Free The Hunger Trace by Edward Hogan Page A

moves in, the younger woman, and then . . . all hell breaks loose.’
    Christopher remained thoughtful. It was Sunday morning, and the light came through the window in great bars that reached over his legs. His face was in darkness beyond the dust motes.
    ‘Have you ever been to Eden, at all?’ he asked.
    ‘Eden?’
    ‘It’s a lap-dancing club in Derby.’
    ‘Well in that case, no. I have not been to Eden.’
    ‘It’s pretty distracting, I must say, when a woman is, erm, erm, gyrating her pelvis in your face.’
    ‘I don’t doubt it. Although perhaps I’m not the person to talk to about such things.’
    ‘Oh, right,’ he said, lapsing into a silent reverie – probably flashing back to some private dance – of which Louisa was powerless to disapprove.
    Then he sat back slowly, raised both arms in the air and pointed both index fingers down at his crotch. He stared at Louisa through his blue lenses. She shook her head slowly and grasped the neck of the guitar, ready to swing it if he made a move. She knew the dog was outside. ‘ What are you doing?’ she said.
    He leaned forward, still pointing downwards. ‘Toilet,’ he whispered.
    It took Louisa a moment to understand. ‘Jesus,’ she said, closing her eyes with relief. ‘Yes, yes, go. It’s upstairs.’
    Louisa put her hands over her face as he left the room. She had thought briefly of the irony of being sexually attacked by David’s son. She laughed to herself.
    He flushed twice before coming downstairs, still buckling up. ‘Erm, erm, I’ve had a whale of a time,’ he said as Louisa showed him to the door. ‘This could be the start of quite a friendship.’ Louisa smiled, and he carried on. ‘A friendship based on Mutual Assured Destruction.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘Well, I’ve told you sensitive information. About Eden and the gold-digger,’ he said, touching his nose. ‘I hope you won’t betray me to Maggie Green.’
    ‘I will not.’
    Louisa let him go, thinking he had misunderstood the concept of Mutual Assured Destruction, until he turned and said, ‘And I won’t tell Maggie that you hang around the garden at night.’
    They’d been vying for control of the woods for years. Louisa remembered a time on Bryant’s land, back in the nineties, when, leaning against the fibreglass stegosaurus, she’d been shocked by a crashing sound behind her. She turned to see that David’s little boy had fallen from an ash tree. His leg was bleeding, and he was in shock from the fall. He was whimpering, and still held the branch that had broken in his hands. ‘You might want to, erm, help me instead of just standing there,’ he said.
    ‘Are you okay?’
    ‘No. Get my, erm, daddy.’
    As something of an uninvited guest on his land, Louisa saw that as a last resort. ‘Who else is working on the park today?’ she asked. ‘Perhaps someone—’
    ‘Not someone. Daddy!’ he screamed. Some of the animals called back.
    ‘Okay, okay,’ Louisa said.
    As it happened, she came upon David first anyway, in his Stetson and long coat. They ran back to Christopher and carried him to Louisa’s cottage because it was nearer and she had a better medical kit. Louisa’s attempts to treat the boy met with kicking and screaming and the word ‘fiend’, so David took over, kneeling before the sofa on which Christopher lay.
    ‘Now Christopher,’ said David. ‘Look at me and tell me honestly: what were you doing up that tree?’ He applied the rag gently to the edge of the wound as he spoke. Christopher hissed, but answered the question.
    ‘Because Robin Hood has a tree house. You said, in your story. I was looking to see if there might be any, erm, ruins.’
    ‘Robin Hood?’ said David. ‘He didn’t live in a treehouse, you ninny, he lived in a cave. I mean . . . Not a cave. Cave’s too dangerous.’
    ‘A den,’ Louisa said.
    ‘Perfect! Yes, a den. He lived in a den,’ David said.
    Christopher narrowed his eyes and looked at them both in turn. ‘What are