Jake and the Ghost (Jake Catchpole Series Book 1) Read online

  Jake

  and the

  Ghost

  Jake Catchpole Series Book 1

  George Le Prevost

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events

  are entirely coincidental.

  JAKE AND THE GHOST

  First Edition, 2016.

  Copyright©2016 George Le Prevost

  Written by George Le Prevost

  Other books by this author

  Harvesting Jake (Book 2)

  Cover: Book Graphics

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  1. The Cottage

  2. The Job Offer

  3 Arrival At Ketch Hill

  4. Sad Hello

  5. The Watcher

  6. The Visitor

  7. Wide Awake

  8. Company

  9. Ulrich Lindemann

  10. Re-supply

  11. Second Night

  12. Dancing With Violet

  13. The Puzzle

  14. Alfresco

  15. The Box

  16. Forget-Me-Not

  17. Panic Stations

  18. Sunshine On A Rainy Day

  19. X Marks The Spot

  20. Frazzled

  21. Smooth As Silke

  22. Bonnie And Me

  23. None But The Brave

  24 Fallout Sunday

  25. Aviculture

  26. Supernatural

  27. Seeing The Light

  28. The Knock-Back

  29. The Man In The Dornier

  30. Return

  Epilogue

  ~Prologue~

  After I left the hill I wondered how long it would take? I mean, for it not to bother me? A month? A year? At what point would life overwhelm what had happened up there and sweep it all from my mind? That first month should have done it. Fresh in the military and run ragged in all sorts of ways—but it hadn’t. How about two tours of duty and seeing some serious action? Nope, that didn’t do it either.

  The answers I needed weren’t a map reference or ammo tally, they weren’t contained in briefings or interrogations—they were always staring back at me from two creased and faded photographs in my hand. Two images that were as much a part of me as my SA80 assault rifle ever was. I had only been on patrol without them just the once, but that was all it took to nearly get me killed. A rocket blast and heavy bleeding from shrapnel wounds taught me to cherish them even more—they never left my jacket pocket again.

  Unlike so many others I had survived, but only to emerge more troubled as to why those two photographs meant so much to me. After six years’ military service I finally knew the answer—something deep within me needed closure.

  1

  The Cottage

  Two names. Two names etched into my soul these past six years’, chiselled in black upon white marble. A foreign surname surrounded by old English names: Copping, Barkes, Radford, Melville. A German name.

  My name is Jake Catchpole, I’m 26 years old and not long out of the Army. You might ask why I’m standing in a little Suffolk churchyard staring down at this humble memorial? The simple truth is I’m as surprised as you are, really. It wasn’t something I ever intended to do, at least, not before my old mate Kelsey popped up one night. You see, he was the one that really started all this off.

  Me and Kelsey go way back. Both of us grew up on the same council estate and, well, we’ve always been pals. His mum was proper lovely with really big titties and that’s a right result when you’re approaching puberty. You could say I liked it at Kelsey’s house. Of course, I never actually got to see his mum’s titties, but at that age seeing them under a jumper was enough to be going on with. Did I mention they were on the big side?

  This particular night I was just coming out of the chip shop when Kelsey screeched to a halt in his old van. Since leaving school you tend to drift apart from your mates a bit so I hadn’t seen him for awhile, but there he was with that big daft smile of his.

  ‘Hiya buddy, up to anything?’

  ‘Soon will be,’ I said, ‘I’ve put my name down for the Army.’

  ‘Bloody hell, bit drastic, innit?’

  Poor old Kelsey, I always had a soft spot for him. Despite his mum’s titties, his dad had walked out when he was a nipper and although he never harped on about it we all knew it hurt him extra hard early on. This particular night I remember how chipper he was.

  Walking over I rested an arm on the passenger side roof.

  ‘I’ve still got a bit of time about here—not much though.’

  ‘Enough for a week’s easy money?’

  Yep, that was the start of it.

  Looking at that Germanic name it still felt a bit weird—almost like it was going to start up all over again. It seemed like I’d spent a lifetime thinking about this moment. From one dusty hell-hole to another, it was to this place my thoughts always returned. Somewhere here, today, I wanted to find peace.

  I knew with absolute certainty that one day I would be standing here. Even though I’d never actually met this man and woman or heard their voices in life, I knew their faces better than the men in my unit, that’s because I always carried those two battered photographs with me. Funny isn’t it? Never met them, never heard them, yet I carried their photo’s with me—oh, and the button.

  Looking at these three things now only confirmed just how precious they were to me. It was time to tell them.

  ‘It’s Jake, I’ve come back to say thanks. I think these belong to you. They kept me safe during every patrol and all the tough times—thank you for watching over me. I know you did. I just wanted to let you know that I still remember and I’m sorry it had to happen the way it did. I hope it’s all okay now. Anyway, these never really belonged to me—they were always yours.’

  Kneeling down I placed the three items against the memorial.

  ‘God bless—and—I’ll never forget you both.’

  With a final glance I slowly walked away, carefully navigating between the unmarked forgotten plots of those long gone. Leaving the churchyard I began heading in a familiar direction.

  Was it really six years’ ago?

  How I yearned for this day. Away from all the shit of that far off place. Looking about me now I savoured every second. No whistle of incoming mortar rounds, no zip as a snipers bullet missed its mark.

  I’ve always loved country churchyards. The wild flowers, the birds. People seem to think council estate wallahs like me prefer the raucous places, fact is, there’s something about a stillness that has always attracted me. Mind, it has to be the right sort of stillness. Definitely not the sort I found when I was trapped underground as an eight-year-old—not that sort of stillness. I discovered something about myself that day—I could control my fear. Just as well really, when I think of what life had in store.

  The lane looked just how I remembered it the day Kelsey’s decrepit old van had dropped me off. The hedges had been left like they always were at this time of year so the birds could nest. Must pay attention now, it would be so easy to miss the steep track on my right. There it is, a bit brambly but I begin the long haul up the grassy incline, only halting once I’m on the top.

  Just as I knew it would, the hill overlooked a beautiful Suffolk valley, a pleasing mixture of rolling fields, meadows and streams. But it was another hill, to my immediate front, that I pay particular regard to. I scan every contour of the hill opposite, as only an ex-member of Her Majesty’s military could. Assessing the lay of the land I imagined how such a hill could best be defended if attacked by insurgen
ts. Of course, the hill was in no danger of such an event but old habits die hard I suppose and I spent a few idle moments wondering just the same.

  Shifting my gaze higher up this neighbouring hill, I began following the route of a steep, narrow dirt track to a primrose coloured cottage, partly obscured by trees that perched almost on the skyline opposite. Although a hot day I’m wearing a light wind-proof jacket, useful for carrying oddments or in case of a sudden change in the weather. Studying the cottage I pat the jackets side pockets just to satisfy myself they’re securely fastened, something I’ve done a hundred times before with the lads. A battening down of hatches as though a storm were approaching.

  Although two tours of duty had revealed many terrors and hardships, including the loss and maiming of close comrades and friends, no image had dominated my thoughts as much as the two people in the photo’s or the scene I was looking at now—the cottage.

  My mind drifts back six years’ to my first glimpse of the cottage. The moment when that strange, unsettling period in my life first began.

  I remembered that first dusty, loamy climb up the narrow track that was the only approach to the cottage. Most of all the feeling that this would be a pleasant place to earn a wage until the Army wanted me. I smile as I remembered how content I felt at that moment. Optimistic? Certainly. Everything was falling into place at last. A cushy little earner then off to the Royal Engineers, learn a trade, do a bit of soldiering, me and Bonnie settle down and have kids—Bob’s your uncle.

  Even now, after all these years, the memory of that other world still bothers me. Why me? Was it because the place had stood empty all that time? Can emotion be stored-up like a giant battery, charged and primed for release like a grenade? Waiting, waiting, waiting to explode. There was no doubt it had been immediately aware of me, there was no two ways about that. It felt like the cottage had been longing for me. As soon as I had entered I knew I had a problem. A big one.

  Thinking back to what happened, it seems somehow wrong that someone else now lives there. A space where two worlds once overlapped in so strange a way. Was that crazy, scary week just an unfathomable lightning strike, never to be repeated? Was it over? The cottage looked so peaceful up there now—beautiful, even. Just like it did that first morning six years’ ago.

  Up until then I thought such things only existed on DVD or in the minds of Hollywood screenwriters. Perhaps Bonnie was right, maybe I was psychic? I smiled and shook my head with amusement at the thought of it. Bonnie always was the Queen of teasing so I couldn’t be sure what she really thought of it. Then again, most of the lads in the battalion were sensitive to atmospheres—they had to be to stay alive. Picking up the vibes while out on patrol was second nature, something they’d been good at, too.

  It had to be said I certainly didn’t look like your average psychic. Could a six foot tall, rough and ready individual with shrapnel scars detect stuff like that? These things don’t normally happen to a cold, calculating Capricorn like me. To my way of thinking logic should beat the heck out of crazy stuff like that—only it didn’t. Not then, perhaps not ever again. My logic had always worked things out, always been my salvation. Whether work, sport or play my logic had always won the day. But not this time. This time it all fell apart, along with everything else I ever thought I knew.

  Back on civvie street, back with Bonnie and grateful to shake off the dust of Afghanistan, I knew I had to return. I had lived with this awful sense of abandonment for far too long. Leaving it all behind hadn’t sat well with me six years’ ago and it still bothered me now.

  Bonnie was glad I was out of the military. We hugged, we made love and spoke of our plans, but most of all she knew the things that troubled me.

  A rural bus ride later and I’d bailed out some twenty miles from home, deep in the green paradise of the Suffolk countryside. About as far removed from the dusty moonscapes of the past few years’ as I could get, this was no random location. Somewhere just short of the mid-point of this hike back I knew the location of the hill I was standing on now. Six years’ ago I’d looked across at it and thought how much saner it was than the hill I was on, the one I looked out from alone. As much as I needed to exorcise the demons of Afghanistan, I needed to come here today.

  I wondered who was living in the cottage now and how they had fared? Had it ended when I left on that last day? I remembered looking back at the cottage that final time with a feeling of sadness, as if a tenuous link to a lost, despairing soul was being severed. There was a strong sense that something fragile was about to be broken. As I left the hill on which the cottage stood that day it felt as if unseen eyes looked out at me, longing for me to return—I couldn’t shake that feeling off. Within a few scant weeks’ of looking back at the cottage for the last time, I’d reported for basic training with the Royal Engineers and thoughts of the cottage were temporarily shunted aside. But not quite. Even with all the exercises and phases piling up to complete, and later, just staying alive, I always found myself back on the hill. I just kept pushing it all aside and moving on and the Royal Engineers would help me do it—that and the bomb makers and snipers of the Taliban. It’s hard to reflect on past events when someone is trying to get you in their cross-hairs. The down times were different.

  My childhood sweetheart, Bonnie Warburton, had supported me all the way. This feisty redhead knew more than anyone that I’d needed this challenge. Not only to test myself but also as a way of providing for our future. A trade and a half decent wage were a powerful draw and providing I could hack it, the Royal Engineers would be our passport to a future together. To my surprise I’d more than hacked it, I’d excelled. Even overcoming a broken ankle while training. Despite this setback, I recovered and become part of an elite Royal Engineer unit and served with distinction. Not bad for a council lad off one of the roughest estates in town. Bottom line was that Bonnie was proud of me and that’s all that I really cared about.

  Bonnie and I had been together since our early teens. According to her she’d had her eye on me for some time, although you wouldn’t know it. For me it was a little later. Her stock in trade was a certain rough aloofness tinged with a wicked twinkle in the eyes. It appealed to me but I didn’t know why? As a tomboy she shouldn’t be making me think like that—but she just did. I finally took the plunge after she had accidentally exposed her titties down by the river. I still wonder if that towel really did slip? Bonnie reckons it did.

  Yeah, I enjoyed serving my country. Being petrified wasn’t exactly what I had in mind but there were plenty of good times too. Overriding everything was the hill and knowing I had unfinished business. Standing on the hill now, I knew that.

  A series of vivid recollections began running through my mind as if they were only yesterday. I could remember the exact moment six years’ ago when Bonnie asked about Kelsey’s proposition. I was a skinny 19 year old hunched over a coffee table in a dingy flat. Before me in disarray was a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle that Bonnie had bought in a local charity shop. She had tired of watching my slow progress and was facing me by the window with a puzzle of her own—but hers was all about me.

  2

  The Job Offer

  SIX YEARS’ BEFORE:

  ‘So how did you get this job, then?’ asked Bonnie.

  ‘A friend of a friend. He said he knew someone who wanted this old cottage decorated. The bloke who owns it buggered off to France a few years’ back and it’s stood empty ever since. Kelsey reckons he’s keen to get it off his hands and sell it.’

  ‘I wish we had the money.’ said Bonnie.

  ‘Why couldn’t this have happened after my military service, we could probably have made him an offer and got the place at a knock down price.’

  ‘Story of our lives, babe.’ answered Bonnie.

  ‘Apparently it just needs brightening up so he can be rid of it. He’s paying top dollar to get it done quick, too. When I heard how much he was willing to pay for the work I jumped at the chance.’
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  ‘It sounds too good to be true if you ask me,’ said Bonnie, suspiciously, ‘is he rich or something?’

  ‘Darlin,’ I don’t know what he is and I don’t particularly care. It’s a quick bit of work and I’m not turning my nose up at that sort of dosh. If he’s prepared to pay someone a fortune for a quick spruce up then that someone is going to be me! It would normally take me two months to earn that much money.’

  ‘There’s bound to be a catch, there always is. You’ll be working with chemicals or in sweaty protective clothing or something.’

  ‘Not according to Kelsey. He says it’s a bog standard paint job.’

  ‘Kelsey says this, Kelsey says that—he’ll say anything if this man’s slipped him a few bob.’

  Bonnie’s remark tickled me and I had to put her straight on that one. ‘He’d fall about laughing if he heard you say that. You know as well as I do Kelsey is as straight as they come. I reckon the cash has been bumped up because the guy is probably paying me inconvenience money.’

  ‘Hey? Why would he do that?’

  ‘I haven’t mentioned that bit, have I? Erm—the thing is Bon, I have to stay on site until the jobs finished.’

  ‘You’re joking? How long will that be?’

  ‘I’ve not clapped eyes on the place yet, babe. There’s supposed to be about a week or so’s work—if I get a move on. Obviously, I want to be back between your legs as soon as possible so I don’t intend to hang about. It all depends on the weather because there’s outside stuff to do as well. The plus side of staying there is I can really crack on and get it done. Kelsey’s seen the place and he thinks I can do it in a week or so if I stay there.’

  ‘Where will you sleep? Is it furnished?’

  ‘Not according to Kelsey, he reckons there’s not a stick of furniture in there. It doesn’t bother me, it’ll make painting it easier. I’ll just curl up in my maggot each night.’