JONATHON - Book 1 [Watty Awards 2012]

Chapter 5

Bea straightened up from getting yet another load of washing from the machine. Her back was breaking. The half dozen pairs of new sheets had arrived mid-morning and though normally she liked to wash them before she first used them, drying was such a problem that she decided to use them straight from their packs. She had bathed Jonathon yet again and changed the soiled sheets for the new. He was resting quietly for the moment and she had put on the wash and was about to make some tea when there was a knock at the door. She swiftly crossed to the bedroom and saw that Jonathon had heard.

‘No. No.’ he mouthed frantically and shook his head. She placed a finger to her lips for him to be quiet and closed the bedroom door before she answered the knock.

A young couple stood before her. Oh God. She recognised them from the local rag; they covered all the village fetes and events. She locked her trembling knees and painted on a bright enquiring smile.

‘Mrs Roberts we’re....’

‘Oh no, it’s not Mrs, I’m Miss Roberts …. One of the unclaimed treasures….’ She saw their disappointment and the glazing of their eyes. The young woman carried a notebook and her male companion a camera and they moved forward slightly but she barred their way.

‘We’re… we’re enquiring after a Mrs Roberts and her son Michael.’ The girl gamely continued.

‘No….’ said Bea all the time praying please God don’t let him start screaming now. ‘Not me. As I said, I’m not married and I definitely don’t have a son Michael.’

‘They were in the General. The son was found passed out drunk in the woods near you.’

Bea tutted and shook her head. ‘How dreadful. I haven’t heard anything…..’

‘The thing is, ‘ the girl said confidentially and Bea leaned closely conspiratorially. ‘We think he could be that missing actor, Jonathon Rourke, from the tv series.  The Eighth Henry... you know the one?’

‘Not really dear, not my cup of tea. Midsomer Murders now…..’

‘Yes. But if it was him, it’d be such a scoop for us, beating the Nationals….’

‘Oh… and would they pay….? Is there something like a reward for him?’

‘Um, something like…. yes’

‘Pity I can’t help you, my boiler’s been playing up……’

‘Yes, well, thank you very much Miss Roberts but we’d better go now.’ They tried to back away from the boring old woman with all her talk of boilers.

‘Oh wait… wait a moment.’

They turned expectantly, had she remembered something.

‘Have you got a card? If I hear anything I could let you know.’

‘Oh… oh yes.’ The girl fumbled in her coat pocket. ‘Here.’ She said and thrust it at Bea anxious to be on her way.

‘Bye’ called Bea. ‘See you at the next church fete.’ They merely waved a backward dismissive farewell and trudged off down her path.

Bea closed the door and sagged against it exhausted and drained. Then she remembered Jonathon and flew across the room and into the bedroom. He was hunched up against the bed head and she ran to him, clambered onto the bed and enveloped him in her arms. She trembled uncontrollably and for once he was comforting her.

‘Did you hear?’ she knew that he had. She felt him nod.

‘You were wonderful, Bea. You deserve an Oscar.’ But neither of them knew how much longer their luck would hold out.