Nick Oldham - Death Ride

H enry Christie could see even though he couldnt hear that the couple were having one of those hissed, teeth-clenched and very strained disagreements as he walked towards them, stiffly sliding his arms into his hi-vis jacket.

The couple Henry guessed they were in their mid-thirties were standing next to the portable counter with the sign above it, located by the entrance to the car park of The Tawny Owl, the combined pub and country hotel Henry half owned in the village of Kendleton in the wilds of North-East Lancashire. The sign above the counter read, Information, Meeting Point, Lost Children.

Henry studded up his jacket, glad it was one of the webbed, breathable types allowing air to circulate and keep him relatively cool, and threaded his way slowly across the front terrace of the pub on which every table was full of drinkers and diners, with even more customers sitting and lounging on the low walls of the terrace, on this extremely warm Bank Holiday Monday afternoon, the third day of the Kendleton Country Fair. Probably because the annual fair had been postponed three times because of the pandemic, thousands of visitors had flooded into the village over the three-day period. Not that Henry was moaning; the influx had seen takings at ThOwl (as the pub was known locally) rise exponentially and a lot of money had flowed into the village as life returned, more or less, to normal.

Henry had been press-ganged by the village council the voluntary group that ran the show to supervise the stewards and to keep an eye on the information counter, hand out leaflets, give directions and deal with any lost children that might come his way. So far, only one child had gone missing, albeit briefly, but as Henry walked down the steps towards the arguing couple, he had one of those moments when that intuitive feeling of dread, honed over thirty-plus years as a cop, most of them as a detective and then latterly as a civilian investigator, shimmered through his whole being, telling him that there was more to this than met the eye.

Or maybe it was nothing at all, and he was just imagining things because he was inherently suspicious of almost everything.

The disagreement between the couple continued right up to the moment Henry stepped behind the counter, smiled at them and tapped the sewn-on badge on his jacket that declared, Kendleton Country Fair Here to Help .

Are you folks OK? he asked.

Their strained conversation stopped, and they turned slowly to him, the lips on both their faces tight across their teeth.

Weve lost our daughter, the woman said. She was about to say more, but the man interjected, making her snap her mouth shut irritably.

He said, Its nothing, Im sure. Shes just overreacting. He rolled his eyes in the kind of knowing man-to-man gesture that Henry detested, then pointed to the village green across the road, which was teeming with people, fairground rides, craft displays, steam engines, classic cars, beer and burger tents all the things that went to make up a typical, if very large, country fair. The man turned back to Henry. Look, we dont want to bother you; shell turn up.

Henry looked away from him and turned to the woman he assumed wife who was both stressed and angry, judging by the expression on her face. Henry said, Actually, its no trouble, then had to wince as the exceptionally loud public address system blared as the announcer Mr Darbley, the local butcher coughed and gave the ten-minute warning that the lawnmower derby was due to start on the showground on the other side of the village. Henry waited for him to finish the announcement and, once the din stopped, said, As you can hear, we have a very effective tannoy, plus our volunteer stewards are all over the place. We are here to help.

The woman glanced at the man Henry assumed husband then to Henry said, Shes called Charlotte Kirkham Im her mother, Melinda West, and this is her, er stepdad, Dave West. She jerked her thumb at him, making him pull a sour face. Shes thirteen, headstrong, and doesnt want to be here today, because its not cool, she went on, only to be interrupted by Mr West again.

Which is exactly my point, Mel. Shes almost a grown woman and you always overreact when you havent seen her for more than five minutes.

Melinda scowled at him, then turned back to Henry. Im sorry to have bothered you, but Im clearly an over-protective mother

Shes probably just watching the sheep-shearing competition, Dave West said, with an ice cream in one hand and her bloody phone in the other in her own little world as usual.

Have you actually phoned her? Henry enquired.

Repeatedly, Melinda said.

Does she usually answer you?

Yes but theres something else.

What would that be?

Some lads

Some lads?

The husband tutted, rolled his eyes and gave his head an irritated shake. Once more, the wife shot him a barbed look.

Henry was about to give him the same but held back and asked, Which lads?

Some er three or four of them, I think teenagers, Melinda said. Theyd been following us around the showground yknow, horsing around, showing off to Charley Charlotte and I didnt like the look of them, though she was obviously entranced. I told them to sling their hooks, but they just sneered and laughed at me And what did you do, Dave? Sod all!