Scrap 74

SCRAP 74
The journey to the Island is pleasant in the evening sunshine and the men feel more at peace on the road. ‘I’m not saying I haven’t enjoyed the holiday,’ says Scotty, handing his pal a lighted cigarette and taking one for himself, ‘but there are limits to how much forced jollity I can take. Those camp entertainers with their endless cheerful banter having all the women swooning after them are quite sickening after a while. You can tell it’s all put on by the smarmy looks on their faces. We all know they don’t get paid much and have all sorts of scams running.’ Frank thinks on the same lines but says they would probably do the same in their position.
An hour out from the camp they park up at The Golden Breakfast café and buy tea and cakes. The place will be closing in fifteen minutes so they are treated to a floorshow by the assistant, who casually sweeps the floor around them, stacks chairs on tables and brings out a mop and bucket. The dust is bad enough, but the smell of bleach and Dettol is too much and the men finish their tea, stuff the last of the cake into their mouths and get back on the road. ‘We can maybe get to the Bay for a quick pint before closing,’ says Frank, by way of consolation.
They reach the lock-up and unload the contents of the biggest cases, covering the pile and carefully locking the door before going on to Scotty’s house. All is quiet as they arrive and they empty the rest of the cases and load them back into the boot. Scotty looks at his watch; ‘time for a pint I think,’ and they drive out to the Bay with half an hour to spare.
There are few customers as this is Thursday night and there is no planned entertainment. ‘Haven’t seen you two for a while,’ says the barman as he hands over two pints of bitter, whisky chasers and half a dozen bags of crisps. ‘We’ve been on holiday,’ explains Scotty. ‘Oh, get you,’ mocks the barman, with a camp gesture of his hand. ‘With the wife and kids,’ adds Scotty. ‘And the mother-in-law,’ adds Frank, a comment which brings a sympathetic smile to the barman’s face. ‘Well I don’t have that kind of trouble,’ he says, ‘there’s just me and Norman.’ His toy poodle pricks his ears at the mention of his name, then settles back on his cushion at the end of the bar. ‘So what gossip do you have for us?’
Gerald has been itching to be asked, and enjoys relating all the current news, which includes a few interesting titbits which may or may not be true, and one which seems worryingly feasible. It seems that Pam and Dave Barton have been having huge rows over his dalliances with his fuel station staff and he has become so suspicious of his wife’s change of attitude that he has been asking around if anyone can arrange to have her bumped off. Gerald and Scotty laugh at the suggestion, but Frank wouldn’t put anything past that thug.
Driving back towards Bognor the pals cross over the bridge from the Island. As they approach the Gull filling station Frank notices a light on in the office. ‘They close at eight o’clock,’ he says, ‘they don’t usually leave any lights on.’
He stops the car a short distance from the garage and cuts the engine and lights. There is movement behind the buildings; someone digging frantically in the darkness, with just the light of a pen-torch. ‘None of our business Frank,’ says Scotty. ‘Where are the dogs?’ Frank says. ‘I’m going to take a look. ‘I’m staying here,’ says Scotty.
Frank can move very quietly for a big man and he creeps along in the shadows until he is close enough to make out the figure of Dave Barton digging a very large pit where the dog kennel used to stand. ‘Need a hand Dave?’ Asks Frank, making the man jump in fright. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ Gasps Dave, very out of breath from his exertions. ‘I saw the light in the office and wondered if you were being burgled.’
Dave tries to cover up what he is doing, but Frank has seen plenty. ‘One of the dogs ran onto the road and got killed,’ explains Dave, clearly lying, ‘I thought I’d better bury it before Pam sees. It’s not a pretty sight.’ Frank looks towards the house, which is in darkness. ‘Pam not about then?’ Dave thinks on his feet. ‘She went to visit her friend in Gillingham; won’t be back ‘til the morning.’ Frank piles on the pressure by asking if Dave wants a hand burying the dog, but he declines. He returns to the car, having seen no sign of a dead dog or a dead anything else. So why is Dave Barton digging a big hole in the middle of night? Frank is sure it has nothing to do with a dead dog.