Simultaneously the boys spotted it. They scrambled for their bikes, shouting to each other, kicking the engines into life and roaring off towards the rough grass. The worm was mo slow in sensing the approaching danger; it died, squashed beneath the wheels of the first bike. Up and down over every inch of ground they rode like Furies, making sure no worms escaped. Matt looked on, accepting the punishment. Blaming himself.
‘You’re sure you don’t wish to lay charges, sir? They’re making a bit of a mess of your place.’ The policeman watched them nervously, uncertain how to handle the situation.
Both sheds were burning fiercely; the roof of the larger one cracked and swayed, on the point of falling in. The garden was unrecognizable, scored with deep tyre-marks where the bikes had skidded round, the plants broken and mauled.
‘Quite sure,’ he said.
The policeman nodded and went over towards the lane where Matt saw him talking into his personal radio, away from the noise of the bikes. Requesting instructions, maybe.
One worm broke cover, slipping across the earth at an amazing speed, changing direction several times, playing games with the bike pursuing it. The others stopped to applaud and encourage, taking sides. Then it made a mistake; the rider swooped on the worm, catching it by the tail and swinging it around his head.
He let go. Matt dodged as it flew through the air towards him, and it landed on Fran’s blouse. She screamed in panic, trying to brush it off.
‘Stay still!’ he shouted.
It slipped, then seemed to steady itself as it prepared to strike up at the flesh beneath her chin. In the background Matt could hear the boys laughing, enjoying the sight. He grabbed the worm with his bare hand just below the head but instead of squeezing he turned and walked towards the one who’d thrown it, still sitting astride his bike with his helmet off, grinning, running his fingers over his close-cropped hair.
‘You threw this?’ Matt demanded.
At first the goon didn’t flinch as Matt held the worm close to his face. He was the son of the timber-yard owner, in his mid-twenties, with a reputation to keep up among the tougher element. Matt had often seen him with his hangers-on in the pub down by the harbour. He moved the worm an inch or two nearer; it strained forward to bite, its jaws opening.
‘You’re mad! Get that thing away from me!’
‘You shouldn’t have thrown it,’ Matt told him. The fury simmered inside him. If it had landed only an inch higher its teeth would have been buried in Fran’s neck, perhaps severing the jugular. ‘You’d better take your friends out of here, or I’ll let it feed on your face.’
He was in a tight spot, he knew. The others had gathered in a circle around him, still on their bikes, the engines ticking over. One false move and they’d ride straight at him. Beyond them, he could see Fran had armed herself with a garden rake.
‘Tell them to go,’ Matt ordered. ‘But you stay here till they’re all away.’ To emphasize the point he brought the worm closer to the goon’s scared face again.
‘You bastard, I’ll get you for this, see if I don’t!’ The goon twisted his head to avoid being bitten, but the worm’s sharp teeth sank into the lobe of his ear. Just the tip of it, but enough. The blood trickled down the side of his neck.
‘That’s just to whet its appetite,’ Matt threatened. ‘So tell them.’
His hand was steady. The worm didn’t struggle but its jaws opened again as Matt brought it nearer.
‘All right!’ The goon surrendered and told his companions to get to hell out of it, he’d meet them down by the harbour. At first they hesitated, perhaps hoping to see how far Matt would go. Then, one by one, they roared out of the garden and down the lane.
Matt waited till the sound of their engines had died away in the distance. The goon’s eyes were on him, apprehensive. And on the hungry worm in front of his face. Holding it still within an inch of his nose, Matt produced his knife and speared it through the soft skin below the jaw. He felt it slacken as the tip of the blade entered the brain.
Still holding it on the point of his knife, he stepped back. ‘Move,’ he commanded quietly. ‘In future, keep out of my hair.’
The goon didn’t need telling twice. A quick rev of the engine and he shot off clumsily, his rear wheel digging into the ground and throwing up a shower of topsoil before it gripped. Matt watched till he was out of sight before flinging the dead worm from him.
They stayed at the cottage only long enough to tidy up and pack some fresh clothes for Matt. He insisted on being alone while he cleaned the bathroom. The police had taken the dead worms; he could visualize them gingerly placing the remains in labelled polythene packets ready for laboratory reports and the coroner’s court. There’d be a post mortem on Helen too, what was left of her. Her smeared blood had dried on the sides of the bath and on the wall-tiles; it felt sacrilegious to be wiping them away. The bathroom should be left untouched, as a memorial.
But he went over it thoroughly, the way Helen would have wanted. She’d always been a stickler for a clean bathroom. It was almost an act of homage to her.
Fran was ready when he went downstairs again and they left immediately for her flat above the shop. Neither of them spoke. As soon as they arrived he tried to ring Tegwyn Aneurin Rhys while she cooked some lunch. There was no answer.
He’d told her he wasn’t hungry but the smell of the lamb chops sizzling in the pan reminded him he’d taken nothing since the previous evening. His mouth tasted sour; his whole body was aching and tense.
‘What am I going to do about Jenny?’ he asked, mooching around disconsolately as Fran prepared the meal. ‘I’ll have to talk to her, but what can I say?’
The potatoes had boiled long enough. He watched her as she carried the pan to the sink and poured away the scalding water in a great cloud of steam.
‘I’ll ring Frank,’ he decided.
But Frank said in his usual smooth, professional manner that Jenny still refused to see him, which was understandable, wasn’t it? She needs time, old man. In any case, she’d expressed a desire to go to stay with her aunt in Devon and it had all been agreed.
‘I phoned her this morning to explain matters. Couldn’t have been more helpful. Of course she was shocked about her sister’s death and the fact you’d not told her anything, but I was able to smooth things over, I think. We’re driving down there this afternoon.’
Matt was bewildered. The whole thing was out of his hands. He was on the point of protesting that Jenny was his daughter, he should be taking the decisions, but what was the use? If Jenny wanted it that way… So he tried to be gracious and began expressing his thanks, only to be cut short.
‘As your solicitor, old man, I regard it as my duty.’ Frank sounded increasingly pompous. A whiff of the magistrates’ court about him. ‘You’ll be getting my account in due course.’ Before ringing off, he added: ‘I’m surprised you’re not out with one of the parties hunting these worms. It’s a serious problem. In my opinion we’re all in danger.’
Fran put his meal on the table and ordered him to sit down and eat it. The day wasn’t over yet, she pointed out, and they were both going to need all their strength. In her opinion, it would be best for them to leave Westport right away and make for somewhere safe. He told her about Jenny.
‘Best thing for her,’ she commented. ‘You can keep in touch by phone and go to visit her when… Well, when she’s ready for you.’
‘Yes.’
‘Matt…’ She put down her fork and laid her hand over his, ‘I can guess what you must be going through. If you want to… I mean, you’ve only to say the word and I’ll go out of your life completely.’