The Penny Black by Rob Parker

Author:Rob Parker [Parker, Rob]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2019-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

It’s a beautiful morning, and I left an even more beautiful woman sleeping in my bed. I still can’t quite believe it, and I haven’t stopped smiling yet. Happy as I was, I was still restless, so I got up and dragged Bear out for a wander. Feels like the dawn of something new, and I want to savour it.

“Bear! Where are you, come on!” I shout. Last I saw of that daft dog was his backside sprinting into this barn, through a parting in the wooden slats. He ran in after what I can only imagine was a rat, spotted when I had taken him outside so he could relieve himself before breakfast. I didn’t see it, but Bear went, like most dogs do when they spot something of interest, from placid to psychotic within the space of a second, and off he had bombed. I can’t hear him inside.

“Bear! Bear!” I shout, standing by the gap in the wood, hoping that he’ll follow my voice out. After a moment of prolonged silence, during which I think of nothing but Carolyn lying in my bed at the farmhouse, catching up on sleep after her day of travelling yesterday, I follow around the front of the barn which faces the yard, at the closed door. There’s a bounce in my step today that there hasn’t been for some time.

Cobwebs are smeared right across the front of the door like a primitive erase. It clearly hasn’t been opened for some time. I’m not that bothered about spiders, when I can see them. I don’t fancy a big bastard scuttling out at me, so I quickly split the web with my finger from top to bottom, and pull the door apart with a resonating squeak.

A cloud of dust literally puffs out at me, and I hack it away with my hand. It’s a large outbuilding to begin with, but comes across even bigger once inside. The high ceiling is dotted with cracks, that let soft sunlight rain through the dust clouds. Tractors stand proud yet mummified by the passage of time, thick with leaves and grime. I’m nearly overwhelmed by sadness until I pull myself together — this once thriving farm, Britain at its most earthen, was decimated by tragedy and economic strife. It’s a story that is not unique in this once-proud country. A lot has changed since I went away.

I stick to the task at hand, and try to find that daft dog. I call out to him again, and a shuffling further in the recesses of the cavernous space draws me in. I weave between two closely parked tractors, their wheels taller than myself at full height, and find the back wall. Nothing here, apart from stacked machine parts, all rusted down to valueless junk. Another shame. Suddenly, Bear yaps off to my left, and I go to him, still unable to see him. Hunkered down in front of me, swaddled by a discoloured, mould-ridden cloth tarp, is something with wheels — I can see the bottom of the tyres beneath the hem of the cover.

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