John Halkin - Squelch

But at last Bernie said he should return home to the house. He wanted her to go with him, but she was reluctant. She sat on the edge of the bed thinking about it. Lesley’s house.

‘Can’t we stay here?’

‘I’ve not been back since morning,’ he explained apologetically. His hand lightly touched her thigh, keeping their physical contact. ‘There may be messages on the machine. I am the village doctor, don’t forget. Please come with me.’

‘I’m not sleeping in Lesley’s bed.’

‘Agreed.’

‘I’ll get dressed then.’

Had circumstances been different, she’d have chosen that long Indian cotton dress she’d bought last time in London, simply to luxuriate in being feminine. Instead, she pulled on her jeans, then the rest of her protective outfit, making sure not an inch of skin was exposed.

‘That’s what it was!’ she exclaimed suddenly just as they were ready to leave. She took off her mask and goggles again, then began to hunt among her books. ‘I knew I’d read something like it.’

‘Like what?’ He waited, half-amused.

‘Those moths crawled out of the earth as though someone planted them there.’

‘Dragon’s teeth,’ he suggested.

‘Too late — I thought of that one first! No, it’s here, look!’ She found the book and hastily turned over the pages. ‘The Death’s Head Hawk Moth! The caterpillar burrows into the ground to become a chrysalis, and when the moth emerges it has to wait till its wings dry out before it can fly. Which explains why they didn’t try to escape. They couldn’t!’

‘Know thy enemy!’ Bernie quoted approvingly. ‘Though it doesn’t bring us anywhere near a solution. Come on, love. Let’s go.’

That night she slept in Lesley’s bed after all.

When they got to the house Bernie decided he was hungry. While he checked through the phone calls, she dug some lamb chops out of the freezer and boiled some potatoes. For a vegetable she had a choice of courgettes or a tin of artichoke hearts. The courgettes reminded her of caterpillars, so she chose the artichokes.

‘D’you realise it’s after eleven?’ Bernie announced, entering the kitchen with a bottle of his best claret in his hand. He hunted in the drawer for the corkscrew. ‘Lesley left a message to say they’re all fine. Send their love. Mrs Blakemore’s arthritis is troubling her again and she needs to renew her prescription. Oh, and two messages for you. Jeff Pringle wants you to ring him. And Jack. You’re in demand!’

‘Me? I’m tied up here!’ she retorted. ‘I hope!’

‘So do I!’ He leaned over to kiss her as she tended the chops. ‘Or I shall be jealous!’

He drew out the cork, sniffed it, then put the bottle to one side ready for the meal.

‘There’ve been a couple more incidents, it seems, in —’ he started to go on.

‘I don’t want to know,’ she interrupted him firmly. ‘Not tonight, Bernie. Please? The meal’s almost ready, so I’ll just go and change. God, I’ve been wearing boots all day!’

This was one evening the caterpillars were not going to ruin, she was determined, whatever might happen later. She had brought the full-length Indian cotton with her and went up to the bathroom to change. It felt so good as it slipped over her head and she smoothed it down. It clung to her figure in all the right places. By the time she went downstairs again Bernie was setting out the plates.

What time it was when they went to bed she’d no idea. On the stairs — both of them a bit tipsy from all the wine — she made some suggestion about the spare room, but they found the mattress stripped bare of bedclothes. So narrow, too. The children’s beds were out of the question, and it hardly seemed fair to use Phuong’s room. Which left Bernie’s king-size double bed.

Lesley’s bed. Yet it didn’t seem to matter so much any longer. That border had been crossed.

Eventually they fell asleep, still naked, with only a light sheet covering them because of the heat. The windows were firmly closed, of course. How long she slept she could only guess, though when she opened her eyes it was still dark in the room. She reached out and touched Bernie’s shoulder, but he merely grunted without waking.

Without the caterpillars this would never have happened, she reflected drowsily. Blame them, if anyone. Outside — somewhere — hundreds more must be assembling for their next orgy of human blood. In one village or other, unsuspecting people were quietly sleeping, unaware of the danger they were in. Perhaps she herself would not survive.

She’d been sweating. She ran her hands down over her skin, feeling — oh, so alive, it was unbelievable! Surely Lesley wouldn’t begrudge her just a small share of him? Discreetly? It was strange how much better sex could be if you were in love with the person.

Suddenly she thought of the Reverend Davidson — that poor old man, now at peace. Maybe it was the heat reminding her of that holiday in Greece where she’d been so delighted to watch the lizards at play on the wall. Had he really meant lizards , she wondered. Or was Liz a person?

Then a particularly horrifying idea struck her. This hot, wet weather had turned everything upside down. Plants flowering out of season, swarms of insects, these vicious caterpillars, previously unheard-of… Had it brought lizards too? Was that what he’d been trying to say, that he’d been attacked by a lizard?

After the past few days nothing of that sort would ever surprise her again. She tugged at Bernie’s arm, urgently wanting to discuss it with him. He kissed her passionately — still deeply asleep — then turned over.

She would have to wait.

First thing in the morning, while Bernie was holding his surgery, she drove out to St Botolph’s. A sober, dark brown Mercedes stood parked before the vicarage. Out of habit, she went around the back and found a thin, dry-looking man established in the living room. As she entered, he looked up from the papers he was studying and removed his glasses.

‘It is usual for visitors to ring the front doorbell before coming in,’ he remarked tartly, looking at her protective gear with some cynicism. She’d taken Bernie’s helmet.

‘Not here, it isn’t! He never answered. You’re the solicitor, are you?’ It was only a guess, but too obvious.

‘I am a solicitor, yes.’

Ginny introduced herself, explaining how she had been there when the Reverend Davidson died. Could she take a look around?

‘What exactly do you wish to see?’

‘The garden first,’ she explained. ‘Then his work station.’

‘Work station?’ His tone was distrustful.

‘Laboratory, if you prefer.’

The deck chair had not been moved since the previous afternoon; nor had the low table. Even his plate was still on the grass where she’d left it. Keeping an eye out for caterpillars, she began a slow search of the paved area.

‘If you’d tell me what you’re hoping to find, I might be in a position to help you,’ the solicitor said impatiently.

‘I don’t know.’

The shed, she thought. She was half-way across the grass towards it when she stopped, uncertain of herself. Of course he must have been sitting down in the deck chair, mustn’t he? That meant he’d see everything from a different angle. Turning on her heel she trudged back, tugged the deck chair to where she thought it had been standing when she first saw it, and sat down.

‘Really, I do have rather a lot to get through!’ the solicitor objected.

But then she spotted it, tucked away between two plant pots. Keeping her gloves on, she took hold of the limp brown tail and drew it out.

‘What would you say this is?’ she asked the solicitor, holding it up before his face.