Rare Sight

Chapter Nineteen

In fact, he hailed a cab easily on the main road – he hadn’t even realised black cabs came through the small villages.

“Where to, mate?” said the driver.

“Tatley, please. D’you know Branwell Gardens, off Queensway?”

He could have sworn the driver shrugged as he put the taxi into gear. Joe stared at the back of the man’s head, but it was just the back of his head – it didn’t tell him anything. “Er… did you say you know it?” he asked.

“You can tell me when we get there.”

“OK.”

The driver switched on his CD player and turned up the volume so that it blared out The Prodigy. Joe could feel the thumping of the bass in the pit of his stomach. The driver kept playing the same tune over and over again. After the fifth time, the sensation in his stomach was more churning than thumping.

“Can you pull over?” Joe shouted. “I think I’m going to be sick.” The man didn’t react. “I said, can you pull over?” He retched violently, but managed not to be sick. He concentrated on taking deep breaths, and on thinking about other things. After a little while, the taxi driver turned on to Queensway and Joe relaxed as they approached the turn-off to his gran’s. The driver turned down the music at last and Joe was able to direct him.

“It’s the next left,” he said, “and then the last road on the right.” The driver turned as directed, taking them along Sheraton Road and into Branwell Gardens. His gran’s house was the first on the right and the driver pulled up outside it and turned off the engine.

There was something odd about the house. It took Joe a moment to work out that it looked newer. There was no sign of the climbing plant that his gran had growing over the door and the red bricks were more…red. He paid the driver and stumbled out of the taxi, noting the evenness of the driveway and the lack of moss between the flagstones. The front door was painted a fresh dark blue, instead of the familiar peeling grey, though the bubble-effect window in it looked the same.

He pressed his eye to the glass, trying to spot something familiar to anchor him in normality. He jumped back in alarm as a face came into view, leering at him. It was his grandfather. He turned to run, but he didn’t get far, as the driver of the taxi had come up behind him and was blocking his escape.

Joe looked the man in the face and gasped – it was one of Tanner’s bodyguards.

“What’re you doing here?” asked Joe.

“Oh…” said the man with an unpleasant grin, “Just making sure you get where you’re going.” Joe tried to get past him, but the bodyguard grabbed him by the arm and pushed him back towards the front door. As he reached it, it flew open and the guard gave him another shove that sent him flying into the hallway.

As the door was slammed behind him, Joe stood up slowly, looking all round for the ghost. The hall had changed, so that he barely recognised it. His legs were wobbling, as they seemed to so often these days.

He tried the front door and was amazed when it opened, until he discovered that there were bricks where the doorway should have been.

And then the daylight turned into night without warning. He stood in the dark, hardly daring to breathe, while he tried to make out the shape of things around him. The sudden darkness brought with it a creeping coldness that slipped inside his clothes and made him shiver. He stayed by the door, to give himself a reassuring – if false – sense that escape might be possible.

Then, through the cold around him, he became aware that a warmth was coming from his leg and he remembered the amber. He reached in his pocket and pulled it out, feeling its heat in his palm. He held it up and saw the familiar glow emanating from it. It made him feel slightly braver.