Signal Point Read online

  Chapter 3

  Sarah walked under the Westgate as the sound of smashing glass broke the calm. In front of her a lorry screeched on its tyres. The car behind ploughed into the back of the lorry. Glass continued to tumble and shatter, then, silence. Sarah ran towards the crash as others looked on helpless. As Sarah neared the crash it became clear: the lorry had spilled its contents into the road and had created a pile up. Dan rushed out of the solicitor’s office and tossed the paperwork to the pavement.

  ‘Are you hurt? Do you need help?’ Sarah said to the woman whose bonnet was mangled into the back of the lorry.

  ‘My baby, check my baby,’ the injured woman said. Screaming came from the car. Dan tried to open the car door, but it wouldn’t budge. He tried another one; it opened with ease and he saw the unharmed baby.

  ‘Your baby is fine; she’s just shocked.’ The woman burst into tears with the stranger’s words. An ambulance siren drew close. Sarah comforted the baby in her arms and soothed it with her voice. Its mother had injuries to her legs and was advised to stay still by a passer-by until the emergency services arrived. Drivers of the other vehicles escaped unscathed and stood at the edge of the road. The lorry driver paced up and down as he shouted into his mobile. Sarah noticed Dan look at her while she held the baby in her arms. She passed the baby to a paramedic and lost sight of Dan. The medical team ushered everyone away from the scene.

  Dan stepped forward and searched the crowd of unknown faces for the girl. He wanted to find her even if his search ended with banal conversation that confirmed that she had a boyfriend and, no, she was not interested in him. Soggy paper squelched under Dan’s shoe; he bent down to peel it off. The inheritance paperwork had blown across the road and soaked up the foamy liquid from the drinks lorry. The page flailed in the air and stuck to itself. Dan stretched it out being careful not to tear it. Dan noticed the word forfeit printed on the page. He turned to see several other ruined pages on the road. Dan folded the saturated paper up and put it in his pocket. He weaved between the people that surrounded the emergency vehicles. The police took reports while others stood around making insurance claims and bickering about whose fault it was. Where had she gone? Even though Dan knew nothing about her, the idea of not seeing the girl again surprised him with an innate drive to find her. The ambulance moved away and he spotted her as she talked to a policeman. Sarah glanced over toward Dan and gave a kind smile; he smiled back and made his way over.

  ‘Don’t mess up, just be cool,’ said Dan under his breath. Sarah had a charcoal smudge across her t-shirt. Dan felt his hands turn clammy with the thought of what to say. The policeman finished his report and walked away.

  ‘They’ve said she’ll be fine.’ Dan missed Sarah’s words. He was too distracted by her beauty.

  ‘What?’ Dan asked.

  ‘The baby’s mother is fine,’ Sarah said with a quizzical half smile.

  ‘Oh. Yes. Good. Great.’ As the words left Dan’s lips he felt his confidence crumble at his inability to talk to girls he found attractive. Something inside him seemed determined to use the wrong words and his vocabulary did summersaults to compensate. ‘I mean you ran straight there; without thinking.’

  ‘So did you. I can’t understand people that just stand by and watch when someone is in danger,’ Sarah said. They looked at each other.

  ‘I’m Dan,’ he said as he held his hand out as if he had met a business associate.

  ‘I'm Sarah.’ Her eyes looked amused at his awkward movement.

  ‘Do you have somewhere to be or do you want to get a coffee or something?’ Dan asked. He expected the usual thanks but no thanks reply.

  ‘Yeah sure,’ Sarah said. Her response threw his mind into overdrive. Then Dan remembered Maybury’s office and the paperwork; the reason he was in Winchester. Dan felt the wet paper in his pocket that he’d picked up from the road.

  ‘Actually, this might sound a bit weird; can we go to the library?’ Dan winced as he said it. Sarah laughed.

  ‘Ok, I’ve not been asked that one before. It’s not some kind of euphemism, is it?’

  ‘No, I’m serious. I need to go to the library and I don’t know where it is,’ Dan said.

  ‘Mr. Easton,’ Jennifer called out from the other side of the street. Jennifer attempted to pick up sheets of paper that had spread out from where Dan had left them, but most of them were ruined by the damp ground. Her skirt restricted her movement to a robotic up and down motion like a grab arm from an arcade machine.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ Dan said. He jogged over to Jennifer.

  ‘These are ruined; I’ll have to prepare more,’ Jennifer scolded. She tried to compose herself back to the consummate professional she had been in the office.

  ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t think,’ Dan said looking down at the pages. He tried to help, but both Jennifer and he went to pick up the same page.

  ‘Look, I’ll get new papers sorted for you to sign. Can you stay around here for a while?’ A glimpse of irritation surfaced in her again.

  ‘Ok, sure. I’m hanging around for a bit anyway.’ Dan was pleased by the idea of spending time with Sarah and ignored the fact that the only purpose of him being in Winchester was to sign the papers.

  ‘I’ll call you when they’re ready.’ Jennifer forced a smile.

  Sarah waited nearby as Dan went to collect his bag that he had left in Maybury’s office. Dan walked back over to Sarah and the pair walked down the sloped pavement into town.

  ‘So you’re not from Winchester?’ Sarah said.

  ‘No, I’ve never even been here before today. A relative died and I’m just here to sort out legal stuff,’ Dan said.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, that doesn’t sound fun. I’m studying journalism here so I know the city pretty well now.’

  ‘How’s that going?’ Dan asked. He wanted to find out as much about Sarah as he could. Did she have a boyfriend?

  ‘It’s alright. My first choice would have been illustration but I don’t want to be a struggling artist.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I started a graphic design business. You know you haven’t lived until your overdraft has eight pence left and you’re down to your last tin of beans.’

  ‘You’re really bowling me over with your affluent lifestyle.’

  ‘Oh yeah, why have a comfortable life when you can be bankrupt?’

  ‘Are you really bankrupt?’ Sarah said. Dan nodded. ‘I convinced myself or rather my parents convinced me journalism was the right thing to study, but now I’m not so sure. I wish money didn’t complicate things.’ Dan thought about what she said. His thoughts turned back to the inheritance. Soon his situation would be uncomplicated by money; it was only money that could change his situation.

  ‘It’s just up here,’ Sarah said above the street noise.

  ‘What is?’ Dan said stupefied.

  ‘The library.’ Sarah laughed.

  ‘Sorry. I am listening it’s just—.’ Dan paused. ‘Do you know anything about inheritance?’

  ‘Strangely enough inheritance doesn’t feature heavily on my course,’ Sarah said.

  ‘I’ve got to sign those papers,’ Dan said perplexed. Something obvious he hadn’t thought of before slotted into place. ‘Of course,’ Dan said without further explanation.

  ‘Got something you want to share with the group?’ Sarah said raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Have you ever heard of the surname Easton?’

  ‘No, should I have?’ Sarah said.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Dan said as his mind wandered.

  They reached the steps to the Discovery Centre. It was a beige building with columns and half-round windows. The space inside was circular and flanked with bookcases and a central staircase. Dan saw that the first floor had a circular gallery, while the roof let in daylight that filtered through gaps in steel girders.

  ‘I want to research my family history. My grandfather died and I want to see if there are any records. I really know nothing about him,’
Dan said.

  ‘Ok, you can use my login to go online if you want.’ Sarah stood as she typed in her details on a library computer. Dan sat down at the computer.

  ‘There’s a local history section upstairs; I’ll have a look there,’ Sarah said.

  ‘You don’t have to help if you don’t want to,’ Dan called after her.

  ‘I don't mind,’ Sarah said over her shoulder.

  Sarah found the local history bookshelves. Her eyes scanned each title as she ran her fingers across their spines. Sarah picked out some of the books and made a stack under her arm until she couldn’t carry anymore.

  ‘There you go; a bit of light reading.’ Sarah plonked the books down on the desk next to Dan. ‘I should be going now; I’ve got to be at work. It’s been different Dan.’ Sarah started to walk away.

  ‘Thanks for your help, can I—.’ Dan didn’t know what to say to her, but that didn’t matter as she didn’t hear him. Sarah turned.

  ‘Read the first book. There’s definitely something in it,’ Sarah said. Her voice broke the hushed ambience of the library. The sliding doors opened and a second later she had gone. Dan opened the first book. Tucked inside the jacket sleeve he found a scrap of torn leaflet. Scribbled on the leaflet was a mobile number, her mobile number. He looked back over to the doors and smiled.

  Hours passed; Dan only stopped to use the toilet and grab a coffee for concentration. The books fizzled out one by one in their relevance. The internet, too, had spewed out pages of text, but Dan would need time to sift through it. The daylight faded above and only a few hardcore bookworms and students remained in the library. Staff stacked away returned titles. Dan clicked through onto an article with a link to the Records Office website.

  ‘What do you mean temporarily unavailable? Come on you’ve got to be kidding,’ Dan said to the computer as if it could hear him. Dan hit the desk in frustration. The devoted readers stared at him with distaste. Dan compiled a document of possible family history leads and clicked print. He heard a wireless printer whir in the distance. Dan looked to the stack of books Sarah had found; he had three books left to check.

  ‘Excuse me, we’re closing in ten minutes,’ the librarian said. Dan sighed and walked over to collect the print outs. All the print trays were empty. Dan turned around; he saw the mousey librarian as she informed others of the closing time, but he saw no other staff. Dan walked over to her.

  ‘I printed some sheets out but they’re not here,’ Dan said. The librarian led the way without reply. She tapped at the keyboard that Dan had worked on and a distant printer whirred again. Dan walked straight over to the bank of printers and collected the sheets. He signaled to the librarian in recognition, but she looked on unconcerned and went back to her mission. Dan slid the sheets of paper into his bag. Dan noticed that he had several missed calls from Maybury’s office.

  ‘Damn it, they will have gone home already,’ Dan said. Above the bank of printers Dan saw a noticeboard and on it a business card: Guest house, reasonable rates, Sussex Street, Winchester. Dan copied the details down and left the library. The automatic doors shut behind him and sealed out the cold air.

  A figure moved over to the computer that Dan had left. The man’s right hand agitated the computer mouse; the computer screen lit up. Held between the man’s left fingers were Dan’s missing printed pages.

  ‘Excuse me, but we are closed,’ the librarian said in an officious manner. She noticed that the man had a tattoo of a hawk emblazoned on his neck.

  ‘You’ll let me finish or I’ll put a bullet in your forehead,’ Hawk said. The librarian staggered back.

  ‘Take as long as you need,’ the librarian said.

  * * * *

  Dan faced the doors of the mini supermarket and stared at his pitiful silhouette; he knew he would buy a cheese sandwich meal deal before he stepped into the shop. The inevitability that poverty brought depressed him.

  Dan got out his mobile and called the guest house that he’d found.

  ‘Yes, hello?’ The woman’s voice sounded kind but surprised. She fumbled with the phone.

  ‘I’m looking for a room tonight. Are you near the library?’ Dan said.

  ‘Oh yes, two minutes away dear. John, someone wants to stay tonight.’ The woman shouted out to her husband, but she still had the phone close to her mouth. Dan held his mobile further away from his ear. The woman repeated herself. Dan heard noise from a television and a man talking in the background. ‘Hello dear, yes, you can have a room; it’s forty pounds for the night.’ The woman spent several minutes going over the directions without pausing. ‘You’ll find us in no time dear. I’ll get John to stand outside and wave a torch,’ the woman said.

  ‘No, really, that’s not necessary—,’ Dan said.

  ‘Oh, nonsense dear, John will be there don’t you worry. We’ll see you soon.’ The woman put the phone down before Dan replied.

  ‘Who are these people?’ Dan followed the woman’s directions. The route seemed so straight forward he questioned her need to repeat them and labour over every detail. As Dan turned the corner he saw a flashing light near the end of the road. Dan walked forward, cautious at where he was headed for.

  He doesn’t know what I look like yet, I could just walk straight past. Dan toyed with the idea but it was too late. The light began to judder as the man waved at Dan. The moment to escape had passed. The man called out.

  ‘Hello there!’ the man said. Dan couldn’t see much as the sky was dark and the torch blinded his eyes. As Dan neared the man switched the torch off.

  ‘Hello there, I’m John Finkley. You spoke to my wife, Margaret, I believe,’ the man said. The man was in his sixties, Dan thought, and had peppered brown hair. He had a soft face and wore a beige cardigan and brown trousers.

  ‘Hi, I’m Dan.’

  ‘Right then Dan come in, come in.’ The front door pushed back as far as it went. Wedged behind it were stacks of old newspapers and magazines. ‘He’s here Margaret, he’s here.’ The sound of the television clicked off and clumsy footsteps pounded across the floor.

  ‘Hello my dear, I’m Mrs. Finkley, but you can call me Margaret.’ A short, rounded woman with a reddish face and thick glasses smiled at Dan. Her hair was messier than her husbands, like it hadn’t been brushed or washed for weeks.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ Dan said. He wondered whether it was a bed and breakfast at all.

  ‘Here for long?’ the woman said tilting her head and poking her glasses back on her nose which magnified her already bulbous eyes.

  ‘No, just the one night, I’m heading home tomorrow,’ Dan said relieved.

  ‘Oh well I’m sure you’ll find the bed comfy; breakfast is from eight or is it nine? Anyway, if you need anything we’re just here dear. Well then John, show him to his room, show him to his room.’ The woman repeated herself like a parrot.

  ‘Thank you.’ Dan didn’t know what else to say as he stared at the chaos of the narrow hallway. Stacks of newspapers cut the walking space down to a slim corridor.

  ‘That’s alright my dear, make yourself at home.’ Mrs. Finkley returned to the television having only missed a couple of minutes. More piles of newspapers lined the treads of the stairs but they petered out towards the top. Mr. Finkley showed Dan into the small bedroom. The bed touched the wall from one side of the room to the other. Above the bed, a small sash window looked down onto the street.

  ‘This was our daughter’s room; she’s got a life of her own now though. How the time goes,’ Mr. Finkley said as he shook his head. He peered up at the ceiling as if he imagined back to time long gone. Mr. Finkley left the room. Dan noticed the room had a faint odour of dusty blankets; he dumped his bag on the floor. He lay on the bed and rubbed his eyes, boggled by the information his brain had absorbed during the day. Dan felt himself drift into sleep.

  Dan woke to the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Finkley moving about. They talked in hushed voices but didn’t hear each other so they repeated in louder voices. It was no good Dan had
to get up. The shower trickled out lukewarm water and, by the time it had reached the plughole of the peach coloured bath, it had turned cold. Dan thought of the day ahead: the research the day before had provided enough paper to prop open a door; he would have to skim read if he was to make any headway. Maybe he would ring Sarah and see if she would meet him for that coffee. Then there were the papers to sign before going home.

  As well as serving guests, the breakfast room served as an overflow for Mr. Finkley’s train sets. Pieces of train track stuck out of boxes, and delicate trees lined the sideboard. Dan saw an upside-down lollipop lady in a glass of pale liquid. He sat down at the breakfast table.

  Dan glanced up to the ceiling. He saw that dark cobwebs clung in the corners. He looked back down and noticed the piles of newspapers that littered the room. A collection of empty sweet wrappers and envelopes had been sprinkled amongst them. The carpet appeared fine from a distance, Dan thought, but as he stretched out his feet under the dining table a crunchy texture informed him it wasn’t. He looked down; evidence of previous breakfasts had been left for posterity. How the B&B had not been shut down surprised him. He thought back to the business card and couldn’t remember seeing any stars on it. He didn’t care though, soon he would be home and £45,000 better off. Mrs. Finkley popped her head round the door in a sharp, bird-like manner.

  ‘Hello dear, lovely morning hope you slept well,’ she said without a pause.

  ‘It was, comfortable,’ Dan said unsure of what to say about the archaic experience. He didn’t want to offend their well-meaning hospitality. Mrs. Finkley held a triangle of toast. Butter dripped down her hand. She took a bite of the toast.

  ‘Tea or coffee dear?’ she said with her mouthful as Mr. Finkley walked in.