford to go under ourselves.”

“So we hike up the premiums?”

Willis shrugged. “Yes, of course. For now, we have a more immediate response. We don’t pay out, Ralph. That’s the policy now.”

“And the people who have lost everything?”

“Well…” Willis spread out his hands. “They’ve lost, haven’t they.” He beamed. “Don’t start getting all sentimental on me, Ralph. This is a business, just like any other. We’re here to make money.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Read the guidelines, there’s a good chap.” Willis had begun to sound disinterested and he looked at the screen again. “Ask Helen to bring in my tea, would you?”

Armed with his new guidelines, Ralph returned to his station, groaned when he saw his other colleagues had arrived and sat down. He realised he hadn’t had his coffee, but now that the office was in top-gear, there was no chance of that until his break. Damn Willis and his petty, heartless b****y streamlining, and damn this b****y place for making everybody’s life so b****y hopeless.

At the end of the day, the rain was beating down so hard that there was little chance of him going up on the Moor. He went straight home. A light burned in the kitchen and for a moment a warm feeling spread through him. Mo would be there, preparing something for dinner. The venison had all gone, so soon he would have to go out to the highway and look for something else. He hoped it would be another deer, but the unexpectedness of the bounty made it much more enticing.

He kicked off his shoes in the hallway and went through to the lounge. The fire was on, the television on mute. He went into the kitchen.

Mo glanced at him over her shoulder. “You had a phone call.”

“Who from?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. They hung up.”

He frowned. “How do you know it was for me, then?”

“Because he said before I even spoke. ‘Is that you Ralph?’ Sounded angry.”

“Angry?” He edged past her and stared down at the bubbling pot. A great cloud of delicious smelling steam invaded his nostrils and he closed his eyes as the warmth inside built up even more. “That’s wonderful, Mo.”

She tutted and went over to the other side of the kitchen and began pulling out crockery. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Why, because I complimented you on what you’re doing?”

“You never compliment me. That’s what I mean.” She banged the plates onto the worktop and rattled around in a draw, selecting the cutlery.

“Truth be told, Mo, I’ve had a b****y rotten day. More b****y paperwork, new guidelines, a course to go on.”

“A course?” She brought the plates to the worktop next to the stove. “When will that be?”

“Don’t know. Next week some time. All b****y day. Early start as it’s over in Plymouth.”

“Plymouth? You’ll be home late then?”

“More than likely. At least there is a lunch, so it’s not all bad. We’re learning how to use some new software that will, they say, help us to serve our customers better.”

“Ralph.” She ladled huge helpings of steaming stew onto a plate. “I’m not really interested, to be honest. What you have to do in that b****y job of yours has nothing to do with me, so leave me out of it.” She pushed over a plate and sucked some of the gravy loudly from her thumb. “Enjoy your dinner.”

“Christ, you’re in a b****y good mood, aren’t you?” Taking up the plate, together with his knife and fork, he went back into the lounge. He sat down and cast his eyes around the room, searching for the remote. Not seeing it, he put his head back and took some deep breaths. She was in a bad mood because her lover hadn’t been able to make it today, that was it. Either he’d been called away, or something had happened at home to prevent him from calling round to screw her silly. He’d long suspected she’d been having an affair, but had never confronted her about it.

The stew really did smell delicious, and the first mouthful confirmed it. Mo was a tremendous cook. She kept the house clean and tidy, serviced him when he felt the urge – which was rare nowadays —and all in all she made his home life more than comfortable. Perhaps revealing that he knew what she was doing would bring it all crashing down.

Sometimes, however, things simply had to be faced.

It was cold in the office the following day. Apparently, a problem with the heating had yet to be resolved, so Ralph, like everyone else, was forced to wear his coat. Huddled over his desk, glasses perched on the end of his nose, he studied a recent insurance claim. Someone’s roof had fallen in and they were claiming it was weather-related. The new guidelines would have to be enforced, sooner than Ralph had envisaged or was prepared for. After a few minutes, he sat back in his chair and chewed the end of one of the arms of his spectacles. He stood up. “I’m going to visit this house,” he said to no one in particular. “Not sure if I believe it, so I’ll go and have a careful look.” He reached for the phone and punched in the claimant’s number. He didn’t want to go all the way up to Launceston only to find that no one was home.

After the fourth ring, a voice heavy with sleep answered. A man’s voice. Ralph introduced himself then said, “I’ll have to come down and assess the damage. I’ll be there within the hour if that’s all right.”

“Well, no, it’s not actually. I have to go out.”

“You have to go out?” Ralph couldn’t remember the man’s name and had to squint at the computer screen again. “Mr. Morris? Time is of the essence with this sort of thing. You say your roof has collapsed?”

“In the kitchen yes.”

“Well, we need to get it sorted.”

“Yeah, I realise that, but not today—I have to go out.”

“Well, I need to come and see you, Mr. Morris—what if it rains? You could find your kitchen floor inundated.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

‘No, no, Mr. Morris—my company takes all the risk. All you have to do is pay your premiums.”

“Which I have done. But it’s not convenient, not today. It’ll have to be another time.”

“Well, ‘another time’ is not convenient for me, either—I’m a busy man.”

Across from Ralph, on the other side of the table, his colleague raised a single eyebrow.

Ralph ignored the look and heard Morris sigh. “Can’t you come tomorrow?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? What’s it got to do with you what I can and cannot do?”

“Oh, but it’s all right for you to question me about what I have to do?”

His colleague sat back in his chair and gaped at Ralph.

Ralph unzipped his coat and ran a finger under his collar. Despite the lack of heat, his own temperature was rising. How he hated all this, the fencing between these so-called customers. Why the hell should he spend his own time trying to accommodate these self-centred idiots? He blew out a loud sigh. “Listen, and listen carefully. If there is any sort of delay, Mr. Morris, your claim could be void. With the current floods, we have hundreds of claims to process. If you delay, you could end up getting nothing at all.”

“Well that’s just b****y blackmail, isn’t it? I can’t make it this afternoon—I have to go out. I have an appointment and I can’t change it.”