Chapter 2
North Cornwall - summer 1967
Halfway across a sloping section of the woods, in a well-hidden clearing, a boiler-suited man was about to light a fire. Next to it, a small stew pot filled with rabbit meat. Discarded body parts, skin and offal, lay a few feet away. A cloud of bluebottles buzzed around the unwanted waste; the noise irritated him. Scooping the refuse up with a shovel, he swung it over his shoulder, catapulting the pieces with ease across the space between him and the water. They plopped in through the chickweed, releasing an unpleasant, sulphurous odour. With the remains gone, the flies dissipated, and silence returned.
As the match he struck fizzed into life, he heard voices. He blew it out. Moving low and keeping under the cover of scrub, he peered out through the bushes.
A young man came into view crossing over a ridge in the path further down. He was dressed in khaki and wearing a leather bush hat. A rangy dark-haired girl walked next to him. Both carried rucksacks, sleeping bags and climbing gear.
They were heading his way.
As they came into earshot, he kept back out of sight.
"You told Lei you were coming here?" The girl asked. "Are you sure she won't get lonely and come down to join you - us?"
"No. She won't come here. Like I said, we argued, and now we're not talking, besides, she's scared of this place, what with all those old stories . . ."
"What old stories?" The girl stopped and looked at him, hands on hips. "You're scaring me now." Suspicion darkened her expression. "By the way, you didn't tell me why you'd argued. You haven't told her about us, have you?"
"No - now come on Christina, let's get this tent up!" He laughed and pulled her in for a kiss.
Thirty minutes later, the man unfolded the two sets of new boiler suits he'd fetched from his car and laid them out by the streambed. He took the left hand sleeve and the left trouser leg of one set and twisted the ends, joining and knotting them together. Then he repeated the action on the opposite side. He’d now formed two handles, with the main body of the suit becoming the bag in the middle. When he was finished, he did the same with the other one and then, unzipping the top of each, prepared them to receive their cargo of ballast.
The trek to the car in the heat and his latest exertions left him sweating profusely. A mass of flies trailed him while he collected fist-sized rocks from the dried out edges of the nearby stream.
He counted out twenty-seven stones for each boiler suit. The number was important to him, the product of three, multiplied by itself three times - the ultimate lucky number. With the stones packed in, he hauled them up to the pond, placing the modified suits on the ground near the water.
His straw-coloured hair, mixed with dirt and perspiration from his forehead, and stuck to his face. He drew his fingers across it, and down his cheeks, wiping the sweat away, giving him the appearance of wearing light camouflage.
Moments later, he crept up on the tent, moving closer, listening to the growing sounds of passion. His shadow cast itself across the nylon wall. The moans coming from inside ceased abruptly.
Damn! He'd seen it too late. Moving in the opposite direction, careful to keep the sun in front of him, he stood perfectly still, head tilted, an ear cocked close to the orange fabric. Against the sunlight shining through from the other side, he could see their silhouettes quite clearly, frozen in position, the girl had her knees drawn up, the man between, on top.
"I saw someone!" she whispered urgently.
"What? Jesus!"
"Thomas - there's someone outside."
The stalker held his breath, expecting the top shadow to extricate himself, and come out to look. They remained locked together.
"There's no one out there, relax." Slowly, tentatively at first, the dark profile of his buttocks resumed thrusting.
Outside the lover's nest, the man moved silently towards the entrance.
High above, a bird of prey cried, its keening pierced the air.
