Stormdragons

Chapter 5

Clare lifted the lid of the saucepan, swirled the pasta with a spoon and carefully raised a piece to her lips. Overcooked. Definitely. And it wasn't her fault. She glanced at the kitchen clock. Where the hell was Joe? It was so typical of him to be late.

She had been really looking forward to this holiday. In a few months time she would be going away to university in Lancaster. That was a long way from home. She would be seeing much less of her family. That's why she had been so keen to come down to Cornwall with Joe: to spend some quality time with him; to make sure he remembered her fondly. Now it was all going wrong.

'The trouble with Joe,' she thought to herself as she stirred the cheese sauce, 'is that he's lazy. Emotionally lazy. He accepts kindness and affection but he doesn't give them back. And he never explores his emotions. Typical boy. Too busy being laid-back to think about other people. Too keen on gadgets and having fun.'

Giving her parents the news about Uncle Toby had been hard. She had tried to be upbeat but she knew they would fear the worst. Her father said he would try to get an early flight back to the UK but he didn't think it would be easy. Clare said she'd phone the moment she heard anything.

When Joe finally arrived, they sat down to a late lunch. Clare asked him where he'd been and what he'd been up to.

'Oh, making friends,' he said vaguely.

Clare asked for details but Joe just shovelled up a forkful of food.

'Delicious,' he said.

'If you think flattery is going to work with me, you can think again,' said Clare, secretly rather pleased.

Joe shrugged and loaded up his fork again. Clare gave up trying to make conversation. There was no point in talking to Joe when he had a plateful of pasta in front of him.

After lunch Clare showed Joe the picture of Sinbad and his crew in The Arabian Nights.

'Yeah, it's Uncle Toby alright,' said Joe. 'Brilliantly done, too.'

'That's what I thought. There's absolutely nothing to suggest the book's been tampered with,' said Clare.

'Scanner, computers - it's amazing what they can do' said Joe confidently.

Then Joe casually suggested that they pay a visit to Pete Copsey. Clare responded eagerly.

'That's a great idea, Joe. He can give us a first hand account of what happened. You get the coats while I'll look up the address.'

Pete Copsey lived in a small sea-front house situated less than a mile from Falscombe harbour. The house was called Slipway Cottage and it was the last and grubbiest in a row of houses that stood opposite the harbour wall. The front of the house consisted of a grey pebbledash wall, a blue door with flaking paint, and a single large window.

Clare knocked, cautiously at first, then louder. She began to call out.

'Mr Copsey. Mr Copsey are you there?'

There was no reply. While Clare peered through the window, Joe began to look around. The garden and the area outside the kitchen door were a mess. This was clearly a house without a warm-hearted, hard-working woman looking after it. In Joe's book, that made it a place to be strictly avoided. The inside of the house was probably just as bad, if not worse. It wasn't going to be easy finding anything here.

Reluctantly, Clare gave up. They got back in the car and they drove off.

They'd not gone more than a hundred metres when they saw a thin, dishevelled man walking wearily towards them. Although alone, the man was gesturing to left and right. As they drew near, they could see that he was talking to himself. Clare braked sharply and wound down her window.