The Writer Awoke before Dawn – PART 2 (standard:humor, 2396 words) [2/2] show all parts
Author: Ian Hobson	Added: May 03 2004	Views/Reads: 2926/2093	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The Sequel.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


He ducked into the under-stair broom cupboard and reached for the mop
and bucket; it had taken him almost a month and several bumps on the 
head to learn to duck.  The front door to the cottage was almost as 
low, which was why he always used the back door.  He gave the floor a 
thorough mopping, then stepped carefully out of the back door.  He 
looked down at the worn-out old doorstep, probably the original from 
when the cottage was built in the eighteenth century.  Three local 
builders had been and looked at it, then measured it, then promised to 
quote for repair or replacement, then buggered off; not one of them 
bothering to get back to him.  ‘Bloody builders,' he grumbled, as he 
fumbled for his keys, locked the back door, and set off along the 
garden path to his car. 

*** 

Detective Sergeant Honey adjusted her skirt, pushed her long blond hair
back from her face, and then knocked before entering DI Green's office. 
‘You wanted to see me, Sir?'  She gave him her best smile. 

‘Yes, Angela.  Pull up a chair...  I've been reading your file and I see
that you have an O-level in geography.' 

‘Oh, yes, that's right, Jim...  Do you mind me calling you Jim?  Only...
well... we've been working together for almost a year now and... Oh, 
Jim, I can't keep it inside any longer.  I love you!' 

DI Green swallowed so hard that his Adam's apple almost became his third
testicle.  ‘But I'm a married man,' he stammered.  ‘And we have a job 
to do.  Now pull yourself together, Angela, and get down off my desk.' 

‘I'm sorry, Sir... I...'  DS Honey scrambled backwards off the desk and
peeled DI Green's coffee mat from her left knee. 

‘That's alright, Angela, err, DI Honey... Now, I want you get out a full
set of ordinance survey maps and start looking for an English valley 
that runs from east to west.' 

‘East to west,' DI Honey repeated, adjusting her skirt and blouse. 

‘That's right.  We're looking for a country cottage in a valley, not far
from a reservoir.' 

*** 

It was a good three quarters of an hour's drive to the nearest town and
supermarket, but he had almost as long again before his sister's train 
was due.  He turned on the radio; it was tuned to a local station.  
There was a report about a local shop owner who had gone missing two 
years ago, after leaving a note on the door that read ‘Back in ten 
minutes.'  He couldn't help laughing and wondered if he might use it in 
his latest short story.  He had surprised himself; writing a sequel.  
That was something new.  He re-read what he had written so far, 
thinking that perhaps he should be a little more descriptive. 

He accelerated smoothly as he overtook a limestone-caked quarry wagon,
glad to be out of its wake of iniquitous black smoke and free of the 
clanking accompaniment to its cacophonous engine.  Ahead, and to his 
right, the sky was a clear cyan, apart from where it was criss-crossed 
with thin white lines painted by high-flying aircraft.  And to his 
left, above the rolling auburn hills, fluffy white clouds, shunted by 
the southwesterly winds, were gathered like a convention of giant 
soufflés....  ‘Sod that,' he thought, ‘let's keep it gritty,' ...  It 
was a nice day, and he put his foot down, trying to get past a smelly 
old wagon, but had to slam his anchors on or else hit the soddin' bus 
that was comin' the other way. 

Thankfully he soon reached the outskirts of the town and the turnoff for
the supermarket; though as usual its entrance was clogged with 
vehicles.  He joined the queue of eager shopper / motorists, finally 
spotting an empty space and deftly reversing into it whilst other 
contenders gave him evil looks. 

Inside the supermarket the isles were packed, and typically, his chosen
trolley had a severe tendency to drift to the left.  But finally, after 
filling his wayward trolley and then queuing for what seemed like half 
a lifetime, he arrived at the checkout.  He emptied the trolley, 
balancing the last few items on top of the others on the conveyor, 
waited patiently as the lady in front reloaded her trolley and paid for 
her goods, then stepped forward to peel a plastic shopping bag from the 
stack at the end of the stainless-steel ramp. 

He silently cursed the bag and his own inability to open it, as the
checkout girl expertly passed his purchases over the barcode reader and 
sent them sliding towards him.  And he wondered at the magical way that 
other shoppers, all female, need only to touch their bags to have them 
spring open like parachutes.  It was at times like this that he wished 
that he was still married.  He gave up on the bag, threw his shopping 
back into the trolley, paid his bill by Switch, and wrestled the 
trolley out to his car; by this time almost completely 'off his 
trolley' as he had used the word seven times in the last two 
paragraphs. 

*** 

DS Honey poured over the ordinance survey maps – well, not poured
exactly; a tear rolled down her cheek and landed in the Yorkshire Dales 
north-west of Leeds, appropriately drenching the tiny hamlet of 
Puddleby.  She watched her tear soak into the paper, frustrated by the 
difficulty of her task, and distracted by the pain of unrequited love.  
Suddenly the name Puddleby seemed to leap out at her, as did the name 
Puddleby Reservoir and the fact that they were both in a valley that 
ran horizontally across the map. 

*** 

He led the way up the garden path and into the cottage, carrying Janis's
suitcase for her.  ‘Would you like to put the kettle on?' he asked as 
he returned to the car for his shopping, glad to have at last given 
himself a speaking part in his own story. 

‘Okay, love,' replied Janis, conspiring with him in not revealing his
name to the reader. 

‘Perhaps I should re-title it “The Man with no Name.”  Or “The Man with
no Brains!” ' he thought, as he realised the stupidity of placing the 
frozen peas next to the bag of sugar. 

‘I see you've not replaced that dangerous doorstep yet,' said Janis, as
her brother carried in the last of the shopping, and the kettle came to 
a boil. 

‘No, not yet.  But I'll get around to it one of these days... How's that
husband of yours?' 

Janis burst into tears. 

‘Oh dear, what's the matter?  He hasn't left you has he?' 

‘Oh no, he hasn't done that.  It's just that since he got promoted and
moved to the Sheffield office, I hardly ever see him.  I do sometimes 
wonder if he has another woman though.' 

*** 

Detective Inspector Green sped along the M1, heading north, with
Detective Sergeant Honey at his side... Oh, all right then!!!  DI Jim 
Green is Janis's husband!  What do you expect?  I'm not PD James! 

‘Good work, Angela.' DI Green complemented his subordinate, trying not
to notice the way her skirt had rucked up after an hour in the car.  
‘You know... I've heard that name Puddleby before somewhere.' 

‘Thank you, Sir,' Angela replied, glad to be back in his good books, and
smiling inwardly as she saw him take another sidelong look at her legs. 


‘What's our ETA?' 

‘It's going to depend on the traffic, but I should think about six
o'clock...  No, you pillock!  These are police officers...  ‘It's going 
to depend on the traffic, but I should think about 
eighteen-hundred-hours.' 

‘Lets see if we can beat that.'  DI Green put his foot down, and his
old, but well cared for, Jaguar's speedometer registered ninety-five 
mph...  Yeah, well, he was an Inspector Morse fan, all right! 

*** 

Janis popped the casserole into the oven.  She liked to cook for her
brother, suspecting that he didn't feed himself properly.  She wandered 
through into the living room, where he was ‘playing' on his computer; 
shaking her head at the clutter and thinking that the room could do 
with a really good spring-clean. 

‘Having fun?' she asked, as she walked over to the window.  Outside, it
had begun to rain, but the view across the valley was still beautiful, 
Janis thought. ‘What?  Oh, just trying to finish a short story I've 
been writing.' 

‘Oh, I didn't know you had taken up writing,' said Janis, doing a
double-take as a Jaguar identical to her husband's and driven by a man 
identical to her husband, cruised past, with a blond woman pointing 
what looked like a miniature satellite dish towards the cottage. 

‘I'm getting a strong signal!' said DS Honey, excitedly, as the digital
readout on the SSD – Short Story Detector – shot up to ninety-seven 
percent.  DI Green hit the brakes and threw the gear lever into 
reverse, and the gearbox whined as the Jaguar sped backwards along the 
road. 

‘You better come and see this,' said Janis.  ‘There's a man who looks
just like my Jim, and...' 

‘Not now, love.  I'm just coming to the climax of my story.' 

‘But...  Good heavens!   It is Jim!  And he's coming here!' exclaimed
Janis, as her husband leapt from the car and ran up the garden path, 
quickly followed by the young blond woman. 

‘What!' exclaimed the writer, immediately realising the implications. 
‘Don't let him in.  What ever you do, don't let him in!'  His fingers 
rattled the keyboard, as DI Green hammered on the front door. 

‘Why not?' asked Janis, thoroughly confused. 

‘Shall I call for backup?' DS Honey asked her boss, excitedly. 

‘No time,' replied DI Green, trying to open the front door, but finding
it was locked.  He raced around the side of the house, almost loosing 
his footing on the rain-soaked stone paving, before trying the back 
door.  It flew open, but as he put his foot on the doorstep he slipped 
and fell flat on his face, breaking his jaw on the tiled kitchen floor. 


The two women who loved him ran to his aid, one from the garden, the
other from inside the house. 

‘My darling, are you all right?' asked DS Honey. 

‘You bastard!' Janis screamed at her husband, her worst fears realised. 

‘Stop him,' groaned DI Green, as blood spilled from his mouth.  ‘I
must... stop him.' 

But it was too late.  The writer had attached his short story to an
e-mail, and before clicking the Send button typed ...  THE END 


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