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Olive headed for Bushey. At a spot she knew well, two miles from Chipwick, she veered off the road onto a farmer’s track. Her car bounced along until she reached an extensive copse of trees, most of them oaks and maples. There she turned her car lights off, parted ways with the track, and inched her car along a seldom-unused woodland road. The car splashed through puddles, and every so often a boulder or tree root scrapped and knocked the underside of her car. Stiff after her long drive, she climbed out, stretched, and switched on a torch she’d brought with her. With the torch held down, she lunged through the woods and up a rise of ground to a low bank overlooking a wild and swampy pond. In that pale light, she made out the reedy expanse of the pool. It was so muddy, slimy, and tangled with weeds that nobody used it for swimming or fishing. It stank worse than Bert’s outside toilet. Olive shone the torch over the water and bit her lip. She had no way of knowing the pond’s depth, but out in the middle, where it was clear of growth, she reckoned it would do. The deep rutted farmer’s trail led to the pond’s bank, continued around the perimeter, and melted into the woodlands on the other side. She paced the rough path back to her parked car and smiled. The track was straight, dotted with tufty grass and weeds, and had no serious obstacles. Satisfied with what she’d seen, she flew back to the main road. There she waited until a considerable gap opened in the traffic, and then renewed her northward course toward Bushey, driving fast. To be continued… The real world: Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts. Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth. -
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James Field
Talvik, Norway You can also Find me on subscribe to get a free copy
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