The Loner, page 32
Mark readily agreed.
One weekday morning, a few days later, Mark left his place in the William Brown Library to take a break in the restaurant of the Walker Art Gallery. He bought a cup of coffee, and sat down at a table where a young barrister was relaxing after a hard fought case in the Crown Court. Mark had made the acquaintance of this lawyer many months before and knew his name. So he often met Mr. Shannon there.
“So you’re moving out of your hostel now,” Mr. Shannon said approvingly. “Where are you going, my friend?”
“I’m going to live in house with some friends in a place called Buchanan Street”
“And where, may I ask, is Buchanan Street?”
“It’s in Toxteth – Liverpool 8.”
The barrister lost his usual Poker-player’s expression and frowned thoughtfully. He looked puzzled. Mark wondered if he knew where Toxteth was. So he added: “You know – between Prince’s Road and the docks. I say, is there anything wrong?”
Mr. Shannon studied Mark’s enthusiasm incredulously. “Where did you say, Mark?” he asked, thinking of the area where most of his criminal clients came from.
Mark repeated the address. “It is all right to live there, isn’t it?” he, asked.
“My dear fellow, I wouldn’t be seen dead round there!”
CHAPTER 22
Stuck up with Chewing Gum
Ingleton can be a cold and wet place in mid-winter. Mark was uncomfortably aware of this fact, as he sat drinking his third cup of coffee in Bernie’s cafe, and looked out of the window into the driving rain. Where were his friends? he kept asking himself.
His friends, Bob and Paul, had said they would be at Bernie’s at 2 o’clock that Saturday – that is, that very day. They had planned to go down the Kingsdale Master Cave, and Mark had wanted to accompany them. Unfortunately, as Bob and Paul did most of their travelling by motor-bike, Mark had had to hitch-hike. The Master Cave was still, at that time, a relatively new discovery, and so the trip had its own particular fascination for Mark, and he had taken to the road in his usual determined way. Long experience had by now taught him the quickest route, and the best places to stop and change lifts. So he had arrived on time and he was surprised when his friends were late.
Or were they really friends, he wondered. It was only a few weeks since Bob had offered him a room in his house, but did he really want his company, or had he just been unable to find anyone else to share the rent? He had behaved in a friendly way to him recently, but wasn’t it the clear wish of the club to discourage him from going caving? Was their failure to turn up intended to humiliate him and force him to leave?
The afternoon wore on, and there was still no sign of Bob and Paul. Mark wondered what to do. The obvious solution was to go back, but that did not appeal to him – one hitch-hike a day was enough. Besides, it was good to be away from the smoky city and his interminable studies, in the impressive moorland scenery of the Yorkshire Dales which he loved so much. So he bought another cup of coffee and read the magazine he had bought again. His impression of some of the articles was almost wordperfect.
Evening came. The Sun buried its fire behind the hills, and the shop closed. Mark made his way to a pub. He ordered a drink, but felt uneasy about drinking it. He did not enjoy drinking except in company, and he had very little money anyway.
That pint of bitter lasted longer than an hour. One thought became uppermost in his mind; where was he to sleep? He had no tent with him, as he was relying on his friends to bring one. Board and lodging on a student grant was out of the question: he could not afford it. Surely his friends must have arrived? Perhaps they had come looking for him and had missed him. If they had arrived, they would have camped on Storr’s Common above the town, he thought.
He walked out of the pub in the darkness, donned his rucksack, and made his way up to Storrs Common. He investigated some of the tracks on the Common which led to familiar campsites. He found no tents. Panic began to seize him. What was he going to do? Where were they? They must be there. Perhaps they had borrowed a car and were sleeping there. It was a strange idea, but panic can produce all kinds of wierd illusions, and there were several cars parked on the Common. In a fit of anxiety and despair, Mark tugged at the handles of some parked cars...
The police station sergeant studied the student carefully. He had seen a lot of crime in his time, but this lad did not look as though he was a thief.
“Now then, lad,” he began in a friendly manner. “We’ve received a complaint from a member of the public. He says somebody has been trying to break into his car. Was that you?”
“I-I was l-looking for my friends.”Mark was shaking as he tried to explain his story. “I-I thought they m-might have been in one of the cars.”
In any other case, the policeman would have thought, “A likely story!” But, on this occasion, he was not so sure.
“I-I’m a l-law student. I’m studying to be a solicitor. I w-wouldn’t want to steal anything,” Mark added, as the full horror of what might have been going through the policeman’s mind came home to him.
The sergeant peered at him, as if through a microscope which could penetrate the thoughts of the cleverest deceiver. Then he breathed a heavy sigh.
“All right, then. I believe you,” he said at last. “But let me give you one word of advice: don’t let me find you disturbing courting couples again! People can get quite upset, when they’re in the middle of lovemaking!”
Mark was relieved. Then he started worrying again about the need to find somewhere to sleep, and a solution to this difficult problem suddenly struck him.
The police sergeant was taken by surprise, as he heard the student ask, “I haven’t anywhere to sleep. Can I sleep in the cells?”
The officer smiled benignly. It was not often a member of the public asked to be locked up immediately after his discharge. “I’m sorry,” he said sternly. “You’ll have to find somewhere else. We don’t run a hotel here!”
Mark left the police station and wandered out onto the deserted road. He felt quite helpless. He knew no-one who could help him. Perhaps his friends were already at Kingsdale, he thought. Perhaps he’d mistaken the meeting place. So he made his way out of the village, down the road that leads under the viaduct towards Kingsdale.
The sky was bright, but the weather was cold. The pubs were closed. There were few lights in the houses, and no cars on the road. He was alone in the darkness. His spirits drooped, and his determination to reach Kingsdale ebbed the further he walked.
Suddenly, he saw a church on the right hand side of the road. A church with a porch. A refuge, he thought. He approached it and tried the door. Miraculously it opened. His only wish was to hide. He found a hidden corner behind the font, took off his rucksack, and unpacked his sleeping bag. He climbed in. He looked up at the old stone walls and promptly fell asleep.
He had a dream of an avenging fury – or was it a guardian angel? – standing over him. He woke with beads of sweat pouring from his forehead; but the church was peaceful and unchanged – as it had remained for many a century.
Dawn arrived, and the Sun, shining through the windows, woke Mark. He hastily got dressed. He wanted to escape before he was discovered. He put on his rucksack and tried the door. It was still unlocked. He set out, with fresh determination, on the road to Kingsdale.
He climbed the hill and struggled on until he was over the lip of the hanging valley. The going was easier now. The air was sharp and crisp. The Sun shone. It was a fine winter’s day. He was alone among the rocky limbs of the moorland hills. After the long climb with his heavy rucksack, he felt a tremendous sense of peace.
“Hi! Mark!” The morning stillness was shattered. Mark looked up, as an old Ford motor car drove thunderously towards him. It was Bob Smith and a girl, and Paul Johns, who was busy chewing gum as usual. He viewed the girl again. His eyes were not deceiving him: it was Susan, Fiona’s flatmate.
“I thought you were coming here yesterday,” Mark said, as the car rattled to a halt.
“So did we, but we got...” Bob hesitated, as he looked at the girl, and she smiled slyly, “er – delayed!”
Mark was too glad to see them to show any signs of annoyance, but he couldn’t conceal his surprise about the girl. “I thought you two had broken up,” he said tactlessly. “Have you made it up?”
Bob took no offence. “Sort of,” he said.
“You’ll do for the time-being, won’t you love?!” the girl said mockingly with a nod in Bob’s direction.
“We met in pub on Friday,” Bob explained. “We decided to let bygones be bygones. Sue told me there was a party last night. So I thought we’d postpone the meet, and spend night there. As there were three of us, I hired a car. I tried to contact you – honest I did – but I couldn’t get through to you...”
Mark wondered how hard they’d tried to contact him. He wished he’d had the same influence as Susan in persuading his friends to hire a car.
Paul was interested in Mark’s adventure. “Did you come up yesterday, Mark?’ he asked, still chewing the same piece of gum.
Mark nodded, and Paul asked where he’d camped.
Mark stared at the ground, blushing with embarrassment. “In a church,” he said at last.
“In a church!” Bob repeated, laughing heartily. “Well, I hope you said your prayers, Mark. Jump in then, and we’ll have a look at Master Cave.”
Mark was relieved to find there was room for himself and his gear in the car. They drove along the valley until they found a lay-by to park in. They put on their wet suits and climbed the wall.
The entrance was only a short walk. “I didn’t think you came caving much these days,” Mark remarked to Paul, as they made their way over to it.
Paul laughed softly. “I don’t,” he said. “Why should I? Caving’s a sport you appreciate most when you talk about it in the pub – after the meet. I’d rather be in the pub in the first place. I don’t need caving to make the pub worthwhile! But, as it’s the Master Cave, I thought I’d go underground for a change.”
The entrance to the Master Cave was one of the least impressive Mark had seen. An old oil drum protruded from the grassy hillside, the greater part of it buried in the shallow soil and deeper rock. The oil drum even had a cover, which Bob threw open before he disappeared into the void below. His disembodied voice summoned the girl, who hesitated a moment, before she too slid into the opening. Mark followed, and Paul came close on his heels. They had entered a low tunnel. Very soon they came to a stagnant pool with no obvious way forward. Bob remarked that this must be the duck.
“Duck?” asked Susan, looking less keen about the adventure than no doubt she had been the night before.
“That’s right, love,” Bob said in a gentle, persuasive tone. “It’s nothing much really – only up to your neck in water!”
“Is it cold?”
“You’ll get used to it love!” he called, as he found the opening, and thrust himself into a tunnel, which was so low and narrow that he was almost totally submerged.
“I do this under protest! You never told me there was anything like this down here,” the girl rejoined, as she followed him through.
“That’s all right,” said Bob. “There’s only one more to go.”
“What! You mean there’s another duck?” she cried, as she extracted her limbs from the icy cold water. “You’re a bastard, Bob!”
Bob laughed. “Save the compliments for later. You haven’t seen the river cave yet,” he said.
The second duck followed almost immediately after the first. After that, the passage grew in height, and after a long walk, they came to a short ladder pitch, which dropped into a large canyon passage. A stream, laden with the drainage of the night’s rain, thundered down a series of cascades, before vanishing into a sinister looking pool just behind and below the ladder.
They descended the ladder and climbed the cascades. Bob led them into a low wet crawl. After what seemed to Mark a long effort, they emerged through a boulder choke into a large cavern with a small waterfall.
“Incredible isn’t it?” Bob declared. “This must be the Main Aven of Simpson’s and Swinsto pots. Leeds University came down it, dug their way through the boulder choke we’ve just come through, and found their way out to Master Cave from the top. Some trip! You know, I think they even dug their way out of the hill from inside.”
Suitably impressed with these thoughts, they made their way back through the crawl to the main stream way. They turned upstream.
The passage became wide but low in places, and a river flowed at their feet. All of a sudden the roof dipped – and so did the floor. Bob leapt into the water with an almighty splash.
“Won’t you come for a swim, love?” he asked mischievously.
The girl hesitated, but she was too late. Bob had shot up to her, and dragged her in. “Oh!” she cried. “I never thought it was going to be like this!”
“Cheer up, love! There’s nothing more romantic than a swim in the dark!”
She glared angrily at him, and found her footing on a submerged ledge. She screwed up her face. “I’ll get you for this, Robert Smith,” she cried. She raised her hand to give him a resounding slap, and took a step forward.
“Steady now!” Bob raised his hand in a mocking gesture, as if to ward off the coming blow. But she was perched on the edge of the ledge and tumbled once more into the river, surfacing with much spluttering and threshing of limbs. She swore some dreadful oaths.
Bob laughed: the others smiled.
By now, the girl was too wet to complain. She smiled at last, and succumbed to the fun. Her wet suit no longer felt cold.
“Oh, all right,” she said. “I’ll swim along with you! The things a girl will do for a man! But just you wait ‘til we get home. I’ll show you something then!”
“Such promises! Any time, love!” rejoined Bob.
Mark watched this performance with much amusement. He wished and he wondered. Perhaps, one day, he would be able to play games like these, he thought sadly.
The Sun was still shining when they came out of the cave; it was not long past mid-day. There must have been something magical about the way they suddenly emerged from the oil drum, as a passing car suddenly swerved erratically. They cheered as the driver recovered from his surprise.
“What a wonderful day!” Sue remarked, as she stripped off her wet suit.
“Yes. Just right for a drive in the country. I know a road where you can fly,” Bob said, while she looked at him disbelievingly.
Paul pulled a face. “You mean the Ingleton-Hawes road,” he remarked dryly. “Not that!”
But as Bob had the keys to the car, they had no choice. They drove back into Ingleton for a snack and a cup of coffee. Then they drove up the hill past Storr’s Common. Bob put his foot down hard on the accelerator of the old Ford car. “Hold tight!” he said.
The road stretched ahead of them, almost straight and level – except for a series of low humps. Imagine driving an old car at top speed over a series of hump-back bridges! That was exactly what Bob was up to. They accelerated gradually. At the first few humps Mark felt his weight rise slightly from his seat. They cheered, and the girl laughed. “Give me more!” she cried.
So the car sped on faster and faster. Now the wheels were hardly touching the road, as they accelerated over the crests of the next series of humps. Then, all of a sudden, they were airborne.
“Hurray! We have lift off!” Bob exclaimed, imitating the cool excitement of an astronaut. Then the car came down with a sickening thud, and a resounding jolt, which reverberated through the whole machine.
Mark heard Paul shout: “Wowee! Did you feel those G’s!” as his own stomach sank deeper into his body than his posterior into his seat.
They were now fast approaching the famous Ribblehead viaduct. Sue called:” Do it again.” But Bob was reluctant to risk the car so completely a second time.
Then Paul happened to look behind and asked in a thoughtful way: “Bob, do you know what that trail of black stuff is behind us?”
“What do you mean?” cried Bob, puzzled, and grimly aware that he could see no such trail of black stuff in front of the car. Then he looked into his mirror and was very worried. He drew up just outside the Station Inn. “Good grief! It’s oil,” he said in alarm. “It can’t be. I’ll check underneath.”
He crawled underneath the vehicle, and after a quick examination, beckoned Paul. “Have a look,” he said.
The girl asked what the problem was.
Bob was red with embarrassment and dismay. “There’s a crack in the sump, Sue, and the oil’s coming out.”
Bob was still feeling very foolish, when Mark asked innocently: “Does that mean we’ll all have to hitch-hike home?”
The others ignored the question and looked very sad.
“The car’s on hire and we’ll have to get it back home somehow,” Bob observed, trying to take a constructive view.
“You can’t drive a car without oil,” Paul mused.
“No but I’ve got an idea which might work.” Bob suddenly sounded much more cheerful. “You always carry a supply of chewing gum, don’t you Paul? Why don’t we stick the crack up with chewing gum?”
Paul pulled some packets of chewing gum out of his pocket. “Good idea,” he said. “Let’s get chewing.”
So all four of them spent the next few minutes chewing Paul’s gum. Then Bob screwed up his face, in an expression of pretended disgust, as he collected the pieces of sticky gum, which they dropped or spat into his hand. He disappeared under the car and came back, covered in oil, reeking of gum, and looking far from happy.
They got back into the car, and Bob started the engine. He winced and turned his head away from the dashboard, as if he was afraid to look at it. He need not have worried. The crippled engine burst into life, and he turned slowly to inspect the controls, hardly daring to look at them. Then his face lit up, and he announced cheerfully: “It’s O.K. The oil warning light isn’t on. Not yet anyway!”
