Constable & Toop by Gareth P. Jones

Author:Gareth P. Jones
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Publisher: Hot Key Books
Published: 2012-08-05T21:00:00+00:00

36

What If . . .

Clara was standing outside a pub called the Boar’s Head. It was the address on her list that was nearest to Aysgarth House. In the second column was the name Paddy O’Twain. If it really was a list of haunted houses then Mr O’Twain was the name of its resident ghost. Clara had never been inside a pub and had to summon up the courage to enter.

For some reason her thoughts drifted back to school, when she used to play a game with the other girls called What If, in which they would try to answer questions they dreamt up. Most of her friends came up with questions like What if a prince wanted to marry you? or What if you could buy any dress in the world? But it was always Clara’s questions that had them all in fits of giggles. What if you were kidnapped by pirates? What if your parents were eaten by baboons? What if you could travel to the moon? She thought about that game now as she wondered, What if you found a list of haunted houses?

The answer, she felt, was that you would go and investigate them.

Clara pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside. The pub smelt of tobacco, beer and sweat, but the atmosphere was convivial and not as intimidating as she had expected. Businessmen and tradesmen chatted and laughed amongst themselves. The large Irish landlady behind the bar with her red hair tied up over her head asked, ‘What can I get you, lovey?’ whilst pulling a pint with one hand and pouring a spirit with the others.

‘I’m not here for a drink,’ replied Clara.

‘You say you want a gin?’ replied the lady, who was only half listening.

‘No, I don’t want a drink,’ repeated Clara.

The landlady handed a customer the pint, winked at him and said, more for his benefit than Clara’s, ‘That’s a shame, because it’s only drinks we sell here.’

The customer laughed.

‘I’m looking for a Paddy O’Twain,’ said Clara.

‘I’m afraid we’re all out of those too,’ replied the woman, earning another laugh.

‘I think he used to work here,’ said Clara.

‘Now, there’s a debatable point if I ever heard one. Paddy was my husband. I’m Mrs O’Twain. And, well, let’s just say that work was never a strong point of Paddy’s.’ With all the customers served, the woman turned her full attention to Clara. ‘Now, why would a pretty young thing come here asking after my dead husband? You’re no debt-collector. So what is it? And please don’t tell me you’re a long-lost daughter come in search of her father, because I’d suspect you of reading too many novels. Besides, I’m afraid all you’d be set to inherit would be a house full of drunkards and a bundle of debts.’

‘I’m not,’ said Clara. ‘May I ask how long ago he died?’

Mrs O’Twain grabbed a cloth and wiped down the bar. ‘It’s getting on for six years now, but debt collectors still come crawling out of the woodwork occasionally.

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