Free The Fearful by Keith Gray

hold of Tim’s hand.
    Scott chuckled quietly and held up his own hands as if in submission. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said to Tim. ‘No offence. Didn’t realize.’
    Tim didn’t know what to say. ‘Jenny?’
    She glanced at him over her shoulder.
    He fought for a good-sense argument. ‘What if . . .?’
    â€˜Just cover for me.
And don’t tell Dad
.’
    He watched her hurry along the shore with the students on either side. He was amazed at the strength of her disobedience. And put out that she was going to the one place he’d always wished he could go himself.

The Fearful
    RELUCTANTLY TIM FOLLOWED Sarah into the house, into the kitchen, where everybody was enjoying the warmth of tea and gossip. It crossed his mind to tell his mother about Jenny, but he knew he’d never stoop so low. He wondered if she’d bump into Roddy Morgan, but reckoned that was her own lookout. He’d only just managed to get his coat off when he was cornered by a conspiratorial Cagey Brown.
    â€˜Tim, Tim. Just the chap. Can I have a word, eh?’ He moved even closer, pinning Tim against the wall. He was short, bald, with chunky metal glasses, and always wore saggy woolly jumpers that smelled of cat’s pee. At least, Tim hoped it was the jumpers. He spoke in what he must have thought was a whisper. ‘I know your dad’s never been too keen on me helping him out, but, you know, if you’re ever stuck or worried or anything . . .? It’d be a pleasure. Absolutely. I’d be glad to help. So, I’m just saying, don’t ever feel shy about calling on me, if you need me, if I can help. I’d be glad to.’
    Tim thanked him uncertainly.
    Cagey kept on smiling. ‘You’d be surprised what I can get. I could fill that feed sack for you quick and easy. AndI know, I know, you’ve got ties to Gregory and his butcher’s.’ He cast a quick, anxious eye around the kitchen to make sure Sarah’s dad hadn’t returned from his duties out on the lake just yet. He nodded as he talked. ‘I know that – what with him being your
dad’s
Underbearer. And he’s good at it; I’m not saying he’s not, am I? I’m not saying that. But maybe it’s time for a change. You know, in
your
eyes, when
you
become top man.’ He was still nodding, as if pushing for Tim’s affirmation.
    â€˜Thanks, Mr Brown. I appreciate it.’
    â€˜No, no, call me Brian. You’re the Mourner now. Well, as good as. And I just want you to know that I can fill the sack as well as Gregory’s butcher’s. No worries, yes? Mine’s only a small pet shop, I admit that, but as long as you know, I’m there if you need me.’
    Tim didn’t have a clue what to say. His forced smile was beginning to ache. He glanced around the room for help, looking for someone to escape to.
    The regulars were all here. Brian Brown, of course – called ‘Cagey’ by Tim and Jenny since they’d first visited his tiny pet shop and seen the shelves of wooden cages filled with shrill birds, scratting mice and dopey rabbits. (Tim had always quite liked that pet shop, had thought it looked cared for and clean, but Cagey’s words just now had certainly been the wrong side of weird for his tastes.) Nana Dalry and Mrs Kirkwooding were gossiping competitively with Nana’s neighbours, Tom and Rhonda Bye. Timid Mr and Mrs Hinton were quietly hiding in the corner by the oven. Ancient Eileen Such was being propped upright by thelibrarian Clive Tucker, both talking, as always, about years long gone and over-fondly remembered. The Jessop family were at one end of the table; the two young children constantly being told to stop fidgeting, to sit up straight, to say thank you, to stop fidgeting . . . Sarah’s mum was helping Anne by making more tea.
    It didn’t take a genius to work out that, apart from the Jessop kids, Tim, Jenny and Sarah