The Easter Gang & Sinister Mister Fimister Read online

The Easter Gang

  &

  Sinister Mister Fimister

  by

  Rachael Long

  for Karen who said it was taking too long…

  Copyright 2013 Rachael Long

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The Easter Gang &

  Sinister Mister Fimister

  contents

  Chapter one

  The Tuesday after Easter

  Chapter two

  The Wednesday after Easter ~ late morning

  Chapter three

  The Wednesday after Easter ~ around midday

  Chapter four

  The Thursday after Easter ~ around 9.30am

  Chapter five

  The Thursday after Easter ~ afternoon

  Chapter six

  The Thursday after Easter ~ just after 7.00pm

  Chapter seven

  The Thursday after Easter ~ sunset

  Chapter eight

  The Thursday after Easter ~ night time

  Chapter nine

  The Friday after Easter – morning

  Epilogue

  ~~~

 

  one

  The Tuesday after Easter

  The Churchyard, Trove Village

  The view through the binoculars was blurred.

  “Can you see anything yet? See what’s going on?”

  “Nah, it’s all…” he looked over, “fuzzy…and before you say anything, yes I have tried focusing them!”

  “What about wiping them?” She smiled, cocked her head to one side and blinked her eyes slowly.

  “Funny! Here!” He thrust the binoculars at her. “You see!”

  Holly took the binoculars and wiped them all over. “See,” she said smiling at Ryan, “this lens is all scratched but this one, now that I’ve given it a wipe, looks to be fine. If we use them like a telescope,” she held one side of the binoculars up to her right eye, “perfect!”

  Ryan snatched the binoculars back and muttered something under his breath.

  “Well I still don’t see him,” he complained.

  “That,” began Holly, speaking very slowly, “is because he hasn’t appeared yet!”

  “Oh yes, I have!” a voice called out.

  Holly and Ryan looked down from the tree they were perched in.

  “Moggy!” exclaimed Ryan. “Come up and join us.”

  Moggy looked up and waved his right arm and left leg as best he could.

  “Ryan,” said Holly, “you are such an idiot. You know he’s got a broken arm and leg!”

  Ryan muttered to himself that when he broke his collarbone last year, he didn’t let it stop him from riding around on his bike…

 

  Holly climbed down from the tree and smiled at Moggy then nodded up at Ryan; “he thinks he’s the lost bear-man-cub-thing of Trove village or something…perhaps Big Mouth rather than Big Foot. Although I’m not sure if the real Big Foot would climb trees…”

  Ryan half swung, half jumped down from the tree and, landing behind Moggy, slapped him lightly on the back. “Gotcha!”

  Moggy spun round and knocked Ryan playfully on the head with his plaster-cast-covered right arm. “Gotcha back!”

  Holly tutted, “is this what they call male bonding? I suppose you’ll want to go off now and talk about how rubbish last night’s football commentary was.”

  Moggy smiled, “it was a bit lame actually…”

  Before Ryan could give his thoughts on last night’s game and football commentary in general, Holly snatched the binoculars from him and passed them to Moggy. “I’m afraid your binoculars are completely wrecked. You could use them as a telescope though; one side seems fine but a real telescope would be much better.”

  Moggy held the binoculars up to his eyes. “Mmm…I see what you mean. Even the good side isn’t really that triff.” Triff was Moggy’s latest buzzword – short for terrific. But, in Moggy’s mind, it could mean lots of different things; boring teas could be un-triff or not very triff as could people, clothes, TV programmes and yes, football games and commentaries. If something were exceptionally bad, Moggy would brand it as being trifflessly untriff! He handed the binoculars to Ryan.

  “My dad’s put in a claim for them on the insurance,” he said beginning to rummage inside his fleece.

  Ryan turned the binoculars over in his hands. “Why don’t we,” he said, smiling, “donate them to the church jumble sale? Can you imagine some old toffee chewer buying them, then taking them home and getting all jiggy ‘cause one side’s busted!”

  Holly shook her head and laughed, “you are so cruel, Ryan, you should know that most toffee chewers would be too blind to notice!”

  Moggy finished rummaging in his fleece and pulled out an e-tab. “Ta-dah! My mum and dad bought me this, mainly for Easter but mostly because I got run over. Oh, and also because they have decided,” he put on a dull voice, “to go off to Europe for a week for a romantic holiday,” he shook his head and made an ‘urgh’ sound before continuing. “It’s the latest e-tab model; ten inch screen, super-thin, twin speakers, can use it like a big phone too.”

  Ryan and Holly nodded, “cool, smart and very, very triff!” they said.

  “And,” Moggy added, touching his finger to the screen, “it has a really double triff zoom cam, look.” He pointed the e-tab at the school across the road, their school: Trove Village, Church of England Primary School, and zoomed in on the school office.

  “Wow, that is a zoom!” exclaimed Holly.

  “Watch out!” Ryan said suddenly, “It’s the vicar! Better hide or he’ll moan about us using his graveyard as a playground.” The three friends ducked behind a tall gravestone next to a yew tree that the previous year the churchwarden had tried, very unsuccessfully, to cut into the shape of a cross. So bad was his attempt that the yew tree was now referred to by almost everyone in the village as the cactus…

  The vicar passed by the cactus-cross yew tree, humming and singing to himself, Twas God that brought me to the tree. Although as he passed, he tripped and muttered under his breath something about churchwardens and shears…it was not polite…

  Out of site behind the gravestone of

  Elmer Bussey

  Taken peacefully in his sleep

  3rd May 1833

  Holly, Ryan and Moggy spoke in hushed voices…

  “Likes a good curse, doesn’t he,” grinned Moggy as the vicar’s footsteps grew fainter.

  “I thought he was meant to be leaving,” said Ryan, “you know, off to be a missionary somewhere?”

  Holly gave a little giggle, “you started that rumour last year!”

  Ryan shrugged and laughed, “must have been a good one, even I believed it!”

  “You know,” said Holly, checking it was clear to come out, “I can’t believe the Easter holidays are half over.”

  “Well at least we still have this week left,” said Moggy leaning against Elmer Bussey’s gravestone. “Mind you,” he added, “my gran has just arrived to look after me for the week…”

  “Come on,” said Ryan, pretending to drum with his index fingers on Moggy’s plaster-cast arm, “let’s go and have a cup of hot chocolate at the scout hut. Edna should’ve opened up by now.”

  During school half-term and Easter holiday breaks, Edna, leader of the village Brownie troupe opened up the Scout hut as a café for the local children to hang out in. Many years before, the scout hut which was also the Trove Brownies meeting place, had been the village hall and it was because of this connection that some of the
village’s older residents, the toffee chewers, started using ‘Edna’s Café’ as a drop in centre, much to the annoyance of the children.

  Outside the Scout hut, Edna was stood with a carrot in her mouth. Every now and then she took it out, looked at it, then clamped it back between her teeth. “Morning kids,” she said removing the carrot as Holly, Ryan and Moggy filed past her and into the hut. “Be with you just as soon as I finish me carrot.” She coughed and added, “Oh, you’ve made the parish rag, young Neil”. Moggy winced at the use of his real name. Then winced again at the thought of being in the parish magazine.

  Inside, the three friends picked a table away from the door, not too close to the kitchen serving hatch and as far as possible from a pair of grandparents with a double buggy and two very smelly babies.

  Moggy settled himself as comfortably as he could onto a stool. “Is she,” he nodded at the hut door, “Edna, trying to give up smoking again?”

  Holly nodded and explained she had overheard Edna talking outside the Post Office about some new quit smoking plan she’d found online. “Whenever you want a cigarette, you have a carrot instead!”

  They all began to laugh. “Shih,” said Moggy, “she’s coming.”

  “Right kids, what’re ya havin’? Hot chocs all round, is it?” The three nodded and minutes later were huddled over their drinks, flicking through the latest issue of Treasure Trove – The Parish Magazine of Trove Village.

  “Here it is,” said Holly pointing to the middle pages. “You’re lucky, it’s only a couple of paragraphs under the Village News section.

  “At least they didn’t ask my mum for a photo of me,” Moggy said, relieved.

  “Read it out then,” said Ryan, adding, “I bet it doesn’t name names or anything useful. Should be on the front page really; Village boy run down in village!”

  Holly shook her head, “no; Local boy run over in village! But anyway, that’s the problem, isn’t it” she said, “No witnesses and we got there too late and we don’t have anything what they call…solid?”

  Ryan corrected her, “concrete.”

  “Yes,” continued Holly, “concrete. Concrete evidence.”

  “Read it out then, Holly” said Moggy.

  ~~~

  Trove Village News

  Tree fall in Gallows Tree Lane

  The week before Easter is usually a time for getting ready for, well, Easter itself. Not only is it a time of celebrating renewal and the rising of Jesus but also a time when nature begins to wake from its winter slumber. And it seems, it is also a time when young boys decide to begin practicing their tree climbing skills.

  One such boy, Neil Millar, had a nasty fall from the ancient oak along Gallows Tree Lane. Details, at the time of going to press, were not completely clear but it seems young Neil of Trove Village School’s Year Six, fell from the high branch that overhangs the lane…yes, the ancient oak once used for hanging witches and followers of Satan all those centuries ago. And not to be confused with the Hanging Tree behind the village school used for summary executions by mad, bad Judge Earl Flint a century more or less later.

  Luckily for Neil, his fall happened at a time when there was no traffic about. However, this did not prevent him from conjuring up a story of speeding motor scooters or was it a sit-on lawn mower (!) and reckless driving. He claims to have been hit by a motorised vehicle of some sort rather than falling from the tree of his own accord. Sadly no witnesses have come forward to corroborate young Neil’s story.

  In this writer’s mind, the tall and fanciful tale of scooters or lawn mowers was invented to hide the embarrassment of falling from the tree, while no doubt trying to carve his name into the high branch, and failing to impress either his girlfriend or peers or perhaps both.

  Needless to say, eleven year old Neil’s misadventure cost him a broken arm and leg and, no doubt, wounded pride.

  ~~~

  For a moment the three friends sat silently, staring at the article and sipping their hot chocolate. Moggy spoke first, asking Holly if it said who had written the article. She shook her head, “all it has is Village News brought to you by Castor Pollux. Not much help…and obviously not a real name.” she paused, “we could always write in and set the story straight.”

  Moggy put down his cup and muttered, what was the point, the damage has been done. At that moment Edna wandered over, carrying a jug of hot chocolate.

  “Anyone fancy a refill? One top up free on the house. But if you wants more bickies, you gotta pay.” She looked at Holly, Ryan and Moggy. “Read it then?” She asked, nodding at the article. “All I can say is, if you fell from that tree, you got off light. Should ‘ave two broken arms an’ legs.”

  Moggy gave a thin smile. “Do you know who this Castor Pollux is, Edna?” he asked.

  “You do know almost everyone,” added Holly.

  Edna shrugged, “maybe I do and maybe I don’t. That’s a made up name, that is anyway. Could be anyone. It means whoever it is can write whatever they wants.” She turned away from the table.

  “Who do you reckon would know then, Edna?” Ryan asked.

  Edna turned back. “You could ask in the Parish Rooms, they might tell you. After all, it is their magazine.

  “Lets go and find out who this Castor person is,” Holly suggested, “and ask them where they got their story from.” She rubbed Moggy’s good arm, “come on, Moggs, we can get it sorted.”

  Reluctantly Moggy got to his feet and followed Holly and Ryan out of the scout hut.

  ~~~~~

  The Parish Rooms, the committee offices of the village church, seemed a grand title for a little stone-built building, probably half the size of an average cottage, situated next to the school playground. A little sign on the wooden, glass panelled door read, Out to Lunch.

  “Do you really think they’re out to lunch?” Ryan said to Holly. She shrugged and peered through the window, adding that it was probably a bit early for lunch.

  Not if they’re still out from yesterday, suggested Moggy trying the door and finding it locked.

  “Hold it,” said Ryan. “Someone’s inside, they’re coming.” A stout-looking woman appeared and scowled at the children before opening the door. “Yes?” she enquired in a less than friendly tone.

  “Sorry to trouble you,” began Holly quite politely before being interrupted by Ryan. “Can you tell us who Castor Pollux is?” he asked quite forthrightly.

  The stout woman looked wearily at the three friends. “Don’t they teach anything in your school? You mean, ‘they’, who are they...” she raised her eyebrows and without waiting for a reply, continued, “Castor and Pollux were twin brothers in Greek mythology.” She smiled in a now run-away-with-you expression and pushed the door to close it.

  Ryan pushed lightly back against the door. “We know that,” he lied, “what we mean is, who is this Castor Pollux who writes for the parish rag, magazine, thing.”

  “You horrid children,” the woman tutted. “I don’t have time for this. If you don’t leave now, I’ll call the constable. He only lives over the road you know.”

  “I’m sorry, all we want to find out is who Castor-polly-whatever really is.” Moggy smiled politely.

  The stout woman began to close the door again. “I can’t say unfortunately. He uses the name to give him the freedom to write openly and honestly.” She waved them away, closed the door and pulled across a faded beige curtain.

  “She’s cheerful,” said Ryan, “Lets go to the park.” The three friends trudged away from the Parish Rooms and headed off to the village park.

  Unusually, for a school holiday, the park was empty…except for the inevitable dog walkers (2), pushchair pilot (1), toffee chewers (2) and a single dog carrier – the dog being carried was small and looked to have legs that would be better suited to one of those annoying, battery-operated barking and somersaulting toy dogs.

  “It could be, you know,” suggested Ryan, nodding toward the dog carrier.

  “What? That?�
�� Moggy squinted at the woman walking along the path that ran along the side of the park.

  Holly hopped off the roundabout they were sitting on. “Do you want me to stop the roundabout, so you can get a better look? Or should I just go over and ask her;” she said, putting on a funny voice, “scuse me lady, does your dog take batteries?”

  Moggy shook his head. I bet it’s really a pyjama case, he mused. Then looking at Holly and Ryan said, “I need to clear my name, don’t I, but...” He shrugged.

  Holly and Ryan nodded and for a moment all three were silent and took in the ebb and flow of the park; soon the dog walkers, toffee chewers and pushchair pilot had given way to what looked to be a swarm of toddlers.

  “Watch out,” moaned Ryan. “Pre-school is out!”

  Holly shook her head, “not pre-school. They keep to school terms. That’s the church ‘Holiday Bible Kiddies Klub’. Someone thought spelling club with a ‘K’ made it sound trendy. Haven’t you seen the sign on the church notice board?”

  Moggy waved his arm at the group of toddlers. “Brain-washing!”

  “We go to a Church of England school,” said Holly, “and we have R.E. lessons. I don’t think those toddlers will take in anymore than we do; I mean, they make it so boring, at school anyway!”

  Ryan agreed and added that he always switched off his brain during Assembly, R.E. and…he thought then smiled; maybe he just switched off completely during school hours…