Guy N. Smith - Night Of The Crabs 2 - Crabs Moon.pdf

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Chapter One
Friday-Shell Island
IREY WALL glanced at the stocky fair-haired man beside her, noted the way he
crouched over the steering wheel, a pose that was definitely intended to
impress. A show-off. She looked away, told herself that she was the biggest
bloody fool on earth. It wasn't too late, though. She could say 'I'm sorry,
Keith, but I've changed my mind. Take me back to the camp, please.' But that
needed courage, the kind she didn't have right now. He'd convince her
otherwise in that same persuasive tone that he had used last night as he had
shouted in her ear in an attempt to make himself heard above the grating sound
of the cheap dance band as they had smooched around the floor. She even knew
what he would say. 'Don't be bloody daft, Irey. We're only going for a ride
out to Shell Island, find ourselves a quiet stretch of beach for an hour or
two. There's no harm in that, is there? The break from the kids will do you
good, and they'll be fine with the Greencoats. They won't even miss you.
Christ, you can't stay in the camp all week, which you'd have to do without me
because you don't have a car. You'd go bloody crazy stopping in there the
whole time, a permanent stink of candyfloss and fish and chips, and those
bingo callers never letting up so that you go to sleep repeating numbers to
yourselves instead of counting sheep. Hell, you're safe enough with me and
nobody will give us a second glance. Then, before you know it, you'll be back
with the kids and today'll just be a memory.' Irey sighed, stared at the queue
of holiday traffic ahead of them. There was no point in starting an argument
with her companion. She didn't have the energy, anyway. It was too damned hot.
Whatever will be, will be.
The car slowed to a halt, its engine ticking over. She closed her eyes and her
mind went back to last night.
It had seemed so exciting then, just a harmless flirtation. The atmosphere and
a couple of gins had made it that way. She'd put her chalet on the patrol
rota, told the Greencoats they would find her in the Pearl dance hall if they
needed her. The kids were asleep when she'd left and in all probability they
would never even know she had been out. Good kids they were, Rodney, six and
Louise, four. Irey had had an urge to go out somewhere; maybe a quick drink or
some fish and chips would have been a better idea. It was difficult at times
like these being a woman. You weren't meant to go out on your own. If you
didn't have a man then you either stopped in or else you went out and found
yourself one. And when men saw you out on your own they automatically presumed
you were looking for one thing. It wasn't bloody well fair. Her fingernails
dug into the sweaty palms of her hands. The traffic edged forward a few yards
and then stopped again. Irey opened her eyes, closed them again.
Indirectly it was all Alan's fault. What husband and father with any sense of
love and responsibility shoved his wife and kids off to a holiday camp so that
he could have a fortnight's fishing with his mates from work? Well, Alan
 
fitted the bill: the classic male chauvinist pig. There was gossip, rumours
about him back home, but Irey had forced herself to shut her ears to them. She
didn't want to know. I don't want to bloody well hear 'erni There were
explanations (excuses?). He was out late frequently because he was in the
darts team, most of whom were in the fishing club also. Safety in numbers.
Ready alibis too. Deep down he loved his family best, just had a funny way of
showing it. He was too interested in darts and fishing to worry about other
women. Hadn't he admitted to her only the other week that he didn't find sex
exciting anymore and that she needn't. He couldn't understand it when she'd
burst into tears.
And now this guy Keith. She sneaked another glance at him, felt her skin
goosepimple a little in spite of the heat. A real hulk of man, so different
from Alan in almost every way. Last night she'd felt her stomach turn, her
heart miss a beat when he'd singled her out in the corner of the dance room.
'On your own, sweetheart?' Surprise that seemed genuine. Weren't there dozens
of younger girls here on the loose just with one thought in mind? But he'd
chosen her.
'I ... I just came in for an hour ... to listen to the music. I can't stop
longer because my kids are back at the chalet.'
He bought her a drink, didn't give her the opportunity to refuse. And somehow
her life story, her disappointments came spilling out.
'My name's Keith,' he said as he led her on to the floor, held her close to
him as somehow they found space amidst the other couples. The lights were
right down by now, just a kind of mauve glow. 'I had a wife once but one day I
got in from work and found she'd gone off with a contract gardener, a guy who
spent the summer months mowing people's lawns and the winter months having it
off with his customers' wives. I was real sick, I can tell you. But I got over
it. Maybe one day I'll settle down again if I can find the right woman, and if
I can find the courage to get married again.'
It was a kind of cue that brought her own fears spilling out. She'd never
spoken that way to anybody about Alan before; it all came out in a kind of
rush as though suddenly she was desperate to get it out of her system.
Which was why she was here now with Keith, and the Greencoats were looking
after Rodney and Louise for the day. Subconsciously last night she had gone
out to find herself a man. But it would only be a holiday friendship. She
wouldn't let him do anything. A bit of flirtation; the holiday was half over,
anyway.
'Seems everybody's got a mind to get out of the camp today,' his hand found
its way across to her knee, squeezed it so naturally as though he had known
her for years, as though he was her ... husband.
'They're probably all going to Shell Island,' A hint of reluctance, a final
resistance although she had resigned herself to her fate. 'It'll probably be
so crowded that we won't be able to get on anyway.'
'I doubt it. I'd lay a fiver that this lot's going into Barmouth today. The
Radio One Roadshow's there this morning and you know how half this population
of conditioned morons will virtually mob their favourite DJ. Me, I wouldn't
waste my time listening to their verbal garbage.'
'They're probably just glad to get away from the camp for the day,' her hand
seemed to find his of its own accord. 'The trouble is there's just too many
 
camps along this part of the Welsh coast. Butlin's, Pontin's, and now this new
one, the Blue Ocean Holiday Camp.'
'What made you go for Blue Ocean?'
'I suppose, I thought it might be something different.'
'Or cheaper.'
'Maybe,' she blushed faintly under her heat flush. 'Or rather, my husband
decided. He's paid the bill, you see. I didn't think it was worth arguing
about.
One camp's much the same as another when you're stuck there for a week with
the kids. All they think about are funfairs and amusements. I wouldn't've
thought a holiday camp was your style, Keith, More like the
Costa-something-or-other for you where you can take your pick of the
dark-skinned bathing beauties.'
'Not for me,' he let the clutch in again and the car rolled forward another
few yards. 'I thought maybe I could lose myself in a camp, better even than a
hotel or guest house, with every single thing laid on for you. And, anyway, I
was curious about this set-up after what I'd read about it. You got to hand it
to this guy, Miles Manning, having the nerve to set up a place tike this when
every other form of UK holiday entertainment is reporting bookings down each
year. I guess it was a kind of challenge, an opportunity for an eccentric
multi-millionaire to take on the might of the other two established camps. And
there's no getting away from it, the Blue Ocean is fully booked. Yesterday
afternoon they even had to close it to day-trippers.'
'And what do you think of the camp, Keith?'
'It's good, no two ways about that,' the car came to a halt again and he
pulled the handbrake on. They've got the edge on their competitors at the
moment because everything's new. The paint's all fresh and gaudy, it isn't the
same old amusement arcade which you got bored in last year. It's a novelty
which will reap its reward.'
The traffic began to move yet again, a jerky snaking line that disappeared
over the brow of the next hill and you wished you could see further. You
wouldn't be satisfied until you were up there yourself and saw at first hand
the state of the congestion. Irey felt sleepy. It was a good job she hadn't
got the children with her. They would have been bored and squabbling by now.
And it would be the first thing they would tell Alan as soon as they got home.
Which started her feeling guilty again. She wasn't cut out for affairs.
Irey Wall woke with a start, almost clawed her way panic-stricken out of that
hot sticky slumber, gasped with pain as the hairs on the back of her neck,
which had become stuck to the upholstery, were suddenly wrenched free. Guilt
and fear, clutching Keith's hand because it still happened to be resting on
her bare leg, possibly an inch or two higher than it had been when she had
last been aware of it.
They were bumping their way across a type of rough causeway and way to her
left were stretches of ominous steel mesh fencing topped with barbed wire.
Beyond that were a series of squat buildings with tiny windows. Some planes,
small ones, stood on a short tarmac runway.
'Where . . . where are we?' She glanced about her, fearful for one terrible
 
second that her eyes might rest upon the familiar outline of her own husband,
his finger pointing accusingly at her. Oh, for Christ's sake, Alan, just keep
out of this will you. Go catch yourself a big fish.
'Shell Island.' Keith Baxter sounded weary. 'As I said, the milling millions
didn't have it in mind to come here today. Apart from those half-dozen cars in
front of us they've all gone on down the road to Barmouth to pay homage to
their honey-voiced DJ. There'll be a few campers on the island, doubtless, but
I reckon we'll have all the peace we need. And it isn't midday yet.'
Irey automatically turned her head away when a youth selling tickets
approached them as they drove into the farmyard with its campers' shop and
toilets. God, just suppose she saw somebody she knew! A thousand-to-one chance
but you never knew.
Keith swung the car off to the left, followed the tarmac track up a steep bank
to where it levelled out. From here they had a view of the island itself,
acres of rough grass with surprisingly little litter in spite of the number of
gaily coloured tents which dotted the scene. The grass was already turning
brown after a month of prolonged sunshine, the snaking narrow tarmacadam
creating its own mirages.
'We'll go ...' an escalating whine reached a deafening peak and Irey clutched
at her companion in sudden terror. A diving plane, almost as though it was
bent on attacking them Kamikazi-style, suddenly turned off at the last moment,
arcing its way towards that sinister compound with its shimmering runway which
they had passed earlier. They followed its trail of smoke, saw it wheel,
check, then land with unerring precision. A smoking silent steel bird that had
hunted the skies and now returned to its eyrie.
'That pilot must have been crazy,' she whispered hoarsely. 'He was
deliberately trying to scare us. He might have misjudged and killed us and
himself.'
'I doubt there's a pilot in there,' he replied. That place you see there is a
top ministry research base, guarded day and night. Nobody really knows what
they're up to except that they're experimenting with low-flying fighter
aircraft to go in under enemy radar. That's the one fly in the ointment here,
aircraft back and forth all day long, but eventually you get so used to them
that you don't even notice them. I was saying, before we were so rudely
interrupted, that if we go to the other end of the island we can find
ourselves a nice little place in the dunes. We can bathe, swim, or just get a
nice tan.'
'You've been here before, then?'
'I used to come camping here a lot in my younger days. Sometimes it's nice to
go over old ground again, remember places as they were when life was fresh and
exciting.'
He turned the car off the track, let it bump its way gently across the uneven
grass, took a left-hand sweep to avoid some tents. An orange van and a Land
Rover were parked side by side a little further on and he eased up alongside
them, switched the engine off. Above them, all along the skyline, screening
them from Cardigan Bay, was an uneven line of sand-dunes, tall spiky grass
growing lushly in spite of the dry weather.
'Well, we're here.' Keith Baxter turned to his companion, his gaze taking in
her shapely figure beneath the sweat-stained red T-shirt and the crumpled
pleated skirt. Short dark hair and wide blue eyes, a distinctive Welsh
 
characteristic.
'I should've brought a picnic of some sort with us,' she struggled up into a
sitting position, smoothing her clothing as she did so. 'I don't know why I
never thought of it. This heat addles the brain.'
'I intended taking you for a meal later, anyway,' he got out, walked round the
car and opened the door for her. 'For a couple of hours or so let's not be the
conventional British holidaymaker with his packaged food. Let's enjoy life.
We'll do just anything we feel like doing.'
It was a steep climb up to the summit of the dunes, Keith leading the way,
pulling Irey up behind him. Then they were standing surveying the deep blue
sea with scarcely a ripple in sight, wide golden sands that led on right up to
the rocky north end of the island, maybe thirty people in sight the whole way.
'See,' he laughed, 'we've virtually got the island to ourselves. All the silly
buggers have trekked off to see the Radio Roadshow. Let's find ourselves a
nice little shady spot somewhere in these dunes.'
There were plenty of shady places, well-used sandy indentations amidst the
coarse grass. Irey felt herself becoming tense again. God, Alan would kill her
if he got to know she'd been in here with a feller. Her flood of guilt
terminated in a lump in her throat as she noticed a small object half-buried
in the sand by her foot. There was no mistaking its identity - a used condom.
But you came across them everywhere these days, no place was sacred. And it
wasn't any of her business.
This is fine,' Keith was lowering himself down to the ground, pulling her with
him. 'It'll be nice to be out of the sun for a while.'
A moment's awkward silence. His hand was on her thigh again but suddenly it
was an exciting prospect. He obviously thought something of her or else he
wouldn't have brought her here; he could have had his pick of the tarts back
at the Blue Ocean Holiday Camp if it was sex he was after. And he wasn't
getting that. Surely he knew.
His face was close to hers, wafting some masculine odour, a strong aftershave.
She closed her eyes, shuddered as his lips found hers, felt a wave of
goose-pimples flooding her skin. Damn Alan, this served him right. She hadn't
been kissed like this for years.
Irey checked, stiffened, and had to stop herself from pushing Keith's fingers
away. He'd got a hand inside her T-shirt and was already making a nipple
stiffen. Schoolboy stuff! Fifteen years ago a girl would have been shocked;
nowadays she was shocked if it didn't happen.
'I fancy a swim,' he murmured in her ear. 'How about you?'
'I haven't brought a costume with me.'
'You don't need one here. I don't have one, anyway.'
'There was a sign back at the entrance forbidding nude bathing.'
'Sure, but nobody will bother us up this end. Not today, anyway. I noticed one
or two on the sands further up had stripped off.'
'I don't really know,' Irey wished she didn't blush so easily. 'I'll have to
think about it.' It sounded churlish.
 

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