The Raven’s Knot

‘Why don’t you keep a closer eye on your granddad? Kids like you got no idea.’

The girl opened her mouth to object but the driver was already revving his engine.

‘Useless fat lump,’ she heard him mutter just before the lorry roared off.

Leaving a cloud of choking blue exhaust fumes in its wake, the lorry lumbered away. Lauren pulled a face after it hoping the driver was looking in his mirror.

‘That’s not very lady like,’ a gentle voice said.

The girl gazed at Tommy and shrugged. ‘It wasn’t meant to be,’ she answered. ‘But how are you? You all right? Did those lads frighten you?’

The old man stared at her bewildered. ‘Frighten?’ he murmured. ‘Why should Tommy’s pals frighten him? We was only playing a game, they wouldn’t want to scare old Tommy.’

Lauren groaned and walked back to her bicycle.

‘You were a bit rough with them,’ he added. ‘That’s no way for a pretty young girl to behave now, is it? You’ll never get a boyfriend acting like that you know.’

Exasperated, she turned to stare at him. Tommy was a peculiar looking character. His face was a florid map of broken veins. Fine silver stubble bristled along his chin and, although he had never been seen without a smile, there was an element of sadness about his wrinkle-webbed eyes.

He was a sorry, tramp-like sight. Under his shabby, second-hand overcoat, over a collarless shirt, he wore a hand-knitted, purple jumper that had been darned umpteen times, and a long piece of grubby string served as a belt to hold up his baggy, colourless trousers.

Lauren had seen him about the town on numerous occasions, but had never spoken to him before now. At first she had assumed him to be one of the forlorn crowd who gathered outside the church upon the benches to drink themselves silly during the day and shout at passers-by. Yet during the short time she had lived there, the girl had never seen so much as a tin of lemonade in Tommy’s large, clumsy looking hands.

‘That’s a good bike,’ he observed. ‘Got two wheels to go round and around. Tommy likes bikes.’

Lauren smiled indulgently.

‘I should learn to drive really,’ she said.

The old man tutted and sucked his few remaining teeth. ‘You doesn’t want to do that,’ he commented. ‘Tommy sees folk chargin’ here and there all the time in their big hurries. ’Tain’t natural. A bike’s good enough for you I’d say.’

‘Really?’ she mumbled, tiring of his chatter. ‘What would you know about it?’

‘Takes you to your college and back don’t it?’ he replied.

Lauren eyed him uncertainly. ‘How do you know where I go to?’ she asked. ‘You been watching me or something?’

Tommy laughed and nodded.

‘Arr,’ he admitted proudly. ‘He knows a lot does old Tommy. He knows when the rain’ll fall by the smell of the soil. He knows how much fruit the apple trees’ll have come autumn by the shape and colour of the leaves. He knows how far down the rabbit warrens go and where hares lie in the field during the day. He knows what’s goin’ on in this place, he knows what’s happening – oh, yes, he knows.’

Clicking his tongue, he looked thoughtful and afraid for a moment, then he tugged at one of his ears and the mood passed as he added, ‘He knows where you live, too. Your mum and dad had many guests yet?’

Wanting to ride off but not wishing to appear rude, Lauren started to push the bicycle along the pavement and walk beside him.

‘Not a lot,’ she said, ‘and she isn’t my real mother – not even a real stepmother yet.’

‘Tommy knowed that too. Yourn died nigh on three year ago, didn’t she? Arr, Tommy done seen a lot of folk come down here from the city to try what yours are a doing. Not many manage, ’tis hard graft that and mighty sore when the grockles don’t show. Still when they do, it ain’t all rosy.’

Trotting a little way in front of her, the old man raised his cap and in a high, affected voice proclaimed, ‘Do you got any softer pillows? This frying egg hain’t yellow enough – another bit of toasta here, more marmylady there. Mine tea is gone a coldy and the cup is a chippta. What no hotty water for the scrubbing of my daft holiday makey face? I not be a hostelling at this kennel again, you betcha!’

Lauren smiled. ‘Some of them are a bit like that,’ she confessed. ‘I try and keep out of their way.’

Tommy displayed his gums again. ‘Good place, yours though,’ he put in. ‘Tommy likes it there – builded strong and safe.’

‘The roof needs doing,’ she told him.

‘Ah, but there’s shutters on them windows,’ he murmured in a low whisper as he looked warily over his shoulder. ‘Nice solid shutters to keep out the wind – arr, the wind and owt else what wants to get in.’

‘We’ve got a burglar alarm,’ Lauren said, slightly perturbed at the hunted look that had settled upon his craggy face.

Tommy peered at her. ‘Have you now?’ he breathed. ‘Well, that just might not be enough. Depends on what them burglars want to steal ain’t it? Not all after silver forks and bangles you know, no, not all of them. There’s worse ’uns out there.’

‘I’ll be sure to tell Dad,’ she said, humouring him.

‘You do that,’ he warned, his gaze wandering up past her head to squint and scrutinize the sky.

‘Dusk’s coming,’ Tommy uttered apprehensively. ‘Time to be indoors. The dark’s no place to be outside no more, not round here it ain’t.’

Unnerved by this unexpected, earnest sincerity, Lauren found herself asking why.

‘’Tain’t safe,’ the old man answered. ‘You not heard ’bout the women folk falling sick and lyin’ tired an’ drained in their beds during the day? Strange things is ridin’ under the stars – Tommy knows, Tommy heard ’em. He knows what they’re about and it scares him it does and rightly so.’

The girl tossed her head and climbed on to the bicycle. ‘Well, if it’s only vampires,’ she laughed, ‘then I’ll be all right – I love garlic.’

Tommy took off his cap and crumpled it in his fists. ‘Don’t be a dafthead!’ he cried. ‘Tommy never said owt about vampires. These are older’n that, older and meaner – they’ll freeze your flesh as soon as look at you! But you’re right about one thing, they’ll have your blood all right. Arr, and your bones ’n’ gizzards an’ all.’

With that he rammed the cap back on to his white hair, spun around and pushed through a gap in the hedge to trundle away over the ploughed earth of the field beyond.

Lauren was still wondering where he was going, and whereabouts he lived when she saw his faintly ridiculous, tottering figure pause in the distance and she heard his woeful voice cry out, ‘Get on home, girlie and you watch out! Watch out!’

Painted a pleasant chalky blue, the Humphries’ recently-acquired Bed and Breakfast was a large house just off the main road, situated in an acre of land and surrounded on three sides by a sprawling field.

The tyres of Lauren’s bicycle crunched on the gravel as she entered the front gate and, remembering what Tommy had said, looked up at the large windows with their white painted, sturdy-looking shutters.

‘Poor old nutter,’ she thought to herself, dismounting and propping her bicycle beside the back door.

As she feared, her father was not yet home and that meant she would have to spend some time alone with her ‘stepmother’. Still, there was a chance that she could creep upstairs without being heard and she opened the door as quietly as she could.

‘Hello, Lauren,’ a woman’s voice said immediately and the girl’s heart sank. ‘How was your day?’

Lauren managed a polite grin and hung her coat upon the rack whilst a pair of keen, observant eyes regarded her from the kitchen table.

‘Look at that baggy old coat of yours,’ the voice said critically. ‘It makes you look like a sack of potatoes. We really ought to buy you another.’

‘It’s fine,’ the girl replied firmly. ‘I don’t want a new one.’

The woman put up her hands in surrender. ‘Only a suggestion – don’t bite my head off. Come sit with me for a minute, we hardly ever get a chance to talk.’