The Windmill Café: Autumn Leaves. Poppy Blake
like she was the star in a shampoo advert.
‘I can’t see Rick anywhere,’ said Mia, standing on her tiptoes to look over the yew hedge.
‘I reckon he’s hiding behind one of the walls, waiting to leap out and startle us. It’s the sort of thing he’d do,’ said Phil, curling his lip in disgust as he lined up his camera for another shot. ‘And I wouldn’t put it past him to be dressed in some sort of warlock outfit with false blood dripping from a ceremonial dagger. Rosie, Mia, you have been warned.’
‘If he has any sense he’ll be running for his life!’ retorted Freddie. ‘I could kill him.’
‘Me too,’ muttered Matt as he lifted the iron bar on the gate to allow them to enter the grounds together. He carefully refastened the gate behind them and led them along a narrow footpath towards the priory, pausing at the entrance. ‘Okay, so despite having missed the sunrise, I’m sure you’ll all still be able to enjoy the experience of being in such a fascinating place. Feel free to explore and we’ll meet back here in an hour.’
‘Thanks, Matt,’ smiled Emma, fluttering her eyelashes ever so slightly at him before disappearing off to explore with Brad in tow.
Rosie chose to join Matt and Phil as they strode purposefully toward the centre of the fabled stone archway so she could make a wish. Mia had already confided in her that she intended to send up a prayer to the medieval gods that the Windmill Café’s autumn party went without a hitch so that Graham would give them more freedom and more cash to spend on their Christmas festivities for which Mia had planned an ambitious tree-decoration competition.
‘What are you going to do about Rick?’ asked Freddie, whilst they all stood watching Mia caress the stones as she listened intently to Phil’s running commentary before disappearing off with him to look at another pile of ancient architecture.
‘I’m going to wait until I’ve calmed down a bit before I decide. What he’s done is way out of order, Fred. This isn’t some children’s adventure quest or treasure hunt. It wasn’t easy getting Giles Barringer to agree to a group of myth seeking enthusiasts invading his land for a session of wild camping.’
‘Well, there’s no lasting harm done, I suppose,’ mused Freddie, clearly oblivious to Matt and Rosie’s suspicions. ‘Except to his relationship with Phil and Brad who are devastated to have missed the main event – I don’t think Emma minds all that much, though. I don’t know how they put up with his obnoxious arrogance and ridiculous pursuit of one-upmanship, or why. He’s a total moron, if you ask me!’
‘Well, it’s probably because he paid for everyone’s trip to Willerby, including this wild camping jaunt with Ultimate Adventures, out of his own pocket,’ said Rosie, making her way down to the arch. No point coming all this way and not taking advantage of the wish-granting facilities. Goodness knew she could do with a bit of help!
‘Pardon?’
Matt stared at Rosie, his proximity sending tiny shivers down her spine. Memories of the kiss they’d shared on a deserted Norfolk beach flickered across her mind and caused her to run the tip of her tongue along her lower lip before continuing. ‘Rick paid for the lodges; for him and Helen, for Phil and Steph, and for Brad and Emma.’
‘But I thought the trip was arranged through the Myth Seekers Society that they all belong to? Like a sort of school trip?’
‘It was. But the lodges are expensive, Matt. Graham told me that Rick was so keen to come here to see the Garside Priory that he paid for the majority of the cost without running the real amount past the committee in case they kicked up a fuss about his choice of accommodation. Surprisingly enough, the members are sticklers for the rules. The Society could never have afforded the rental, and neither could Phil or Brad, I suspect. Rick asked Graham not to divulge the fact he’d paid for everything, or how much the lodges actually cost – the others just think the fees were cheap enough that the Society’s funds could cover it all.’
‘It’s certainly a generous gesture, I suppose. But if you want my opinion it’s yet another example of his controlling personality. Why couldn’t he have come down to Norfolk by himself, or with his wife? Why does he have to have the others with him? Do you think it’s just so that he can bounce his superiority and rudeness around unchecked?’
‘Probably,’ laughed Rosie.
‘Arrrrrrrrrrrr!’
A high-pitched scream sliced through the air and Rosie knew at once it was Mia. Her first thought was that she had fallen from a wall, or tumbled into a hollow filled with spiders. She dashed into the middle of the priory’s internal courtyard with Matt and Freddie hot on her heels, but what she saw was so unexpected that she drew up short causing Matt to run into the back of her.
She had been right, it was Mia who had screamed – but it wasn’t Mia who was injured. Her friend was staring, her hands covering her mouth in horror, at a body slumped on the ground with an arrow protruding from its ankle and blood oozing from the wound.
‘Oh my God! It’s Rick!’
Rosie’s heart raced in a futile attempt to escape its cage and its thunderous beat rang in her ears. A surge of nausea ambushed her as she turned away from the scene and arched her back to the sky, her palms on her thighs, inhaling ragged gasps of oxygen. She waited for the dizziness to pass. The urge to collapse to her knees was almost too overwhelming to resist but she knew she needed to stay strong for Mia’s sake. She swallowed down on the acidic tang radiating over her tongue and with great difficulty managed to drag her senses into some sort of order, hoping for comprehension to dawn.
‘Is he … is he dead?’ whimpered Mia.
Phil was next to join them, and the shock of seeing Rick collapsed on the ground in the cloister with Matt kneeling over him and clearly checking for a pulse, rendered him motionless. His jaw gaped, his face bleached chalk white, as he struggled to understand what his eyes were telling him.
‘He’s not dead, Mia, he’s just passed out,’ said Matt, grabbing his first aid kit from his rucksack and signalling for Freddie to help him to remove the arrow protruding from Rick’s ankle.
‘I feel awful saying this, but are you sure he’s unconscious?’ said Phil, a catch in his throat as he spoke for the first time. ‘You’ve seen what he’s like. This could be just another one of his pranks – a joke arrow, fake blood, you know. Sorry, no, forget I said that, sorry.’
Phil took a quick step back and bumped into Brad, who had just arrived on the scene with a breathless Emma in his wake.
‘What’s going on? Mia, why were you screaming? Oh, my God, what’s happened to Rick?’
Shock spread across Emma’s face. She folded her arms across her abdomen and huddled against Brad. Her eyes, the colour of Irish shamrock, were as wide as saucers, their whites almost popping from her skull.
Before anyone could answer Emma’s questions, Rick started to groan. Rosie had never heard such a welcome complaint. Like Mia, she too had been convinced Rick was dead. Relief flooded her veins and the high-pitched drumming in her ears began to subside. She took a few steadying breaths and as the initial shock eased, her heartbeat returned to something approaching normal. She moved forward to hook her arm around her friend’s waist, distressed to feel her uncontrollable trembling.
‘Ergh! Careful!’
Beads of perspiration appeared on Rick’s forehead and his face displayed a strange waxy pallor. Matt worked quickly to clean Rick’s wound and wrap his ankle tightly in a bandage, causing his patient to grimace as spasms of pain shot through his calf with each twist.
‘Can you remember anything about what happened?’ asked Matt, sitting back on his heels, satisfied he had done the best he could in the circumstances.
‘What