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It was during trying times like this that a fella could do with a wife. Someone to bounce ideas off, at least. Someone to reinforce his opinions about the Minister of Defence. Someone to give him a cuddle...

Strangeways turned on his side.

The space in the bed yawned emptily. His wife was long gone. Twice remarried now. He put out his hand to touch the cool pillow where once she had rested her lovely head.

His fingers met something warm and sticky.

Strangeways sat bolt upright, crying out in disgust. In the moonlight, he was suddenly aware of something; a bone-white, glistening thing like a crab scuttling over the sheets towards him.

Scuttling.

He thrust out his hands to fight it off but it moved with horrible speed. In a second, its warm, wet body was clamped to the skin of his face.

Somewhere, two black cats began to wail.

Chapter Thirteen

Missing

Ted Bishop was a worried man. Those who knew him would say this was his natural condition and those who knew his brother would say he had plenty to be worried about.

Ted had got home around six to begin his nightly routine; shuffling into the kitchen in his old tartan slippers, putting the kettle on the hob, and setting out three mugs – well, two mugs and Max’s rather Fine china cup – on a tray. Four spoonfuls of rich-smelling black tea (one for each person and one for the pot) would be shovelled into the old brown ‘Sadler six-cup’

and then, when the kettle began to whistle, he’d rinse the boiling water round the pot to warm it.

While the tea brewed, he’d sit for a minute with the back door ajar and smoke a cigarette, taking great pains not to let the telltale tobacco fumes sneak into the house where Max’s sensitive nose might detect them.

As usual, he’d poured out Max and Noah’s tea and then carried the tray upstairs. His brother was always to be found in his room going over the day’s takings at this hour of the evening, and Noah was usually making one of his models instead of doing his homework.

Ted had placed Max’s cup on the edge of the desk and his brother had reached out a hand to take it without saying a word.

Ted then took his own mug and Noah’s through to the boy’s room. He liked to have a chat with his son before bed.

With both hands full, Ted had gently pushed the door of Noah’s bedroom open with the toe of his slipper.

‘Another day, another dollar!’ he had cried, brightly, just as he did every evening.

Noah’s room was empty.

Ted had stared at it blankly for a long moment, his gaze flickering over the neat bedspread and plumped-up pillows.

He sighed and put Noah’s mug down on a nearby bookcase.

His son had promised to stay at home to help his uncle with some post-office paperwork. Max had got it into his head that Noah would one day take over the business, and he needed to start learning as soon as possible. Noah was far more interested in his model of a Sunderland flying boat but had agreed to help for his father’s sake.

Ted supposed he’d better let Max know that Noah wasn’t in but, to give himself a bit of courage, he took his time and sipped at his hot tea in silence before crossing back to his brother’s room.

Max hadn’t taken it well, of course, cursing Ted’s son for being a no-good layabout and general ne’er-do-well before ordering Ted out to find him.

‘I suppose I’d better get everything ready for tomorrow,’

he’d said, running a well-manicured hand over his face. ‘It’s a good job someone’s on the ball around here.’

Max had given Ted just enough time to put on his shoes before forcibly propelling him outside and slamming the door.

Ted had sighed again and then, as he looked around at the village, he had smiled.

The night had a wonderful feeling about it, and he could smell the delicious scent of heavy summer flowers hanging in the air. It had been easy, for a moment, to imagine that he had slipped back into the past. The roofs of the houses which surrounded the post office were silhouetted against the purple sky. There was even an old-fashioned little yellow car parked