Shortfall by William Bowden

Author:William Bowden [Bowden, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: uploadable
Publisher: William Bowden
Published: 2016-09-04T00:00:00+00:00

WORM

The village pub is barely a stone’s throw from the green, and with the flower show finished, the old-boy farmers who had been plying youngsters with cider earlier in the day now cackle the evening away, supping at beer.

Frank is at the bar, waiting on the fresh pint the barman is pulling. It’s not so much the drink he needs, as the walk down from the farm. A way of winding down the day.

Bert Trummle sidles up to him.

“Mine’s a pint.”

“Go on, then,” says Frank reluctantly, a nod to the barman, but with nothing more for Bert. Frank’s not in the mood.

“Couple of strangers been poking about,” says a sly Bert. “Know anything about that?”

The barman places two fresh pints before them.

“Just they milk inspectors, is all,” says Frank. “The ones that caught Jack with a hose over the side of his tank.”

“Seen one bloke snooping around Dovecote,” Bert says quietly. “Odd sort an’ all. Then there’s that chap what bent Merv’s ear at market a while back.”

Frank sups his beer, avoiding eye contact with Bert, not wanting to be drawn in.

“Reckon it’s to do with the Mollos,” says Bert.

He isn’t going to let it go, and he’s not the only one who’s been speculating. But he is the worst. Frank turns Bert’s way, intent on curtailing the conversation, only to find them both being watched by those at a nearby table. Bert’s pals—farmers and labourers of his generation and younger, and of a sort not beyond spoiling for trouble.

“Me and the lads reckon the Mollos are rocking the boat,” says Bert. “Can’t get diesel all of a sudden. Strangers snooping around. Be us next.”

“Come on, Bert—”

“And that fire last year. Something not right about them Mollos. I’m telling you. Dovecote should have gone to a proper Devon family.”

“Well, it didn’t, did it. Bought fair an’ square it were.”

The onlookers rise from their table, lining up behind Bert in a show of support, their expressions grim and determined.

“Don’t want no I-ties round here,” says Bert. “Interfering with our way of life. And now that girl’s angling for your boy. Seen, she were—bold as brass. Worming their way in, they are.”

Frank’s not one for being got at and knows how to show it, nonchalantly taking another sip of his beer, the words unsaid. But Bert can see that even though Frank may not be with them, he’s to their way of thinking.

“Question is, Frank,” says Bert, jabbing his point home, “what are you going to do about it?”

* * *

Shim’s curled up in bed, fast asleep, her bedside clock ticking the hours away. It’s two in the morning.

TINK. The faintest of noises from outside—somewhere around the farmyard.

Shim’s eyes blink open, her breathing stops, and she holds herself still.

TINK.

A metallic sound, out of place, but still no clue as to its source.

TINK.

Shim sits bolt upright, holding still for a moment.

CLINK.

She leaps out of bed, and to the window, taking a peep through the curtains. Outside is bathed in moonlight, the full moon casting sharp shadows across the yard.

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