speeding.â
âSo itâs just a load of busted crap now.â
âThe podâs in a bad state, but thereâs hope.â
âHow come?â
âIf I get the electronics out, and replace the USB plug, I can probably transfer the data stored here on to my computer.â
âThen weâll find out what itâs been filming?â
âWith luck, yes.â
âGreat. How long until we see whatâs stored in there?â
âA day or so.â
Jez suddenly bounded through the door. âSurfâs up!â
âWhat do you mean, surfâs up?â
âThatâs what surfers yell when there are waves to go surfing, donât they?â
Kit shook his head. âHeâs crazy.â
Jez grinned. âMy Dadâs going to the village. Weâve got time to grab the truck and drive up the valley and back.â
Kit shuddered. âNo way. Weâll get ourselves killed.â
Jez brandished the truckâs keys. âCome on, no time to waste.â
Owen followed, shouting with excitement. At the barn door he paused. âWhat are you waiting for, Kit?â
âIâll sit this one out, thank you very much. Iâm going to take Mr Pod apart.â As an afterthought he shouted, âAnd when you get yourselves killed Iâm not going to your funerals!â
EIGHT
C
onfession, they say, is good for the soul.
Tom Westonby couldnât say whether the statement held a profound truth or not. However, the words ran through his head as he sat on the sofa with a tablet computer in his hands. He began to read what heâd written there. His confession. His
De Profundis
. Tom didnât know the exact meaning of
De Profundis
, other than it suggested a comprehensive outpouring of the heart. A baring of the soul.
Tom Westonby spent many a night tapping words into the tablet. Heâd recorded as accurately as he possibly could what happened to him five years ago, and the loss of his bride, Nicola Bekk. Those were dark chapters in his life. What he wrote here was for his own eyes only. He certainly didnât want anyone to see this particular document.
The corner of the screen showed the time as four p.m. Outside, the forest lay in darkness. Through the window he glimpsed more snowflakes drifting past. A fire blazed in the hearth of the ancient cottage. Something told him that this winter would be a harsh one, so heâd made sure heâd gathered plenty of logs for the fire. If the blizzards came down with a vengeance, he could be trapped here for days.
Tom switched his attention back to the tablet. The lines written there detailed his first meeting with Nicola Bekk, when heâd seen her in the garden at midnight. That was the time she dipped her bare feet into the pond, while smiling with the sheer bliss of it all.
He read and reread his
De Profundis
as if it had become part of a sacred ritual. Was this akin to gazing at a photograph of a dead loved one in the hope that if you looked long enough and hard enough you could conjure them back to you? Perhaps so. Whatever the motivation, he knew heâd keep adding to his confession. Heâd keep rereading it, too, while wishing with all his heart that one day heâd open the door to find Nicola Bekk standing there.
NINE
O wen Westonby and Jez Pollock walked through Danby-Mask. This small, far-from-anywhere village had already gone to sleep for the night, even though it was just a shade past six oâclock. At least thatâs how it seemed to two bored teenagers. The pair were getting philosophical.
Owen declared, âBeing sixteen is like getting stuck in a waiting room.â
âYeah.â Jez nodded. âI know what you mean.â
âItâs like being stuck in a waiting room right next to another room where thereâs an amazing party going on, only youâre still too young to go through the door and join in.â
âSixteen is a shit age. I hate