His Vampyrrhic Bride by Simon Clark
Tom Westonby dropped the hammer and charged down the street. Neither the thugs nor Nicola had seen him yet.
The three guys were shoving her hard now. One push sent her stumbling against a fence. Another guy snatched the bag she was carrying. Nicola was slightly built; nevertheless, she hung on tight to stop the man taking it. Of course, the plastic ripped. Eggs, oranges and flour cascaded on to the ground.
Tom’s feet pounded the pavement. Rage electrified him. The bastards! What the hell are they doing?
Before Nicola caught sight of Tom, she abandoned her groceries. The last he saw of her was a flash of blonde hair as she cut down a path away from the road.
The three thugs were laughing. They stamped on the eggs that had survived the fall. Once they’d done that they ran after her. The chase was on.
FOURTEEN
Tom knew the situation was becoming dangerous. After all, what were those three men planning to do to Nicola? Whatever it was, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself. What’s more, Tom noticed that even though some villagers had witnessed the attack, none had done anything to stop it. Come to that, several were laughing as if they’d witnessed a harmless prank. This was no harmless prank, though: those thugs had been brutally shoving her.
Tom took a short cut. He vaulted over a fence, sprinted across a lawn, then through a succession of private gardens. As a pro diver he kept himself fit. That, and heavy work at the house, had developed his physique. His biceps formed hard bulges under the skin.
So he wasn’t even breathless when he vaulted a wall to drop down on to a public footpath. He’d judged it well. The three men were just appearing round the corner. Now he found himself between them and Nicola. He glanced behind him. He couldn’t see her; she must have been moving fast. Probably scared half to death by these three goons.
He’d seen the guys before in the pub. If there was the sound of breaking glass, or drunken yelling, they were usually the ones behind the rumpus. He knew the one in the red cap was called Bolter. He didn’t know the names of the other two.
Tom held up his hand. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘What’s it to you?’ said the smallest of the three. This was Bolter – a thin-faced runt with red blisters erupting from his face. Those blisters hinted strongly at amphetamine use.
‘I don’t know what you’re playing at.’ Tom kept in the path’s centre to block the way. ‘But leave her alone.’
The little one had the largest mouth – and was hell-bent on using it. ‘What you bothered about Crazy Bekk for? Nobody wants her hanging about.’
The biggest of the three rumbled in a slow-witted way, ‘We’re getting her out.’ He wore an expression of genuine outrage. ‘She shouldn’t even be coming into the village.’
‘Not when there are little kids about,’ added the one in the middle. He seemed to be trying to grow a beard. However, the tuft of mousy hair had given up trying to cover the entire jaw and contented itself, instead, with sprouting from the tip of his chin.
Tom spoke firmly: ‘I’m telling you to leave her alone.’
‘Shit. Are you one of these do-gooders?’
‘If you don’t turn back, I can be one of those do-badders, understand?’
The three weren’t used to one person standing up to them; they looked at each other, hoping someone would come up with a tough response.
It was down to Bolter, the guy with the face blisters. ‘What are you interested in Crazy Bekk for? Didn’t you know she’s a nut? She can’t even read and write.’
The big one grunted. ‘And she’s been warned off for hanging round the village.’
‘By you three, I suppose,’ Tom said.
‘I know what you’re doing.’ Bolter leered. ‘You’re sticking her with the love bone, aren’t you? You dirty dog – shagging a mental case. You filthy little fecker.’
‘Bastard pervert.’ The big guy appeared genuinely offended. ‘You need teaching a lesson.’
The threat of violence crackled on the air.
Tom knew what was happening. Big guy was the muscle of the gang. Bolter was trying to get his pal angry, so he’d be the one to punch first.
Tom decided to catch them off-guard. Before Bolter could say anything else, Tom pounced on the big guy. He pushed him hard enough to get him off balance. The big guy now had to hang on to Tom to stop himself falling back into a clump of stinging nettles.
‘Hey, let him go,’ shouted Bolter.
‘Shut your mouth,’ Tom snarled. ‘And keep it shut.’ He glanced at the one with the ridiculous tuft on his chin; he was bunching his fists. ‘If you take a swing at me I’ll rip your head off.’
The guy flinched back.
Tom used the moment to shove the big man hard enough at the other two to show he meant business.
Tom pointed back along the path. ‘Start walking that way. Understand?’
‘You’re crazy taking Bekk’s side,’ shouted Bolter. ‘She’s not right in the head.’
‘We’ll remember your face.’ Tufty was more confident about dishing out threats now his mates were between him and Tom. ‘You live up at Mull-Rigg Hall. We’ll show you that you don’t cross us.’
‘Just wait until you’re in the pub,’ the big one growled. ‘We’ll bloody well knock the shit out of you.’
Tom strode away in the direction Nicola must have headed. The three still hurled threats, though he noticed they were retreating towards the village. They weren’t confident in tackling Tom head-on. Tom was savvy enough, however, to realize they’d wait for him down some alley one night and take him by surprise.
So be it. But he wasn’t going to stand by and let them ill-treat Nicola.
Tom began to run along the path to the river. Soon he’d left the village behind. Now the trees arched over him to create a dark tunnel. When he ran round a clump of bushes he startled Nicola who’d stopped to brush spilt flour from her skirt.
‘Leave me alone! If you touch me again, it’ll be the last thing you do!’
He realized the shadows hid his face. ‘Nicola. It’s me – Tom.’
‘What do you want?’ She sounded suspicious.
‘I saw what those men were doing.’
‘Men? They’re pathetic cowards.’
‘Are you alright?’
‘Fine.’
‘I’ll walk you back home.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘Why did they do that? It’s like the whole village hates you.’
‘They hate our family.’ She lowered her voice. ‘They always have.’
He realized her eyes glittered with tears. ‘Are you sure you’re alright?’
‘You don’t know what’s happened to me in that village.’
‘What? Just now?’
‘No. It’s what they’ve done in the past.’
The implications were so ominous that shivers ran down his back. ‘You should tell the police.’
‘Police? Ha!’
He could hear the river falling over the stones. At that moment, however, his eyes were fully on Nicola’s face. There was such an expression of pain there. It was heart-rending to see her like that. And he had news for her. I’m leaving the valley. I’m going to work in France. Goodbye.
That was the moment he knew he could never utter those words.
‘We’ve got flour and eggs at home,’ he told her. ‘You can have those.’
‘Keep your damn eggs.’ She was still angry from the attack. ‘Why should I want your charity?’
‘So what do you want?’
Nicola stared at him. She didn’t say anything. The shadows seemed to grow darker. In contrast, her eyes grew brighter. They were like lamps burning out of the gloom.
Some inbuilt resistance broke inside him. At that moment, he couldn’t stop himself from doing what he did next. ‘Do you want this?’ His tone seemed brutal even to his own ears. Then he took hold of her shoulders. When she didn’t react he kissed her on the mouth.
That’s when
The sound of the river stopped. Or, at least, he stopped hearing it. The only sound now was the pounding of his heart.
This time he really did feel as if he’d crossed the point of no return. He’d started something important. And he wondered what the consequences would be.
FIFTEEN
Sunlight blazed down on the orchard at Mull-Rigg Hall. Tom Westonby had started chopping down a dead apple tree when his father gave him some startling news.
‘Tom, I’m getting married.’
Tom stared at the man in shock. ‘Married? Who are you marrying?’
He felt an unnerving sense of déjà vu. Just two hours ago, Chester Kenyon had told him that he was getting married to Grace and had asked Tom to be best man. Then came the confrontation with the village bullies led by Bolter, the man with a face full of scarlet blisters brought on by drug abuse. Following that, he’d caught up with Nicola on the river bank. And then the kiss. He could still feel Nicola’s lips on his. For the last couple of hours he’d thought about nothing else.
‘So, who . . .?’ Tom felt mentally winded. He couldn’t catch a sensible train of thought. He gave his father a hard look. ‘Married?’
‘I shouldn’t have sprung the news like that.’ Russell Westonby still wore a huge grin. ‘I’ll give you a clue who I’m marrying. You will be the son of the bride.’
‘Uh, thank God.’
‘You didn’t think I was running off with the local milkmaid, did you?’
‘Something like that.’ Tom sighed with relief. His hands were actually shaking. ‘But you’re already married to Mum . . . aren’t you?’
‘We had a civil wedding when we worked in Uganda. Both of us were younger than you at the time. We married in a mad rush. The impetuousness of youth, eh?’
‘So, why now?’
‘Your mother and I are starting to regret that we didn’t do the full family thing, inviting everyone to a traditional wedding.’
‘Though you aren’t getting remarried?’
‘Technically, no. It’s a renewal of our wedding vows.’
Tom held out his hand. ‘Congratulations, Dad.’
Smiling, his father shook it. ‘Thank you, son. Oh . . . by the way, I wondered if you’d be best man.’
‘Really?’
‘I couldn’t think of a better man to ask.’
‘Thanks . . . but that’s weird.’
‘Why weird?’
‘You’re the second person to ask me to be a best man today.’
‘Oh?’
‘Chester Kenyon asked me this morning.’
His father smiled. ‘Maybe there’s a wedding virus in the air.’
‘Maybe.’ Tom leaned the axe against a tree. He was pleased . . . of course he was pleased, on both counts of being asked to serve as best man. Only, he felt a chilling creep of unease. As if he’d just caught sight of a gravestone with his name on it. No, that wasn’t logical. You can’t be alarmed if good things happen to you. Suddenly, he remembered a veteran diver who used to worry when he found himself enjoying life too much. ‘It’s like I’m being given one last good time before I die,’ the superstitious man would utter, full of doom-laden woe. ‘One last party spree before they nail down my coffin lid.’
Tom shook off that inexplicable sense of mortal danger. ‘Thanks, Dad. I’d be glad to.’
‘That’s great. I’m really pleased you said yes.’ He slapped Tom on the back.
‘When’s the big day?’
‘Mid-August. We’re renewing the vows at St George’s Church in the village. Then we’re having a party back here.’
‘I look forward to it.’
‘We’ll make sure you get the weekend off from that job in France.’
France? Tom realized that he’d forgotten all about going to work for his father’s friend. That kiss on the riverbank with Nicola had wiped everything else from his mind.
‘Dad, about this job in France . . .’
‘Don’t worry. I’ve sorted everything out with Jack. He’s going to email the Eurostar tickets tonight. Stay here, I’ll get us a cold drink.’
Tom went to pick up the axe. He couldn’t even bring himself to face the man he loved when he said, ‘Listen, I’ve decided not to go to France. I’m staying here.’
The breeze blew through the orchard, rustling the leaves. His father had already hurried back towards the house and hadn’t heard what would be bad news . . . Hell, it would be bombshell news. His father had worked hard to get Tom this high-paying job. He may even have staked an old friendship on it.
Tom found himself tangled up in thoughts about France, about the urgent need for money for the dive school, and about Nicola Bekk. Especially Nicola Bekk. Absolutely about Nicola Bekk. He rested his finger against his lips where she had pressed hers.
What do I do? Go to France? That way I don’t let Dad down. What about Nicola? Do I just leave? As if she means nothing to me?
Under bushes by the fence were dry sticks. He started to pull them out, intending to burn the dead wood in the orchard. These thin twigs were ideal kindling.
When he saw the eyes glaring from the shadows he thought that the thugs from the village had arrived to cause trouble.
Then he recognized the face.
‘Mrs Bekk?’
‘I warned you,’ she hissed. ‘I explained that Helsvir stands guard at our door. You’ve chosen to ignore me. You think I’m insane.’
‘No, I don’t, Mrs Bekk.’
She waved her finger from side to side. ‘Leave Nicola alone, Tom Westonby. If you don’t, you will be sorry.’
Tom resented orders – especially those kind of orders. ‘Whether we want to see each other is our decision, Mrs Bekk.’
‘I’m warning you, boy. Don’t lay a finger on her – you know what I mean by that! Because if you do, you’ll regret it for whatever’s left of your life. Understand?’
‘I like Nicola. I respect her. She’s—’
‘So be warned! If you continue this relationship, you’ll be doing more harm to my daughter than you can even begin to understand. You must never see her again.’
‘Tom?’ His father’s voice came from the orchard. ‘Tom, where are you?’
‘Here, Dad.’
By the time he’d turned back, Nicola’s mother had vanished. He peered into the forest but couldn’t see her. It was as if she’d been transformed into one of the shadows before merging with the gloom.
‘Here you go.’ His father handed him a glass that clinked with ice. ‘Anything wrong?’
‘No. Why?’ He decided not to mention Mrs Bekk’s strange visit.
‘That shocked expression on your face. You look as if you’ve just seen your own funeral cortège.’
‘Nicely morbid line, Dad. Cheers.’ Mrs Bekk’s words troubled him, but he pretended nothing had happened. ‘Thanks for the drink.’ They tapped glasses.
The breeze stirred the forest again, creating a huge whooshing that majestically rose and fell. For reasons that weren’t entirely rational, the sound conjured images of a prehistoric beast that sucked in colossal breaths of air as it prowled its domain in search of human prey . . . and a taste of human blood.
Despite the sunlight, Tom shivered. Once more he recalled the doom-laden premonition of the old diver: ‘It’s like I’m being given one last good time before I die . . . one last party spree before they nail down my coffin lid.’
SIXTEEN
They met by the river. Yesterday, Tom had kissed Nicola after he’d had that run-in with the village thugs. The pair had not arranged to meet this morning. In fact, everything seemed a bit hazy after the kiss. Tom couldn’t remember anything except them smiling at each other as they went their separate ways.
Now here they were, perched on a big boulder at the water’s edge. Birds swooped low, catching insects. There was a splash – the fish were jump
‘How did we know we’d find each other here?’ he asked.
‘It’s the exact halfway point between our two houses.’ She shot him a glance. ‘Coincidence?’
‘Yep, coincidence.’ Though it feels more like inevitable destiny. ‘Your mother came to my house yesterday.’
‘Oh?’
‘She warned me not to see you again.’
‘Did she say why?’
‘That there’d be consequences. Something about you being harmed in some way.’
‘So, has my mother frightened you off? You’re going to tell me you don’t want to see me again?’
Tom shook his head. ‘No.’
‘You can if you want.’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘What do you think?’
There was a sensation that their relationship – even though it was at the very beginning – hung in the balance. Tom knew that when they went their separate ways today it would either be for the last time, or it would be start of something deeper and more meaningful.
He picked up a stick, broke it in half, and handed her a piece. Neither spoke. Instinctively, they seemed to follow a program that had been burned deep inside their minds long ago. Nicola threw her stick into the water. Tom threw his.
Both watched with a quiet satisfaction as his piece of the stick fell close to hers and they floated together. He knew he was being sentimental when he saw the two sticks as loyal companions; they were setting off downriver on an adventure together. Mr & Mrs Stick.
Smiling, he glanced at Nicola as she watched the sticks float away into the distance. Was she thinking the same? Because he couldn’t escape the notion that there was a powerful romantic symbolism about the sticks they’d thrown into the water. He wanted to kiss her again. Only, this wasn’t the right moment. Nicola clearly had something on her mind.
‘Has your mother said anything to you?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘Nothing about us?’