Free Bone Idle by Suzette Hill Page B

much else. (You have to listen really hard when humans talk to each other – and most of it’s gobbledygook anyway.) Then after the fat one had written something in his notebook and told me to ‘be a good dog then’, they went on down the path to the gate. I was glad to see them go as they were standing in the way of me getting at that cake – which I did NOT have to share with O’Shaughnessy!

11
     

The Vicar’s Version
     
     
    It took ages getting out of London, not helped by the fact that I discovered the petrol gauge was teetering on empty and filling-stations perversely self-effacing. However, I found one at last, and feeling a trifle more relaxed could concentrate on negotiating my way to the Brighton road.
    This eventually achieved, I started to think about Nicholas and presenting him with the pig from Poona – or the Beano Bone Idol as it was officially known. I had to admit to being rather pleased by my ‘coup’ and trusted that he would be duly grateful. After all, he could hardly accuse me of making a cock-up this time, and might even offer to stand me supper or certainly a couple of drinks at the Old Schooner where we had arranged to meet. After the dramas of the day I suddenly felt rather in need of strong libations and glad we were meeting in the warmth of the hotel and not in the dubious domesticity of his home (wherever that might be, for I still didn’t know). I wondered if he would bring the so far faceless Eric, but hoped not. For a reason I could not quite define, I was reluctant to confront either his pad or his pal. Perhaps anonymity on both counts helped to preserve the sense of unreality and keep the nightmare in check … the more I could keep aloof from the grasp of their raffish world the better!
    I pushed on through the gathering dusk, and once beyond Hickstead began looking for a telephone box from which to announce my arrival. Naturally no such thing materialized until the precise moment when I had a large saloon with blazing headlamps right on my tail. But I was loath to miss the opportunity and, quickly signalling, swerved a trifle abruptly into the kerb and came to a skidding halt. With screaming klaxon and flashing lights the saloon roared past, and despite the gloom I had a brief glimpse of an irate driver and fulminating passenger. For a tense moment I thought they might stop and come back and remonstrate – or worse! But fortunately it sped on, still hooting, into the night.
    Muttering oaths I scrambled out on to the grass, and was halfway towards the kiosk when I remembered the pig in the glove box. I suppose I was becoming paranoid, but after the earlier fiasco I was nervous of letting the thing out of my sight until ‘safe’ in Ingaza’s avid grasp. I returned to fetch it, found the requisite coins, and after some fumbling was able to get through almost immediately.
    ‘Wotcha, Francis,’ bellowed Eric’s voice, ‘so you’re on yer way all right! Got the goods, ’ave yer?’
    I assured him that I had the goods.
    ‘Righto. I’ll tell His Nibs to look smartish. In the bath he is – always likes a good sluice before doing business, especially with an old mate! Anyway, I expect he’ll be there before you. Can’t hang about, old son, big darts bash at the Anchor. I’m their only ’ope!’ And with a thundering guffaw he rang off.
    I was relieved about the darts match, annoyed at being cast as ‘old mate’; but didn’t know whether to be flattered by Ingaza’s careful ablutions, or piqued that unlike me – harried by the drive and the day’s events – he had the leisure for such matters. I could have done with a relaxing bath myself – but even more so with a relaxing drink! And spurred by that prospect I returned to the car and pressed on to the south coast.
    *   *   *
    Eighteen months previously the Old Schooner had played a brief but major part in my muddled life. It was there that I had fled after my terrible event in Foxford Wood; and it was there