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

  ‘Your maggot? Puzzled Bonnie.

  ‘My sleeping bag—they call them “maggots” in the Army.’

  ‘That’s another thing, shouldn’t you be getting into training or something? You don’t want to be all flobbery and weedy on your first day. And what happens if the military want you before you’ve finished this place?’

  ‘Bon, I’m as fit as a flea and there’s plenty of time to squeeze this job in before I report for basic training. Chillax—everything is under control.’

  ‘You say that now, but what happens if you tear a ligament or break an ankle? Bang goes your soldier boy dreams.’

  ‘The chances of me getting hurt painting a cottage are about as high as you getting your cherry back. Get real.’

  ‘People are falling off steps and ladders all the time, you fool.’

  ‘Maybe accident prone people like you!’

  ‘I must say, it was nice of you to consider my feelings. Soon you’ll be off square bashing for months on end and just before you go you buzz off and leave me to do some painting! I’m coming second to a bloomin’ paintbrush!’

  ‘Bon, if we want a home like that one day we’ll need cold hard cash, simple as that. We don’t want to live in a dump like this all our lives. It won’t be so bad. When I’m looking up at the moon I’ll imagine your—’

  ‘Oh don’t give me all that both of us looking at the same moon old guff! Babe, you’ll be in Suffolk, not camping out in Borneo.’

  ‘Yes, but I’ll be thinking about my best girl—you! It’s only for a week or two and then we’ll be shagging again—just steel yourself. I’ll have the mobile so we can have the odd chat.’

  ‘The odd chat? Don’t strain yourself!’

  ‘Bon, I’ll only have one charge on the battery to last me—so I need to ration it.’

  ‘That’s not the only thing that’ll get rationed. I’ve a good mind to withhold my services, mate. I still think you should have asked me for my opinion. No, no, it never entered your pointy little head, did it? Old Bon wouldn’t mind, she’s not important.’

  I snapped another jigsaw piece into place then advanced towards her, grabbed her hips and pulled her close.

  ‘Come here, you. Nothing is more important to me than you or ever will be and you know it.’

  ‘Why can’t you just charge it up? You’ve got a charger.’

  ‘Can’t be done, there’s no power, nothing, only a water supply and that’s turned off. Anyway, I only need enough water for the odd brew and a clean-up now and then. It stays light until gone nine o’clock so having no power won’t be a problem. It’s not as if I’ve got a telly to watch, is it? Everything will be waiting for me when I arrive: paint, paintbrushes, ladder, steps, everything. All I have to do is get stuck in and redecorate the place.’

  Bonnie began gently kissing my lips then paused. ‘I still think it’s a bit weird, though. I mean, if this man has all this money to throw about, why didn’t he get a painting firm to do it, or at least a proper painter and decorator? He’s not a rip-off merchant, is he? You know, get muggins to decorate the place and not stump up.’

  Gently releasing my hold of her I moved to a faded and worn leather armchair that had somehow been squeezed into our tiny rented flat. Slumping down onto its knackered springs I clasped my hands behind my head. ‘Bon, I’ve known Kelsey all my life, he wouldn’t sell me short. He says the bloke is kosher and that’s good enough for me. I’ll be getting the money as soon as I’m done. There’s nothing in the least dodgy about this, believe me. This is a plum opportunity and I’m having some of it. If I don’t, someone else will.’

  ‘You say that, but just remember, you’ll soon be away with the British Army so if the money isn’t forthcoming you’re buggered! You’ll never see any of it.’

  ‘Listen, even if I was stuffed, Kelsey would sort it for me. He has personally vouched for the bloke.’

  ‘Okay, okay, I suppose you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘Ah, is Bon-Bon worried about her little man?’

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t rushed into it? Answer me this—what are you going to eat for a week if there’s no fridge or oven?’

  ‘Easy, apparently there’s a little shop about a mile away, I’ll just get what I need from there—it won’t kill me. I’ll just nip down and stock up on pies or something, it’s only for a little while. Anyway, I’m taking my little camping stove and a few provisions to tide me over so I’ll be as right as ninepence. If I’m honest, I’m quite looking forward to it.’

  We remained looking at each other, a slight smile of naughtiness on each others faces and spreading with every second.

  ‘Snouty,’ said Bonnie.

  ‘I can’t help it, you look so tasty.’

  ‘I suppose we have to make the most of what little time we have left together?’

  ‘I suppose we do. What do you suggest?’

  ‘Well, the ceiling could do with a lick of paint, seeing as you’re so keen on that sort of thing.’

  ‘That’s not the only thing that could do with a lick.’

  ‘Now, now, Mr Catchpole, we mustn’t drain your strength, must we? Not with this cottage and the square bashing coming up.’

  ‘Bugger them! Get your backside into gear woman and get cracking. It’s not all about physical strength, you have to consider a lads morale, too, you know. And I think I’m due a Bonnie sized morale booster, don’t you? Feel free to climb aboard.’

  ‘Jake, don’t get involved with this cottage business, I’ve got a funny feeling about it.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, it’ll be a piece of cake. They’ll be paint pigments flying in all directions once I get started. I’ll be back here before you know it.’

  3

  Arrival At Ketch Hill

  ‘Here’s the key, Jakey boy,’ Kelsey waited until I had straightened up then lent across the passenger seat to hand it to me, ‘rather you than me, mate.’

  ‘Just up there, is it?’ I replied, looking toward a nearby dirt track.

  ‘Yep, I’ve already taken all the gear up, it’s all waiting—and it won’t be the only thing either.’

  ‘Oh yeah, plenty to do, is there?’

  Kelsey shot me a knowing look. ‘I didn’t want to hang about long enough to find out, mate, I just dropped the stuff off and left sharpish.’

  ‘You didn’t have a wander about inside, then?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Don’t give me that, I bet you had a right gander?’

  ‘We’re not all snouts like you, mate.’

  ‘Why not, you had the key.’

  Kelsey lowered his head below the frame of the van door to make proper eye contact. ‘Are you sure about this?’

  ‘Piece of piss! I like going solo.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. Will you be all right at night—on your own?’

  I chuckled at what I took to be his lame attempt to rattle me. ‘You’ll have to do better than that, you saddo!’

  ‘I’m serious—it’ll be as black as pitch up there when the light goes. You realise there’s no power?’

  ‘Yes, I know it’s all cut-off and it gets dark in the country, it’s nothing I can’t handle. You can just toddle off now, thank you.’

  ‘Okay, but I’ve put my knackered storm lantern under the tilt with the paint—you’ll need it!’

  ‘Cheers Kelsey, nice one. Honestly, I’ve got everything under control. I’m gonna graft my nuts off while it’s light outside, have a bite to eat then hit the sack. Don’t worry, I don’t intend to do any buggering about after dark, I’m not a bleedin’ bat, you know.’

  Knowing Kelsey as I did I expected the wind-up. If the roles had been reversed I would have been much less merciful. After all, I was about to spend the next week alone up there and what mate could resist it.

  ‘Well, good luck.’

  Whether it was Bonnie’s remark or the idea I was somehow walking to my doom and something m
ight need adding to my Last Will and Testament, I sprang forward before my friend could leave.

  ‘I’ll get paid my wedge as soon as the jobs done, yeah?’

  ‘Definitely, as soon as you’ve finished it’ll be waitin’ for you.’ Kelsey had one final piece of advice for me, ‘Jake, that place is gonna draw your arsehole up—tatty-bye.’ No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the vehicle pulled swiftly away.

  I watched as Kelsey’s ill-used van disappeared in a cloud of grit and dust. It reminded me of a downtrodden, overworked mule long due a retirement pasture. Writing his remark off as just another laugh at my expense, I congratulated him on getting the final word in—always the mark of a true pal.

  ***

  Whereas the lane was tarmac, the track that wound its way up Ketch Hill was the same surface it had been for centuries: peasants, poachers, vagabonds and all manner of ordinary folk had laboured up the same gravelly surface I now trod. I was acutely aware of this as I took my first steps up the hill.

  My first real glimpse of the cottage came about midway up the track, when I caught sight of a stubby redbrick chimney perched on a crooked ridge line. At the base of the chimney some tiles were broken while others were ruffled and unseated in places as if struck by an errant tree limb. The chimney sat like a benevolent King tolerating his unruly peg tiled minions. The tiles on both gable ends were neat and intact.

  As the view began to open out I began to see the cottage much as anyone else in the past 400-years’ would have done. I was immediately struck by a feeling of having left the hubbub of the present and somehow having entered a different space, more timeless and still. The track—the only route to the cottage—began to conjure the strangest thoughts. I found myself wondering about all the inhabitants of the cottage who had been carried down it throughout the long, hard centuries? Trudging slowly up I imagined all manner of dramas once played out along its dusty length: a fathers desperate dash for the village doctor, a bride on the morning of her wedding, a son going off to war never to return. Looking up at the cottage I was acutely aware that this humble approach had witnessed much. Many must have toiled up this track never to descend it again—at least, not in this life.

  Shielding my eyes from the bright sunshine, I squinted ahead. Straining to see the object of my visit, I saw no exterior detail that might betray its ancient pedigree: no TV Ariel or phone lines, no venting or plastics of any kind. There appeared very little sign of modern activity at all. It had been rendered at some point and I could see that its exterior surface had dark, water stained veins darting hither and thither. Despite this I knew instinctively it was hiding its original timber framed skeleton.

  The cottage, a weathered and stained primrose yellow, looked friendly and inviting at first glance, bordered on one side by a large hedgerow and on the other by a stand of tall trees with trunks that were bare of branches to well above head hight. As I got nearer I could see the hedge to my right mainly consisted of elder and blackthorn, which due to neglect were now reaching out toward the cottage and extremely close to blocking access to the rear of the property on that side.

  I noted there were four front windows and a front door positioned centrally to paint. The windows were set one up, one down either side of the door. A small ramshackle wooden porch just large enough to allow shelter for one person, provided basic cover for anyone visiting in inclement weather.

  To the front of the house I could see evidence that there had once been a wide lawn of sorts. Apart from a scattering of molehills and patches of weed, it seemed to me that nature had been remarkably kind to it. There were also signs of nocturnal traffic as wildlife used the area as their personal highway. To the left of the door, as agreed, were the materials I would need in the coming days’, protected by a green canvas and weighted with moss covered bricks at each corner. Trampled undergrowth leading to the hedgerow suggested the bricks were probably found there. The first puzzling thought on the hill occurred here: why hadn’t the materials been deposited inside the property? Although the cottage was remote, it would have been the more secure option. I found that first discovery slightly odd.

  At that early hour, the full heat of the day was still at bay but I could feel it was going to be another sizzler. Looking at the outside, already at the mercy of the full sun, I decided that today it was probably better to concentrate on the cooler work of preparing and painting the interior walls. With the weather forecast predicting hot temperatures for the next few days, there was no rush to complete the exterior stuff.

  I stood surveying the place that was to be my home for at least the next week. In the hot still air I became aware of a sweet fragrance as a nearby broad bean crop, flowering and heavenly somehow found a faint breeze. Overwhelmed by the magical scent from my childhood I paused and looked skyward, thinking of my father. I had always loved the scent of flowering broad beans. Each year of my childhood had been filled with that very same fragrance. It reminded me of my dad and it never failed to make him seem close. I was glad of the heart warming remembrance of the man I loved and missed more than any other. It seemed to me like an omen, that this would be a good day and a good week.

  Before entering the cottage I was curious to see the rear of the property. Walking to my left where the tall trees were I brushed aside the odd fallen branch and discovered that there was a solid path to follow, which serviced a side entrance, a peeling door set in the gable end. Although the path was principally to lead one to the rear, it also branched off in a zigzag fashion, wending its way between the trees to some unknown destination. To one side of the door were two sash windows. I saw at once that time would need to be spent on these. Fishing out the solitary key Kelsey had given me I tried it in the doors lock—it didn’t fit. I expected this and merely assumed it was the key for the front door. Stepping up to one of windows I peered in.

  Well, here’s the kitchen, I thought.

  It looked surprisingly basic and from a decade long gone. Scanning the room as best I could, I took this early opportunity to begin gauging the work needed to fulfil my brief. The present colour scheme consisted of two pastel colours: blue and yellow. It had the look of a wartime TV drama. There was a wooden arch that divided the room exactly in two, constructed with ship-lap wood and stained a pine colour. I noticed a small gap at the top as if the arch and ceiling had fallen out of favour with each other. I made a mental note to fill this. Along the walls where old units or fittings had once been only distempered lines now remained. A basic shelf still adorned one wall supported by over sturdy black brackets. Several small hooks could be seen in a vertical line down one side of the wooden arch, their spacing suggested these may once have supported cups.

  Stepping away from the cottage a step or two I looked up to where a smaller window was positioned, squarely in the upper gable end. This I took to be a bedroom.

  Moving on I halted by the corner of the building and looked along the length of the cottage to the rear, it was much like the front with the exception of the porch and door. An amazingly long garden stretched back about two hundred yards over an expanse of ground that nature had wholly reclaimed. The only breaks in the weeds and tall grasses being the rotting skeletal remnants of what had once been a basic chicken run and a crumbling redbrick construction some distance from the cottage. This I assumed was an outside privy. All that remained of the run were a few 2×2 timbers, leaning drunkenly over, while the single seat privy on closer inspection was now virtually roofless with loose and broken red tiles laying broken about it.

  The discovery of the decrepit privy gave me pause for thought but I assumed more modern provisions were awaiting me in the cottage—at least I hoped so, I hadn’t envisioned taking a dump in the garden!

  Walking back toward the cottage as best the undergrowth would allow, I took stock.

  I realised there was more work here than first thought. A week’s work seemed optimistic to say the least, it struck me that two would have been nearer the mark. Oh w
ell, I’d better have a peep at the inside. With a bit of luck it’ll be straightforward and I can make some time up in there.

  With a final glance at the garden, I realised that the cottage wasn’t actually on the true summit of the hill, but was built slightly below it on a flattish part. I smiled. Clever buggers. Being built just off the top meant the cottage was sheltered from the worst of the East winds. Smart, very smart. Turning back to the cottage and gazing up at the roof my eyes followed the uneven line of ridge tiles. This was yet more evidence that the cottage had stood here for centuries. The old girl was sitting on oak plates that had obviously rotted over the years and the wonky ridge-line was clear proof of this. Who’s to say how old you are? I thought. Well, I can’t sort your list out but I can brighten you up a bit.

  Growing up with a Master builder as a father had given me a great love of old buildings. I knew more than most how they were built. I’d spent many happy times helping my father as a child. While other kids were hunting for frogs spawn and sticklebacks, I was washing and sieving pebbles and helping my dad cement render and stone-dash old cottages just like this. How he would love this house.

  4

  Sad Hello

  I returned to the front of the cottage via the other gable where I discovered another door, this one merely on a latch. Expecting a wood store I discovered—with much relief—a more modern receptacle for the Catchpole butt! It meant a traipse outside every time I needed a piddle and a shite—surrounded by cobwebs and spiders—but at least it was an improvement on the garden bumby.

  Reaching the front door I tried the key and found it more adept at gaining entry, the lock mechanism operating with a satisfying clunk. Stepping inside I paused where a doormat would have been expected but found only bare floor bricks, in some places almost entirely worn away with age. Where centuries of footsteps had been channelled through the doorway, the bricks were worn to no more than a biscuits thickness, with at least a third of their number cracked or totally broken. These pale yellow bricks proved to be the flooring throughout the main room. This large square living area had an alcove off to my right, tucked partly beneath the stairway, which curled away upwards almost beside me.