Hidden Things

This is the first draft of the first novel I ever wrote (the first two chapters only). Not sure if I'll ever take it through to final draft.

CHAPTER 1: Arrival

There is light and darkness in all things. Beauty and horror, love and hate. An endless shifting of perspectives, a shading of the senses, infinite shades of grey, but always in balance. There were black and white extremes, but most things fell somewhere in between, where they danced in time to the eternal rhythms. It was the way things were. Caleb strove to show all these things in his drawings but it was hard. Sometimes a pencil was too crude and clumsy to portray such depths, and sometimes, when things went just right, it was the finest tool ever made. He worked hard at capturing nuances of feeling, the darkness just off of centre, the brightness waiting to be set free. But above all, to draw the shifting balances that were never still. He thought maybe he was getting better and some of the hidden things were there in his pictures.

Smells of warm earth and sun-drenched vegetation filled his nostrils, comfortable, familiar scents of summer. He sat in the shade out of the direct sun, wiping perspiration from his forehead. His sketchpad rested in his lap. The drawing of the church was almost finished.

His Father had chosen to lie in full sunlight. He slept peacefully on his back in the aromatic moorland grasses. Midges settled on his face, although he was not sweating. He did not brush them away. A cloud of hover flies congregated around his sleeping form. In stunning bursts of speed the black and yellow flies darted from one hovering spot to another, flying backwards as easily as forwards. The crawling creatures of the earth emerged from the long grass, preferring resting spots in the folds and creases of his clothing. An earwig rested undisturbed in the dark shade inside his nostril. Perhaps it was like a friendly flower to the simple brained insect.

Soon Father would wake and it would be time.

Despite heavy holiday traffic on the motorway the big, blue motorhome made good progress.

"Hey Dumbo love, bet you could put down a nice barbe eh love. Nice juicy steak. Or two or three!" Karl chuckled his own joke. In the back of the camper van Hope, his wife kept her eyes on the Times crossword and didn't respond.

Karl studied the map and announced, "We'll get there about 4:00 p.m. I think. Just time to have a stroll around and then settle in for nice barbe and a few beers. Lucky the weather's so good, should be a nice evening for it. Then in the morning we'll have time to really explore. We can off for Cornwall late afternoon after lunch, see me Mum and Dad eh"

The older man, driving the camper van talked around the cigarette in his mouth. "Yer. I reckon that's about right. Another hour will see us there. Plenty of time. What's this film called again?"

"Modus Vivendi, Charlie. It's called Modus Vivendi. It means light the way or something," Karl told his Father-in-law.

"Its from the Latin for Way of Living" said Hope.

"Mine of useless information is our Dumbo," mumbled Charlie, Dumbo's Father. Dumbo said nothing but thought lots. Why can't the pair of them shut up about my weight. Or better still, just shut up altogether. They've never got anything nice to say. Absently she patted the dog that dozed happily against her side. At least Popup never said anything horrible to her.

Karl explained, "They built the film set and completed most of the filming before it went bankrupt. Lots of legal arguments about who owns what. Result is the film set has just been sitting there untouched for the last six months. Abandoned. Its pretty remote so I guess they're not too worried about vandalism. One day the courts will sort it all out and they'll no doubt demolish most of it. But right now it should be a great place to visit and it's not much out of our way. Make a nice break in the journey it will."

"Why was it abandoned then?" asked Charlie.

"Well, that's a story and a half. Worthy of a film in its own right I think. Halfway through filming the Director decided the script wasn't good enough, bit of a perfectionist apparently. Got through four different script writers he did. And even then the script never was finished to his satisfaction, or so rumour has it. They got hit by freak weather a couple of times, sets washed away, had to be rebuilt. One of the supporting actors had a heart attack and they had to re-film all his stuff with a new guy. Film went over budget and missed deadlines. The backers got scared and pulled the plug. Shame. Probably have been a good movie in the end, great even. Vincent Caine directed, he's one of my favourites. Did "Return of the Beast" couple of years back. Great movie! Course he won't be making any more. Committed suicide when Modus Vivendi went bust. Get this… He did it on the set. Cut his own throat. Messy or what! Story goes he did the deed on the set for the film finale. Was in a cave. Right there on an altar they built for the movie. Vincent always did go in for the theatrical stuff. I'm hoping we can find the place where it happened." Karl always did have a taste for the macabre, thought Hope.

They rode in silence for a while, except for occasional road directions from Karl. Hope finished her crossword and three chocolate bars. Charlie tapped cigarette ash out the window. An hour later they were halted at the side of the road, looking down a single lane, windy, gravel track.

"You think we can drive down there OK in this?" asked Karl.

Charlie was unconcerned. "Yer, I reckon. I can't see many holes, and anyway we've got pretty good ground clearance. And its dry. Guess they didn't spend any of the film budget on tarmac".

Charlie turned the motorhome down the track, managing about twelve miles per hour on the narrow, twisting track. Gravel crunched loudly under the tyres, but holes were few. The bumps were too small to really trouble the motorhome, but they gently shook Popup out of her doggy dreams. The brown mongrel sat up, yawned dog breath over Hope, licked her face in greeting and then looked out the window with the rest of them.

A vista of browns, purples, greens. The deep, wet, greys of granite outcroppings, spotted with white blooms of lichen, clinging to life on the ancient rock as they had done for a million years. Topsoil was spread thin here and the grass was short and tough. Scattered on the unforgiving ground, fragments of stone, dropped carelessly from God's hand as he was constructing this rugged place. It was a landscape that remembered creation in its every contour. The bones and veins of the Earth were close to the surface here.

"This road is about six miles long and then we're there," said Karl. Hope had successfully finished the Times crossword and was looking out the window. It was comfortably cool in the vehicle, the air-conditioning was going. Even so Hope felt heat coming off the glass of the windows. The relentless, yellow circle of the sun blazed on the weathered and ancient moorland, which stretched away to meet misty blue sky in the distance. The track lead them steadily downhill, into the rugged moorland, twisting and turning to avoid the more abrupt hills. There was just them and the moor and the sun.


They mounted a crest in the land and a whole valley was spread out before them. On the opposite rim of the valley the graggy, beaten fingers of a granite tor pointed skywards. The bowl of the valley below was more lush and green than the surrounding land. Perhaps there was more water here. Maybe rains washed topsoil from the higher land down into this hollow. Or maybe it was just more sheltered from the weather of the higher ground. Woods grew at the bottom of the valley.

Built of native granite, grey and weathered, the big house below them, nestling into the slope of the valley looked as old and enduring as the land. The narrow gravel track they were driving down opened into a big sweeping drive before the house. Wide stone steps rose between ornate, curving stone balustrades to a vast, double, wooden front door, big enough for a small parade to march through without changing step. Intricately carved pillars flanked the door. Above the entry way the house rose in a tower to six stories, crowned with battlements and a gargoyle on each corner. A snarling, roaring stone beast guarded each side of the steps, fierce griffins rearing up ready to attack, or maybe they were dragons. A king of all beasts, magnificent and terrible, a golden dragon snorting fire from ruby red nostrils inspected all visitors from above the entrance. It was a huge stained glass window glowing red and gold in the bright sun, rising to thirty feet.

The house spread symmetrically on each side of the middle tower, wide and low, three stories, with more battlements and gargoyles. The ground floor had no window openings. As if to compensate, the remaining two floors had generous floor to ceiling, leaded glass windows. Three chubby cherubs, green and stained graced a fountain in the centre of the drive. Pigeons slept on their heads. Scrubby, tenacious weeds pushed through the gravel and the odd bush clung to its tiny foothold on the granite of the house.

"Looks like something from a theme park," commented Charlie.

Karl grinned hugely. It was much better than he had imagined.

"Yer. It's a bit OTT isn't it? I read about this. Before the film company bought this land it belonged to some rich guy, Lord somebody. He was into Hammer horror movies and he had the house built to look like a house from a horror movie. Perfect setting for it don't you think? Out here on the moor, looks like it really belongs. Might have been here a hundred years, not just twenty or so. Turned out this rich guy wasn't so rich after all and he went bust. Place stood empty for ages. Eventually it was sold to the film company for next to nothing. Vincent Caine and some of the film crew lived in it while they were filming."

"Take her round the back of the house Charlie. Its probably better to keep a bit out of sight seeing as it's private property," Karl suggested. Obediently Charlie followed directions.

The valley spread out below them as they rounded the house. Amazingly, a city street wound away from them. As long as you looked directly down the street it was pretty convincing. The effect was spoilt a little because from their vantage point looking down at the street a couple of hundred yards away, they saw the buildings were only facades, scaffolding frames with fronts. No back, no walls, no roofs. Nevertheless it was impressive. And surreal, a city street surrounded by moorland.

Charlie pulled up and killed the engine. Climbing out of the air conditioned van, the heat enveloped him like warm molasses filled with the scents of baked heather and earth. Instead of the constant engine drone he heard grass hoppers strumming busily to their females in the grass. It always amazed him how such a small creature produced such a loud noise. As a gardener he had several times looked closely at one. You could see the pegs structures on their back legs which they rubbed against their forewings to make the sound. To his mind it didn't explain how they managed such a volume of sound. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned mightily. It was a pleasure to be outside and on his own two feet after hours of driving.

Hope's exit out the back of the motorhome was slow and careful. It was difficult for her to manoeuvre her big body in confined spaces.

The warm yellow haze of the sun shone from a perfect, turquoise sky. Wisps of puff ball clouds drifted aimlessly in fathomless blue depths. The air had a summer smell, warmth and sunshine. Grazing ponies switched their tails at lazy flies, like metronomes setting a slow easy background beat to the droning insects. Near the ponies a couple of foals slept flat on their sides in the long grass, twitching in their dreams. Nose down, ears bouncing, Popup sniffed and snuffled happily in the grass, there were many exciting smells. It was a perfect English summer afternoon.

Two vast, stone balconies defined the back of the house. The first was reached by steps up from the gravel drive and from inside the house, where a series of leaded glass, French doors opened on to it. The second higher level balcony was accessible only from inside the house. Stone work balustrades with richly ornate banisters bordered the balconies. A profusion of wild grasses and plants grew in big, fancy stone pots, which had at one time featured more formal planting. Here and there wild plants sprouted from the stonework and the gravel drive, all of it adding to an ambience of elegant decay and an age bygone.

"What do you say we take a stroll down to that street, have look around? Stretch our legs and enjoy the sun. Then we can come back here and get the barbe going. Maybe we can have the barbe up on that balcony. Yer. That would be great. Bet the views are fantastic", suggested Karl.

"Sounds good. First things first though. Lets break out the beer," replied Charlie.

"Sure thing," replied Karl. "Dumbo! Get us a couple of cold beers out the fridge would you sweetheart." Hope sighed, it hadn't always been like this. She remembered the times before they married when Karl had respected her, treated her as his equal, and cared about her opinions. Back then he never have ordered her around as he did now. It made her cross, angry inside. She kept all the anger inside and never let Karl know what she felt. It had always been like that for her, keeping her angry thoughts hidden away. She guessed that expressing anger took a confidence she just didn't have. Father. It had been Father that had changed Karl. After their honeymoon they had moved into a house just a few doors from Father. Karl and Father had got real friendly, best mates. They went down the pub together. A lot. Karl was always eager to watch any new movies he got on DVD with Father. Once upon a time it had been her he wanted to watch them with. She remembered cosy evenings when they snuggled up close and watch a new movie together over a couple of glasses of wine and some nibbles. After the movie they'd talk about it, sometimes for hours. Back then Karl wanted to know what she thought. She struggled out of the van and handed out the two beers to Karl and Father without comment.

"Ta love," Karl said taking his beer. "Right lets go." Side by side Karl and Charlie, sipping from their beers made their way down the hill. Dumbo followed a short distance behind as was the habit.

"Oxford Street! Its Oxford Street", chuckled Charlie. "London's biggest shopping street, stuck right out here in the middle of the moor. Look! That's Debenhams' Department store. I've been in there. And that's Selfridges, posh peoples store."

Now they were actually on the street, between the facades, the illusion of a London street was more convincing, although not perfect. On any but the most cursory inspection it was obvious the buildings weren't real. Hammered by winds and rain, odd parts of the hoarding had fallen off revealing wooden scaffolding behind. Grass and wild plants sprouted up between the paving slabs and from cracks in the tarmacked road.

Tarmac smell came off the cracked road,

They walked between the street facades smelling hot tarmac, soft under their feet from the hot sun. It was cracked and weathered, grass and weeds sprouting from the gaps. Facades rose on each side, skilfully painted hoarding of full-size buildings. The appearance of a London street was more convincing from here, the buildings appeared more solid, mostly you couldn't see they were only frontages. Hammered by wind and rain, odd parts of hoarding had fallen into the street where it lay like the fossilised skeleton of some animal, revealing the wooden scaffolding behind, denting the illusion.

Karl stopped amazed and pointed. "Well! Just look at that would you! It’s a bus. A real, bloody London bus."

They all stood looking at the red, single decker bus. After a moment Charlie approached and climbed on board. Karl followed. It was hot and stifling and smelt of damp and rotting fabric. There was a vague musk smell, something furry was using it as an occasional sleeping place. The windows were dull and grimy and rain streaked.

"Seats and everything," said Karl.

Hope wandered round to the back of the bus where she peered under the loose engine cover. "No engine". The engine compartment was unoccupied.

Karl emerged from the interior came to stand beside her. "Reckon it must have finished its working life. Engine was probably taken out to use for spare parts for other buses. Film company probably bought it dirt cheap. Pretty cool huh". Karl always liked to have explanations for things. For Karl things were not allowed to simply be, thought Hope.

On down the street they saw a big white arch, looking a little like the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. This was Marble Arch standing in the middle of one of the biggest traffic roundabouts in London, where it had been since 1851. Drawing closer the illusion slowly dissolved and it was clear they were looking at a painted backdrop. Hope saw Karl was enjoying it all enormously. She smiled fleetingly at his obvious joy. Once she'd have shared it with him but now she just felt pleased for him and mildly amused at his enthusiasm. She wondered briefly if she still loved him.

Karl explained what they were looking at. "It’s a forced perspective, painted backdrop. They're used in movies to create an illusion of size and distance. Pretty impressive at a distance eh. Looks convincing on camera too. The technique really took off in the 20's and it's still used in movies today."

The painted backdrop was the end of the street. They slipped through a gap at the side and at once they were back in the space and air of the moorland. A row of Portakabins were concealed just behind the painted backdrop. Peering through the grubby windows, rubbing the dirt away to make little portholes in the muck, they saw the Portakabins were obviously used to house administration functions for the film company. The contents looked untouched, there was equipment and stuff still in there. Papers were strewn on desks as if someone were in the process of working on them and had popped off to get a cup of coffee. There was even a couple of laptop PCs on the desks. The doors were secured with big, solid padlocks. Charlie rattled the doors anyway, but they were secure.

They rested for a moment, the sun was hot. Outside the Portakabins, under a stunted tree were a couple of wooden tables and some benches. Hope sat on a bench in the shade and wiped sweat from her face and neck with a man-sized tissue. Charlie drained his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, pushed his grey and sun-bleached hair back from his forehead. As a gardener he worked outside in all weathers and the sun didn't bother him too much. He took out a cigarette, lighting it from his favourite silver lighter. The lighter was distinctive, smooth, shiny silver moulded into gentle wavy undulations like ripples on a lagoon, that pleased the eye and the hand, so well made that the flip up top looked one piece with the body of the lighter when it was closed. Hope had given it to him for his birthday soon after she had started work for the first time. He had used it ever since. A solid, sun-tanned figure, he stood savouring the smoke and squinting down the hill against the glare, the skin at the corners of his eyes wrinkling in well worn pathways. The path wound towards a big church set in a graveyard.

"Hey, do you see them. There's a couple of people down there, at the edge of the woods where the path continues past the church? Man and boy looks like," Charlie commented.

"Yer, I see them.. They've gone into the woods now. Guess we're not the only ones interested in old movie sets" replied Karl. "Come on", he continued making his way down the hill. Hope rose slowly from her bench. Tongue lolling from her mouth, Popup still had the energy to bounce and race around them, investigating everything in doggy fashion.

As they drew near the church Hope left the path and wandered amongst the gravestones. She liked to read the inscriptions on old gravestones, one or two sentences to describe the flavour of a person's life. "Well-loved", "Sorely missed" and so on. Sometimes they were true. But sometimes they must be little white lies because only rarely did they say stuff like "Miserable old sod, may he be happier in the next world". As inscriptions went these were pretty boring, just names and dates mostly. An occasional "In Loving Memory". She bent and tapped a gravestone. It rung hollowly. Fibreglass. They were fakes. The whole graveyard was fake. It was well done. The stones looked weathered and overgrown, leaning at odd angles as if they had slowly subsided during the passing of the years. The dry stone wall around the graveyard was real Hope knew, she went and checked it.

Hideous gargoyles, lots of them, perched on every possible structure of the towering church. It wasn't until they were standing right next to the walls they realised it wasn't real. It was another film set, this time complete with all walls and a roof. The big double church doors were open and the three went inside. The interior was dim after the bright sunshine outside. The roof soared some forty feet above them supported by a rough wooden frame. A mixture of sand and sawdust covered the floor; their feet made no sound as they walked in and stood looking around. The big lofty space was quiet and warm and smelt pleasantly of pine. It was a calm, peaceful place to be, reminiscent of the atmosphere in a real church. They looked in silence for a while taking it in.

"Don't know about you Karl but I'm getting pretty hungry here. A steak would go down nicely and I could use another beer. How about you Dumbo, Looking forward to some supper I bet?" asked Charlie.

"Yes. Supper would be nice", replied Hope.

"You never say no to food do you Dumbo? That would be why you're so fat," said Charlie. Hope willed him to shut up.

"OK. Lets get back and set the barbe going. We got plenty of time to look around some more tomorrow." Karl said. They started back up the hill towards the house, setting a faster pace than the gentle stroll on the way down. Soon Hope was breathing heavily and red-faced. She pulled a chocolate bar from the expansive pocket of her skirt and started munching between laboured breaths. Something to keep me going till supper she thought. The sun and the climb took its toll on Popup too, he trotted quietly in their wake.

Charlie caressed the silver cigarette lighter before slipping it back in his pocket. Smooth and solid, it was a pleasing thing to hold as well as to look at. Dumbo might be too fat for her own good but she definitely had good taste, the lighter was style. He drew contentedly on the cigarette and blew smoke rings out across the balustrade into the still warm air, where they hovered for some time. The views from the lower balcony were spectacular. It was a beautiful place. Below him was the street set. Beyond that the distant church and graveyard in its moorland setting looked convincingly real once more. Low in the blue sky now, the golden sun provided a magical gentle light. Full sun shone on the house still, but the woods at the bottom of the valley had passed into shadow.

"Pretty good spot, I reckon. Let's have the barbe right here on this balcony. What do you say Karl?" Charlie suggested.

"Yes. Good spot. Nice views. I've got an opinion as well you know you arrogant sod." That's what Dumbo wanted to say but she remained silent.

"Yep. Great spot. Lets get set up," replied Karl. He went to the camper van and started pulling out the barbe equipment. It was good stuff, a big wide red grill with work surfaces to both sides. Even had hooks to hang the utensils off. Charlie lent a hand and together they carried the stuff up to the balcony and began to assemble it. Without being asked Dumbo climbed into the camper van and began preparing the salad stuff. She put some beans on the hot plate to heat up. As she worked she munched on a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits.

Karl carried the last chair up to the balcony and set it down. He walked over to the balustrade and leant on it peaceably, taking in the spectacular scenery. Toiling up the hill towards them, just passing the church were two figures. It looked like the man and boy they had spotted earlier near the woods. He watched for a while as the figures gradually drew closer. The man was dark-haired and tanned in a white tee shirt and blue jeans, with a rucksack slung over one shoulder. The boy looked to be about fifteen.

Charlie climbed the balcony stairs and set the tray of meat down next to the nicely glowing barbe, just about hot enough to start cooking he thought. Picking up the two cold beers off the tray he strolled over to stand beside Karl at the balcony, handing him a beer. "Heh! Down there. Looks like the man and boy from earlier," commented Charlie.



CHAPTER 2: STRANGERS

Watched from the balcony by Charlie and Karl, two figures, a man and a boy toiled up the hill. When they reached the Oxford Street set the man waved at them. Karl waved back and the figures continued up the hill. They drew near to the house and made their way up the steps to the balcony.

"Hi! I'm Sam and this is my son Caleb," said the dark-haired man in the white tee-shirt, offering his hand to be shaken. Karl, smiling politely, looked them up and down. Popup ambled up the steps, tail wagging and went straight to the dark-haired man, jumping up his front, woofing gently and licking delightedly at him.

"Why hello girl, how you doing sweet thing?" the man said ruffling Popup round the neck and ears just where she liked it.

"Well, the dog sure likes you." Smiling, Karl offered his hand to be shaken. The man whispered something in Popup's ear and with a last lick and a little humph she sat down and leant against his leg. The man took Karl's proffered hand and shook. "I'm Karl and this is Charlie, my Father-in-law. The furry lady who already introduced herself is Popup."

"How do you do Karl, Charles. Nice to meet you," replied Sam. "Nice dog . Dogs seem to take to me. We understand each other I think. We came here for the day so my son can do some sketching. Fascinating place isn't it?"

"That's certainly right," replied Karl.

"Actually I've got a favour to ask. We arranged for a taxi to come and pick us up, but it doesn't look like they're here yet. I wondered maybe if you had a mobile I could call on? Find out what's happened to them."

"Sure thing Sam. Here you go," said Karl pulling a shiny little silver mobile from his pocket. He flipped open the top and turned it on. "Ah. No signal I'm afraid mate."

The man turned to his son. "Sorry Caleb. I guess we'll have to wait and hope that taxi turns up, take us back to the hotel. It's either that or start walking."

Karl bit his bottom lip and considered the strangers. They looked normal enough, the man seemed quite pleasant actually, a nice mellow, relaxed voice causal but smart. If he was a loony it was unlikely he'd have bought his son with him. And the dog liked them. Karl reached a decision. "Tell you what mate, why don't you and Caleb join us for the barbe? We got plenty of food, well stocked we are. Maybe your lift will have turned up by then."

"I don't know, we wouldn't like to impose ourselves on you…"

"No problem mate. Be nice to have some company. Tell you what. If your taxi doesn't turn up I'll give you a lift back to civilisation first thing tomorrow. Would do it tonight, but we're just about settled in and the barbe will be ready soon. It'll be a warm night I think. We can lend you some spare bedding and you can stretch out here on the balcony under the stars."



Sam smiled broadly. "If you're sure? That's very kind of you. All we've got between us is half a cheese sandwich left over from lunch. Hotel issue. If I'm truthful it wasn't very nice when it was fresh. We don't want to impose though?"

Pulling up a couple of chairs, Charlie waved his arm to indicate the newcomers should sit. "Sit yourselves down. It’s a long slog up that hill. Couldn't leave you starving while we get dug into this lot," he said indicating the generous tray of meat waiting to go on the barbecue. "Sam, I'm sure you could use a beer after the climb up that hill? And what about you Caleb, Coke OK?"

"Thank you again, You're very kind," the stranger reiterated. "A beer would be very welcome. Caleb, a coke OK for you?"

"S'OK Dad, " replied Caleb. "Thank you," he added nodding at Charlie.

"No problem guys. You hang on here. I'll be back." Turning Charlie made his way down the steps to the camper van in search of beer.

Unslinging his rucksack and putting it to one side, Sam sat in the offered chair gratefully. Popup laid down at his feet. The boy leaned on the balustrade gazing out across the valley. A friendly sizzling started and enticing smells drifted into the warm evening air as Karl spread chicken legs on the glowing barbecue. He'd put the steaks on later after the chicken had cooked for a bit. Popup's nose twitched expectantly as she watched the meat with her best hopeful doggy expression.

* * *

Chop, chop, chop. The vegetable knife sliced fast and neat through the spring onions to the chopping board. Hope was in the camper van preparing salad for the barbecue. Chop, chop, chop. Sometimes, she thought, that's exactly what I want to do to Father.

Once upon a time long, long ago. she had been a pretty little girl and Father had not been Father, but Daddy. Together they'd play dragon and princess games, where Daddy would enthral her with tales of shimmering crystal castles of light and air and sunshine, menaced by fierce and fiery dragons. In these games the dragon usually won, for Hope loved animals of all kinds. Sometimes the princess and the dragon ended up firm friends and lived in peace and happiness ever after. Rarely the dragon would be defeated, but he always survived to fight on in another game.

At night Mummy would get her washed up and tuck her into bed and then Daddy would come and read to her. He'd sit down right next to her on the bed and hold out one arm so she could snuggle up under it, and then he'd put the arm around her so she was as snug as a bug in a rug. The warm friendly smell of him would envelop her, a mixture of growing things and wet earth, he was a gardener, and cigarettes and the sea scented shaving foam he used every evening when he came home. Daddy read her stories of princesses and dragons. But also stories from Greek myths of heroic adventurers, great journeys and terrifying mythical beasts. After Daddy kissed her goodnight and turned out the light she would lie happily in the darkness and imagine herself part of some big adventure. She would be a warrior, perhaps a powerful but kind queen, or maybe a beautiful, brave peasant girl journeying in search of her destiny. Never did she imagine herself as a helpless princess waiting to be rescued.

Daddy became Father a short while after Mummy died. She had been at school in art class painting a picture of a dragon. The school secretary had come in and called her out of class and taken her to the Headmistress's office. Mrs Archibald, the Headmistress had been there, sad and silent. There were also two policewomen. The police lady with the pretty blonde hair told her that Mummy had been in an car accident. The police lady asked Hope if she'd ever had a pet that had died. Hope told her about Bluey the budgie, who had been asleep on the floor of his cage one morning and wouldn't wake up. They'd lined a cardboard box with cotton wool and Daddy had gently laid Bluey in it, and then Hope had carefully put the lid on and stuck it with sticky tape. Together they'd buried the cardboard box in the garden and Mummy had said a prayer.

The police lady had looked very sad. She said "Mummy was hurt very badly in the car accident and now she's asleep, like Bluey was." Hope had thought about it for a while before speaking.

"We don't have a cardboard box big enough for Mummy?" The pretty police lady with the blonde hair had cried.

It took Hope a while to understand that Mummy wasn't coming back. Not ever. She came to believe it was true because of the way Daddy changed. He became quiet and withdrawn. A couple of times she found him crying on his own. When she went to hug him he'd hold her briefly but then make an excuse and turn away. He never read her bedtime stories after Mummy died. He didn't play with her either. She couldn't remember exactly when he became Father instead of Daddy, but it had been soon after Mummy died.

Hope started chopping lettuce. Poor Father.

Wet and warm, Popup snuffed and licked at Hope's knees, tail wagging furiously. Abandoning her vegetable knife on the chopping board, Hope knelt down to ruffle the dog's ears. "Good girl, such a good girl. Such a pretty girl." Her peripheral vision picked up movement and she looked up to a dark-haired stranger standing in the doorway. Kneeling, she looked silently up at him. Her hands stopped petting Popup and the dog trotted happily over to the man.

He smiled. "Good evening Hope. May I help you up," he said, climbing the steps into the camper van and extending his hand towards her. Hope suddenly found herself flushed and embarrassed to be caught in such an awkward and ungainly position. She was surprised at her reaction, normally she was little concerned with her appearance. She accepted the man's hand, it was strong and cool in spite of the heat, and was helped to her feet. She smoothed down her loose, beige blouse.

"Please, forgive me for surprising you like that. I'm Sam ???? (surname to be added). I'm here with my son Caleb. He's up there with your husband," said Sam pointing to the balcony. "We were expecting a taxi to come and pick us up, but it hasn't arrived. Your husband very kindly helped us out, he's invited us to join your barbecue. I came to see if I can help you with anything?"

The man made Hope nervous for reasons she didn't understand. He was very attractive, but it wasn't that. Not sure what to do Hope extended her hand hesitantly to him.

"Pleased to meet you." she said. Sam took her hand and shook it gently. A thought flashed, Oh God! He's going to kiss my hand, but the man only shook hands gently and released her. "Erm … I've just got to dress the salad, and then maybe you can take it on up to the balcony? If that's OK?"

"That's fine," Sam replied smiling directly at her. His eyes were very dark, nearly black. Quickly looking away, Hope rummaged in the fridge longer than was necessary to find the salad dressing.

"Perhaps I should prepare the bread?" Sam asked.

"Oh. Yes. That's a good idea." I sound like an idiot she thought. Pull yourself together. Hope passed the man a bread knife and other necessary items. He sliced the French bread with easy grace and began spreading butter.

"Hope, that's a very pretty name" he said glancing across at her.

"Erm. Thanks."

"Very interesting place here. Caleb, my son, and I are taking a few days holiday. We came here for the day so Caleb could do some sketching. Lots of good stuff here to draw, the film sets, the house. And of course the moor. A beautiful place. He's into art. Very talented, but then I'm a doting Father so I would think that, "smiled Sam.

Hope chopped lettuce slower than before. She was nervous and her hands had become less sure with the sharp knife. She felt a need to fill the silence, make polite conversation. "Karl is into films in a big way. He heard about this place from some of his mates on the web." When the man glanced her way she looked down at the lettuce.

"And you Hope. Do you like films?" His voice was mellow and relaxed with a rich timbre, a very pleasant voice. But it didn't relax Hope.

"Yes. I like movies."

"My favourite film of all time is Bladerunner. The theme of the androids searching for a meaning in their lives, and indeed for a chance at more life. The background of rain and darkness. Hi-tech and Sleazy. I loved it. How about you Hope, what's your favourite film?" Sam looked directly at Hope, his body still, waiting for her answer as if it were a very important thing for him. Hope was silent for a moment.

"Silence of the Lambs. I guess it would be Silence of the Lambs."

"Mmm. Why that film?"

"It's the relationship between Lecter and Starling I like. The complexity, the interdependencies, the way they constantly challenge each other. Starling is a strong woman, used to surviving in a difficult world and doing well. But Lecter strips her bare, getting her to reveal her deepest fears, and dreams, They're both excellent characters."

Sam had finished preparing the bread and was leaning back on the counter, his arms folded, a comfortable posture, at ease. "You look hot and thirsty. Perhaps I could get you one of those very cold beers in the fridge?" he offered.

"Thank you. That would be nice."

Sam retrieved two beers from the fridge. Effortlessly he flipped the metal tops off with his hand and handed one to Hope. It was as cold as snow in her sweaty hand, so cold it made her bones ache. She watched beads of condensation forming on the smooth glass surface.

"That's a neat trick, opining beer bottles with your hand," said Hope.

Sam chuckled. "Years of practice, its all in the technique. Perhaps later I'll teach you how it's done." Hope gratefully drunk down a few mouthfuls of icy beer and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. It seemed unlikely she would ever be able to open beer bottles with her hand.

"You like strong women then?" asked Sam.

"Strong characters. I like strong characters," she replied.

"I see from the books over there you are interested in psychology?" asked Sam.

"It’s a hobby of mine."

Sam picked up one of the psychology books and leafed through it. "A fascinating subject. These are pretty heavyweight books, serious stuff. Are you thinking about taking it further? Maybe doing some courses, university even?"

Hope gulped some more beer so she could avoid looking at Sam. She felt exposed and vulnerable. He was looking at her expectantly waiting for an answer, she'd have to say something. Emotional and embarrassed she was unable to fabricate something. The truth came out.

"I'd like to do an Open University degree." Hope realised she had stopped breathing . Looking down she studied her feet in their sensible black shoes and drew a breath.

"I'm sure you'd do well at it. You're obviously an intelligent person. What's stopping you from taking the course?"

"Oh - you know. It's just not very convenient right now. Maybe in a few months time." A hand slid down to the expansive pocket of her grey skirt and pulled out a chocolate bar. She quickly unwrapped it and started eating, paying a lot of attention to the simple task. Sam was not so easily diverted,

"If it's what you want to do obstacles can be skirted around, overcome. And sometimes removed altogether. I bet Karl would want you to do it seeing as it's what you want?"

She didn't want to talk about this stuff. Wouldn't this guy just leave it alone, leave it be. It was certainly none of his business. The chocolate helped.

"Karl's OK," she managed, which was pretty much true. He was indifferent one way or the other.

"My son's very good at art, at drawing in particular. A talented boy. A Father always wants his offspring to do well, to be happy. That's why I'm more than happy to take him to places where there's good stuff to draw. It's what parents are about, helping their kids. Your Father would help you out if you asked him?"

Heat rushed to her face, she felt sweat wet along her hairline. Mentally she stamped down hard on her emotions, her face going expressionless, screwing up her toes in one shoe, sending all the tension down to that one place in her body and relaxing the rest. God she wanted to eat! To eat and eat until her body couldn't fit anymore food in. And then eat some more anyway. But she couldn't with this guy watching her. Her Father wasn't interested in what she wanted. He thought she was stupid because she was fat. The ridicule when she'd told him what she wanted to do had sent her crying to her bedroom where she had eaten two packets of biscuits.

"I'm thirty-two! I'm not a kid anymore!! snapped Hope. A tissue emerged from her expansive pocket.
She mopped her hairline with it, glaring at Sam, surprising herself by challenging him. He looked back, gently.

Sam spoke softly with conviction. "We are always our parents children, no matter how old we may be". Taking the plates of bread and salad he stepped out of the camper van. She was so nervous of this man, more than that, fearful. If he wished he could sweep away all the little props, the small lies and dark corners upon which her life was built. She teetered on the edge of a mountain before him. And it was exciting. Hope transferred beans form the cooker where they'd been warming to a serving dish and followed Sam to the barbecue on the balcony.

The drawings were strange, but the kid had talent, exceptional talent even. All the pencil drawings were of scenes around this place, no people. Under Caleb's pencil the hot summer day had taken on a sort of brooding presence, as if something were just about to happen. Perhaps he'd achieved it by changing the light and shadow, or maybe it was a trick of perspective. You just knew something was lurking just out the picture where you couldn't quite see it. Something watched you. How on earth did the kid manage to achieve that effect, wondered Charlie. The drawings disturbed. But they were also pleasing. He wished Dumbo had some talent at something, besides eating. He passed the drawing along to Karl, who sat in the next chair.

A pink-grey light washed the moor, the sun was gone below the horizon leaving a smudge of pink in the wide sky. The food was finished and they now sat around comfortable and content in the warm evening, sipping on beer.

"Where's Popup?" asked Hope.

"She had some of my chicken a while back. Don't know where she is now" replied Charlie. Hope rose from her chair and made her way towards the steps to go and look for the dog.

"Hey Dumbo. There's a torch in the van, in the glove compartment. Better take that with you, its getting dark. Don't want a big girl like you falling over, it would take all of us to get you up again." Charlie called after her. He made no attempt to help.

Content to sit in silence, they watched the darkness descend, the light slipping slowly away. They could clearly hear Hope calling for Popup down below.

After a while they saw torchlight bouncing erratically on the steps as Hope made her way back up. Then Hope was standing before them, a large bulky figure.

"She's gone! Popup's gone! We've got to find her!"