Web of Lies by Sally Rigby (classic novels for teens txt) 📗

‘Hmm, if you say so. Anyway, thanks for giving me something to take my mind off my current boring existence at work. It’s a shame we didn’t discover that Donald was murdered though, because that would certainly have livened things up, and I might have been allowed to work on the case.’

He frowned. ‘I’m not sure that livening things up is what’s best for Sarah. At least now she can put it to rest and try to get on with her life.’

‘When you put it that way, you’re right. Sorry, I didn’t think about Sarah.’

‘Shall I walk you back home?’ he offered.

‘No, thanks. I’m staying in town. I’ve arranged to meet my friends in an hour or so. Saturday night is clubbing night.’ She did a dance move in her chair.

‘What are you going to do in the interim, stay here on your own?’

‘Don’t worry about me, there are some people in here I know who won’t mind me hanging out with them for a while.’

Worry about her was one thing he wouldn’t do. He had no doubt of her ability to take care of herself in whatever situation she found herself. He was half tempted to stay a while longer, then remembered Elsa, so reluctantly stood.

‘I’ve enjoyed making your acquaintance,’ he said, holding out his hand.

‘I think we know each other better than that by now,’ she said, jumping up and standing on tiptoe to give him a hug. ‘Next time you’re in Market Harborough, make sure to look me up. You’ve got my number. We’ll have a night out on the town.’ She smirked. ‘Or sit quietly in the pub talking about books, like other old people do.’

‘I keep telling you, late-thirties isn’t old. And ditto to you if you ever find yourself in London.’

He headed for the door, turning before he exited the pub and returning Birdie’s wave. He walked along High Street, humming to himself, until reaching The Square where the church and old grammar school, an historic building which had been built to educate the poor in the 17th century, were situated. The museum had been temporarily closed, which was a shame as he’d have liked to visit before leaving town.

Shuddering as a gust of wind whistled around him, he zipped up his jacket and pushed his hands into his pockets. The stars were non-existent as the dark clouds blanketed the night sky.

He turned onto Church Street, where not a soul was in sight. It was eerily silent and so different from where he lived in London, where twenty-four-seven there were people milling around. As he continued walking, he heard a sound a few yards behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, no one was there. He must have been mistaken.

A little further along, after turning onto King Street, he definitely heard the sound of footsteps. They were from more than one person and were keeping in time with his own.

The hairs rose on the back of his neck and he clenched his fists in anticipation of being accosted.

He spun around.

Nothing.

No one.

Maybe they’d gone into one of the houses. He was being paranoid. Why? This was Market Harborough, not the back streets of London.

Relaxing a little, he turned left onto Doddridge Road, continuing until turning the corner onto Heygate Street.

He started. A steady pounding of footsteps on the pavement got louder and louder. Reverberating. Echoing.

He turned.

A man in dark clothing was hurtling towards him.

His heart pumped hard in his chest and he stepped to the side to get out of the way, but there was someone else there and as he attempted to move his legs were taken out from under him. Pain shot through his shin as he fell to the floor.

He tried to get up but a boot kicked him in the side of his face.

‘Arrgghh’ he groaned, clutching at his head.

He drew his legs up to his chest as a foot connected with his ribs. Again. And again.

Through slits in his eyes, he made out two men both wearing hoodies, one of whom was swinging a baseball bat. He sucked in a breath as it smashed into his head.

Blood splattered everywhere and as it dripped into his mouth, he spat it out onto the ground.

He rolled over on the pavement, and tried shouting for help, but the words stuck in his throat. A dark shadow loomed over him as the baseball bat was lifted and swung towards him, this time landing squarely on his back.

Pain ricocheted through his body.

Was he going to die?

‘That’s enough,’ one of the attackers growled. ‘He’d have got the message to back off by now.’

Message?

‘I’ll grab his wallet.’

Seb lay motionless while one of his attackers found the wallet in his back pocket, and the other one stood a few feet away. Out of the corner of Seb’s eye he spied a tattoo of an eagle on his attacker’s hand, between his thumb and forefinger.

They ran off and Seb tried to stand but fell back down. His whole body throbbed. All he could do was reach into his jacket pocket for his phone and call 999.

Then he lost consciousness.

Seb’s head pounded as they wheeled him from radiology to accident and emergency and took him back to the cubicle he’d been in since the ambulance had brought him to the hospital.

Every part of him hurt.

‘You’re back,’ the nurse who’d been looking after him said. ‘We’re waiting for a bed to come available, and you’ll be moved to a ward. Sorry, I don’t know how long that will be, Saturday night is always chaotic.’

‘I’ve got to go. My dog’s on her own.’ His voice was hoarse and brittle.

He attempted to sit up and then dropped back down on the bed after only moving a few inches.

‘You’re not going anywhere tonight, so don’t even try. You’ve taken a severe beating and have concussion. We need to keep an eye on you. The doctor will see you once the X-rays have come back and we