Skeletons In The Cupboard Collection - The Complete Series

Excerpt from Skeletons In The Cupboard Collection

Archie Matthews sat looking out of the train carriage. The landscape outside had changed from sunny winter skies to a thick greyish smog that settled above the hills like a dirty sheet. He wiped the steamed up window with the sleeve of his woollen coat and wished dearly that he'd brought a flask of tea for the journey. His packet of cheese and pickle sandwiches lay uneaten on the dividing table in front of him, and the gentleman passenger opposite eyed them eagerly. Archie pushed them forward with one finger.

“Help yourself,” he sighed, “I shan't eat them.”

The man paused for only a second before taking the cellophane wrapper off and greedily biting into the limp bread. Archie shook his head and turned his gaze back to the scenery. He could see pockets of life, small villages, fields of sheep, sprawling dairy farms, but nothing yet of the busy coal-mining town to which he was travelling. The clickety-click of the train in motion made him feel slightly nauseous and he slipped an Imperial Mint from a small bag in his coat pocket, popping it quickly into his mouth before anyone else could raise an eye. Only another half hour and he would be arriving at his destination. He didn't relish the thought at all, in fact it stirred up a sense of dread inside him, a feeling with which he was becoming strangely familiar.

As the train came to a jolting stop, Archie stooped to check that the name on the platform sign was the same as the one on the letter that he had been sent, unfortunately it was. He quickly edged his way to the luggage rack and, in one swift movement, removed his heavy suitcases from where they had lain for the past four hours. His back ached, a constant throbbing that never went away, but pride would never allow his fellow passengers to see the pain in his face.

As the carriage door was opened by a smartly dressed porter, Archie stepped down on to the concrete and looked around. The station was agreeable enough, there was a small café, functioning ticket office, a waiting room, washrooms and a left luggage office, all of the facilities that the modern day traveller could possibly need. He looked once again at the name of the town, displayed boldly on a black and white sign, stuck to the red brick of the station wall. It was then that he noticed it for the first time. Coal dust.

“Reverend Matthews?” a voice called, “I'm here to collect you.”

Archie turned, instinctively touching his clerical dog-collar out of habit and wondering how long it would stay white in this black and sooty town.

A tall, thin man in a heavy overcoat and flat cap was walking towards him, grinning as though he knew some secret joke. A thick brown scarf was wound tightly under his chin, giving the appearance that his neck was twice as long as it actually was. He looked in his mid-fifties and sucked heavily on a cigarette.

“Martin Fry,” he announced, “Pleased to meet you vicar.”

Archie carefully put one of his suitcases down onto the platform and offered his hand, “Hello Mr. Fry.”

“Oh, call me Martin, please,” the other man chuckled, taking the handle of the case and lifting it, “Blimey, what have you got in here then, the kitchen sink?”

Archie opened his mouth to speak but it seemed that Mr. Fry hadn't expected an answer to his question, as he had already started walking away, his long arms causing the luggage to only just skim the ground.

“The car's over there vicar, come on.”

Archie quickened his step and followed the jovial man to the car park, where several vehicles were lined up along a picket fence. He coughed as the first proper lungful of coal dust hit, causing him to pause for a few seconds. It stung his insides like nothing he had experienced before.

“Ha, you'll get used to it in no time,” Martin Fry called out, as he unlocked the boot of a bright green Ford Cortina with a black vinyl roof, “Pop your case in here.”

Archie did as requested and waited for his companion to unlock the passenger door. Once inside he couldn't help but notice the cleanliness of the interior. The dashboard, controls, floor mats and rear parcel shelf were all immaculate. There was a whiff of furniture polish and the vicar couldn't help but wonder if Martin Fry was as fastidious over his home as he was with his car.

“Right then, let's get you up to the vicarage,” Mr. Fry smiled, “Liz has filled the pantry for you and she's fixing up some lunch as we speak.”

“Liz?” Archie enquired, wondering why on earth there was someone already in his new home.

“My wife Liz,” Martin explained, “My missus is your housekeeper.”

“I have a housekeeper?”

“Goodness me, doesn't that Bishop of yours tell you anything?” came the response.

As the car sped through the town, Archie Matthews clung tightly to the sides of his seat. He didn't want to say anything to the driver, but he secretly feared for his life. As they came to an abrupt halt at a set of traffic lights, the tall man at his side turned to make conversation.

“So, how far did you have to come?”

It was a direct question, one which made the vicar feel uncomfortable, but he pursed his lips and searched for an answer.

“Four hours,” he replied, “From the north.”

Martin Fry nodded, trying to keep an eye out for the amber light as he took in Archie's solid frame.

“It's a good place to live, this,” he stated, “Full of honest working-class people.”

“That's very encouraging,” Archie answered, looking at the townsfolk scurrying along the streets as he sat stationary at the lights, “And do the residents all attend church?”

Martin Fry shifted the gears as soon as the green light flashed, a broad grin lighting up his face.

“I should say,” he laughed, “You'll have your hands full, that's for sure.”

Archie didn't quite know what to say after that, so he sat back in his seat, allowing his escort to do all the talking, which he appeared very happy to do. Martin Fry was a most hospitable man, and as he steered the motor car through the busy streets, he cheerfully pointed out the main places of interest. As useful as the information was, with the doctor's surgery, library, supermarket and main square all being identified along the way, Archie was more focussed on getting to his destination, where he dearly hoped that a hot bath might be possible. He thought back with a pang of remorse to his last home, a small modern vicarage with all amenities, where he had managed to live comfortably in quiet seclusion. He hoped that his new residence would be just as obliging in the comfort stakes.