Three Mile Drove, concluding chapter (standard:horror, 1159 words) [29/29] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Jun 11 2008	Views/Reads: 2776/1899	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The ending of my story regarding Darren Goldwater's tribulations in the fens

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


‘Thanks I...' Jackson had made to go then turned back to face him, ‘I
know it's not been the best of times for you in these parts...' 

‘No, it hasn't,' Darren said, more sharply than he'd intended. 

‘It should fetch a tidy sum...' 

Darren laughed at that, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth, ‘Do you
really think so Ted, after all this? I don't know why I bothered having 
it done.' 

‘I'd already started for one thing,' Jackson said. He turned and gazed
along the drove, ‘and for another, the properties might lie empty now 
but someone will snap them up, mark my words, you'll see. The Big City 
dwellers will move in, they'll live off Three Mile Drove's notoriety, 
something to boast about at lunchtime in the Capital. 

Darren watched Jackson drive out, considered his words. Yeah perhaps
they would, there were a lot of people about like that. Respectable on 
the outside but sick underneath. They might after all suit the place. 

But not him. 

And it wasn't his problem any longer; he had an appointment with a
garage in Ely to trade in his Cherokee Jeep. 

He checked his watch and closing the gates for the last time sped along
the drove, not even a glance back, not even a sideways glance at 
Tomblin's house, Tomblin whose own family had fled the day after the 
fire. There wasn't a glance in the direction of where Claire's old 
house once stood, and not at Jacob Tomblin's bungalow, standing like 
the gatehouse to hell at the top of the drove. 

Fifteen minutes later he'd reached Ely, exchanged his Jeep for a smart
little Fiesta saloon. Well he wasn't the largest of men, he wouldn't 
feel cramped and it would be cheap on petrol. 

There would be precious little income while he wrote his memoirs. 

He'd thought about that, now in hindsight what had happened here wasn't
a journalist's tale, it was his own. 

But of course he'd have support, even if Claire was going to be busy in
her new post in Cornwall. 

She'd applied for the post two months back and got it. Community nurse
in a place called Mousehole, close to Penzance he'd been told. She'd 
received confirmation a couple of weeks ago. There was a house with it 
too, ideal for starting anew, ideal also for Julia who had learning 
difficulties as the result of her ordeal. 

He couldn't believe it when she'd asked him to go with her and Julia.
What would he do? 

“Think,” she'd said with a smile. 

And so he had. He'd write his memoirs while she was working, he'd always
fancied trying his hand as a writer, if the truth were known he'd 
considered trying it years ago. He'd secretly kicked himself for not 
giving it a go, after all the years he'd wasted on a second rate rock 
group. Yes, now was the time to put ideas into practice. He'd find time 
to attend to Julia too, and perhaps find a seasonal job to help out, 
spring wasn't so far away after all. 

It wasn't a bad thought really. After all that had happened. 

A half hour later he was back in Bramble Dyke, approaching the crescent
that had provided Claire's home for the past few years. 

She was waiting for him on the porch, all long dark hair and smiling
eyes. 

He gave her a hug and went inside. 

THE END 


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