Crybbe

OFF!!'

There was a long silence and then the voice of the news reader came back.

'I'm sorry, I… I'm not sure what happened there. We'll try and return to that report… er, other news now…'

'Frank,' said Minnie Seagrove. 'Did you hear that, Frank? That's your precious Offa's Dyke Radio for you. Chris Stuart never goes to pieces like that. Did you hear… Frank?'

Frank's chair was empty.

All the Bourbon biscuits were still on the plate, six of them arranged in a little semi-circle.

'Frank? Frank, where are you?'

Breathing faster, Mrs Seagrove turned and switched off the wireless and turned back to the chair and rubbed her eyes with the screwed-up tissue, but Frank was gone and the door was closed.

She started to feel very confused.

Get a grip, Minnie, get a grip.

Nothing was right. Nothing was right. Mrs Seagrove went to the window and flung back the curtains. 'It's you, isn't it? It's you.'

Great, ugly slag-heap thing. She'd probably be able to see the church if it wasn't for that; always liked to see a church in the distance, even if she didn't go.

She could see the mound quite clearly tonight, even though there was no moon. It was a bit like the mound was lit up from inside, not very lit up, sort of a yellowish glow like a lemon jelly.

She thought she could see a shadow moving across the field.

'Is that you, Frank?' She banged on the window. 'You're not going out in that wet grass this time of night!'

He was stupid sometimes, Frank, like a little boy. He'd walk down to that river and just stare at it, wondering why he never caught that many fish.

She pulled her walking shoes from under the sideboard. 'You come back here, Frank Seagrove. It's not safe out there!'