Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) (45 page)

‘Yes,’
purred a soft voice by my head.

‘Violet?’
I gasped, knowing instantly what had been wrong: I could smell her perfume. It
was too dark to see her. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I
came to make sure you’re alright.’

‘I’m
OK. That is, I’m not too bad … nothing’s actually broken … I’m a bit sore
though. And you?’

‘I’m
fine. I’m glad you’re alright.’

‘I’ll
turn the light on,’ I said, moving as if to get out of bed.

She
pushed me back.

‘That
would not be a very good idea. It will be best if you stay where you are.’

‘Why?’

‘Trust
me.’

‘Alright,’
I said and almost did, though a strange confusion of terror and elation was
swirling through me. ‘It’s … umm … nice to see you again. I mean to say, I’m
glad you’re here. I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve
missed you, too. I hoped you’d call after the picnic. Why didn’t you?’

‘I
did try when I was better.’

‘You
were ill? What was the matter?’

‘I
got a bad fever, after I’d walked home in the rain.’

‘Sorry
about that … I had to get away from the arboretum … Something nasty was in the
woods.’

‘Ah,
yes,’ I said, ‘the werewolf.’

There
was a sharp intake of breath. ‘You know about them?’

‘Only
what I’ve picked up recently. They still scare me.’

‘Poor
Andy, I really wish you hadn’t got involved in all of this.’

‘In
all of what?’

‘Our
war against those vile, filthy abominations.’

‘Well
… they’re a bit dirty, maybe, but Hobbes reckons they’re alright.’

‘He
would do, but he’s quite wrong. Felix thought you were one of them.’

‘Me?
A werewolf? That’s crazy.’

‘Not
a werewolf, but a collaborator, which is almost as bad.’

‘You’re
talking like him.’ I said, not liking it at all, for she didn’t sound like my
Violet. Though I’d loved hearing her voice, always sounding soft and sweet,
even when she’d been frightened or angry, the new, fanatical harshness scared
and repelled me even more than what she was saying. I hoped, she hadn’t meant
it.

She
continued. ‘Felix talks a lot of sense. No one wants those freaks polluting our
world.’

‘They
don’t do any harm.’

‘That’s
not the point. They exist. Therefore, they must be annihilated.’

‘Why?
Hobbes reckons we can all live together.’

‘You
are starting to sound like a collaborator and I thought you were one of the
good guys … I liked you, despite what Felix said, but perhaps he was right,
like he was with Arthur.’

‘Who’s
Arthur?’ I asked, suddenly, unaccountably jealous.

‘Arthur
Crud. He was my fiancé. Felix warned me about him.’

‘Arthur
Crud? The rapist?’

‘That’s
him. He was like you, nice and harmless on the surface but a monster beneath.’

‘He
didn’t …’ I felt sick.

‘Not
me. Some other poor girl who worked for us. He’d be banged up in prison right
now if your friend Hobbes hadn’t got him off.’

‘Hobbes
did that?’ The idea was appalling.

‘Yes.
And yet you admire him. I don’t understand you.’

I
felt like I’d fallen into an ocean of confusion. That Hobbes had his bad
points, I’d have been the first to admit, though I found it hard to believe he’d
help a rapist escape justice. It wasn’t what he did and, whereas I knew he had
his own take on the law, in my experience, he’d always aimed for justice, even
if it might have been a rough sort of justice.

‘But
I thought Hobbes had killed Arthur Crud,’ I said.

‘Killed
him? Felix would have had him killed if Hobbes hadn’t interfered.’

‘What?’

‘Hobbes
got Arthur away when Felix sent round some of the boys to deal with him.’

‘Oh.
But I’m not like Arthur Crud.’

‘No?
I saw you throw yourself onto that poor girl.’

‘I
didn’t. She threw herself onto me!’

Though
she laughed, it was a cold laugh. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, you’re not that good
looking. Actually, you’re not bad. What lets you down is being friends with
Hobbes, who’s responsible for all the nastiness in this godforsaken town. You
really should get away from here, and get away quickly.’

‘I’m
not really his friend,’ I said, regretting it immediately, feeling a real traitor.
Yet, he wasn’t exactly a friend, for friendship implies a sort of equality and
I didn’t believe I was his equal in anything. Even so, there was something
between us and I did care for him and his good opinion. In fact, it occurred to
me that I often felt almost like a son, who needed his father’s approval. The
idea shocked me, though the time was not right for thinking about it. ‘I’m only
here because I’ve got nowhere else.’

‘I’m
glad to hear that,’ she said, her voice softening again. ‘My advice is to get
out of here, to get out of here tomorrow. Then you’ll have a future to look
forward to, a future untainted by association. But time’s getting on and I must
say goodbye now. It’s been interesting knowing you.’

‘Has
it? Good. Umm … are you going somewhere?’

‘We’re
leaving. We can’t stay after what’s happened, can we?’

‘I
suppose not, but why come to see me? Why not send a note? Surely, this is
dangerous.’

‘Yes,
but I really wanted to see you again. I’d hoped, just for a few days, that you
might be the special one because there is something in you … I don’t know what.
The thing is, in the beginning, Felix asked me to befriend you as a way to get
at Hobbes but I actually found that I liked you. You seemed different to other
men and I hoped I might get you away from him and that I’d have you forever.’

Her
voice was so gentle and sad I sat, entranced, quite forgiving her unforgivable
behaviour.

‘I’d
hoped, too,’ I said.

‘Did
you? It’s such a shame. If those stinking werewolves hadn’t turned up, it might
have worked out. Given time, I would have convinced you to think and act right
and saved you. I wish I still could. Maybe, Felix would have accepted you.
Still, it can’t be helped. Felix has done what had to be done and we’ve got to
move on. Maybe, we’ll be able to come back when the fuss dies down and people
can see that we acted for the best.’

‘You
don’t always have to do what he says.’

‘My
interests are his interests.’

‘Are
you sure?’

‘He’s
my brother.’

‘Did
he tell you to attack Mr Bullimore?’

‘He
doesn’t tell me what to do. That half-breed stinks of werewolf and had to be
destroyed. I’m only sorry I failed.’

‘Because
you came to help me.’

‘Yes.’

‘Against
Felix.’

‘Yes.’

‘You
don’t have to go with him. If you stay, I’m sure we can work something out. You’re
not like him.’

‘I
am very much like him. Sometimes we have to be ruthless, even if it hurts. We
must always see the bigger picture. But you could come with me.’

‘But
what about Felix?’ I asked, almost ready to risk his wrath, just to be with
her. I was too late.

‘Hobbes
is coming,’ she hissed. ‘I must go. Goodbye, darling. I am truly sorry.’

Something
soft and velvety brushed my cheek. There was a faint sensation of movement and
a dark shadow before the curtains flapped and she was gone. Everything was
quiet.

I
sat, as if her leaving had turned me to stone, knowing I still loved her.

The
front door opening, heavy feet pounded upstairs.

Hobbes
burst into my room, turning on the light. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes,’
I said and astonished myself by bursting into tears.

I
would, no doubt, have found the next few minutes excruciatingly embarrassing,
had I been capable of anything other than gut-wrenching grief. Though grown men
weren’t supposed to cry, I couldn’t have cared less.

‘Whatever
is the matter?’ asked Hobbes, raising his hand as if to console me, hesitating,
and scratching his head.

I
couldn’t force out much intelligible in the gaps between the sobs. He stared
and looked uncomfortable. Dregs hurtled upstairs, stopping just outside my
room, and, picking up the mood, threw back his big black head and howled.

Mrs
Goodfellow, shrouded in a voluminous white nightie, her thin grey hair coiled
in rollers, arrived. ‘What have you been doing to him?’

‘Nothing,’
said Hobbes. ‘I sensed one of those big cats up here when I was coming up the
street, so I thought I’d better make sure it hadn’t eaten him.’ He sniffed. ‘It
seems Miss King has been to see you.’

‘She
has,’ I said, squeezing out words in the intervals between upheavals of my
chest. ‘She said she’s got to go away from here.’

I
don’t think I’d ever felt such a cutting, debilitating sense of loss, at least
not as an adult. Unable to help it, I cried, while Dregs bristled and howled.

After
several seconds of mayhem, Hobbes roared, ‘Be quiet!’

It
shut us both up. Dregs, tail between his legs, mournful eyed, fled, while I sat
up, blowing my nose on the tissue Mrs G had pulled from her pocket.

‘Thank
you,’ said Hobbes, frowning. ‘Now, maybe you’ll explain what she was doing
here?’

Though
I did my best, it wasn’t my most coherent narrative and yet he listened,
appearing to understand my ramblings.

‘Did
she give any hint where they might be going?’

I
shook my head. ‘No. Not today … She did once mention a house in France, but I
don’t know.’

‘Oh
well,’ said Hobbes, looking eager, ‘I’d better look for her. I’ll see you in
the morning.’

Loping
towards the open window, he vaulted out.

‘I’ll
make you a cup of cocoa,’ said Mrs G.

Dregs
crept into the room as she left, laying his head on my hand. I stroked his
rough hair, which comforted us both so much that, when the old girl returned a
few minutes later, carrying a steaming mug, I’d more or less recovered from the
crying fit, while Dregs was back to his normal self, though avoiding places
where I guessed Violet had been.

‘Your
eyes are red, dear,’ said Mrs Goodfellow, handing me the mug. ‘It’s hard when a
loved one goes away.’

‘I’m
not sure I … umm … loved her.’

‘I
think you did, dear.’

She
was right, though my feelings were too tender to admit to. Only much later did
it occur to me that she knew what she was talking about, her husband having
left her to find himself in Tahiti. I supposed she’d probably found his
desertion hurtful.

‘Drink
it all up,’ she said. ‘It’ll help you sleep.’

While
I sipped, she went to her room for a hammer and nails and made the window
secure. Though I was convinced Violet and Felix had gone forever, that it was
unnecessary, it did make me feel safer to know he couldn’t get in, even though
I’d still have welcomed her. If only, I thought, I could have got her away from
his malign influence, I could have loved her. I smiled, feeling a little
better, wondering if I might be able to tame the wildcat. Though it was a silly
thought, it made me giggle. The cocoa had an aromatic aftertaste.

‘You
put something in this, didn’t you?’

‘A
little something to make you feel better. You’ll sleep well.’

‘I am feeling a little woozy.’

Waking
to sunlight pouring into my room, I enjoyed a few moments of comfortable, hazy
dozing until memories of the night’s events dropped back into my mind like junk
mail, filling it with confusion and a sense of utter loss. I made a decision to
lie where I was forever, to refuse all sustenance and comfort, to allow my life
to quietly slip away. It seemed the best course or, at least, the one with the
least pain. Of course, my death might result in a small amount of grief for a
few: Hobbes and the old girl, Billy, maybe, my parents, possibly. As I imagined
their tears at my funeral, I hoped that maybe, just maybe, a mysterious,
elegant woman, dressed all in black, would linger and drop a single flower on
my grave.

I
indulged this fantasy until a whiff of frying bacon put things in perspective,
persuading me not to pine away.

A
quick inventory suggested my injuries were getting better: my lip, though still
sore, had shrunk to almost normal proportions, my bruises weren’t quite so
tender, and the scratches I could see looked clean and well on their way to
healing. Getting up, I washed, dressed and made my way down to breakfast,
finding Mrs Goodfellow alone with a frying pan. Dregs had been shut out.
Occasionally, his head would bounce up at the window.