Steve woke with a violent start, his senses numb with sleep. For a few moments he could not figure where he was, the pins and needles in his forearms taking precedence over all other thoughts. He looked down at his hands, a bridle hung limply in the left, and a rag slick with dubbin in the right. He gaped uncomprehendingly down at these, then suddenly and incredulously realized that he must have fallen asleep sitting on the old bench, in one of the corners of the barn, that served as Follyfoot's tack room. He wondered, not without a certain embarrassment, how long he had slept, and why none of the others, especially Dora, had not come looking for him. He struggled to stand, his backside was numb, as were his feet and it took him a little while to make it fully upright, the bridle and rag falling, unfelt and unheeded to the floor. He walked unsteadily around, wincing at the pain of the blood returning to his protesting limbs.
Oh mate he wondered to himself, how long was I...? the question went unanswered as he tottered like an arthritic old man out of the barn and into the yard, the cold December air causing goose bumps over his exposed skin.
Strange, he thought absently, I can't hear anything.
Certain that someone would have missed him by now, he struggled toward the farmhouse in search of Sluggers' old kitchen clock, in order to find out just how long he had been asleep.
I know we have been busier than usual recently, but sleeping on the job... he mused. As he neared the gate a sudden gust of cold wind sprang up causing him to shiver, and he became aware of the sighing sound as it hissed through the branches of the lightning tree. He stopped mid stride and turned to look up at the old tree. Its branches seemed to be reaching over as if to grasp him while ominous low dark grey clouds scudded across the sky, making the overcast look somewhat brighter by comparison. The sound of the horses fidgeting in their stables seemed to reassure him that he was indeed wide awake now. He shook his head as if to confirm this, his aching neck making him regret the action, then stiffly he continued his way into the farmhouse, oblivious of the figure that stood just outside the barn, his long grey coat tails whipped up by the sudden breeze.
"It ain't tea-time yet" exclaimed slugger testily, without looking up from the sink. "gor blimey, it ain't arf an 'our since lunch!".
That answers that question, Steve thought.
"I just wondered where Dora was is all" Steve said in reply.
"Wonders where she is he sez, blimey, and I fort my memory was bad.
"Well" Steve started, but was cut off by Slugger, who as usual, was speaking more to himself than to the person he was having the conversation with.
"She's gorn over to Rickett's farm to check on that 'orse ain't she?" he glanced at the clock, peering through the layer of grease that partially hid the dial, "should be back soon, reckoned it wouldn't take an hour".
"Oh yeah, thanks" mumbled Steve, the memory suddenly returning.
"You ought to get to bed earlier!, wouldn't be 'arf asleep in the day!" was Slugger"s passing shot, as Steve walked out of the kitchen and back into the yard.
He could be right there Steve thought. They had been exceptionally busy over the last few weeks, winter was always the worst time of year. With so few of the horses able to go out the stable-work seemed never ending and yeah, there was always something that just had to be done before bed.
So, it could only have been a few minutes then, strange, I didn't even realize I was getting drowsy. On this thought Steve headed back to the tack room, glancing at Ron’s motor-bike as he passed it.
He is the one I’d expect to be asleep in the hay, Steve thought. Always skiving off, Ron never missed a chance to take a break, the more opportunities that came his way the better he liked it. A movement caught Steve’s eye; he stopped in his tracks and looked up, past the gate into the field toward the lake. About a hundred yards away the figure of a man in a long grey coat was slowly moving away from the house. At least he hasn't got another horse for us, Steve thought, and then looked up the yard to the stable where Ron was supposed to be working. Hearing no sounds from the stable Steve turned his gaze back to the man in the field. He was gone. Steve swept the field with his gaze; the man was nowhere to be seen. Surely he could not have walked out of sight so quickly?. Great, now I’m seeing things he mused. I need a good night's sleep is all. Just hope I can get one tonight. He went back to the tack room.

Ron was a smart guy, or at least he thought he was, and there were times when this appeared to be true, though most of these times it was more a matter of good luck rather than shrewd judgment, but Ron seemed to have an uncanny knack of seeing trouble coming. An unbiased observer might have noted that as Ron himself was usually the cause of most of this trouble, there was nothing surprising in this fact. As Steve was wandering stiffly back to the tack room he was unaware that Ron was watching him from one of the stables, where he had been taking things easy. He saw Steve look up toward the field, and wondered what he was looking at. Not being able to see the field from where he stood, Ron just shrugged. Pleased to find that Steve was not coming to look for him, Ron settled back into the reverie that Steve had disturbed. He chewed absently on a piece of straw, he was a troubled man. There were no immediate disasters looming on his horizon at present, but he just could not shake off the feeling of impending doom. Things had been too quiet for too long and Ron did not know why. His usual acquaintances had been noticeable by their absence. He had only seen Lewis and a few of the other night riders briefly about the village, and had not had the chance to catch up with them, not even in the pub, which was unusual in itself. It was Ron’s considered opinion that they were planning something, and if he did not know what it was, then he could not figure a way of making sure he was somewhere else when it happened. He glanced skyward.
"Snow soon" he thought, "great, just what I need. Cold enough on the flamin' bike as it is, without the white stuff making fings even worse". He shivered again. The sky held his attention. Though it was not long past lunchtime, and would not be dark for another couple of hours, the low overcast made the farmyard seem very dim and gloomy with a strange quality to the light, which gave the impression of being seen through sunglasses. Ron pulled his scarf up higher round his neck, then went back to lounge on the straw he was meant to be spreading around in the stable.
"Well, me old mate", he mumbled to himself, "fink I’ll take a ride over to Hammond’s later, see if I can find Lewis". Deciding then that it was too cold even for him to remain idle any longer, he got up, and picking up the pitchfork he had carelessly dropped, began spreading the straw. As he was starting to make an impression on the straw bale, he heard footsteps from outside.
"Oh great, now 'is flamin' lordship's coming to throw 'is bleedin' weight about". He stopped forking straw, and looked around at the door, expecting to see Steve’s face. No-one there. He walked over to the door and leaned out, looking to left and right. No-one there either. The yard was deserted.
"Yer 'earing fings mate", he said to himself. "not surprised neither, working here's enough to send anyone round the bend...just look at Slugger". He chuckled at this, then stopped short, as the thought occurred that one day he might well end up just like Slugger himself. He looked again round the yard. Those footsteps had certainly sounded like they were just outside. Without knowing why, Ron became slightly afraid, the hair on the back of his neck standing up, certain that he was being watched. But there was only Steve and Slugger here, and both were busy, so who could be watching?
"Nah", he thought "yer just getting edgy, a couple of beers is what I need". This thought cheered him somewhat, and he went reluctantly back to work, willing five o'clock to hurry and arrive, so he could finish for the day, and leave the farm, which had turned colder than just the December weather alone could make it.

Copper pranced and skittered around, fighting the bit.
"Oh Copper!" exclaimed Dora with evident frustration, "come on boy!" she urged him forward. Suddenly he stopped dancing and just lunged forward into the mist at a fast canter, regardless of the fact that visibility was no more than about twenty feet in any direction. Try as she might, Dora could not bring him under control, so she stopped fighting him, and just concentrated on staying in the saddle, and hoping he would tire and slow down before they ran headlong into something invisibly solid, like a tree. She had seen the mist lying at the bottom the valley, but had decided to carry on anyway, as they should still be able to see the track, and it would only take a couple of minutes to clear the mist, then they would be safely back at Follyfoot. She had seemingly been riding for hours, and was just wondering how much of a barracking she would get from the others for taking such a long time over what was really a simple errand.
Ride Copper over to Rickett's farm, a quick look at old Coconut, just to see if the infection was clearing, then back to Follyfoot. Easy. An hour at most. Absently, she wondered why, if she had been so long, the short hours of daylight had not faded into twilight. She screamed briefly as Copper swerved violently, just missing a man in a long grey coat who had loomed out of the mist directly in front of them. She shot a quick glance behind them, but could see no-one. Looking ahead, Dora blew a huge sigh of relief when she saw the roof of the farmhouse come into view. Her heart pounding, she wondered who the man was, and how it was she had not ridden him down...

"Did you manage to mend that bridle?" asked Dora.
"Hmmm", replied Steve, “it's back in one piece again, but I cannot say for how long. It's so worn in places that...well, we'll soon have to replace it. I must have left it upstairs". He rose from his seat.
"It's ok", said Dora "I’ll get it", and started to climb the steps up to the loft which served as Steve’s bedroom, while Steve sat back down and waited, enjoying the sight of Dora’s pert little bottom, and shapely legs as they ascended out of sight. She called something down to him, breaking the spell. He had not heard what she said and just waited patiently for her return, his gaze lingering on the sight of her rear once more as she did so. She turned to face him. He blushed when he realized that she probably knew exactly what he had been staring at.
"Well, it's a lot better now than it was, thanks Steve".
"Best I could do", he mumbled.
"Steve?" she said quietly.
"Yeah?" he answered.
"Does everything seem...alright to you?"
"What on earth do you mean?"
"I don't know exactly" Dora admitted, "but I have a strange feeling".
"What?" he asked, almost amused. Dora replied slowly.
"I don't know, it's as though I am asleep and dreaming. Things just don't seem...normal".
"Such as?"
"I know this will sound silly, but when I was coming back from Rickett's, I thought I had gotten lost. It seemed as though I had been riding for hours, I didn't know where I was; Copper was all spooky and then I saw the mist and realized that we were almost home. I recognized the copse. At first he would not go on and kept trying to turn away, but then he just took off straight into it. I could not slow him down. We almost hit someone, I was really frightened, but then we were out of the mist and right by the lake. Copper calmed down again, and went straight into his stable. Later, when I went into the house, I looked at the clock, and realized that I had only been just over an hour, but Steve, I was wandering for what seemed like hours!". Dora’s obvious sincerity made Steve choke on his words, his amusement vanishing.
"Probably just a daydream girl, heaven knows we are tired enough". He tried to shrug Dora’s fears off.
"Who was it you nearly hit?" He asked.
"I don't know, Dora answered, I only saw him for a split second".
"What'd he look like?" he asked.
"Oh, Steve! I don't know, I just said I barely saw him," Dora answered testily. She added "it's just a feeling really, but I think he might have had one of those long waxed cotton raincoats on.”
"Well, you missed him, so, no harm done eh girl?" Steve said lightly, but the memory of his falling asleep in the tack room, and the man he had seen in the field suddenly seemed to take on a deeper significance. "Seems like I’m not the only one to have been seeing things today", he mused.

It had gotten dark well before five o'clock had finally arrived. Ron gladly threw down the pitchfork, and strode off to collect his riding gear from the tack room. Usually he did not bother with his crash helmet, scornfully regarding them as rather sissy, but today, he would be glad of it, if only to keep his ears warm. Moving faster than he had all day, he struggled into flying jacket and gloves, then, violently kicking the Tiger Cub into raucous life, he roared off into the darkness and, as usual, didn't bother to close the gate after him. As he changed up to second gear and leaned the Triumph over to follow the curve of the track, he cursed in alarm at the man in a long grey coat, who was suddenly in the middle of the track, caught in the dim beam of the headlamp. Barely managing to stay upright, Ron brought the bike to a shuddering stop, the engine stalling out. He glared back up the track.
"You stupid..." was all he managed to yell, before he realized there was no-one there to yell at. He closed his mouth, thought "I hope you fell in the bloody ditch you idiot!!" he harshly jabbed at the gearshift to find neutral, then kicked the Triumph back into life and set off again for the pub, only this time, much more slowly.

Next morning, Saturday, Ron slept in. By the time he had gotten up and dressed it was almost lunchtime. He got himself ready and rode to the village, intending to get something to eat at the pub.
"Give 'er one yet?" Ron barely stopped himself choking on his beer.
"You what?" he asked, shocked. This was unlike Lewis, drunk at lunch time, but there he was, sitting in the public bar, three parts Mozart. Ron had spied him from the corner of his eye as he entered, and joined him at the table.
"Wotcher mate" Ron had greeted him cheerfully enough, but Lewis seemed to be in a black mood. He repeated his question.
"Have you given 'er one yet?"
"oo?" Asked Ron.
"That snotty piece up at your place".
"Oh, you mean 'er ladyship?" Ron said, finally understanding Lewis’s drift.
"Nah mate, not my type" Ron answered casually, hoping to give the impression that he could have but hasn't bothered.
"I could" Lewis leered. "In fact, I fink I might...Sat'day night dance tonite..you goin'?"
"Er...yeah" replied Ron hesitantly, not knowing whether he really wanted to.
"Ooya takin' then?"
"Dunno yet" Ron answered.
"On yer jack most like" Lewis sniggered. He belched loudly, then said "can"t sit here yakking all day...fings to do y"know.
"Er...yeah" Ron replied. Lewis made to leave, got halfway to his feet, then flopped down heavily back on his seat, staring sightlessly through the window. Ron slipped out of his own chair, looked regretfully at his half empty glass, but decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and so moved quietly out of the pub, and started walking back to his bike. There was something in Lewis’s demeanor the worried Ron. Lewis was usually a braggart, but in a very open brash kind of way, one knew what he was thinking, but just now...he sounded drunk, indeed he was drunk, but the look in his eyes seemed strangely sober.

Dora came out of the tack shop, and almost walked straight into Lewis. She jumped.
"Well, well, well," Lewis leered, "if it in't miss Follyfoot nineteen seventy-one". his beery breath assaulted Dora’s sense of smell. She winced and forced herself to speak.
"Hello Lewis"
"Hows 'bout it? You an me?" He drawled.
"What do you mean?" Dora answered quietly.
"Dance tonight. Village 'all, you 'n me huh what 'bout it?"
"No thank you" said Dora, wishing she was anywhere else.
"Oh I see, got luvva-boy Stevie waiting at the farm eh? Like a bit of rough do ya? wha's the matter? Ain't I good enough for ya? Not posh enough eh?”
"Leave me alone!" Dora snapped, and pushed passed him, walking away as fast as she could.
"Someone oughta take that stuck up cow down a peg, someone like...me!" And he laughed to himself. "Shame if summat happened to 'er 'orse". He pulled something from his pocket, held it up, and pressed the button. The six inch blade snapped out with a click.
"Yeah, wot a bloody shame..." He closed the switchblade, and returned it to his pocket. He staggered away. Ron scowled at this from his vantage point, and quickly started his bike, wondering what Lewis had in mind. Whatever it was, Ron wanted none of it. He had seen the knife, not wanting to believe Lewis was nasty or stupid enough to do something real bad. He decided to follow...at a safe distance.

Lewis managed to make his erratic way back to the parking lot where he had left his bike. Fumbling around with the key, he finally managed to get the engine started. He rode away, slowly, and with great caution, but still managing to look like a learner on his first time out. Eventually, he made his way to the lane which led to Follyfoot. He dismounted and pushed the Honda into the undergrowth. Then, on unsteady legs, he headed toward the farm. Ron, who had had the most difficult time in going slow enough to stay out of sight, watched Lewis’s progress with dawning awareness, he knew what was Lewis was going to do. Friend or not, this did not sit well. The folks at Follyfoot suddenly seemed far more important to him than Ron would ever have guessed. He made a rapid decision, and quickly retraced his steps back to his bike. He headed for the nearest phone box, hoping it had not been vandalized. He was in luck.

Approaching Copper's stable Lewis carefully raised the latch, and slipped inside.
"At last" Lewis crowed to himself, "I’ll fix that stuck up bitch good and proper". He advanced towards Copper, slowly pulling the switchblade from his jeans. The blade springing out made a loud and menacing sound in the quiet of the stable. Copper sensed he was in danger, and began to slowly edge backwards, but he could go no further. His rump was already touching the wall. His ears went back, his eyes wide, and he started stamping on the ground with his front hooves.
"Come here my beauty" grinned Lewis, "this won't hurt...much". As he advanced on Copper, he imagined he heard the creak of the door. Lewis Hammond swung round, heart thumping wildly, the blade held out in front of him, astounded by the unexpected noise. He was incredulous, there could be no-one there; the doorway was empty. He turned back to face Copper, and as he did so he saw movement from the corner of his eye. Instead of one of those soft idiots from the farm, he found himself staring at a man in a long grey coat, slender of build, though somewhat taller than himself.
"Who the f..." Lewis began, but got no further, because as the man drifted slowly towards him, Lewis realized that the man had no discernible face, just two dim red points where the eyes should have been. Lewis' throat went dry, a horrible knot of fear gripped his stomach, and his only thought was to get out and quick. Suddenly very sober, he turned and bolted towards the stable door, the knife clattering unnoticed to the floor. He tore frantically at the door, not noticing his fingernails breaking on the ancient wood. He wrenched the door open and dashed outside, not wanting to look behind him. There was a figure in the yard, right in front of him. He yelped in fear, his momentum carrying him closer. With sudden recognition, he saw Slugger, and as he tried to barge past, quickly and painfully discovered just how Slugger had earned his nickname. When he regained consciousness, he was disoriented and lying on the cold yard. The throbbing pain in his lower face, the policeman standing over him, Dora and Steve close by, told him that his plan had gone badly wrong. He tried to sit up and look around to the stable, fearful of what he might see, but the pain stopped him.
"Whereizee?" Lewis mumbled. "Whereizee?" Dora puzzled at this, but could not figure what Lewis was trying to say.
"I fink 'e's come to at last" Slugger said to no-one in particular. "Blimey, I only tapped him 'n all"
"If that was just a tap, I wouldn't want to see what you'd have done if you meant it!!" Said the policeman. "I’m no doctor, but I’ve seen enough drunken brawls to know his jaw's broke, lose a couple of teeth too I reckon!".
"Serves 'im right" Slugger answered. "Little bugger 'as always bin trouble, what's he bin up to now?"
"Yes" the Colonel"s voice echoed slugger"s question. He had approached silently from the farmhouse, "what has he been up to? And how did the police get here so quick?"
"Someone called the station to report a prowler,” answered the constable.
"He tried to hurt Copper" Dora said through her tears, "he had a knife".
The Colonel looked questioningly at the policeman.
"Right enough sir" replied the policeman,"devilish weapon too, a flick-knife. Illegal. This lad's in a lot of trouble. I’d better call an ambulance".
"You can use the phone in the house" said the Colonel. Lewis lay back defeated, and resigned himself to what was surely to come. The Colonel looked sharply at Dora. "Did he?..."
"No, Copper"s fine" Steve answered "I guess he must of heard Slugger and decided to make a run for it".

After the police had taken Lewis off, the Colonel, Dora and Steve wandered back into the farmhouse. Dora could not contain herself.
"What was Lewis gibbering about? I thought maybe he said "where is he", but who did he mean, a stranger in the stable?. I did not see anyone, did you Steve?"
"Mm no" Steve replied slowly.
"I think he saw something" said the Colonel.
"Something?" asked Dora,"don't you mean someone?”
"No, I meant something" the Colonel answered lightly.
"What on earth do you mean?" asked Dora, puzzled, but the Colonel just carried on walking till he got to the study. Once he was creakily ensconced in his favorite armchair in front of the fire, the Colonel leaned back thoughtfully. He chuckled to himself. Dora was indignant, Steve just baffled. It appeared from his demeanor that the Colonel knew more than they did about this.
"I’m sorry Dora", he said kindly, "I’m not laughing at you, just at an ancient memory is all. Mind you, if that villain had managed to..., well, we won't dwell on that. He didn't, and that's all there is to it.”
"Memory?" Blurted Dora,“what do you mean? What's been going on?. Uncle you have to tell us".
"Well", began the Colonel, "I heard tales of a so-called ghost many, many years ago when I was, ohhh, let me see, about 14 or 15 years old. Heard them from my grandfather as a matter of fact, only I always thought he was a bit doo-lally, so I never really believed him, of course, after all this, I am not so sure.
"Ghost!!" Steve exploded, "oh come on, you can"t mean it!!"
The Colonel said "I’m not saying yes I do, or no I don't, but my grandfather certainly did, and he was most emphatic about it. Seems there has been a farm here since about oh, eighteen hundred or so, and when grandfather was young, there was a lad in the village who was supposedly a ne'er do well. Seems he was sweet on the farmer's daughter, some folk thought he was not quite right, if you know what I mean." The Colonel made a tapping motion with his fingers against his head. "Several farms around lost animals, there was the occasional fire. Then one day, I think it was about this time of year, there was a fire in the stable at this very farm. It was not called Follyfoot in those days, of course, but the farmer's daughter died in the stable. Of course the farmhands tried their damnedest to rescue her, but with all that hay and straw..." the Colonel lapsed into a reverie. "If I remember rightly, that must have been in the early eighteen-nineties." Steve and Dora listened in shocked silence, horrified to learn that someone had died at Follyfoot. Their Follyfoot. Different name or not, it was still the same place.
"Did they find out how the fire started?" Steve asked.
"No", the Colonel replied, "but it was all oil lamps in those days, not the best thing to have in a stable. strange thing was though, when it was all over, there were two er... bodies found in the ruins. One was the daughter, but the other was never identified. The lad was never seen around here again. I have a feeling it might have been him. And now, that's enough excitement for one day, I have to be getting back home.

The next morning, after the mucking out was finished, Dora turned to Steve and said "Steve, will you do me a favor?”
"Sure" replied Steve "what is it?”.
"Would you drive me to St. Andrews?”
"Eh?" Steve grunted, "you mean the church?”
"Yes" answered Dora.
"You've not gone all religious of a sudden have you?” Steve smiled.
"No, I’d just like to have a word with the vicar" Dora said.
"Ok, when?” Steve asked.
"Now?” Dora ventured. "Ok" Steve replied, "get your coat, I’ll get the Land Rover started". The old Land Rover wheezed to a halt outside the church. Steve and Dora climbed out, both wishing that the heater worked a little better. They walked around the church till they came to the cottage that served as the vicarage. Dora approached and knocked at the door. It was answered by the vicar, the Reverend Carter.
"Good morning" he said pleasantly.
"Good morning" Dora smiled in return, "are you very busy?”
"Nothing I cannot put off for a while" the vicar answered, "please come in".
"Sit yourselves down" the vicar indicated a couch. "Tea?”
"Please" Dora answered for them both. The vicar soon returned with a tea tray, and while he busied himself with the pouring, he asked Dora what she wanted to talk to him about.
"I want to find out about something terrible that happened at Follyfoot years ago. A fire. There were two people killed. One was the farmer's daughter, but the other..." The vicars eyebrows raised.
“Well, so you have heard about that?”
"Yes" Dora said, “Uncle told us about it yesterday".
"Ah" said the vicar with understanding beginning to dawn, "Uncle being Geoffrey Maddox?”
"Yes, do you know him?” Dora asked.
"Oh yes, I’ve known Geoffrey for what, almost forty years, since I first came here. A fine man, and a good friend. So, he's told you about the ghost eh?”
"Yes, a little" said Dora.
Steve snorted "ghosts!". Dora ignored him, and continued.
"I was wondering if there was any way of finding out who the other person was in the..."
"Ruins?” Finished the vicar. "I doubt it, not after this amount of time, but I have heard the stories, and many more besides. You would not believe what goes on, even in a small village like this, but that's another matter. Yes, I became interested in that story. I’m quite keen on local folklore. Gives one a fascinating insight into one's flock, as long as one does not take the stories too seriously. Too much rumor and hear-say. I have done a little amateur research too, over the years. I’ll tell you what I found out, then leave it up to you. There was a young local man, by the name of Andrew Carter. It appears he had a bit of a bad reputation if you know what I mean. No proof, just gossip. Seems he was sweet on the young lass at the farm, and from what I can gather, she was sweet on him too, but her father would have none of it. Forbade her ever to see him". The vicar was in full flow now, the words tumbling from his lips, his eyes gazed off into the distance. "But, love will find a way, as the old saying goes, and I believe he used to sneak into the stable to see her. How the fire started? We'll never know, but I like to think he died trying to get her out. She's buried here in the churchyard, and I think maybe he is too, as there is an unmarked grave right in the corner," the vicar waved his hand in a vague direction. He took in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. "I have heard the story of his ghost, many, many years ago, hmm yes, the man in grey." The vicar finally stopped his rambling. At his last words, both Dora and Steve felt a shiver run up their spines, both silently wondering if what they saw was... no. couldn't be. No such thing as ghosts. They thanked the vicar most kindly for their tea, and for his time, then slowly and thoughtfully wandered back to the Land Rover.

Dora and Steve walked slowly over to the lightning tree. Dora drew a bucket of water from the standpipe, and poured it at the tree's base, managing to soak both her feet in the process. She put the bucket down, then she put her hands to her head, making a brief ponytail of her hair, letting it fall, she leaned forward on the fence.
"Steve, do you believe in gho..."
"No! I don't" Steve snapped, "and neither do you, what nonsense".
"But you saw him too".
"What!” Steve was incredulous. "What makes you think I..."
"The look on your face when I told you about the man I nearly rode into. You looked as if you had seen a ghost. Well, you had, hadn't you?”
"No! I saw somebody, I don"t know who, but it would explain what Lewis was ranting about", Steve answered.
"Who called the police?" She wondered out loud.
"Ron, most like" he answered. "He always has a nose for trouble, and he runs with Lewis. Not like him to shop a mate though". Dora looked deflated and vulnerable.
"The two of them...it's so sad, they had the same name, the vicar and...him. I wonder if they were related. Maybe he was trying to warn us". On a sudden impulse, Steve moved up close behind her. He gently encircled her waist with both arms, and squeezed her gently, marveling at how slender she felt in his embrace. To his surprise and delight, instead of pulling away as he had feared, she merely shifted her weight, and leaned back against him, tilting her head to her left.
"Oh Steve" she breathed. Steve craned forward and nuzzled her neck, kissing her gently.
"Steve" she breathed softly, "stop it".
"What, stop this?" He squeezed her gently once more, "or this?" and again he kissed her neck.
"Steve!" She said more firmly, twisting around in his arms,"we mustn't, we have things to do".
"Like what?" Steve croaked, his voice hoarse. He was never to hear her reply, as her words were drowned by their first kiss. Slugger, grinning like the Cheshire cat, stepped back from the window from which he had been watching.
"Abaht bloody time to 'n all" he said to his stew.

The End.

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