Tok: Tok, #1

By Harry H Batsford

When Seth, an anxiety ridden office worker, is contacted by Constance and informed that he has been willed a clock, a painting and some money. From an Uncle he never even knew existed, he has no idea that it will be the start of an amazing journey, plunging the world into a dangerous and bottomless pit of war. As events spiral out of his control they threaten to rip apart the very fabric of time and space.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harry H Batsford
• Release date: Dec 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386576556

Harry H Batsford

Harry H Batsford was born in the East End of London during the 1960’s, then moved to Cheshunt, Herts, after his late father was made redundant in the early 1970’s.  His early summers were spent at his Grandmother’s house, while his parents worked, and even though he hated school he nevertheless developed a love of storytelling and jokes from a young age.  This is something which he later combined and put to good use when he started to write in earnest.  Harry now lives in Cornwall with his family and his Collie, Jess, dealing with the effects of Reiter’s disease and IBS, but preferring the quietness of countryside and wide open beaches to the grime and hustle of East London.  When he isn’t bust writing, Harry collects records inspiring his words ever onwards.  A tattooed, eclectic, insane, anxious, OTT guy with a crazy sense of humour and an amazing and supportive family.

Book preview

This is the tale of Tok, a man of many fears, of which his greatest is time...

PART ONE

1

Seth waited for the click, the process of waiting for the door to open in order exit the building, felt harder than pressing the intercom to gain access. Finally, the buzzer sounded and the familiar click released the door. Seth gripped the handle firmly and stepped free into the brusque morning air.

He did not wait for the door to close. He needed to be as far away from there as soon as his legs would carry him. His meetings were supposed to assist him. Help him work through his worries and anxieties. Deal with his past, and help him understand that fault did not lie at his door.

The snap of the door closing brought him relief. Relief that for one more week he would not have to bare his soul to anyone. He pushed back shirt sleeve and checked his watch. Shit, he mumbled. He was late.

It wasn’t that Grace would mind, in truth she was way too laid back to even notice, but Seth did and it was partly his obsession with time that had returned him to the councillor’s chair.

The offices of Share and Care lay just minutes from both the town centre and work. Grace had arranged to meet him for lunch in the local café. This, at least allowed him some respite. Knowing that he did not have to return to the office immediately, and not have to deal with his work colleagues. Or, even worse, risk bumping into someone he knew and then having to explain what he was doing away from the office at that time of day.

Meeting Grace at the café he could at least use the back alleys, and head into town from the other direction. No one would be any the wiser, or so he hoped.

Even so his mind raced for the entire six minute walk, fraught with endless possibilities that he might be outed.

Seth felt trapped by many, many, things. His cheap pin stripe suit had seen better days. His black zipper boots were worn to the point of exhaustion, and his shirts all bore sweat stains on the neckline. Seth knew he needed new clothing; it wasn’t that he couldn’t afford it. Far from it. It was just that he could never find the courage needed to venture into a shop and buy for them, let alone actually try them on? 

He walked at pace, to avoid unnecessary interactions, before slowing to a more cautious pace when a thought crossed his mind. What if he fell over?

He would have no choice then, and the likelihood that his interaction would be limited to just one just one soul was slim in the extreme.

His mind raced. No, there would be at least three or four people, maybe even a small crowd. And hr could never deal with a situation like that. He’d feel an absolute twat. Useless. Ridiculous. Only now, Seth realised he’d stopped dead. And was in fact staring blindly into the window of the town’s only surviving launderette. 

Seth cleared his throat, then made out he was looking at an insanely wide, and grotesque looking pair of cardboard Y-fronts, occupying the majority of window space. Then did his best to casually walk on. Not without causing some amusement to the laundrette’s only occupant.

Finally, Seth arrived at the end of Straight Alley. An odd name by anyone’s standards, or so he thought. Being many hundreds of years old the Lane was far from straight. Taking a deep breath he stepped out, and right into Old Street. Pleased to find it oddly empty for Wednesday lunchtime. Walked head down, past a number of shops, headed for the café, and Grace.

Seth was almost to the door, he could actually taste the coldness of the steel door handle on his flesh, when he was knocked sideways. Sorry, he muttered without looking up. Doing his utmost to avoid anything nearing a confrontation.

Nob, growled a familiar voice.

‘Cole...’ Seth groaned under his breath.

His arse-end of a half brother. Even after his step-father had left the living behind, he’d left a little reminder for Seth.

Cole.

The sort of son even a Saint would have had a hard time loving. He always had been, and no doubt always would be, one nasty little shit.

From age twelve, Cole had been boosting cars, punching out teachers and dealing drugs to anyone with the right amount of cash.

Seth had not seen or heard from him in close on three years. The last time Cole had been mentioned it a friend of a friend, who said Cole had moved to Birmingham and gotten himself in trouble with real gangsters. The kind of men who used Stanley knives and fighting dogs to settle debts...

Good riddance to bad rubbish, had been Seth’s only thoughts at the time.

Seth loved his Mother with every beat of his heart but, she had faded away from him when she and Cole’s father met. Cole, much like Seth, did not approve of the coupling. But unlike Seth, Cole decided to take it out on Seth. And oh how Seth suffered. Worst  of all, was when Cole set Seth up to take the fall for a packet of smack which he’d conned out of one of his step father’s ‘associates’.

Seth ended up with three broken ribs, a cracked cheek bone and a punctured lung.

He missed the majority of his exams due to being hospitalised. Worse than that, he was arrested and taken in by the Police. The quiet one of the family now had a criminal record.

Seth ignored the comment letting Cole go on by, hoping beyond hope, that his step-brother was heading back out of town, rather than staying put. After all what did he have to stay for?

Seth cleared his throat, straightened his tie and pushed the café door open scanning the small frontage for Grace. At first there was no sign of her; Seth began to sweat fearing that he’d either gotten the wrong café, time or day. A large woman in a much too thin white flowered dress stood and moved to the till at the back allowing Seth a clear path. There at a table behind the woman he found Grace.

Everyone who new Seth, said one of two things about his relationship with Grace. One, he was either too nice for her, or two he was punching well above his weight.

What did they know?

Admittedly, if you were to stand Grace and Seth in line up and asked to pick the couple from those present they would always be the last choice. Much like being picked for football during school lunch bre

Grace was confident, wild, outgoing and dressed as if clothes she were irrelevant. Don’t be fooled, she loved fashion, in fact her entire wardrobe was packed with nothing but the most expensive, high end brands. It was just that they didn’t tend to cover much of her body.

Even her work attire left little to the imagination. She worked a few doors down from the café, in the offices of Pritchard, Snell and Bakerwell. As the Solicitors’ full time receptionist.

Grace sat, head down, laughing at something or other on her phone. An irritating tapping noise echoed around the small cafe as her long red nails tapped out a response. She flicked her long curly golden hair to one side and relaxed back into her seat. Today, she wore one of many Beatrix dresses, purchased from Hobbs of London. A simple black dress, with matching stockings and high heels. She knew all how radiant she looked. The dress allowed her to bare her arms, showing off her well tanned body.

No fake spray or tables for this girl. Merely three weeks back from her last stint in the sun, ten days lounging by the pool, or on a beach in Cyprus.

It took a second or two for Grace to spot Seth, and that he was stood watching her. Oh... Seth, she smiled dragging the chair next to her across the floor. The patting her hand on the padded cushion indicating for him to sit like he was some handbag sized dog.

Seth despised the way she acted around him in public, for some reason Grace always had the knack to make him feel more like her pet sausage dog, Timothy, rather than her boyfriend.

Seth sat down. Clasping his hands tightly on the table, fingers gripped so much force that his knuckles turned white.

Now Seth... Grace placed a hand on top of his. You remember we were meant to be going to Cirencester this coming weekend?

Seth did his best to control his anger, what did she mean by meant?

Something has come up and I can’t go, I need to go away for a few days, business you know. The words hung in the air, threatening, mocking him.

Seth didn’t know. What do you mean something has come up? We’ve had this planned for months.

I knew you’d be like this, she groaned. Grace shoved her constantly vibrating phone back into a small black handbag.

Come on, like what? You tell me that something has ‘come up’, but won’t tell me what? How did you expect me to react? If you thought I’d just smile, say no problem baby, and roll over like that stupid mutt of yours, then you’re wrong.

For once, Seth’s lips actually said what his head wanted, even though his heart was telling not to be so dumb.

In situations such as this, his mind was in constant turmoil. Never wanting to let someone take advantage of him; trying to gauge if someone was in fact trying to do this on purpose; not letting anger guide his judgement. Only to regret almost instantly what he’d said; or not saying what he needed to at the time. These moments were some of the worst. So hard to know what to do or how to handle them.

Seth’s councillor had instructed him, on many occasions, to take a breath before he spoke. Think how someone else may react if were in their shoes. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Today was not one of the good days. He breathed before replying, adjusted his tone, found the words he needed to say and sat there, his mouth flapping up and down. He’d see the look on Grace’s face before, something bad was his way coming.

Seth, you know how fond I am of you...

Seth felt his heart plunge towards his feet, his head began to spin.

But you and I both know this isn’t going anywhere.

Seth could feel bile building in the back of his throat.

I’m leaving you Seth; I’m going away... I’m going away with Cole.

Cole? Which Cole? Seth demanded.

Oh come on, she laughed. "There is only one Cole. And I’ll tell you this for nothing, he’s so much more than you will ever be."

And with that, Grace snatched up her handbag, slung it over her shoulder and, with a click-clack of her heels shimmied out of Seth’s life.

Seth sat motionless, unaware of the woman who owned the café, asking him for money. Money to pay for tea which Grace ordered. The old brass bell over the café door rattled as Grace left. Seth desperately wanted to chase after her, plead that he could change, and he would change. But was their any point?

She’d picked the worst person imaginable to leave him for, Cole.

Seth didn’t even want to look up, find out if Grace might be outside. He didn’t need to. From Seth’s position he had a clear view of the entire front window, reflecting back off the glass fronted cake counter.

Grace walked straight into Cole’s arms, smiling more than he’d ever seen her smile before. 

It was impossible to tell, but Seth was certain Cole knew he could see them embrace. The snarky grin across his face, solely there to grind the gears of Seth’s mind into a junk yard wreck.

The café owner shook Seth by the shoulder, Are you gonna pay this, or do I have to call the police?

Seth looked at her blankly, Oh yes, sorry.

He didn’t look at the bill, opting to leave a five pound note on the table and hope it was enough. The café owner didn’t know Seth to speak to, but she’d seen both him and Grace often enough to recognise them as regulars. She now regretted her last statement.

Are you ok love? she asked Seth her tone clearly softer. Seth nodded, gave her an appreciative smile and left.

As Seth eased the café door shut behind him the church clock two streets over struck one making him jump. He was going to be late.

He groaned, wondering why life in general was so ruled by time.

Seth began running up the street, heading back to his own office. Above him, the clouds which had been looming since he’d first entered the café, erupted. By the time Seth got back to his office he was drenched, single and late. To add to his woes he’d now have to spend the afternoon drying off in a cold office. Sadder than hell, all he wanted was to be home and curled up.

Time, again, proved to be his enemy.

2

Seth lay on his bed . It, like most of the house was bare, tatty, and very cold. The sheets had been his mothers, Seth knew it was old fashioned; he lied to himself saying that he used them for sentimental reasons. When in truth, he just couldn’t afford a duvet and the associated covers, pillow cases and sheet to go with it.

The bed itself reminded him of something he’d read about in a Stephen King book. The hero, who just so happened to be, (located as always) in small town North America. In a non-descript hospital for the criminally insane. As a boy he’d read everything by the man he could find. But, as he grew older the love that once occupied his mind for the Author vanished. He’d tried a few times since to rekindle the relationship with the man’s work, but could never make it any further than the first few pages.

In the end, Seth had used them all as kindling for the agar in the kitchen. His parents had both been farmers, and the house stood at the corner of a once very busy and pretty profitable business. As with all things, time altered. Life faltered and progress came to the fore.

Supermarkets began eking power away from high street shops, eventually gaining control of the farmers like a Coup d'état. Once this happened, the farm’s profits near enough vanished and, over the subsequent years parts were sold off in order to preserve the business and maintain a roof over their heads.

When his father passed, Seth and his Mother remained at the property, determined to preserve their way of life. But, as Seth was no more than a child, the farm and the land along with it, quickly fell into disrepair. When Seth turned nine, his Mother sold the last of the farm’s accompanying land, in order to ease their debts and keep a home over their heads. A few months before she’d met Cole’s father and Seth’s life changed forever.

His Mother hoped that by having a man about the place, the property would at least be cared for.

Loved.

Maintained.

Grown.

None of this came to pass.

Cole’s father wasn’t just a lazy, foul mouthed idiot. The façade he’d created to gain access to the land fell away and the real man appeared, a scrounging, thieving, violent man.

Which was why, on so many occasions Seth allowed Cole to get with so much, afraid of what his step-father might do. As Seth grew he felt a certain amount of sorrow for Cole. With a man such as his Father for an example, what hope did Cole ever stand?

But that was then, and this was now. Now, Seth was very much of the mind that the path you choose is your own. Many people must have faced greater or worse odds and come though it all. Not everyone ended up like Cole, some of them actually became better people.

And then came the diagnosis which everyone dreads, cancer. Seth’s Mum felt devastated. Who wouldn’t?

Another personality swing from the Step-Father, gone was the vile, thug of a man. Replaced with a tender, almost adoring husband, the sort of man she so richly deserved, caring of his mother, morning, noon, and night, without fail.

Even at his tender age, Seth suspected all was not as it seemed.

He was right. Of course he was. Cole and his father were just out to get their hands on the land and the farm house.

Fortuitously for Seth, although that is said with utmost respect for his Mother, he turned eighteen three weeks before her death. And, in accordance with her last will and testimony everything she owned, the farm included, went to Seth.

When Cole and his father learned of this the inevitable happened; and a thunderous court case soon followed. Every spare penny his beloved Mother had left him was swallowed up by court and solicitor fees.

And yet, somehow, someway, Seth held on to the farm.

Seth’s torment still had a story to tell.

Two days after the case was adjourned Cole took a lead pipe to the boy. And, but for a passing stranger with the courage to telephone for help, Seth would have been a dead man.

Other than one rickety old bed, Seth’s bedroom consisted of a dark wood tallboy from the nineteen forties, a pile of old motoring magazines next to his bedside table, and a beaten up, previously white MFI dressing table with three legs. The legless corner held up by an impossible amount of girly magazines. Lastly, a deep nineteen eighties Sony widescreen TV, for which he’d lost the remote. Hence, it had been stuck with the picture in picture mode on for the last two years.

This wouldn’t normally have bothered Seth, but the tiny picture in the bottom left hand corner of the screen threw endless white noise at him. In the end he taped it over with the front of an old Cornflakes box. And when that grew to the point of endless annoyance he replaced it with a photo of some random star from the local paper. According to the article below it, Percy Green, had won best Pumpkin for the tenth year in succession. Well done Percy.

Seth doubted that any of it would impress anyone, let alone any of the local girls.

Not that he had much chance of that. Well not now that Grace had fucked off with his asshole of a step-brother. Seth had been told; on more times than he cared to remember that he should worry more about the general condition of the house rather than a picture some pumpkin growing loser in the corner of his ancient TV set.

Seth had to agree. But with the problems caused by the court battle, and the money he currently earned, things weren’t going to change soon. If the raw face of truth should raise its ugly head he’d have admitted it was all he could do to keep his head above water.

A small mantel clock chimes once. Seth turns his head, quarter past six. He really should go and make some food. He ponders on this for a moment, is he really hungry? Or is it the hour of the day which made him think that way? Maybe it wasn’t even that, could is possibly be the chime of a clock telling him to eat?

Seth is left with the idea, that for the second time that day, he was being ruled just as much by time, as he was by his fears.

3

The mantel clock chimed three more times before Seth rose from his bed in order to prepare some food. He’d laid there, in that pathetic looking bed, in an attempt to let his stomach guide him. Rather than allowing his upbringing, and his reliance on a clock which had once belonged to his great grandfather.

The kitchen wasn’t just the best kept room of the house, for Seth it was also happened to be his favourite. Every piece of furniture had been there since his parents first married and he could not bear to part with a single piece.

The table was long and thick, with enough space around it to sit at least a dozen people in comfort. A small pot of leftovers stewed gently away, in the vein hope of becoming some exotic soup. Next to it sat a black steel kettle on the verge of boiling, the spout rattling in defiance.

Seth sat at the table, his head buried in the latest, in a long line of letters from his Solicitor. He’d believed, too many times for his own good, that the nightmare, which was his ex-stepfather, had ended.

A faint whistle grew as the ancient kettle gave in. Without looking, Seth grabbed a nearby dishcloth and picked the kettle up in both hands, he was just about to pour his coffee when the doorbell rang.

Seth jumped, spilling the hot water over the stove plate and splashing his jeans. Worse still, burning his hand in the process, Shit, shit, shit, growled Seth biting his bottom lip. He wrapped the towel about his hand and shoved it under the cold tap.

The doorbell rang again.

Ok, ok I’m coming, he yelled, Keep ya pants on.

Seth rarely received visitors; it was hard to remember the last time Grace had been there let alone anyone else. Even the Postman had taken to leaving his mail under a rock on the wall by the road. Which meant, this was either EDF come to read the electric meter, or some local MP asking if he could count on his in the forthcoming by-election? If that was the case he’d have better luck with a lottery ticket. There was a slim chance it might be some dodgy old woman from the traveller site down the road trying to tempt him with heather again.

If it was anyone other than the EDF man they could piss off.

The tea towel dripped all the way from the kitchen, though the rear of the lounge, down the hallway and to the front door. Seth tucked his burning hand under his arm, and let the latch off, If you’re trying to sell me double glazing or lucky heather you’re shit out of luck.

Standing in his doorway was a young woman, no clipboard, no heather or post, just a shy yet happy smile on her face. Oh I’m sorry I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I seem to be lost...

Ever hear of a sat-nav, or even a map? Seth’s replied curtly.

The woman blushed deep red. Yes, but sadly I have neither or else I would not have bothered you. The sentence with more venom than it began with.

Seth took a breath to ease his temper, the pain in his hand was making him both light headed and short tempered. Sorry, he half smiled. Where is it you’re looking for?

The woman shoved a hand deep into a pocket of her grey woollen coat; It’s a farm actually, called Mistock Corner. Do you know it?

Seth pushed his tongue deep into the side of his mouth, I do, he replied staring at the woman, a new level of disdain on his face.

Oh good, her smile grew despite the look on Seth’s face. How do I get there?

First tell me who you are and what business you have?

The young woman considered this for a moment. Her face taking on the air of someone who thinks they have the upper hand. My name is Constance and I work for the Heddingly Finders Association. I’m looking for a young man by the name of Seth. Do you know him? And how I might go about locating him?

No need, said Seth.

I’m sorry, I don’t quite follow?

No need because this is Mistock Corner...

4

Constance had never felt quite as uncomfortable; the client had invited her into the house and offered her tea. She’d initially declined, after all Heddingly Finders demanded certain standards be upheld at all times. But, as we all know there is a time and place when rules not only can, but should most definitely be broken. Which is why Constance found herself sat in the front room of Mistock Corner, it had been the look near desperation on her new client’s face which broke her will.

Maybe it was because he reminded her of her Mother’s Basset Hound, if he’d looked any more crestfallen she might well have stroked his ears and given him a bone for good measure.

The front room of the house was in all fairness, dated. Many people may well have gone so far as to say antique, but to call it antique would be give it airs and graces it could ill afford.

The wallpaper looked as if it may have been put up the same year that as the house was built. A deep green carpet covered the majority of the floor, more threadbare than floor covering. The furniture, what little there was, reminded her of something she’d seen in a small museum whilst on holiday to Norfolk the previous summer.

Worst of all was the clock. Perched upon a black, cast iron fire place, and encased in an old, faded wooden surround. It ticked louder than any other clock she’d ever heard. She considered for a moment that maybe the silence was making it appear louder than it actually was. Whatever it was, either the overly silent house or the very loud mechanism, it was putting her on edge.

Sitting forwards in her chair, tea resting on her knees she waited, nervous, irritated, for her client to re-join her.

When the file first landed on her desk,