Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) (39 page)

The
old girl, sitting cross-legged on the ground, was stirring an iron pot with a
large wooden spoon or possibly a small paddle, with Hobbes squatting beside
her, whittling a whistle from a small stick. Despite, or possibly because of,
his weird costume and behaviour, I had to admit he’d done an amazing job at
fitting in. No one would suspect him of being a policeman: he was quite
obviously a nutter.

I
sprawled on the grass next to Dregs while the old girl dished up, pulling in
quite an audience. Sad people with hungry eyes swallowed, gazing at the steam
swirling from the gurgling pot, the pot that was sending out such enticing
aromas. When, at last, they turned away, trudging towards the burger vans, I
had never before felt so privileged and lucky. When she handed me a bowl, with
a hunk of fresh, crusty bread and a spoon, I could barely wait for Hobbes to
say grace. Hunger, fresh air and exquisite cooking had given me an appetite and
I regret I rather stuffed myself, fearful any might go to waste, or be offered
to the passing throng. Though undoubtedly selfish, I’d challenge anyone to
resist another bite of the old girl’s cooking. A bottle of the good wine added
extra zest to the meal.

When
we’d finished, I asked if I could help with the washing up.

‘Oh
no, dear,’ she said, smiling. ‘Why don’t you boys run along and enjoy
yourselves.’

Sometimes,
I thought, she had all the right answers. We sat watching Simon and Garth Ingle
perform a set of whimsical folky songs, Dregs howling and, in my view, improving
the performance. However, some people seemed to want to listen, so eventually
we led him away, paying a quick visit to the beer tent.

‘A
pint of lager and two quarts of “Old Gutbuster” please, man,’ said Hobbes to
the barmaid.

Taking
our drinks, we sat in the evening sun. Though Hobbes gulped down two pints in a
matter of seconds, I sipped at mine, feeling far too full to take on copious
amounts. My thoughts kept returning to Violet and, halfway through my drink, I came
to a decision.

‘I’m
going to find Violet,’ I said.

Hobbes
nodded. ‘Good idea. Would you like me to come with you? In case Mr King starts
anything?’

‘Thanks,’
I said, ‘but I’d rather do this on my own. I’ll be alright. See you later.’

I
got up, searching the crowd, examining every face, as bands came and went, some
of them rather good, making me wish I could share them with her. I didn’t see
her, or Felix, or any of his men. In the end, when darkness had fallen except
for the stage lighting, I gave up and watched No One You’ve Ever Heard Of.
Their music was noisy with a pounding beat and the band, giving the performance
of a lifetime, almost revived my spirits, making me cheer along with all the
others. Hobbes joined me for a short time and then wandered off to ensure there
was no trouble. I didn’t think there would be; everybody seemed intent on
enjoying themselves.

The
band finishing, I returned to the tent, removing my shoes and crawling under the
blankets. To start with, Dregs lay across my feet, welcome warmth, on a clear
night with a steady breeze. I lay, yawning, trying to sleep, the ground even
harder and lumpier than it had looked, people far too noisy. It became apparent
that, despite exhaustion, I would never drop off. My fidgeting disturbed Dregs,
who, sighing, wandered out into the night. After about half an hour, remembering
I hadn’t brushed my teeth, I dragged myself from beneath the covers, found my
toothbrush and a towel and headed for the washrooms, shivering in the night
air.

Just
about everyone had moved away from the silent stage, now lit only by starlight
and the crescent moon. Small groups of people, sprawling in the grass, sitting
on stools, laughed and talked, as if no one else planned on sleeping that
night. An assortment of teenagers were attempting rudimentary cooking on an
open fire, impaling sausages on sticks, but the bottles and cans surrounding
them suggested why they were not enjoying much success. As another sausage
flared up in a blaze of glory, they roared with laughter. I doubted they’d get
much to eat; they didn’t appear to mind.

Finding
the washrooms, I blinked under the strip light until, a basin becoming free, I
brushed my teeth, made a brave attempt at washing in cold water, and headed
back across the field. I paused to watch a bare-chested tumbler’s wobbly
one-man display. When he collapsed amidst great cheers, I turned away, bumping
into a woman. Her perfume was powerful and heady.

‘Oops
… umm … sorry,’ I said.

‘Andy?’

‘Oh
… umm … Violet … Hi.’

‘Well,’
said Violet, ‘I suppose I should be grateful you’ve remembered my name.’

‘Of
course I have,’ I said. ‘I’m so glad I bumped into you – I’ve been … umm …
looking for you all night.’

She
glanced at my towel and toothbrush. ‘Have you?’

‘Yes,
really.’

Even
in semi-darkness, she looked stunning, her eyes reflecting the crescent moon,
her dark, lustrous hair gleaming over her shoulders. Another whiff of her
perfume reached my nostrils. ‘I’ve been trying to see you ever since the
accident … I really have.’

‘Oh,
yes? I was in hospital; I assume you know where that is?’

She
wouldn’t look me in the face, despite my best efforts.

‘Yes
… but …’

‘You
couldn’t even bother to get in touch when they released me. A token interest
would have been polite.’

‘I
wanted to talk to you. I did try.’

‘Did
you? How hard is it to pick up a telephone?’

‘But
I hadn’t got your number,’ I said, realising how utterly useless I must be
presenting myself.

‘Ever
heard of directory enquiries? Anyway, you could have asked Felix.’

‘I
did, but he wouldn’t …’

‘Wouldn’t
what?’

Her
voice was harsh and cold and it hurt to hear it like that. I hesitated,
wondering if I should just tell her what he’d said, fearing she wouldn’t
believe me.

‘Umm
… he … umm … suggested it might be better if I … we didn’t see each other
again.’

‘And
you didn’t think it worthwhile to ask me?’

‘Yes,
I did … but …’

‘Is
this man bothering you?’ asked one of Felix’s men, tall, burly, with a head as
smooth as a pickled-onion, approaching from the darkness.

Before
she could answer, before I could think, but not before I could squeak, he
frogmarched me across the field.

‘It
would,’ he said, politely enough, had he not been crushing my shoulder, ‘be an
excellent idea for you to stop hassling Miss King. If you are tempted, resist
it. If you don’t, you are likely to find yourself in deep shit. You know what I’m
saying?’

When
I nodded, he released me.

‘Good
night,’ he said, turning back the way he’d come.

Unable
to see Violet anymore, I realised she might have been almost anywhere in the
darkness, so all I could do was return to the tent and reflect on our chance
meeting. It had not been a success and, although, the interruption hadn’t
helped, I couldn’t fool myself that it had been going well before that. Knowing
she believed I hadn’t wanted to see her, hadn’t even wanted to make sure she
was alright, hurt as much as her cold voice. More painful though, was my
shoulder, which, I suspected, would be displaying a hand-sized bruise by the
morning.

My
response to the henchman must have impressed her. If she’d been thinking ‘what
are you, Andy, man or mouse?’ then my pathetic squeak would have confirmed her
suspicions. I wished I’d had the guts to take Mrs Goodfellow’s martial arts
classes. If I had, I might not have been such a wimp.

It was too late of course, so, crawling back
into the tent like the mouse I was, curling up under the blankets, I lay awake
for what seemed like hours, futile regrets churning through my brain. I didn’t
expect to drop off.

Hobbes
shook me from deep sleep. ‘Wake up!’

‘What’s
happening?’ I asked, snuggling deeper into the blankets.

‘Trouble.’

‘Oh,
right. I don’t suppose you’ll need me.’

Though
my nose, my only exposed part, was cold, my bedding was warm and, to my
astonishment, comfortable.

‘Get
your boots on,’ said Hobbes, ‘and quickly.’ He tugged the blankets off me,
except for the one I was clutching to my face.

I
sat up, bleary and cross. He bundled me from the tent, sitting me down in front
with my shoes. People were running backwards and forwards, making panicky
noises as I struggled with my laces, the brisk breeze making me shiver and wrap
my blanket around my shoulders. In the distance, a girl screamed, a faint orange
glow became an intense red flame and I became aware of the stink of burning
plastic. Something bad was happening.

‘They’re
setting fire to tents,’ said Hobbes. ‘Follow me.’

Unable
to make sense of shoelaces, I stumbled after him, shoes flapping, trying not to
trip. When another tent flared up, his easy lope became a sprint and, on
reaching it, he dived head-long into the inferno, as if into a swimming pool.
Smoke and flames, bursting high into the night sky, rolled and twisted in the
wind, casting shifting, fractured, red light over the crowd. People were
coughing as the smoke billowed around the field.

The
tent erupting with sparks and flaming fragments, Hobbes burst forth like a
rocket from the launch pad, a limp body beneath each arm. I was still running
as he laid them on the grass and, without thinking, pulling the blanket from my
shoulders, I threw it over the nearest figure, beating out the smouldering
patches, realising it was a young woman cocooned within a sleeping bag. Despite
the smoke and fumes, I could smell the alcohol on her breath as she started to
come awake.

‘What
the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ she asked, ‘Get off me.’

An
arm emerged and dealt a stinging slap across my face. With no time to explain,
ripping the blanket from her, I spread it over the other figure, patting out
any smoking bits. On looking up, I saw Hobbes rolling on the ground, his head
ablaze. I grabbed the blanket but before I could get to him, he tore off his
head and tossed it to the ground.

I
screeched, an incoherent outpouring of horror, feeling sick, staring stunned
and uncomprehending, as he leapt to his feet, stamping out the blaze. Only then
did I realise that he’d simply torn off his hippie hat and wig.

‘Are
you alright?’ I asked.

‘Never
better,’ he said, ‘though I was, maybe, a little hot-headed diving in like
that, if not as hot-headed as I was getting out. I appear to be a little
singed. It’ll pass.’

Despite
everything, I chuckled, before spluttering, the swirling, acrid smoke catching
the back of my throat.

Hobbes,
still smoking slightly, patted me on the back. ‘You did well. It was good
thinking to bring that blanket.’

He
turned away and attended to the two he’d rescued. I knelt beside them as the
girl, who looked familiar, unzipped herself.

‘You!’
she said, looking up at me and frowning.

‘I’m
still not Wayne,’ I said.

‘I’m
sorry,’ she said. ‘I mean, I’m sorry I hit you, not that you’re not Wayne.’

‘Don’t
worry about it. I’m alright. You didn’t hit me hard. Are you hurt?’

‘I’m
OK.’ She coughed. ‘Your lip’s bleeding, I’m sorry; I thought you were Wayne
trying it on. And I’m really sorry I stitched you up this afternoon.’

‘What
d’you mean? That was on purpose? Why?’

She
looked away. ‘Some bloke gave me twenty quid to jump on you.’

‘Who?’

‘I
don’t know. A tall guy in a suit … quite old: older than you, anyway. He said
you were a bastard who was trying it on with his sister and I was to show her
what you were like. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t
worry about it,’ I said, despite seething – not at her, not much, but at Felix.
Turning towards the other casualty, who was lying very still, I asked Hobbes
how he was.

‘He
appears to be dead …’

The
girl screamed, clapping a hand across her mouth.

Hobbes
held up his hands, shaking his head. ‘I was trying to say that he appears to be
dead drunk. Otherwise, he seems alright apart from his hair. He’ll not be
needing a cut for a while.’

‘Fetch
water!’ he roared at the crowd, getting to his feet, tearing down burning
tents, three of which were already ablaze, others being in imminent danger as
the breeze whipped up sparks and flame.

A
few individuals, getting past the gawping stage, set up a chain from a
standpipe, hurling containers of water onto the conflagrations. I joined them
and, under the command of Mrs Goodfellow’s team, with Hobbes’s demolitions
providing a firebreak, it wasn’t too long before we were in control. When the
fire brigade turned up, at last, there wasn’t much left to do, other than
damping down the remaining hot spots.