CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Funeral for a Friend
Flashing blue lights lit up the Grumpy Sailor. Several police cars and an ambulance screamed to a halt right beside the beer garden. Pirates, both young and old, pushed their way through the swinging doors, craning their necks, wondering what all the commotion was about.
DS Ian Inchman talked agitatedly to a gruff looking old codger, whose handlebar moustache looked as dated as the man himself. With his face brimming over with anguish, Ian threw his hands up into the air and stormed off into the dead of night.
✽✽✽
Rachel stared up at the polka-dotted ceiling. Back in her bedroom, she thought about the day that had unsettled her. The stack of books on her bedside table lay unread since last night. With the sounds of sirens and screaming pirates still ringing in her ears, she couldn’t get to sleep no matter how hard she tried counting sheep.
As soon as she closed her eyes, she saw PC Simon Taylor’s dead stare. Both she and George had faced down the sand devil, but that was little consolation to PC Taylor’s wife and her fatherless children. Their hollow victory against something she didn’t understand seemed unreal.
Gladys’ ship had barely made it back across the estuary. It was all hands on deck as they mucked in and bailed out the bowels of the ship. Exhausted in both body and soul, they had said little as the ship’s sails fell limp as the doldrums dropped by. The Scarlet Lady waddled along the road at a snail’s pace before mooring in the Grumpy Sailor’s carpark.
As Gladys’ shipmates had thinned out, they gave her either a warm hug or a firm handshake. There wasn’t any mistaking her for the ship’s captain. George had easily explained his arrival at the scrapyard. He wasn’t going to tidy up his bedroom when a pirate ship had sailed past his window with all cannons firing. Without the slightest fear of heights, he had shimmied down the drainpipe and snuck aboard Gladys’ ship. His pirate’s outfit, false black beard and real parrot had fooled everyone.
Stewart had told Rachel he would drop by first thing tomorrow to fix the ice-cream van and help with a few odd jobs around the house. With the rattling of the porthole window and another bout of blustery wind coming in from the north, the unseasonal weather lulled her into sleep.
✽✽✽
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Rachel’s head throbbed. The banging noise hadn’t let up. Welded shut by her night’s uninterrupted slumber, she slowly prised them open. The banging sounds were coming from the attic. She rolled her head to one side and glanced at her alarm clock. The hands must be wrong, she thought. Her father wouldn’t be up this early –
The hatch above her suddenly slid open. A boy’s head poked through it and gave her a happy grin. ‘Hiya, Rachel – I’ve fixed your leak.’
Rachel screamed and snatched her bed covers right up to her neck, glaring back at the blond-headed boy. ‘Stew – didn’t your mother ever tell you to knock before you enter a girl’s room?’ she squealed, still in shock that her friend had woken her up before eight o’ clock and in her pyjamas.
‘Sorry, Rachel – I thought you would be up by now,’ he grinned.
‘Well, obviously not,’ she retorted. ‘Now, if a girl can have a little privacy around here – I’ll shower, get dressed and meet you downstairs for some breakfast.’
Stewart’s face lit up. ‘You said the magic word,’ he chuckled and slammed the hatch shut.
✽✽✽
The Cooks’ doorbell rang.
‘I’ll get the door,’ Rachel yelled and raced down the spiral staircase.
The front door glided open without a single judder. Rachel stared at the door and then at her postman, Toby, who had a green parrot on his shoulder. ‘Pirates’ Night was last night, Toby,’ she chuckled.
Toby didn’t laugh or raise a titter. ‘Here’s your mail, Rachel,’ he said stiffly, his normal jolly face devoid of pleasantries.
The parrot squawked, ‘Who’s a pretty boy then?’ and flew over her head into the house and down the hallway. ‘MUM – A PARROT’S JUST FLOWN INTO THE HOUSE,’ she shouted over her shoulder.
‘I know – we were expecting him,’ Lorraine yelled back.
‘Well, I must be on my way,’ said Toby all melancholy and morose, tipping his imaginary hat at her as he bade her farewell.
‘Goodbye, Toby,’ Rachel said and shut the door with ease; however, she hadn’t the heart to tell him the parrot had messed down his jacket.
In the kitchen, Lorraine sang along to the radio as she cracked egg after egg into a glass bowl and began beating them with a wooden spoon.
Half expecting to see her father at the table, Rachel looked surprised as only George and Stewart greeted her with broad smiles.
‘Good morning, gentlemen and welcome to Cooks’ café,’ she said frivolously. ‘We’re open from seven to four on weekdays – now, would you like a complimentary buttered crumpet to start the day?’
Lorraine placed a thick pile of buttered crumpets on the table. ‘Here you go, boys – eat them before they get cold. I’ll just check up on the bacon – oh, Rachel, have you decided on breakfast?’ she added wearily.
‘I’ll have what these gentlemen are having, Mum.’
‘And I’ll have a pint of bitter, my good man – and have one yourself,’ squawked the parrot that hung upside down from the light fitting.
Rachel pulled up a chair and wondered why nobody took any notice of the chattering parrot. The Cooks’ cuckoo clock whirled on the wall.
The parrot flew down and landed on the shuttered pine house, where a dishevelled green songbird slowly hobbled out, blew a feeble raspberry and hobbled back into its home just as slowly.
The parrot gave a pitiful squawk and sulked.
‘That’s Reggie, Morag and Elspeth’s parrot – you met him last night,’ George told Rachel. ‘Reggie’s fallen in love with your songbird. I left him with the Grumpy Sailor’s barman. Apparently, Reggie wooed your father’s left shoulder all night,’ he added with a raised eyebrow.
‘Love at first sight, eh?’ Stewart scoffed. ‘Who would have thought?’
Looking dead on her feet, Lorraine dished out the rest of the breakfast fare: bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs and thick buttered toast littered the kitchen table. ‘Rachel – I’m going out to see Morag and Elspeth,’ she informed her. ‘They’re taking me to see some of their friends this morning. I might get lucky and sell some of my perfumes.’
‘When are you coming back, Mum?’
‘I’ll give you a ring when I’m done – see you later, boys…’
No sooner had Lorraine shut the front door, Stewart pulled a folded newspaper from his back pocket. ‘It’s all over the press this morning,’ he said with grim resolve. ‘PC Taylor’s death is headline news.’
‘Death by natural causes,’ George said. ‘Who are they trying to kid?’
‘Supernatural sand devil would sell more newspapers,’ added Rachel.
‘A shaky photograph would have sold ten times more,’ said Stewart.
‘I saw his face staring up at the... I – I don’t want to talk about it anymore,’ Rachel said, pushed the newspaper away and changed the subject. ‘So, do we have anything exciting planned for today?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to stick my head in your freezer?’ George asked Rachel. ‘The swelling on my head still refuses to go down.’
Stewart grinned. ‘We came up trumps and scrumped a little bit more than a few spare parts last night,’ he said winningly.
‘You mean you stole something?’ sighed Rachel heavily.
‘Three somethings actually. They were lying under some coffins,’ smiled Stewart. ‘Alfred spotted them. I’m sure he’s got x-ray vision.’
‘What did you steal from Gribbles?’ asked Rachel reluctantly.
‘Three multicycles,’ Steward beamed and placed a dog-eared advert in front of her. ‘It’s a stroke of luck they run on Grubbins’ honey.’
Rachel read Stewart’s shabby leaflet twice over. ‘It says the powered multicycles can move in any direction,’ she said unimpressed. ‘Sounds a load of hogwash to me. You know they’ll say anything to sell rubbish.’
‘Well, you can find out for yourself this morning,’ Stewart told her.
‘Um – we’re all underage and not a driving license between us – so where are we going to ride them?’ demanded Rachel at once.
‘Don’t worry, Rachel,’ Stewart replied. ‘Where we’ll be riding even the police fear to tread,’ he added slyly.
✽✽✽
‘Thank you, Mrs Mullins and good luck with your driving test tomorrow,’ said Rachel to the elderly woman who had just given them a lift, much to the displeasure of her irate driving instructor, who bellowed directions into her deaf ear, as she had a couple of near misses and a slight mishap.
‘Now, I’m not sure which one I’m going to feel sorry for tomorrow,’ Stewart snorted. ‘Her clapped out old car – or the driving examiner.’
‘The long queue behind us didn’t seem very friendly,’ added George.
‘I think Mrs Mullins has forgotten her car has a second gear,’ said Rachel, somewhat annoyed. ‘I hope Gladys gets her tram fixed soon.’
‘Welcome to the oldest part of town – a sprawling reminder of days gone by and Victorian ingenuity,’ said Stewart in an overinflated voice.
‘You sound like a tour guide, Stew,’ scoffed Rachel.
‘Now, remember all of the buildings around here are unsafe, so it pays to be vigilant because a loud bang might bring them all down,’ said Stewart ominously. ‘Hey, I can see William and Alfred down by – oh, they’re waving at us. C’mon you two – this is where the fun begins…’
Rachel eyed the sky with suspicion. The local weather forecaster had predicted good weather for Lower-Inkcome-by-the-sea, but she had her doubts, as a bunch of moody clouds had just rolled in from the north.
‘About time you turned up,’ said William irksomely.
‘Well, we here now,’ said Rachel. ‘Is that Jack down there?’
‘Yes – and he’s with Mary,’ Alfred replied. ‘He’s getting to grips with the multicycle, and I think he’s better than you now, Stew.’
Stewart snorted. ‘We’ll see – we’ll see,’ he mocked playfully.
Jack joined them. ‘It takes some getting used to – but I think I’ve mastered the basics,’ he said. ‘Hullo, Rachel – you haven’t met Mary.’
‘You’ve been lucky up to now,’ muttered William under his breath.
The pencil-thin girl, with waist-long brunette hair, dismounted the multicycle. ‘I heard what you did to Henry,’ she told Rachel as they shook hands. ‘I’ve been on the end of his cruel tongue on too many occasions at work – and I doubt they’re as many snakes as slippery as him.’
‘I thought Alice was joining us?’ Rachel asked.
‘Alice is working my shift today,’ Mary replied. ‘She’s sorry she went off in a temper. She’s going to meet up with the rest of us later.’
Stewart coughed. ‘I think a tandem race should put these beauties through their paces,’ he interrupted. ‘I’m itching to get started.’
‘Where do we turn around at?’ Alfred asked.
‘How about Gribble’s Undertakers?’ William replied.
‘Perfect – oh, hang on a mo,’ said Stewart. ‘Someone’s got to stay behind to officiate the proceedings and ensure it’s all above board.’
‘I’ll stay,’ Mary offered. ‘Anyway, I don’t feel safe on those things.’
‘So, Jack – who’s going to be your pillion passenger?’ Stewart asked.
‘I’ll take Rachel,’ he replied. ‘No doubt she’ll be safer with me.’
‘Right, I’ll take Alfred,’ said Stewart.
‘That leaves you with me, George,’ beamed William.
‘Watch William,’ Alfred told George. ‘He’s always been a risk-taker.’
‘OK, everyone, mount up…’ said Stewart and leapt onto his saddle.
✽✽✽
Rachel smelt the sweet-smelling fumes of the multicycles. The engines purred away like three contented cats. Their gyroscopic wheels spun slowly – kicking up plumes of dust along the litter-strewn street.
Jack wiggled the two joysticks that hugged the black bulbous fuel tank and adjusted the double-curved wing mirrors that stuck out on stalks, reflecting the old town back at him. There weren’t any useful dials on the multicycle – just an odd-looking glass thermometer that sat between the black frame and sweptback handlebar.
‘Shouldn’t we be wearing crash helmets?’ Rachel asked.
These contraptions are pretty safe,’ William imparted. ‘Here, watch this,’ he added quickly and let go of his multicycle.
Rachel hadn’t expected the multicycle to stay upright, but it had, and its engine purred even louder than before.
‘Whoever invented these multicycles must be a mechanical genius,’ said Stewart, sounding thoroughly impressed.
‘And there are most certainly dead by now,’ added Alfred. ‘These things are as old as Bumble’s candyfloss machine.’
Mary gave Jack an affectionate kiss on the cheek (however, William and Alfred looked horrified and appeared as if they were going to be sick).
‘Try and stay in one piece, Jack,’ pleaded Mary as she hugged him.
‘Rachel will be my guardian angel,’ he smiled.
‘Do you have a handkerchief about your person?’ Stewart asked Mary. ‘It would be fun if you can start the race with it.’
‘A lady is never without one,’ Mary sniggered and delved into her handbag, and bought out a garish green one. ‘Ah, this one will do nicely.’
‘All right, you lot – it’s time to line up,’ said Stewart giddily. ‘When the handkerchief hits the ground, it’s everyone for themselves!’
‘Hold on to my waist, Rachel,’ Jack said as she got in behind him.
Tensions mounted.
‘Ready… 3… 2… 1…’ said Mary.
The multicycles’ purring ramped up.
Mary’s handkerchief wavered for a split-second and then nosedived into the ground. She spluttered as their gyroscopic wheels created a sudden dust storm that sent her handkerchief high into the sombre sky.
With the dust clouds left far behind, Jack accelerated and made a beeline for Stewart, who had managed to get a good head start.
Rachel held Jack’s waist even tighter.
Jack’s long hair battled against the rush of wind as they shot passed building after abandoned building. Rachel looked over her shoulder at William and George, who had fallen far behind, but their multicycle suddenly veered to the right and vanished into one of the squalid streets.
‘RACHEL – HOLD ONTO YOUR STOMACH,’ Jack bellowed over his shoulder. ‘IT’S NOW A RACE OF WITS…’
Rachel’s stomach lurched as their multicycle turned instantaneously into a grotty narrow side street. With the odd-looking mirrors to steer sideways, they raced and rumbled along the cobblestones at right angles.
‘THERE GOES STEW,’ Rachel bellowed.
‘OK – I SEE HIM,’ Jack bellowed. ‘RIGHT, I’M GOING TO HAVE TO TAKE A RISKY SHORTCUT – NOW, HOLD ON TIGHT!’
Rachel didn’t like the sound of that, but she had no choice as their multicycle quickly bumped back down a short flight of stairs.
With a sore spine and bruised neck, Rachel’s head spun around, but she hadn’t the foggiest idea where she was or where the rest of the boys were, and she hadn’t seen any of them for the past couple of minutes –
William and George simply came out of nowhere. Stewart and Alfred were gaining on all of them, but they suddenly disappeared.
The three multicycles ploughed through the pounding rain.
Gribble’s undertakers loomed directly ahead of them. They rode past the building at breakneck speed, narrowing avoiding the neglected sign that had fallen across the footpath and into the street.
‘WE’RE ON THE HOME RUN,’ Jack shouted, but he swerved violently, as Stewart and Alfred reappeared, racing out of the market square at great speed – almost slamming into Rachel’s leg as they caught up.
Almost neck and neck, the two multicycles vied for the finishing line.
The rain came down in torrents; the gusting winds drove the rain sideways that took Jack’s glasses with it. Cursing under his breath, he threw himself onto the fuel tank and bellowed at Rachel to do the same.
Jack’s quick thinking had given them the edge. ‘WE’RE GOING TO WIN – WE’RE GOING TO WIN –’ he began.
But overcome with the feeling of utter dread, Rachel choked on her tongue, and she couldn’t breathe as the silver blur slammed into them.
Her head spun with the multicycle, and with an almighty crunching sound, she saw nothing but Jack’s hair as she fell sideways.
Seconds later, her body smashed into something soft and squishy that crumpled easily under her dead weight.
Gulping down deep breaths of brisk sea air, she rolled away from the black bags that had broken her fall. Through the driving rain, her eyes squinted across the soaked street, and she screamed out Jack’s name.
Rachel rushed to her feet.
Lying with his head up against a marble water fountain, Jack coughed and spluttered up blood. She went down on her knees, forcing herself to stare into his battered bruised face, and the stomach-turning serrated cut above his right temple that went deep down to the bone.
Calmly, Stewart called the emergency services. ‘The ambulance and police are on their way,’ he told Rachel, but his face turned pale as Jack’s blood dripped down his neck, sullying the fountain’s crystal-clear water.
George ripped his jacket off and dropped down beside Rachel.
Together, they carefully lifted Jack’s head away from the edge of the fountain and pressed the folded jacket against his gaping neck wound.
‘Jack… Jack, can you hear me?’ Rachel implored.
His eyes slowly fluttered open, and she bent down so she could hear him above the driving squall that lashed her spirits as well as her back.
‘I – I didn’t see it coming,’ Jack whispered, his wild eyes bursting with fear. ‘The – the s-silver phantom came f-from nowhere.’
Distant sounds of sirens echoed all around them.
Rachel leaned in close; Jack’s face smelt of blood and fear, and her scar throbbed as she squeezed his icy cold hand. ‘Help’s on its way, Jack – just hold on,’ she told him soothingly. ‘I won’t leave you – I promise.’
Jack grimaced. ‘I’m so scared of losing Mary,’ he shivered.
‘Mary’s coming, Jack – she’s coming,’ said Rachel tenderly.
‘I – I can hear them calling me,’ rambled Jack, the tremor in his voice laced with foreboding. ‘I’m not strong enough to keep them all back.’
‘He’s getting delirious,’ said George. ‘Where’s that damn ambulance?’
Through Jack’s pleading bloodshot eyes, he commanded, ‘Promise me, Rachel – promise me you’ll bring Mary back to me…’
‘I promise, Jack – I swear I’ll bring her back to you,’ she wept openly, squeezing his hand more tenderly, not caring her scar hurt even more.
Jack’s face drew comfort from her calming words and returned her reassuring squeeze. His chest rose and fell, and his cold crystalline eyes stared up at the brooding sky that darkened as he took his last breath.
Flashing blue lights lit up the street. The ambulance rumbled along the wet cobblestones and came to a halt beside the swelling crowd. Umbrellas parted as two medics rushed over towards the water fountain.
‘Excuse me, Miss – but we need to get to the patient.’
Rachel stared up into the uniformed man’s concerned face. ‘But I promised him – I promised I wouldn’t leave him,’ she replied inconsolably.
‘WHERE’S JACK – WHERE’S JACK –?’
The crowd parted once more.
Thoroughly drenched to the skin, Mary stood rigid to the spot – shocked by what she saw. With hesitant steps, she reached Jack’s body and dropped to her trembling knees.
Rachel felt Mary’s undying love for Jack overwhelming, and her anguished emotions threatened to overpower her own.
Mary took Jack’s other hand, kissed it and held it against her cheek. ‘Wherever you are, Jack – just remember… remember my heart will always belong to you – and I promise it always will,’ she said and fell against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably, but as Rachel went to comfort her, a pair of hands pulled her gently to her feet.
The familiar musty smell of perfume brought her back to her senses, and she wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist. The street filled with a screeching siren, then a slamming door and hurried footsteps.
Out of the crowd, a tall man stepped forward and removed his flap cap. Rachel broke away from her mother’s embrace and stared at him.
In plain clothes, Ian Inchman gave her a nod of understanding, and she understood she wasn’t alone in her grief.
✽✽✽
The Cooks’ doorbell rang.
‘It’s time, Rachel,’ Lorraine told her softly and kissed her head.
Rachel opened the front door. Ian Inchman stood glumly on her doorstep dressed in his full policeman’s uniform. They said nothing as they walked towards the black saloon car. As the chauffeur opened the door, she gave her parents a resigned smile as they waved her goodbye.
The police horses pulled the glass carriages down the High Street.
They battled against the turbulent weather that had whipped up a raging storm. Lining the packed pavement, the town’s people paid their last respects and lowered their heads as the coffins went by.
✽✽✽
As her husband began his final journey, Hilary Taylor sobbed into Ian’s shoulder. Rachel stood over Simon Taylor’s coffin and held his children’s hands as they cried at their father’s grave.
When the vicar’s sermon had finally concluded, Rachel grabbed a handful of dirt and paid her respects to a man she would never get to know. As she let the earth fall onto his coffin, she heard the vicar’s moving words as he said, ‘Your soul will always beat in the hearts of those who love you – may you find solace knowing that.’
Rachel led Hilary’s children back towards the saloon car.
A hand rested upon her shoulder. Ian managed to raise a reassuring smile. ‘Hilary wanted me to thank you for coming to the funeral – and for comforting her children,’ he told her warmly.
‘Do you want me to come to the wake?’ Rachel asked.
Ian shook his head. ‘Your parents and friends will miss you if you don’t go to the funeral,’ he said. ‘And I believe Jack would miss you, too.’
‘I didn’t know Jack very well,’ Rachel replied.
‘But you were with him when he needed you the most,’ Ian said, ‘and that’s the makings of a true friend.’
✽✽✽
Rachel stood on the highest hillock for miles around.
In amongst the crumbling gravestones, she faced the wild ocean waves and wallowed in misery. The stormy clouds reflected her dire mood as she watched Jack’s family, friends and colleagues congregate around his open grave. Every time she put a foot forward to join them, she held back, recalling Jack’s cold staring eyes.
The oak trees lumbered back and forth in the storm that came ashore early that morning, hampering the mourners as they paid their respects.
Rachel suddenly jumped, startled by the man that had stepped out from the trunk of the tallest oak.
‘Sorry, but am I disturbing you?’
‘No – no, you’re not,’ Rachel replied.
The dapper clean-shaven man drew near. He wore a black suit and tie with a dazzling crisp white shirt; his black bowler hat almost hid his greying temples. He leant on his black umbrella and peered down at the mourners. ‘It’s hard enough to face one’s own mortality – but it’s an insurmountable climb to face that of a loved one or a friend,’ he told her.
Rachel stared into the man’s kind face. ‘I – I just can’t face them,’ she said sorrowfully, wringing her hands. ‘I’ve just paid my respects to someone I never even knew. I just can’t go through that again!’
The man looked at her with sad eyes. ‘It’s not your family or friends you cannot face. You must put your guilt aside and live the life he’ll never have,’ he urged. ‘If nothing else – you owe that much to your friend.’
Rachel’s smile broke free. ‘I’m Rachel Cook,’ she said and held out her hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you… Mr?’
‘I’m Doctor Gloucester – I’m an old friend of the family,’ he said and returned her handshake with one of the brightest smiles she’d ever seen.
‘Doctor Gloucester… um, would you come and pay your respects?’ she asked. ‘I think my friend Jack would appreciate it.’
‘I would be honoured, Rachel,’ he nodded and fumbled with his enormous umbrella. ‘And please call me Gilbert – all my friends do.’
Impervious to the blustery weather that battered the hillock, he held his umbrella over them and gave her a potted history of Lower-Inkcome-by-the-sea as they snaked their way down the shingled path.