Departure in September: The Tales of Little Leaf, #3

By R.P. Gibson Colley

Dan and all his friends are back in a third, thrilling adventure.

A week before marrying Dan's mother, Julian is forced into hiding. Dan becomes the unwitting go-between his future stepfather and the men who want to speak to him.

Dan soon finds himself out of his depth as the tendrils of history and terror reach the small village of Little Leaf.

Can Daniel save his mother's marriage and, indeed, Julian's life?

Part Three of The Tales of Little Leaf.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rupert Colley
• Release date: Apr 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224654291

Book preview

Departure In September

The Tales of Little Leaf, Part 3

R. P. Gibson Colley

rupertcolleybooks.com

© 2021 R. P. Gibson Colley

Friday

Today was perhaps the saddest day of my life. I was saying goodbye to, not one, but two special friends. One of them was my girlfriend, the other had hairy legs. So, we stood at the bus station in Plymouth – me, Beatrice, my dad and Charmaine who is Beatrice’s mum. Charmaine kept dabbing her eyes. ‘I’m so proud of you, Bea,’ she kept saying. ‘Who’d have thought? My little girl going to university.’

‘The first in the family, eh?’

‘Oh, Bea, I’m so going to miss you.’

They hugged – for perhaps the twentieth time since we’d arrived at the station. I’d never been in this situation before – saying goodbye. I wasn’t sure what to say, whether I too should dab my eyes, whether I should promise to visit Beatrice in London. I wasn’t good at this sort of thing. I knew it was one of those occasions when people say more by what they don’t say. I was beginning to learn this but I hadn't learned how to play my part. Beatrice had been my girlfriend for two months now but, like my previous girlfriend, I wasn’t sure if Beatrice would describe me as her boyfriend.

It was a cold dank September day. Bretonside bus station is never the cheeriest place, all concrete, faded advertising hoardings and graffiti, but today it seemed especially drab. The smell of diesel hung heavily in the air as various buses revved up and others came and went.

Dad and I stood a little apart from mother and daughter. ‘What’s in the box?’ he asked.

I held it up. ‘This? It’s Nelson. I’m lending him out.’

‘Nelson?’

‘My tarantula.’

Dad skipped back a few steps. ‘You joking me? You’ve brought a man-eating spider to the station.’

‘He’s hardly–’

‘Get it away from me.’

Charmaine tutted. ‘Don’t be so silly, Les. It’s harmless.’

‘Harmless, my arse. Those things can take down an antelope.’

‘Lucky there’re no antelopes around then.’

‘Do you want it, Dad? I just need someone to spidersit for a week, until after the wedding.’

‘A week? I might take you up on it if he’d eat the cat.’

‘Leslie!’ screeched Charmaine.

‘He’s quite docile,’ I said.

‘So’s the cat.’

A group of elderly ladies were getting on a bus heading to Penzance, chatting and cheerful.

Beatrice cleared her throat. ‘I think I should get on the bus.’

‘Oh no,’ said Charmaine. ‘So soon?’

‘Mum, it’s only London.’

‘Yeah,’ said Dad. ‘Stop making out she’s going to the moon or something.’

‘Yes, but London, the Big City.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Oh, my darling. I’m so proud of you.’

Dad and I shook our heads. How many times was she going to say it? ‘So, what does it eat then?’

‘He, not it. He likes grasshoppers and stuff like that. He sleeps a lot.’

‘Oh, something in common with your dad, then.’

‘Yeah, all right, Char. I got that job, didn’t I? And you don’t tell me a hundred times how proud you are of me.’

‘Beatrice is going to university, Les. You've got a job in a packing plant.’

‘Yeah, but it’s got potential.’

‘Potential? That spider’s got more potential.’

‘Why are you lending it out anyway?’ Dad asked me.

‘Aunt Vera’s coming to stay and Mum says she’s frightened of spiders.’

‘Aunt Vera? Oh, jeez, you poor sod.’

‘Why, is she that bad?’

‘Listen, put your Aunt Vera in the ring with Muhammed Ali, and I know who I’d put my money on.’

Beatrice checked the time against the big station clock.

‘Here, let me take your cases,’ said Dad.

‘No, I’ll do it,’ I said. ‘Could you hold Nelson, please, Dad?’

It was my girlfriend leaving and it seemed important somehow to be the one to carry her suitcases. But boy, they were heavy. Still, I struggled and smiled through the pain, and managed to pass them to the driver who took them off me and carelessly threw them in the hold. With that, he slammed down the lid. I think Beatrice was the last to get on.

We stood now at the side of the bus. Beatrice kissed Dad on the cheek. Then, turning to me, she said, ‘Look after yourself, Dan. Hope the wedding goes well on Saturday.’

This was it, this is when I had to say something that a boyfriend would say. ‘Good luck.’ Even as I said the words, I hated myself.

‘Cheers.’

She reached forward and planted a dry kiss on my cheek. I was about to go in for a proper hug when Charmaine shoved Nelson’s box back to me. Then, turning to her mum, Beatrice opened her arms.

So, that was it. I watched as mother and daughter hugged thinking that Beatrice and I had the sort of relationship that’d make Prince Charles and Princess Diana look loving.

Dad and I watched. Speaking from the corner of his mouth, he said, ‘You could’ve played that one better.’

‘I don’t know how to, Dad.’

Beatrice went up the steps into the bus while Charmaine, now openly crying, waved. Beatrice settled down towards the back. Mother and daughter waved at each other and blew kisses, and all sorts of hand signals while I silently urged the driver to get going and get this over and done with.

Finally, the bus reversed out, producing clouds of diesel. It honked its horn and I sensed Nelson scuttling around in his box. He wouldn’t have liked that, poor thing. The bus did a three-point turn. Charmaine ran over to the other side so she could carry on waving her goodbyes.

‘So, when’s your Aunt Vera due?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Good luck, son. That woman’s something else. She’s from the Lake District and, I warn you now, everything is better up north. How are the preparations for your mum’s wedding?’

‘That’s why Aunt Vera’s coming – to help.’

‘Help? Fine chance of that, mate. You’d get more help from that spider of yours.’

The bus drew away, stopped at the bus station exit, indicated left, and slowly drew out. We all waved, Dad grinning.

‘Do you mind Mum getting married again, Dad?’

‘Hey? What sort of question is that? Couldn’t give a shit, mate. She could be marrying Robert Redford, for all I care.’

Charmaine joined us, tears in her eyes. ‘I’m so proud of her.’

‘Yeah,’ said Dad. ‘I reckon we got that.’

*

After getting back from Plymouth, I made my way to work. The day was overcast but still retained a bit of summer warmth. I waved at our vicar, who passed by with an old-fashioned basket in the crook of his arm. I popped into the newsagent. I wanted to buy The Times so I could look clever but I gave in and bought Shoot, the football magazine, because it had a picture of Deigo Maradona on the cover and I like Maradona. He plays for Naples and Argentina, and, unlike other footballers, he plays fair. Also, I liked the word searches Shoot do, a jumble of letters and you have to find a string of letters that spell out a word, like ‘goalkeeper’ or ‘substitute’ or ‘offside’ or, as Roy suggested, ‘who’s the wanker in black?’ I think Roy was referring to the referee. But he’s wrong; the puzzles never have sentences.

I work in a hardware shop, or a DIY store, as most people call it nowadays. The only one of its kind in Little Leaf. The boss, the owner, is an older chap called George Spencer. He wears trousers too short, usually with bright, Argyll-patterned socks and is usually fairly bad-tempered. The shop is named after him – George Spencer’s. I work alongside my mate Roy. Roy, like me, is twenty years old, and has lovely, sweeping black hair and stubble, and women seem to find him irresistible, even though he never remembers their names, and never goes out with the same woman more than a couple of times. A female friend of mine once called him an unreconstructed male, but I still have no idea what that means. I asked my dad once, and he had no idea either, but he said he’d asked Charmaine. Next time I saw Dad, I asked him whether he’d asked Charmaine, and he said he had but wished he hadn't. I call Roy a mate, a friend, but I’m not sure he is really. He likes me, I’m sure, but I sometimes think it’s only because we spend so much time cooped up together in the shop. I’m sure if we just met in the pub, say, he’d ignore me. As it is, we look after each other in the shop and laugh at George’s meanness.

I’ve worked here since I left school, five years back. Dad had not long gone, and I know, looking back on it, that Mum was worried about me and what I was going to do with my future. Also, I reckon she was worried about money. She needed me to earn a wage so I could contribute. I’ve been contributing ever since but that’s fine because I don’t have anything else to spend my money on. I didn’t have any qualifications and I could hardly talk to people, I was that shy. So, she spoke to Mr Spencer, as she called him back then, and did the thing women do when they want to persuade a man to do what they want. And the following Monday, I found myself in the hardware store knowing nothing about DIY or how to speak to customers or anything really. And Roy had started just the week before, and between them, George and Roy made me into the man I am today. OK, that’s not saying much, but we can’t all be like that boy who plays chess against the grandmasters and beats them, or that girl who can do the sort of maths old mathematicians struggle with, or that boy who swam the English Channel and ate snails fried in garlic on the beach at Calais.

So I got to work three hours later than normal, but that was because George allowed me the time off to see Beatrice off.

‘So how did it go?’ asked Roy as I put on my brown overall. George always wears a white overall but he makes Roy and me wear brown ones, that aren’t anywhere as nice. ‘Did she cry and snog you and profess her undying love for you as she left?’

‘Yes, all of that.’

‘Like hell she did.’

Roy always knows.

‘George said as you had the morning off, you can clean the circular saw.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘Dan, you may have the brain of a toddler, but you don’t have to speak like one.’

‘Where is George anyway?’

‘He’s buggered off to have an all-day breakfast at the cafe.’

The door opened, the bell above the door tinkled, and we had a customer. A woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, lipstick, attractive, so I knew I didn’t need to bother with her because Roy would be in there like a shot. But he hadn't noticed her, so neither of us said anything. I’d already gone to the other side of the shop to gather the cleaning materials for the circular saw, and my mind was still too full of Beatrice and her going to London, not to mention I was already missing Nelson.

She stood at the counter and I could tell she didn’t look happy. She was wearing a knee-length black skirt decorated with roses and a yellow tee shirt with a big tiger’s head on it, and a belt worn high, so more for effect than any practical use. Now, where were those Jeye cloths?

‘Good day, does anyone actually work here?’

And she didn’t sound happy either. I certainly didn’t want to serve her but Roy, on hearing her voice, appeared from nowhere. ‘Well, hello there, miss, how can we help?’

‘About time too. Geez.’

‘All right, keep your hair on.’

‘Keep your… Do you speak to all your customers like that? It’s worse than I thought.’

‘What is?’

‘You’re wearing trainers.’

‘So what?’

She shook her head; she obviously didn’t approve of Roy wearing his trainers. Although what business it was of hers, I don’t know.

‘Is Mr Spencer in?’

‘Nah, he’s buggered off to an important business meeting. I say, is that an Australian accent I hear?’

‘He’s buggered off, has he? When will he be back?’

‘Oh, another hour should do it. So, are you visiting our quaint little village?’

‘An hour?’ The woman looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to get to a meeting in Plymouth. Not to worry. Pass on a message please.’

‘Hang on.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Looking for pen and paper.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake; it’s only four words. Reckon you can cope with that?’

‘Reckon so, miss.’

‘Tell him Jade called.’

‘Jade.’

‘Yes, Jade.’

‘So, Jade, how do you know George?’

‘I so hope you don’t speak to all women like this?’

‘Like what? What are you talking about? I’m only being nice.’

Roy had barely got to the end of the sentence and she’d gone, like a small tornado, the door slamming behind her.

‘Holy crap, she was hard work.’ He shook his head. ‘Reckon she was lesbian.’

What he meant, of course, was that his usual ‘Roy charm’ hadn't worked this time. If it didn’t work it was because the recipient was blind, frigid or a lesbian. Usually all three.

‘Christ almighty, I hope we don’t get to see her again in a hurry.

I didn’t say anything but somehow I knew he was wrong; I had the feeling we’d be seeing a lot more of the lovely Jade.

*

I got home later that afternoon. I returned empty-handed. No Nelson. I left him in the care of my friend, Ollie. Ollie was really happy to have a new companion and asked me loads of questions about whether he could watch TV with Nelson sitting on his lap. ‘He’s not a dog, Ollie,’ I said.

I found Mum at home doing the housework. She got me to help her, vacuuming the stairs and the landing, emptying the bins and all manner of things. ‘You’ve definitely got shot of that spider of yours?’

I reassured her that I had, indeed, ‘got shot of that spider’. ‘So, what’s she like then, Aunt Vera?’

‘You’ll find out tomorrow, won’t you?’

‘Dad says she lives in the Lake District.’

‘Yes, it’s where we were brought up. But I decided to move south and that’s when I met your father, but my sister has never wanted to move away. She’d never leave.’

‘Is she older than you?’

‘Yes, she is. Now enough of the questions. You can help me make her bed up.’

But I was saved by the telephone ringing. Now, that, in itself, is a rarity. ‘Well, don’t just look at it, Dan, answer it.’

‘Hello, Little Leaf six, eight, four, two.’

‘Colonel Julian Sykes, please.’

The voice sounded important, somehow, deep and posh. I needed to sound proper. ‘I’m afraid to inform you that the colonel is not currently available to take this call.’