The Fearful (3 page)

He was still washing up. ‘I'm still washing up.'

‘Your father's right. The boys need to be told before they go out on the lake.'

‘Can't Jenny tell them?'

‘I don't mind telling them,' Jenny said. Tim had known she would. He knew her so well. It was obvious she fancied the one who called himself Gully – any more obvious and she'd have a neon sign flashing on her head. She was wearing a T-shirt usually regarded as far too cool for serving breakfast – make-up too.

The battery in Bill's hearing aid must have been on the blink. He still had his back to everyone when he said, ‘It's your responsibility now, Tim.'

‘And it'll be your neck as well,' Anne told him, ‘if they complain about their breakfasts being cold. Jenny, you can take Mr Spicer his, please.'

Tim had plenty more arguments left in him, but knew now was not the time. Reluctantly he dried his hands, then when he tried to take the plates from Jenny she held on and pulled a face at him. But it wasn't his fault, was it? They silently tussled for a second or two. It wasn't like he wanted to serve her darling Gully.

And he felt resentful towards her. He said, ‘These breakfasts are massive. Have you been giving them extra portions on purpose, Jenny?'

She went red – instantly. And leaped away from him, letting go of the plates.

‘Tim . . .' his mother warned.

‘But look at the size of them!' he said, holding out the plates for all to see.

Jenny spun on her heel to face the sink as if something in there desperately required her attention.

Tim said, ‘What happens if they think we're trying to fatten them up for tomorrow's feed?'

Bill turned round sharply. But before he could say anything Tim was pushing backwards through the door into the guest dining room.

‘I'm going, I'm going,' he muttered.

Anne took pride in making the dining room as bright and welcoming as she could. There were always fresh flowers on the sideboard and at the tables. She did her best to hide the fact that it was over three centuries old with a contemporary, but still warm, decorating touch.

Three of the eight tables were occupied. Jack Spicer sat looking out at the lake from the table everyone had come to think of as his for the past thirty years, an unread newspaper in front of him. He was their most regular guest, spending maybe two or three months here each year. Tim's father regarded him as an old family friend and he often accompanied Bill around the lake. Tim and Jenny had always thought of him as a little severe, chilly – not at all the grandfatherly type. Even as youngsters they'd found themselves becoming quiet and polite and respectful in his company, which Tim knew had always been an effort for his sister. The old man nodded good morning to him now and he smiled quickly in reply.

The annoyingly friendly American couple, Mike and Sylvie, were in front of the fireplace at the table Anne considered the most pleasant. They were already eating but found time to smile hello as well. They'd only been here a couple of days, weren't planning on staying much longer. The two university students who'd arrived yesterday afternoon were at the smaller table just behind them. Gully sat up straight, rubbing his hands in expectation when he saw the huge pile of bacon and eggs and sausage and tomato and black pudding that Tim was carrying. Scott, on the other hand, looked half asleep.

‘Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.' Gully was generous with the brown sauce the second Tim put the plate down in front of him. He was tall, blond, with a pop-star-perfect face – which was why Jenny liked him so much, Tim guessed.

Scott was darker and a lot broader. Maybe he played rugby or something. His face was pale this morning, however, and he seemed reluctant to move. Tim realized he must be hung over, remembering they'd both spent a late night in the bar at WetFun, coming back loud and drunk after midnight.

He stood at their table, watching Gully shovel the food down while Scott summoned the courage to start. He felt small and young and embarrassed. And he hated it. The familiar resentment towards his father was soaking up into him, feet first, as though he were a sponge for it.

Scott was looking at him and Tim shrugged quickly to hide his awkwardness at hovering there. He said, ‘You look like you could do with an aspirin or something.' It was just so he had something – anything – to say.

Gully grinned and jabbed his fork at his friend. ‘You look like shit.'

Scott nodded as though it hurt. ‘Yeah. Déjà vu.'

Gully laughed through a mouthful of sausage, louder than Tim thought was necessary, but he tried to join in on the joke by laughing as well because he wanted to be liked by them. He'd heard Gully say ‘Who cares?' at least half a dozen times when they arrived yesterday afternoon. Tim could easily imagine being one of them himself some day.

The kitchen door swung open and Jenny appeared with
Jack Spicer's breakfast. Gully, Scott and Tim all watched her. And it was obvious she knew she was being watched because colour rose up her neck to her cheeks. She served Mr Spicer quickly but politely, and still without once looking at the students' table she asked the American couple if everything was okay for them (‘We're fine, honey. Just fine,' Sylvie beamed); only then did she turn and scowl at Tim. All he could do was scowl back as she disappeared into the kitchen again.

He continued to hover, not wanting to say anything more, but knowing he couldn't escape back into the kitchen until he did.

Scott broke the yolk of his egg with his knife and let it ooze across his plate. He looked up at Tim as if he'd forgotten he was there and raised his eyebrow by way of a question.

‘Aspirin?' Tim asked. ‘Can I get you one?'

Scott shook his head. ‘I'll survive.'

But Tim couldn't go anywhere just yet. Gully was also watching him now, so he said, ‘You're windsurfing then?'

‘That's the plan.'

He nodded. ‘Great.' The awkwardness was making him hot. ‘So . . . How did you know about this place? It's a bit out of the way.'

‘I've been here before,' Scott said. ‘Came here when I was in my first year.'

‘Yeah? Why?' Maybe he wouldn't have to explain things after all.

‘I was doing a Geology degree, before it got too boring. But it's a weird shape or something – weird rock formations
along the shore? – and we had to discover why it happened thousands of years ago. Big waste of time, really, if you ask me. But isn't it meant to be deeper than anywhere else around here too?'

‘That's right, yeah. It's really deep.'

‘So they said. Weird shape, but deep. A bit like Gully.'

His friend grinned at him but didn't stop chewing.

Tim was smiling furiously, wanting desperately to ingratiate himself. ‘Yeah, yeah. It used to be called the Hundredwaters, because it was so deep. You know, people say, “It's as deep as one hundred waters.” Nobody's ever seen what's at the bottom.'

Scott shrugged. ‘I just remember that it rained all the time, and it was ridiculously cold, freezing, so half of us went to the pub anyway. Geology wasn't for me. But that's how I knew about the water-sports club.'

Gully suddenly joined in. ‘Last night the guy who runs the place said we could use a couple of the jet-skis if we wanted. I'm up for that.'

Tim nodded as if it was the most interesting fact he'd ever heard. ‘Great.'

‘You must have been a few times,' Scott said. ‘You any good?'

Tim's smile slipped a little. ‘Jet-skiing?' He shook his head. ‘No. Never tried.'

Both Gully and Scott looked as surprised as their attitudes would allow.

And Tim took the plunge. ‘Well, you know, it's meant to be dangerous.'

He let his words hang there; hoping one of them would jump in and say, ‘Yeah, we know all about
that,'
and save him the embarrassment. Unfortunately they simply stared at him.

So with a shrug he said, ‘What with the monster and everything . . .'

Gully's chewing slowly came to a halt. ‘What?'

Tim felt like he was wading through deep water. ‘Hasn't anybody told you?' He tried to look shocked. ‘It's the local legend, you see. The Mourn. It's called the Mourn.' He was nodding his head like it was on a quick spring. ‘Yeah. It lives in the lake. It eats people . . .' He coughed, shuffled his feet. ‘Sometimes.'

Gully's mouth hung open wide enough for Tim to be able to see the mush of bacon and beans in there. He had a real urge to laugh and shout, ‘Nah! Just kidding!' But couldn't. He realized the elderly American couple were listening in, and guessed Mr Spicer might well be too. He said quietly, ‘It's the local legend.'

Scott narrowed his eyes dubiously. ‘You've got a monster? In the lake?'

Tim nodded. ‘Yeah. It's called the Mourn. It—'

‘Like the Loch Ness Monster or something?'

‘Erm . . . Not really.'

‘Like a leftover dinosaur or something?'

‘No. Not really,' Tim repeated.

Gully swallowed hard. ‘This is
so
cool!' He looked to Scott for confirmation of just how cool it was.

‘I've never heard of it,' Scott said. His narrowed eyes watched Tim carefully.

‘It's just local,' Tim tried to explain. ‘But, you know . . . I thought you'd better know before you go out on the lake.' He said, ‘Be careful,' and felt stupid the second the words were out of his mouth.

Gully was ploughing through his breakfast even quicker now, desperate to get it down him. ‘I want to go out there. Water-skiing with a big, massive monster snapping at my arse. Fantastic! You ever seen
Jaws
?'

Scott laughed at him before asking Tim: ‘So who's it eaten, then?'

‘Some kids; years ago.'

‘When? I didn't see anything on the news.'

‘No, no, you wouldn't have. It was three hundred years ago.' He was being forced into saying far more than he'd planned to. He wanted to be back in the kitchen where they could take the piss without his knowing or seeing them do it. ‘Well, just over. 1699.' But he couldn't shut himself up now. ‘There were five of them and it—'

‘Come on,' Gully was telling Scott. ‘We've got to get out there.'

Scott wasn't moving, however. ‘1699? So it's just a legend, then?'

Thinking,
How many times do you need telling?
he said, ‘Yeah.'

Sylvie turned round in her seat to face them. ‘It's a real interesting story,' she said to Scott. ‘There's a little piece about it in my guidebook. I'll let you read it if you like.'

Her husband leaned forward and waved his fork at them. ‘It's barely more than a paragraph – blink and you'd miss
it. But we've come out of our way because she liked the story so much.'

‘But it's so interesting, Mike.'

Mike murmured that he guessed it was.

Scott raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds like I missed the best part of the lecture when I was here.'

‘I want to look for it,' Gully said. ‘I was up at Loch Ness as a kid once and had a
riot.'
He was grinning hugely. ‘I made my sister cack her pants when I pushed her in.'

Tim felt overwhelmed by the sudden interest everybody was showing. ‘Nobody's seen it for ages,' he blurted out.

‘Is that why this place is called Mourn Home?' Scott asked. ‘Because of your legend?'

Tim didn't get chance to answer, Mike jumped in there for him. ‘That's right,' he said. ‘It was built so the town could be protected if the monster ever attacked again. Sonny, here – his pop's its guardian or keeper or something.'

‘Its keeper,' Sylvie said. ‘They call him the
Mourner.
It's all in the guidebook. I'll get it for you.'

‘Have you seen it, then?' Gully asked Tim. ‘Or is it just a load of bollocks like Nessie?'

‘No one's seen it for ages,' he said, feeling their stares and questions as if they were physical blows.

Scott was nodding. ‘Just another tourist trap,' he said.

Tim frowned. ‘No, it's not . . .' But he didn't know how to explain it. ‘It's just my dad's job. It's tradition.' He was struggling to defend something which deep down he didn't really want to.

And then Mr Spicer said: ‘I've seen it.'

Tim was thankful to be able to duck back through into the kitchen while Jack Spicer told his story. He wanted to act up and stamp his feet and declare how embarrassing and stupid it had been, but he couldn't, because Sarah was there.

She was sitting at the table next to his mother with a cup of tea, chatting away quite happily. Anne said, ‘Sarah's here,' as if he couldn't tell.

His girlfriend smiled widely. ‘I thought we could walk to school together.' Her cheeks were rosy with having just come in from the cold, her long hair pleasantly wind-blown. She was as nice-girl pretty as ever. And Tim managed a decent smile in return, but struggled to feel honestly pleased about her visit.

Bill was cooking his own breakfast now. He'd recently become concerned about his cholesterol so he didn't fry his sausages and bacon; these days he used one of those mini grilling machines instead. ‘Did you tell them?'

‘Yes. I told them.' He felt like he needed some kind of victory of his own so he added, ‘Not that it did any good. It just made the idiot one that Jenny fancies want to go out there more.'

Jenny pulled a face at him. ‘You're not
funny,
Tim.'

‘But it's true, isn't it?' he asked with fake innocence. ‘I saw all the extra tomato and bacon piled up on his plate and—'

‘Just shush, the pair of you,' Anne told them, sounding like she'd said it a million times before – which she probably had. ‘The last thing our guests want to hear is you two bickering.'

Bill tutted, whether at the students or his children it wasn't clear. Tim and Jenny sneered at each other. Then both turned to Sarah to win her support against the other. Sarah looked uncomfortable and stared at her teacup, hiding her face behind the fall of her tightly curled brown hair.