The Last Lord Of The Moors by Isabella Brooke

Author:Isabella Brooke [Brooke, Isabella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

It clouded over during the late afternoon. Richard found himself glaring at the last few stragglers, willing them to get a move on and disappear. He wanted to continue with the clearing-up, and he wanted to go home.

He could feel his grumpy mood growing and he started to regret inviting Helena back for chili. Chili! What was I thinking? He knew he’d laid it on far too thick - all that business about pigs, for God’s sake. He cringed, and it made him feel angrier. He nearly growled as a plump, harassed woman with three small children approached him. She held one toddler by his arm, almost dangling him in the air, and her other hand was balancing a cigarette. He couldn’t hold his tongue.

“Passive smoking kills. I am sure you love your children very much so please don’t smoke near them.”

Her slack mouth dropped open and she snarled back. “It’s none of your business. Anyway we’re outside. And I only wanted to say thanks for this. I know who you are. It’s true what they say, then. You’re a right miserable bastard.”

The children appeared unconcerned by their mother’s language, but Richard said, “Please. Have a care for them. Yes, I am miserable. Being outside doesn’t make a lot of difference when you’re that close to them with your cigarette, like you are.”

She looked him up and down, nearly hissed, and dragged her kids away, leaving a trail of smoke and obscenity behind her.

Larkin was right, he thought glumly as he continued his perambulations around the field, litter-picker in hand. We really are fucked up by our parents, whether they mean to or not.

He kept catching sight of Helena as he worked his way around, filling bag after bag with rubbish. Her short strawberry-blonde hair was spiked in all directions, a result of spending all day pushing her hand through it in exasperation. She was usually with others, so he couldn’t approach her for a chat.

Her face was tired, but she kept on laughing and talking and smiling and nodding. Richard felt uncomfortably like a voyeur as she was engulfed in an expansive hug by Henderson Henderson, and the band surrounded them both, ringing bells and congratulating themselves.

She was popular. How had she done that? She’d lived in Arkthwaite for just a few months, and here she was - her and Vicky - heroines of the hour.

He stabbed at a crumpled drinks can with his grabber and managed to tip stale liquid onto his shoe. He groaned and tore his eyes away from Helena, and stamped off to the farthest corner of the field to attack a pile of discarded napkins and wrappers.

Five o’clock dragged itself around and finally the blue gates were closed. The stall holders packed up and the bunting was taken down. The goth girl pumped out some happy eighties music through the loudspeakers as it was all hands on deck to get the field cleared while people still had the energy to move.

He found himself

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