Friday, 13 January 2017

Cecily Looking for Love at Cyril's Creek Part Eleven

Chapter Eleven
It was all very well leaving Cecily waiting when it was warm and light like Josiah had done. But now the stars had been scattered like those scattered things I saw that time, you know, at that place. They were all scattery, and I thought to myself, ‘They look like stars.’ Yeah? That’s it. That’s what the stars looked like.
Not that it was night. The sun was still setting and there was orange light which was enough to read something by, although you wouldn’t want it to be anything important, like a gouda cheese recipe book. Anyhow, it was getting dark, the light was fading and Cecily was out by Cyril’s Creek on her own.
She cut a pathetic figure, which was not surprising as it was getting pretty difficult to see. In fact, she was lucky not to injure herself with the scissors. Her eyes strained as she scanned across the skies; she was desperate to catch a glimpse of the glider with her beau at the helm. All day she had waited. A whole day looking at the skies, hoping that every unusual cloud, every large bird and every rather surprised, hovering greengrocer was the glider. It felt like a day spent in vain-although nothing could be further from the truth. She could now confirm that her left shoe was passably comfortable on her right foot but her right shoe was a bit too tight on her left foot. Cecily decided that this had been time well spent.
It had been a fruitless search, the glider had not appeared again. Who knew where Tarquin was?
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However, Cecily was not on her own, not completely. As usual, the reeds had their secrets. Mostly they were a bit dull, all about which among them had bent stems. But one of the more interesting secrets was the watcher who was concealed in the midst of the whispering gossiping plants. Those watchful eyes were fixed on Cecily. Even from this distance, her pain and anxiety were obvious to him. Oh yes, the watcher was a male. His head moved sharply, irritated by the moving reeds. Maybe, the watcher reflected, maybe now was the time to break cover and go to Cecily. He waited by nature but now it was time to move. Stealthily, he began to pick his way through the reeds.
Meanwhile, Josiah was pacing uneasily at home. He wasn’t sure if he should have been pacing. Should he just be fretting or was it a time for some good, old-fashioned stressing out? On his mind was the remaining absence of Cecily. He wondered if it had been a good idea to leave her out there. Now it was getting dark, he was concerned about what had happened to her. She might be upset. She could be in danger. Even worse, Tarquin may have returned and the two of them may have been canoodling; driven into one another’s arms by his foolhardy actions.
His foolhardy actions were haunting his every moment now. The agony of speculation grew within him, like a slightly too large tomato that weighs down a vine. Should he chase off to see her, to see what she was doing? Suddenly, a revelation hit him. He was surprised that he had not thought of this before. There was half a tin of creamed sago pudding in the fridge! It could now be eaten without him having to share it. With this happy thought in his mind, he decided to attend to this and to leave Cecily to her own devices.
Roderick was a cad. He had always been a cad. He had, in fact, tried to not be a cad but his father had caught him.
“The thing is, son, I am a cad. My father before me was a cad. It runs in the family.”
“And what of your grandfather? Was he a cad?” the young Roderick had asked.
The old man had gone all misty eyed.
“Now, he was a cad and a bounder. He was a great man.”
There had been a lull whilst his father had let a tear roll down his cheek. Young Roderick had lent his father a handkerchief. The old man had taken it gratefully and pocketed it.
“You see, Roderick. You must be less kind. Less caring. Stop being generous.”
So it was that Roderick was now by the creek, looking for easy prey. Someone who could be manipulated by a cad. In keen anticipation, he twirled his moustache as he saw a forlorn Cecily…
Scroggs was a ruffian. His frayed denim jacket was emblazoned with unpleasant rock band badges. The scuffed brown boots were obviously veterans of some serious bovver and the stains on his t-shirt might have been the sauce from takeaways or blood. He was not averse to getting involved in any kind of trouble, so long as most of it happened to someone else. His dear old ma had explained the importance of it all whilst carrying out a jewellery heist.
As she had lobbed the brick through the window, she told him "Oy, you! You had better be in trouble in school. And anywhere else. You had better bring shame on this family, or there'll be all hell to pay."
She was still screaming abuse at him as the police took her away.
So, a lonely woman was not likely to drop off his crime radar. He put down the vole he had been frisking for loose change and closed in on his intended prey...
Moments later, now he was much closer to Cecily, Roderick raised his hat with a smarmy smile on his face. There was an angry croaking cry and he let out a muffled yell of pain. Something had just jabbed him mercilessly in the groin. He collapsed to the floor.
Seizing his chance, Scroggs approached Cecily; he raised his cosh. There was a wild swoosh and something hit him around the head. Scroggs collapsed to floor, stunned like he had never been before.
Cecily turned round at the noise. She saw the two prone attackers. She also saw, for the first time, her saviour; her mystery admirer from the reeds.

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