Free Haunted Fields by Dan Moore Page B

the three days that’d passed since the misunderstanding in the atrium of the cinema, he’d decided it would be for the best if he gave up his pursuit of Noel’s lookalike. There had to be a rational explanation, but it wasn’t his problem to solve. It must be a distant relative or something! he concluded.
    He’d kept his head down and worked hard since the incident, going out of his way to avoid contact with Scarlett. He hadn’t replied to any of the twelve text messages she’d sent him. The first few messages hadn’t been too bad. She’d commiserated him on bumping into the wrong policeman on the wrong day. But the general taste of the messages had soured with his failure to reply, so much so that the twelfth and final message had all but told him never to contact her again. That suits me just fine!
    He gripped the brush tightly (noticing that his hands had already toughened somewhat) and began sweeping the filth into piles, leaving a steadily growing cloud of dust behind him. He could feel the effect of the manual labour in his chest, and in his whole body. He felt fitter, stronger, more disciplined. He felt alive.
    But the repetitive, mundane nature of the work quickly sent his mind wandering. Every nook and cranny of the farm held opportunity. He considered the non-use of space, as well as the misuse of certain areas; a waste. Such a small farm, and an unprofitable farm at that, needed to make use of every square inch. He challenged himself, if only hypothetically, to come up with ideas which might turn Ridge Farm into a profitable enterprise once again.
    Turning the disused outbuildings into roadside stalls seemed a no-brainer, and making use of the farmhouse’s spare bedrooms as a bed and breakfast would also bring in extra income, but what else could be put to use?
    He looked around. Of course, all this old junk! Yes, it was junk to them but surely someone could do something with it? A few of the rusty pieces of machinery might even be museum pieces! He’d bring the idea of a farmyard sale up with Greg. He knew he was a proud man, but to hell with that! He’d noticed a look of resignation in Greg’s eyes of late and he didn’t like it.
    â€˜Hey!’
    He spun round, the brush slipping from his hands, clattering on the concrete.
    â€˜You scared the life out of me, Jess.’
    â€˜Sorry, Mr Jumpy,’ she said, raising a hand to shield her mouth and nose from the dust. ‘You tidying up again!? This isn’t like dad at all.’
    â€˜Perhaps he’s just making use of the extra pair of hands?’ he said, his cheeks tingling. ‘The rodents are doing just as well as the livestock, from what I’ve seen.’
    â€˜I suppose.’
    Something tickled his chin. Bloody spiders! He lifted a hand to brush the arachnid away when his leg began to vibrate. He dug about for his Samsung – no text message. No missed call. He must have imagined it!
    â€˜Is everything ok?’
    â€˜Umm yeah – fine.’
    He rammed the mobile back into his pocket. He knew he needed to push Tiffany Angle as far from his mind as possible, for his own sanity.
    â€˜Do you fancy a drink?’ asked Jess, placing a hand on his arm. He could feel the tenderness of her fingers through the sleeve of his t-shirt, tensing instinctively. ‘Oh, you have been working hard!’
    The tingling in his cheeks fuelled a raging fire. He knew his face would turn bright red.
    â€˜Oh, I don’t know. Your dad left me a really long list of jo–’
    â€˜Well,’ she said, linking arms with him, ‘as his only child and heir to his dynasty I insist you take a break. Besides, you’ve done plenty already and he’s hardly going to notice you’ve taken a twenty minute breather.’
    â€˜What if they come back?’
    â€˜Relax, Freddie,’ she said, sidling up to him. She turned, the slight breeze catching her hair, whipping his