The Stone Read online

  Ever the professional, Brian smiled at her, and out of his other coat pocket he pulled another set of keys for her. As he held them up for her to see, he explained what they were.

  ‘This is the front door key, the elevator third floor key, and skeleton key for all the internal doors. As the agent I retain the same set subject to your approval Mrs Monks’ Brian led the way out of the apartment and closed the door. ‘Would you like to lock the door of your new apartment Mrs Monks?’

  ‘Thank you Brian, thank you very much!’

  ‘When we get outside Mrs Monks, I have a file showing the income details as well as the information concerning our management charges. Everything is in order for you.’

  Brian reached into the backseat of the Mini and passed her another manila folder, which she promptly slid into the briefcase.

  ‘Thank you for your time Brian, you have been most courteous and very helpful, we will be in touch soon.’

  Brian shook both of their hands and quickly got in his car and drove away.

  Ellie watched him disappear around the corner and then pulled Rowena close and gave her the biggest hug that her strength could summon.

  12: The Stone meets Spike

  Spike

  Saturday at the Brickmakers was usually quite a lively affair, for Deal that is. They didn’t have a jukebox, but in the corner of the room there was a record player, and anyone could bring along their records and play them for the appreciation or otherwise of the rest of the customers. The unwritten rule was that no one could bring more than three records per night, and they had to be singles. Otherwise the whole night would be dedicated to one style or artist.

  One night two people brought Leonard Cohen and the other brought Bob Dylan to the pub. It was teeth grinding stuff, and many of the locals found somewhere else to go. Usually the choice of music was Beatles and Rolling stones and the like, with a sprinkling of other similar music, and overall it was a great success!

  This particular Saturday, Edmund was not in the best of moods, but he realised that the company of a noisy pub would be a better choice than sitting in his room thinking about the afternoon of disappointment with Pauline! So he thought he would give it a try. It was very hard to forget that trip to Canterbury, but after a few pints he got into the swing of it, and although not drunk, he had been successful in putting it to the back of his mind.

  Closing time at the Brickmakers was ten o’clock. He decided not to drag out the ten minutes drinking up time and to make his way back to Sholden, down the long London Road. The last song on the record player was Sandie Shaw’s ‘Girl Don’t Come’ and he was humming it as he walked down the road. He straightened up a little as he noticed someone standing beside their gate about halfway towards home. As he closed up, he could see that it was someone, an old lady by the look of it, with a pinafore on, just like his grandmother used to wear. She looked agitated and worried. ‘Are you waiting for someone Love?’

  ‘Can you help me young man? I have got a leak in the kitchen, and I have got water all over the floor.’

  ‘I’m no plumber, but let me have a look for you.’ Edmund said.

  The gate was just about hanging on its hinges and looking up at the house, it did look in quite a sorry state. The frontage was made with bargeboards which at one time had been painted white, but the paint had long since peeled away leaving most of them back to the bare wood. One or two of them had also slipped as if the nails holding them had rusted away. Frankly it looked ready for demolition, but he ignored all that and followed the old woman into the house.

  The dark passageway, with no furniture in it was only lit through the dim light, emanating from the open door at the far end. The only floor covering was a strip of brown stained linoleum that extended into the kitchen area. The other thing he noticed was how cold it was as he entered. The kitchen, if you could call it that consisted of a square shaped sink propped up by a rusty metal frame. Under the frame there was a water pipe that seemed to be severed about two feet from the floor, and water was just pouring out of it, and flooding the floor.

  ‘Do you have a hammer dear?’ Edmund asked her. She came back with a large old-fashioned hammer, quite a heavy one. Edmund crouched under the sink and grabbed hold of the lead piping at the top and with some effort managed to bend it over, the water was still gushing out.

  Then with the hammer, he gave the top of the pipe a couple of sharp blows, forcing the pipe to kink in the middle. This stopped the flow immediately. Next to the sink was a metal bucket with an old mop sticking out of it, and he did his best to get as much of the water from the floor as he could.

  The old woman looked up at him and gave him a toothless grin. ‘Thank you my dear, you have done me a great service, I have no money to give you, but I can help you.’

  ‘You, help me! I don’t want any help thanks. Anyway I just wanted to help you, and I’m glad it’s done.’ Edmund looked at the door.

  ‘Yes I know, but you must come in here, I won’t be long, I will give you a reading for the good you have done.’ She pushed him into a dimly lit sitting room that had bits of old furniture and a very tired looking settee. She pushed him towards the settee and beckoned to him to sit on it. Edmund gave in and sat on the old horsehair settee, and, as he did, noticed a mangy old dog asleep next to the couch. He could see that the dog’s coat had virtually dropped off its back; he guessed it was a small mixed breed, a mongrel.

  ‘Don’t you worry about Rex dear, he won’t bother you. I had him in the Blitz, and his hair fell off with fright during the bombing.’

  ‘Do you mean the air raids in the war?’ Edmund asked.

  ‘Yes, my dear, we lived in London then.’ She answered.

  ‘But that was over twenty years ago, surely not?’ Edmund asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s right my dear, Rex is twenty three years old.’ Edmund decided not to challenge the old woman any further, all he wanted to do right now was to get out of there and get to bed.

  ‘Now my dear, what is your name?’

  ‘It’s Edmund.’

  ‘Ah, Edmund, it suits you. Your name is from Saxon folklore and it means wealthy protector. You are a deep thinker and many people will rely on you. Now, give me that ring on your finger.’ She demanded.

  Edmund sighed and looked at her, but could see no way of getting out of this, so he took off the ring from his little finger and she rubbed it in her hand. Edmund rolled his eyes as if to say why is this happening to me?

  The old woman closed her eyes and hummed, he looked at her and rubbed his eyes in disbelief, she seemed to grow right in front of him.

  ‘You have a spiritual guide; he is called Abdul and he is watching over you. He tells me you will soon be travelling on water, and there is a rope, but do not trust your life on this rope!’

  Edmund blinked his eyes for a minute, the old woman handed him back the little signet ring. He tried to get up off the settee but she stopped him.

  ‘You are special, Edmund, you helped without asking why. For that I will give you this.’ She placed a small stone in his hand’ it looked like a small crystal. ‘Do not be afraid.’ The stone was small and smooth and it seemed to glow.

  ‘What is it?’ Edmund asked.

  ‘This stone has great power for you, and only you. It will not give you anything, but open your eyes. Before tonight your eyes were closed. It will not decide for you, but you will be helped when the time comes. The stone is your Great Protector and it will only work for you, until you decide to pass it on to the next special person.

  Going along with her, Edmund asked, ‘how will I know when to pass it on?’

  ‘Go, young man, and remember all I have told you, now leave me.’

  Edmund got up and walked to the open front door and through the gate and ran down the road towards the shadowy tower of Sholden Church, down the dark alley to the row of cottages and home. He felt the chill of the night, but there was warmth in his pocket that he couldn’t explain.

  The next morni
ng, Sunday, Paul was already eating his breakfast that Winnie had served up, and he was really surprised to see Edmund coming into the little room where they ate.

  ‘What’s this mate? You’re usually up and gone before I get up! Where did you get to yesterday? I thought you might have come to see the play.’

  ‘I went to Canterbury.’ Edmund told him the events of the afternoon with Pauline Divito.

  ‘Well, things are looking up, you two an item then?’ Paul asked.

  Edmund’s face dropped. ‘If only mate, if only.’

  ‘Yes, but what made you so late? Did you go to a party or something?’ Paul smiled as he asked him.

  Edmund explained how he helped this old lady with her plumbing and how she gave him a reading afterwards. He told him about the dog, but carefully left some of the other things out.

  ‘Tell you what; we’re going into town aren’t we? Let’s go the London Road way, and you can show me the house.’ Paul got out of his chair.

  Winnie excelled herself that morning with a fried egg on toast! Whilst he was eating, Paul regaled him with his exploits on the stage and how they all liked his performance. Rosalind’s father had told him that he knew someone in London that might be of use to Paul, he could see his name in lights already. Edmund tried his best to look interested.

  They both gave Winnie a little kiss, and she giggled at them. They were her boys now! As they walked along the road Paul continued with his tales from the play, and Edmund nodded absent mindedly as he felt they were getting close to the old house from last night.

  Edmund looked at each house in turn as they passed, especially about halfway but they carried on down the road with no sign of the old fence and gate. No sign of the Barge boarded house, no sign at all! They reached the end of the road and Edmund stopped walking.

  ‘Look, you carry on and I’ll meet you in town. Are you going to the Pelican?’ Edmund asked and Paul nodded. ‘OK see you there.’ Edmund said.

  Edmund turned around and walked slowly back from where he came, stopping at every house. Each and every house was made of red brick. Most had trimmed hedges in front, if not, a low brick wall! His heart sank as he reached half way. Everything seemed so real. ‘Was it a dream?’ He thought to himself. He was standing at the gate of a house, about halfway along the road, when a man came out of his front door and was locking it when Edmund interrupted him.

  ‘Excuse me, hello.’ Edmund said loudly. The man turned around, didn’t smile, just looked. ‘I’m looking for a house down this road, mainly made of wood, like horizontal slats, painted white, do you know of one?’

  The man finally spoke. ‘No there’s none like that down here, I know of a row of houses like that in West Street, but not here! Sorry.’

  The man didn’t look like he wanted to be bothered anymore, so Edmund waved his thanks and moved on. An elderly couple were approaching with their dog; he stood in their path and smiled at them. ‘Excuse me sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for an old wooden style house on this road, do you perhaps know of one?’

  The woman looked at her partner, and looked back at Edmund. ‘Around twenty years ago there was a little row of three wooden houses about halfway down this road but they got into a sorry state and they pulled them down.’

  ‘Twenty years ago? Did you say they were pulled down twenty years ago?’ Edmund asked rather desperately.

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s about right dear, twenty years ago.’ They looked at each other thinking that he probably looked a bit strange, so they quickly walked away from him. ‘We must go now dear’

  ‘Thanks’ he said to himself. He was about to ask if they knew anyone who lived in the houses, but thought better of it.

  There was no more to be done in his search. It was futile. Who would believe him? He thrust his hand in his pocket and there was the stone, he pulled it out and it glowed a little.

  ‘There’s my proof. She gave me this and I’m not going to forget it, no matter what anyone says!’ He said it out loud, but not too loud.

  By the time he had reached the seafront in Deal it was twelve o’clock, and that time could only mean one thing, the Pelican was open. He turned eastwards toward Sandwich, past Divito’s, purposely not looking in the window, past Lings, which was a very small cosy cafe run by a little Chinaman. This was the favourite place for a cooked breakfast. He stopped at the open door, Mr Ling was standing at the entrance beckoning him in, but Edmund smiled.

  ‘Ah, you go to de Pelican no?’ he said in his broken English, ‘your flend Paul, he just gone by.’

  This part of town was quite often exposed to any bad weather, and at the moment, it was blowing a gale offshore but he didn’t mind that. It wasn’t far to go before he was entering the little roadside pub. It was no larger than a little terraced house with a bar in it.

  Any stranger entering the bar would be quickly identified and, in most cases, the cold greeting would encourage them to drink up and leave after the first drink. Two or three acquaintances nodded at Edmund as he closed the door, and Olive was already pulling his pint before he asked her. Paul sat at the first table on the right, his pint was nearly empty, Edmund gestured to him for a refill and, of course, Paul needed no asking.

  ‘Any luck with that house search Eddie?’ Paul asked.

  Edmund had no time to answer as his best friend in the pub had arrived. Spike, a bull terrier, the pub dog came up to him and placed his huge head on Edmund’s knee as he sat down at the table. Nearly all white except for the traditional black spot over his right eye, looking like a pirate, a very powerful and dangerous pirate! In a bad mood he was best avoided. He was a guard dog that took no prisoners. In his mouth he had a small hard rubber ball, and as much as Edmund tried to avoid him, he made the traditional bull terrier ‘whine’ and Edmund knew what he had to do. He placed two fingers each side of his jaws and gently pulled out the hard wet ball.

  The pub went quiet and the crowd of men dispersed a little. Edmund threw the ball across the pub floor and Spike whined again as he chased after it. Tables and chairs in his way went spinning; he grabbed his quarry and sauntered back to the thrower. Once again Edmund tried to ignore him but it was futile. Spike gently laid his head on Edmund’s knee again offering him the wet ball. Edmund repeated the throw two more times, and on the fourth time, Spike laid his head on his knee and as Edmund reached inside for the ball, Spike’s enormous jaw muscles contracted like a vice! Edmund then grabbed hold of the ball, Spike held on to it, and whined loudly. Edmund knew what to do. He picked up the ball with Spike hanging on to it, wheeled him into the air around the bar area. It really was a fantastic sight, and for some reason Spike had chosen Edmund to do it, from all the customers in the pub. Edmund felt this was Spike’s way of showing his power and authority, and who would argue with that?

  The pub settled back to normal as Spike calmed down again. Edmund patted his powerful torso before he sauntered back behind the bar, his party trick now over. Only now could they receive the Pelican Pie, and Olive placed two plates of generous wedges of the famous pie on their table. It was a richly made game pie with plenty of meat and very filling. Along with the pie were pickled onions and a good piece of cheddar. After anyone had consumed that meal, it was impossible to refuse another pint to wash it all down.

  Edmund finally answered Paul’s question. ‘Not a sign of the house, as a matter of fact I spoke to an elderly couple who told me that one like I described to you had been demolished twenty years before.’

  ‘You must have dreamt it mate. Perhaps you were pissed and the dream was a vivid one. Pity it wasn’t about you know who!’ Paul looked at Edmund and laughed, but he just shook his head.

  Heading west back into town along the promenade they approached Divito’s. Paul wheeled inside and Edmund reluctantly followed him in. They found a table with a different cartoon under the glass; this one depicted the old Mr Divito, very skinny and bare-chested, being chased by a Roman soldier pointing his spear up his behind. Pauline came to the table a
nd asked what they wanted, Edmund looked up, but she didn’t look at him.

  ‘Is it guilt, or just plain stuck-up?’ He asked himself.

  Just as Pauline had gone back to the counter to make their coffees, the glass door opened and in came Joe.

  ‘Hey, you two, I’ve been looking all over town for you.’ Joe was the son of a local butcher, and was only a passing acquaintance; they had only met him a few times in the Brickmakers, which was their local pub.

  ‘Alice said you might be in here. Listen have you heard the Pirate Radio station called Invicta? It’s really good, plays all the top twenty.’ He was starting to shout with excitement by now, so Paul told him to calm down a bit. ‘Well mates, have you heard about Tom Pepper?’

  ‘Who’s he when he’s about?’ Edmund asked.

  Much quieter, Joe leaned closer to them. ‘Well, dad told me that he’s gone missing with two of the DJs’