Excerpts from lost novels
26 February, 2008

The white van approached the turning slowly, dropping off the tarmac road and onto the long, ridged dirt track that led across an empty, ploughed field to a straggly copse that partially obliterated the outline of a cottage. Avoiding the water-filled troughs and holes, the van tentatively rolled along the track, steadily approaching the trees.

Soon, it was far enough along that drivers passing by on the road didn’t even notice it, and its progress was so slow that the seagulls that had been swooping and squawking over the furrowed ground in the hunt for winter food went back their task and ignored it completely. Even before the van reached the copse, it had disappeared from all eyes and thoughts.

As soon as it entered the partial covering afforded by the leafless trees, the van slid to a halt on the muddy ground and a man in his mid-30s, dressed in corduroy trousers, waxed jacket, checked shirt and wellingtons, opened the driver’s door, which swung with a creaking jerk, and jumped out. He placed his hands on his hips and looked around, apparently deciding what to do next. Aside from the seagulls and the faintest sense of a breeze through the tangle branches of the trees, there was complete silence and nothing seemed to move. Moisture hung heavily in the air, and the entire copse smelt faintly of fungus.

The cottage, which was obviously abandoned and run-down, stood uneasily in a small clearing in the trees, threatening to collapse at any moment. The window frames were blackened and rotting, and there were missing panes of glass. The front door hung awkwardly on its hinges and the bricks were chipped and crumbling. In many places, the mortar was missing to such an extent that it was obvious that the wind, and rain, entered without hindrance. The dark, damp red bricks of the cottage’s walls contrasted with the green-brown of the earth and the trees, and the distant grey of the sky, yet it seemed as if it had been there forever. He couldn’t have hoped for anything better.

After a few moments of contemplation, the man turned towards the van and motioned to a bored-looking girl no more than 18 years old sitting inside. She reluctantly pulled her muddy trainers off the dashboard and, adjusting her vest top and bra, opened the door and stepped hesitantly onto the ground, pulling up her loose combat trousers to stop them getting dirty. Her pale, freckled skin developed goose-bumps almost instantly in the cold air and she was thankful for her long brown hair, which covered her bare shoulders. With a look of utter disgust on her face, she stared at the man.

What the hell are we doing here, she asked with loathing in her voice. I told you, he said we could find it here, the man replied. You have got to be joking, she exclaimed. I can’t believe you dragged me all this way just to see this dump. And I’m cold, she added, looking at the ground. I told you to bring a coat, the man said, absent-mindedly, his attention drawn by a half-open window on the upper floor of the cottage. You aren’t my Dad, you know, the girl replied. What are you looking at, she demanded. What? Oh, nothing. Come on, let’s go inside. We might be able to light a fire or something, the man said, marching towards the front door. Yeah, right, the girl muttered to herself as she picked her way across the mud, avoiding the puddles.

Inside the cottage, the man purposefully strode around the ground floor, opening all the doors and checking the rooms. The last room he tried seemed about right. It had obviously once been a sitting room, with a moth-eaten sofa, open fireplace, peeling sideboard, shelves scattered with cheap ornaments and a battered valve radio. The large bay window looked out at the van and had a clear view of the dirt track. Perfect, he thought. It might be a bit cold, but who cares? She won’t be complaining for long. He smiled to himself as he stepped back out into the hall.

She was standing by the front door shivering slightly, her arms wrapped around her chest. You aren’t going to get warm if you leave the door open, the man said cheerily, walking back towards the kitchen but still watching the girl. As she looked up to give him a dirty stare, she saw a fleeting shadow and something swinging towards the man’s head. Look out, she shouted.

He had time only to frown and think about turning round before he was struck heavily on the back of the head. He landed awkwardly on the floor, blood already seeping onto the worn rug. The girl looked at the man, horrified and frozen to the spot, suddenly alone.

From the kitchen, another man stepped out, much taller and thicker set and dressed in T-shirt and jeans. He was looking at his victim and carrying a table leg in his hand. Slowly, he lifted his head and gave the girl a piercing stare. Don’t hurt me, she whispered, pulling her arms tighter around her body.