The Rack & Cue Read online

  “We should have just caught the train or bus down to Gina’s. We could miss the gig.”

  “We aren’t going to miss the gig,” Mandy said.

  “Sure about that?”

  “Of course.”

  “I still think we should have caught public transport,” Grace said.

  “We both agreed it would have been too much money and more fun travelling like this, Grace. Come on. Don’t go all moody on me now. It’s been a great laugh so far!”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. You’re right,” Grace said, putting her dirty beaker back in her rucksack. “Best we get moving, then.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Mandy said.

  By the time both women had finished packing up their gear from inside the tent, had dressed, then stored the tent itself away, it was gone one in the afternoon. The rain had also slackened.

  Their hiking boots squelched and slopped as they traipsed through the boggy forest, causing them to pant and huff. The only other noise within the woods was the patter of rainwater, as it struck leaves and foliage.

  After a few minutes of tireless mud-trudging, the road came into view. A car whizzed by.

  “This way?” Mandy asked.

  “Yes, I think so. Didn’t we enter the woods from over there?” Grace pointed in the opposite direction to Mandy.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Both women had to raise their voices to be heard over the rain, which pelted the tarmac with vehemence.

  “I think the bloody rain is picking up again. We need to try and hitch a ride, Mandy!”

  “Okay, let’s get walking.”

  The women headed in the direction which Mandy had suggested, until they’d travelled half-a-mile without a car passing them. This forced the women to trudge on that bit further, and further still, until Grace asked to stop for a rest.

  Both women took off their packs and sat on a couple of large rocks by the side of the seemingly disused road.

  “Where the hell are we, Mandy, love?”

  “I’ve no idea…Look, over there,” Mandy said, pointing towards trees on the opposite side of the road.

  “What?” Grace asked, peering through the gaps in the tree line.

  “A building. Looks like it could be a farmhouse or something. We could give them a knock – see if they can point us in the right direction?”

  “Or give us a lift to the nearest town?” Grace added.

  “Yeah. Come on; let’s get our lovely arses over there.”

  Huffing, Grace put her heavy rucksack back on and sloped after Mandy, who seemed to be sprinting to the trees.

  “Wait up, Mands! I only have little legs.” By the time Grace had reached the spot Mandy had been at, Mandy had disappeared through the trees. “Where the hell did you go to?” Grace muttered, as she battled her own way through the bushes. Her rucksack clawed by nettles and brambles. “Shit,” she uttered. “Mandy?! Where are—”

  “Over here, Grace.”

  “Where? I…What the…Mandy…” Grace’s words trailed off as she stepped through the last of the green. Mandy stood before her, staring.

  An exceptionally large building loomed over both women, which cast them in a dark shadow, helped by the poor weather. The old, weathered stone structure, with sharp edges and dainty windows, had two massive chimney stacks. They puffed copious amounts of smoke into the ominous looking sky.

  A rusted sign hung high above the main door which was painted black. It squeaked as it swung back and forth on its decayed hinges. Its insignia was that of racked pool balls with crossed cues. The words The Rack and Cue were etched over the top of the faded photo.

  “A pub?” Grace asked.

  “It would seem like it,” Mandy answered. “Come on, let’s go inside and get out of this rain.”

  Grace watched her friend head for the door but didn’t seem as enthusiastic to follow. “Maybe it’s not open yet. It’s only early afternoon?”

  “No harm in trying,” Mandy said, turning the doorknob before using the ancient brass knocker, which was in the shape of a beer bottle. “Cute,” she uttered.

  “It seems we’ve missed the last shout,” Grace said, smiling.

  The door creaked open, just as Mandy was about to knock on the wood again.

  “Yes?” said a voice – the face unseen from Grace’s point of view.

  “Oh,” Mandy said, slightly startled. “I, we… we were wondering if you…”

  “Yes, please, do come on in out of that dreadful weather,” the voice said.

  “Come on, Grace,” Mandy said.

  Grace shifted over to Mandy, who was disappearing through the doorway.

  “It’s about opening time anyway,” the voice said, all hearty and cheerful.

  By the time Grace got to the door, it was standing wide open, with Mandy heading deeper into the building. The floor was made entirely of flagstone. The inside smelled of stale beer masked by a flowery scent.

  “I’ve just been mopping the decks,” the man said.

  Grace could now clearly see the owner of the voice, who was standing by the door, waving her in.

  “Please! Do come in. The name’s Porky,” he told them. “Nice to have some customers this early in the day.”

  Grace heard the door close behind her.

  “Gets awfully drafty, especially in the winter months. Please, go on through to the bar with your friend, angel,” Porky told Grace.

  She did as instructed. Her footsteps echoed off the floor and rang about her.

  “Are you serving food yet?” Mandy asked who was standing by the bar.

  “We sure are, little lady,” Porky said, smiling at Mandy, then at Grace, as she made a beeline for Mandy’s side.

  “Great!” Mandy said, taking her rucksack off and undoing her jacket.

  “I thought we were just asking for a lift, Mandy?” Grace asked.

  “Yeah, I know. But while we’re here, we may as well take a load off and grab a bite to eat, hey? Maybe have a drink or two.”

  “But…”

  “Oh, come on, Grace. Loosen up. Have some fun.”

  “Huh, okay,” Grace said. “What tap do you recommend, Porky – what would be fitting a lady of my tastes?”

  “Your poison?” Porky asked.

  “Cider.”

  “Me, too,” Mandy added.

  “Well, in that case, I’d have to suggest a half-pint of Rotten Apple. One of Warwickshire’s finest, ladies.”

  “Sounds scrummy,” Mandy said. “But make it a pint, Porky, please.”

  “Coming right up,” he said. “And for you?” he asked Grace.

  She smiled. “Yes, the same please.”

  “A pool tournament!” Mandy blurted. “I’m a dab hand with a cue!”

  “With balls, too – or so I’ve been told!” Grace muttered and smiled.

  “It’s paying out a two-grand cash prize,” Mandy said, totally oblivious to Grace’s comment.

  “You’re good, you say?” Porky asked, rather taken aback.

  “Yes, sir. Borough champion three years running,” she told Porky.

  “Oh, you must enter,” he told her.

  “I plan to, especially with that kind of money floating around.”

  Grace said nothing, knowing how good her friend was at the game. Plus, the thought of bagging two grand was nice.

  “Splendid!” Porky said, a huge grin developing on his sweaty red face.

  Chapter 4

  “Bloody mother-fucking-pigs,” Charlie raged, as he thumped the steering wheel of his car. “Fucking telling me I have to detour, just because of a bit of rain. Fuck sake!”

  He blew his horn aggressively at the bus in front of him, which was crawling along the carriageway at five-miles-per-hour. “Come on! Bloody move it. Some of us have meetings to get to!” Charlie yelled rattling the steering wheel as he looked at the clock embedded in the dashboard: 15:05.

  “I’ll never make it there for four. Never. Fuck!” he spat, giving the wheel anothe
r good rattle on its plinth. It took all his energy not to punch the driver’s side window out, as the bus came to a complete standstill.

  “Damn it. Move!” he shouted – his nose almost to the windshield as he thrust his body towards it. Happening to glance to his right, Charlie saw a woman in her car looking at him. She was shaking her head.

  “What?” he called, shrugging his shoulders. “Got a problem?” he said, jabbing his finger into the glass. She looked away from him, mouthing and shaking her head some more.

  Winding his window down, which allowed the cascading rain to find its way into his car and splatter his face. “Oi! I’m fucking talking to you,” he roared over the sound of rainwater while frantically waving one hand, trying to draw her attention.

  But still she ignored him.

  “Right, you bitch,” he muttered, turning to the passenger seat where his briefcase lay. He unclasped it, lifted the lid, and then drew out an apple and orange that sat there. He decided to go with the orange first. It was much softer.

  Charlie lobbed the hunk of fruit at her passenger window, and yelled, “I’m talking to you!”

  The furious look on her face as she turned to look at him almost had Charlie in stitches. But his anger outweighed it. And, as her window rolled down, he could hear her screaming over at him.

  “Are you out of your tiny mind?”

  “What’s the big idea, shaking your fucking head at me?”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “Can’t a man be mad without being judged by some little princess in a Jag her daddy probably bought her?”

  “Princess?! You cheeky bastard! I’ll have you know…”

  “Yak-yak-yak-yak,” Charlie said to her, pulling a face and mimicking a ‘yakking’ mouth with his hand. “I know a princess when I see one.”

  “For God sake, grow up, man. How old are you? Call yourself a businessman?”

  “Ah, dye your fucking roots,” he screamed at her, as he started doing his window up. Before he could fully close it, she began another rant, but he paid her no heed, as the bus started moving. He put his car into gear and followed closely behind. Her Jag fell three, four, six, ten cars behind before he came to another standstill.

  “This is ludicrous. I’m not going to get anywhere if it’s only ten feet of tarmac I cover every ten-fucking-minutes,” he begun ranting, but reined it in. He checked the cars around him. Nobody was looking. The bitch in the Jag was still well behind. “What a cunt she was!”

  His car crept forward another couple of car lengths before halting again. The rain seemed to be coming down harder, as the wind whipped up, rocking his little Ford Fiesta.

  On the roadside to his left, a sign was stating: “Delays Due to Accidents.”

  Charlie turned the radio on to see if he could get any traffic reports as he sat there. He fiddled with the tracking button as he searched for a station. Any station. The weather seemed to be causing a lot of problems, he thought, as every channel he tuned into crackled and spat static until finally, he found one.

  “…the heavy rain, which will continue throughout the week and into next, has caused flooding in most parts of the country…”

  “Great! Typical. I have a long drive to Newcastle for a meeting, and I get stuck in the worst storm the likes of us Brits have ever seen before,” Charlie muttered, his anger gone.

  “…due to this, many of the main roads have been closed by the police, such as large sections of the motorways between Birmingham, Derby, Leicester, Leeds and Newcastle. It is advised people cancel all long trips across the country until further notice…”

  The radio crackled violently, just the once, then station was lost. Charlie huffed, before turning it off.

  “Next exit, I’ll get off. No point trying to go any further,” he said, resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn’t make his meeting. “Best I give John a ring first chance I get; tell him what kind of hell I’m stuck in.”

  The traffic ambled on slowly and steadily for a further three miles, until an exit came into view, forcing Charlie to swap from the right to left lane. He took the clear junction, which lead him to a roundabout. Taking the third exit, it led him down another dual carriageway. A few miles down that road, he took another junction, thinking it would lead him back.

  It didn’t.

  “What the hell?” he mouthed, as he drove his Fiesta down an old, broken dual –carriageway. Trees, with their sharp branches jutting out, hung over the road. Potholes shook the car, forcing Charlie to take his foot off the accelerator, and brake slightly. The pelting rain covered his windscreen, cutting his visibility in half.

  “Fuck!” he yelped, as a harsh sound scraped the underneath of his car, followed by a loud crack. The Ford skidded to the left and bounded off the crash barrier, which was followed by more scraping and cracking noises. The car was then thrown to the right and through a hedge. A portion of the windshield caved in, showering Charlie’s lap with glass.

  The muddy field brought the car to a complete halt, bogging the tyres. Charlie was thrown against his seat with such force, that his head snapped back and rebounded off the headrest. Everything went dark for a split-second as stars danced before his eyes. A lump developed at the base of his skull.

  “Ugh,” he groaned, his eyes rolling like marbles.

  Rain begun to spatter his face, helping him come around. The first thing he did was search for his phone, which should have been on the seat beside him. His hand searched frantically. “Where the hell…Ah, got you,” Charlie said, finding the device under his case. “I knew you were there somewhere.”

  He checked the screen of his phone, while wiping specks of blood from his nose and forehead, expecting it to be either smashed or out of charge. It was neither. But there was no signal.

  “Fucking typical,” he said, undoing his belt and getting out of the car.

  As he stood there, inspecting the damage to his car, the rain soaked through his clothes. “Shit. Now what the hell am I going to do?” he asked himself, looking around the empty field. There’s got to be a home or small business somewhere close by? I’ll just continue down the road a bit, see if I can find somewhere, or someone to help me.”

  Grabbing his sports bag off the backseat, he headed back out onto the desolate road, walking briskly. It didn’t take long for his shoes to fill with water and muck as he trudged along the road, cursing and kicking loose stones as he went.

  His healthy diet and workouts at the gym helped keep him in prime shape, which was a good thing, because after two miles he still hadn’t come across anyone. Not even a house or car.

  The road was equivalent to a ghost town.

  Ancient and shoddy road signs still remained. Some were peppered with buckshot, which didn’t sit too well with Charlie. He quickened his pace. When he rounded the next corner, hope almost lost, a massive house came into view.

  “Oh, thank God!” he gasped. The sight of the place fixed him to the spot. Before making a run for the building, he caught his breath, and absorbed the structure.

  It was a pub, not a house as he’d first expected.

  Strange place for a pub, he thought. But then again, this road had probably been thriving with traffic at one time.

  Charlie pushed the thoughts from his mind and raced for the pub’s entrance. His shoes squelched with every footfall and cast water over their sides.

  He felt like a late schoolchild, running for the bus.

  “Please be open. Pleeeease!”

  His body collapsed against the door, causing a massive clatter.

  “Hey! Is there anyone in there? Hello. Hello!” he shouted, as he pounded the old black door. “Please, open…”

  Charlie heard deadbolts clack, causing him to jump back, not knowing what to expect.

  “Hello, sir,” the man said. “Come in, come in, and get out of that rain.”

  “Are you open?”

  “Yes, sir,” Porky stated.

  “Out here?!” Charlie exclaimed.

&n
bsp; “The Rack and Cue always has its doors open, sir. Now, come on in and get something warm inside you. Dry off by the fire.”

  The promise of food and warmth sounded heavenly to Charlie. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you,” he said, not being able to stop his teeth from chattering.

  “Bah! Porky’ll hear none of it. Now. Come!”

  Charlie stepped through the door and into the warmth of the pub. He could hear a pair of female voices inside somewhere, giggling and chinking glasses. Straightaway he was put at ease.

  “Do you have a phone?” Charlie asked.

  “Yes, sir. Do you need to call someone?”

  “Yeah, roadside assistance.”

  “I see. That explains why you were running around in this weather,” Porky said. “Go on through to the bar, I’ll be right with you.”

  Charlie did as he was told, hearing the pub doors close and lock at his back.

  Chapter 5

  There’s no sign of this rain easing, Rigs thought, looking out the window then at his watch. It was almost four in the afternoon, which meant they’d been at this service station for almost four hours.

  Both men had eaten and taken naps, hoping by the time they were ready to set off again, the weather would have improved – that there’d be good news on the radio. But both stayed the same. In fact, the rain seemed to be coming down harder and faster, with thunder and lightning also kicking back in.

  Weather and travel news was reporting the same – more rain forecast throughout the day and night, heading into tomorrow. More major roads had been closed off, with the flood line number being given out every ten minutes or so. It was either stay here at the truck stop for another couple of hours, or, it was head off and get as close to home as possible; maybe find a cheap room for the night.

  Rigs removed his mobile from his pocket, scrolled down its phonebook, and found Jill’s number. Nice girl. Bit lazy. The type of woman who would drive me fucking cuckoo, if we were in a relationship, Rigs thought.

  “Hello, Jill?” Rigs bellowed down the line, due to it being crackly. “It’s Rigs…”

  Iain stirred in his seat, yawned, and then stretched. “Is that Jill you’re talking to, by any chance?” he asked, smiling.