A dragon in winter

A Dragon in Winter Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Jess woke me at seven-thirty.

"Sorry to wake you, I know you've had a long night, and must be knackered, but I've cleared the broken glass, but to be sure don't go down without slippers. I'm sorry about last night - I shouldn't shout at you, in your condition. There's a coffee, there on the - "

"You what? My condition? What condition? What are you talking about?"

"Nothing - nothing - just you're tired that's all. Don't get agitated. Look, I'll get a taxi to the hospital - you have a lie in. I'll be finished at seven. Come and pick me up."

I sighed, "Ok - will do. Condition - hmph - makes me feel like one of your patients."

"Now, don't be silly. Give me a kiss, and I'll be off."

We kissed. There was warmth. I said, "Wish we had more like that."

"I know. But sometimes you make it difficult."

"I do? Me? I do?"

A cold edge returned to her voice, "Yes, you do. That dragon nonsense and - and you - you - won't communicate."

I gave up. "OK. It's me. But it's the best I've got."

The edge became frost, "Well you'd better find a way - because your best doesn't work."

I put my head down and muttered, "Right - right. Leave it - leave it." I raised my head again, "Please?"

She looked at me - shook her head, and left.

I sipped the coffee and tried to collect my thoughts. I had to take the stretch back to the farm, and recover the van. I also ought to do some more work on 18, Hebden Road, so if I put my tools in the stretch I could go there direct. The now shattered faint pulse of hope of repair between Jess and me, had made sleep impossible, so I got up, made the bed, and started the day.

In the yard, and the eye-slitting January morning sunshine I cleaned the long car, removing the debris from inside, and unsticking smeared chocolate stains from the upholstery with WD40. Damien's containment of the firework had left no evidence. On the outside, the car was intact apart from bright bare metal on the lower chassis members where they had bottomed on speed humps. I struggled under the car and covered the marks with a mixture of Waxoil and underbody seal.

As I was travelling along the M65 at eleven o'clock the mobile rang. I answered, and pulled onto the hardshoulder. "Good morning, Jeff, where are you?"

"Hi, Ken. Bringing the stretch back - M65. How's things?"

"OK - but have you seen TV this morning?" 

"No. Why?"

"Where did you drop your hoodlums last night?"

"Colney - but you knew that."

"No. I mean, what address?"

"W - well I don't know really. I followed their directions."

"Wasn't Victor Street, then."

An alarm bell in my head started ringing.

"I really couldn't say."

"The letter we wrote to the hirer said drop off at 53, Victor Street."

"They may've directed me anywhere. They knocked up a shop and let off some fireworks. Bangers. I stopped them, and Da - but there wasn't any damage to the car. I've cleaned it and checked."

"Fireworks? TV says there was a bloody barrage, not the odd banger. Someone's taken a video. It's huge. You couldn't have missed it."

"Oh, you mean someone saw them as well? - I mean - at that time of night?" I added lamely.