The Beast of Bodmin Moor Page 21

  Foxy was his friend. It wouldn’t have been fun if he’d wanted to eat Phin…but Foxy had never seemed inclined to do him harm. On the contrary, he’d been a cosy companion in Phin’s happy place.

  It was, he must admit, far comfier to think of Jake being partial to scampering about on the moors after work, rather than frequenting strip clubs with his mates. There were no doubt many reasons why Phin should be bothered. But he wasn’t. So, that was that. A plenitude of what-why-when-where ’n’ how’s were hovering on his horizon, but for now? Phin just wanted to drop anchor for a while and do drinking things in.

  Foxy was snuffling Phin’s fingers. He had not bitten them off. Sometimes, things were that simple. If you let them be.

  36. Jack

  Jack stretched, relishing the ripple that trembled through his body as it settled into its reclaimed self, then shook out his fur, much as he might after a swim. After inhaling a long, deep lungful of crisp night air, he turned to face Phin. Eternal eyes stared back, wide with wonder. Where Jake had expected to see fear, there was fascination. Puzzlement in the place of panic.

  “Foxy?”

  Phin recognized him. Quite why they’d feared he wouldn’t, Jack knew not. Phin possibly didn’t happen upon many jackals hereabouts. This was Cornwall, not Kenya. He was itching to leap up and lavish him with licks, but hesitated, unsure of his reception.

  Shy? Really? Jake stifled a most unseemly snigger. The relentless stressing had patently driven him demented.

  “How did you…? Where…?” It sounded as if Phin’s thoughts had simply leaked through his lips without purpose. Or…he’d realised that Jack wasn’t likely to prove a fountain of facts.

  How did you…get here? Where…did you come from?

  Perhaps…where is…Ja/ke? Sulking in the back seat, that’s where. Hell-bent on proving, beyond all shadow of doubt, that he’d gone batshit bonkers; a fact as blatant as his astonishment when Phin dropped to his haunches.

  The hand he extended their way was hesitant, but Jack could scent no trace of fear. Only wariness. He was worried about startling them off. A caution Jack returned in kind by stretching towards Phin’s hand, rather than stepping closer to snuff at the scent wafting from his skin. He smelled like the promise of Christmas. Mulled wine and nectarines speared with cinnamon sticks. Candy canes and pinecones. Gin fizz.

  You forgot the dates.

  Correction: I did forgetting. Those things are ev-il.

  This is like watching a Merchant Ivory movie. I’m waiting for you to bow before begging his hand for the next dance.

  A flight of fancy that proves you’ve utterly lost the plot, so I wouldn’t fret about ours.

  …if I were you?

  The loon sniggered. Okay, you’re just being weird now. Ironic quips and snickering!? You should have y’self a lie down, take a nap…I’ve got this.

  Ha. H—fuck.

  Someone, it seemed, forgot to finish that slice of snark when their nose brushed skin. The head rush of scent was as luscious as the lick Jack flicked across Phin’s fingers. Mmmm. There were no words to describe the rush of rightness that washed over him like a wave. As ineffable as it was irrevocable. Necessary.

  ‘Yessss…’ works for me.

  That’ll do.

  If you’ve quite finished flirting, don’t you think you should shift your furry ass before you’re spotted?

  Jealous.

  Of what?

  If Jake had access to his own body…he might have indulged in a folded arms humph. But it was finally, after a forever of waiting, Jack’s turn. Ha. So, Jake had to content himself with a disgruntled huff. As he watched…and wondered.

  At Phin. Us. P’raps. A bit.

  Phin, who seemed reassured that neither bolting nor biting were on the menu, started stroking the top of Jack’s head. Oh, the feel of those fingers in his fur…his eyes drifted shut in sheer bliss. Or so he thought, until Phin went straight in for the killer caress. The ear fondling thing.

  Thissss…was bliss. Hyper bliss. Hmmmore… The shivery rush of pleasure thrilling through his body was breath-snatching. As was the warm maple syrup scent seeping from Phin’s pores. How Jack longed to lick it off.

  It’s all going to hell in a handcart. Ears flapping wildly in the wind.

  You’ve lost your marbles.

  Whose fault is that, you mangy mutt? No, I have not got the hump.

  Keep telling y’self that, and while you’re at it, stop cussing, you’ll get your turn soon enough. But first…

  Pft, that won’t work, you pillock. D’you think he’s a mind reader…? Snorted he, after Jack visualized the plan.

  Ye of little faith…

  Jack sat down. Then very deliberately looked towards The Albion before returning his gaze to Phin, who glanced pubwards before frowning in puzzlement.

  “What are you trying to tell me…” he wondered, mostly to himself.

  Jack turned his head to stare over his shoulder into the darkness, then focused on Phin…pub…shoulder…Phin… After dipping his head to give the cuff of the trench coat a tug, he released it to shoot another glance behind himself. Finally, Jack stood and turned to take a couple of steps into the night before returning to tug on the cuff.

  “You want me to follow you? D’you mean on foot?”

  Jack sighed, dropping his head. Then gazed up at Phin and cocked his head, waiting for Phin to voice the other option.

  “Um…in the van?” Jack lolled his tongue in a grin alongside a tail wag of glee. “Where? We’ve only met here and…oh. Up the moors?” Jack let out a yip of yes and capered about a bit before swiping Phin a lavish lick. “C’mon you slurpy scoundrel…” he chuckled, unfolding himself to his full, glorious height.

  With a whuff of agreement, Jack turned tail and took off. He paused at the edge of the parking bay to watch Phin jog off towards the punter’s carpark with a huff of satisfaction.

  Smart arse…

  Opined Sir Snarkalot, from the back end.

  Touché.

  Cheer up, I win, you win…we’re going visiting. I’m parched. Our new diet might be protein rich, but it sure is salty. C’mon…I’ll let you share my bowl of brandy.

  Thanks. Ever the Gent.

  Courtesy of the company I keep, clearly.

  They kept to the shadows while slinking through the outskirts of the town, heading north. Moorwards.

  Okay, I was wrong, he is a mind reader. Or you’re after Queen Una’s charades crown.

  That was a quick promotion, you only made her Dame Hudders last week.

  I was in a mean mood.

  Quelle surprise. That’s not all you were wrong about, by the way…

  I am not wrong about ‘mating’ with him. You lost it after one whiff of that woman, so how can I trust you with Phin? I know you were angry, but that’s my point. Lust is as furious as rage. I can’t risk him, Jack. I won’t. Why the hell else would I inflict this on us? I haven’t sex for two years, purely so I didn’t slaughter some random shag. How can you expect me to endanger him?

  That’s crap. You know damn well he’ll be safe. Coward.

  I am not scared. Of what, exactly?

  You know exactly what.

  That’s bullshit. I am not scared of my own feelings. Shut up. I’m ignoring you.

  They reached the moor before Phin, so Jack indulged in a scamper about, soaking up the simple pleasure of running with the wind while they waited. He heard the van trundle up the hill long before it came into view. They stood, fur twitching with anticipation as Phin parked up and clambered out. After bounding over to greet him with a joyful wuff, Jack gave the Phin-infused air a last sniff, then turned tail and set off for the ruins of the old engine house.

  The most precious spot on the planet, for it had gifted them Phin.

  37. Phin

  Phin was grinning to himself as he ran back to the campervan. He was beset by such an excess of elation he felt as if his heels might sprout wings and whoosh him up the moors on the wind. That s
ounded daft, but why not, if he now inhabited a world where very foxy friends morphed into Foxy’s afore his very eyes?

  The self-same Foxy he’d befriended on the moor, which was p’raps why they were heading there now. Back to where it all began, before…oh. A bit-a-lot belatedly, the Krypton Factor pieces fell into place. Jack must have ‘found’ Phin at his happy place, the night of the snaffled robe. Not after he’d fallen: Foxy had been there when Phin slipped on the rocks. That had been his own fault, he’d been too distracted by the whimper to do remembering to concentrate, then lost his footing as a consequence. Typical.

  Had Jack fibbed about the bet to explain how he ‘lost’ his clothes? If he’d been Foxy when he happened across Phin, then he wouldn’t have had a stitch to wear when he…changed back into his human self. That sounded dafter still, even though Phin had seen the evidence for himself, except in reverse, o’course. Jack’s T-shirt and jeans had exploded into fluttery scraps, sooo…he must have wound up naked after turning back into his two-legged self. Dang…how Phin wished he could do remembering their stroll back to the van. He couldn’t even recall walking at all, let alone with Jake. Naked. Mmm…swishing and swinging in the wind. Bummer.

  Phin couldn’t do thinking of a single reason why he shouldn’t meet Foxy at his happy place. He’d felt safe even before he knew Jake existed, let alone where. He must still be present, surely? Just wearing his furry outfit? Unless…Foxy was a sort of visitor who ousted Jake from his own home, as ’twere?

  No, that didn’t feel right. He couldn’t explain why he believed they shared the same…spirit? Soul? Albeit ‘dressed’ differently, but he was still certain of it. Phin never knew why he thought stuff. His instincts told him, and that was that. If forced to rustle up a reason, he would plump for those bewitching blues. The eyes are the windows to the soul…after all. The view Phin saw through those windows was identical. This was just as true from Jake’s side; the gaze of both foxy friends felt the same. It was steeped in a similar…warmth. Acceptance: exactly as Phin was. Unconditional. Aside from his mum and sister, no one had ever made him feel that way.

  It was as exceptional as say…a pink elephant. Instantly recognisable in a sea of grey faces. Not least when Phin could pick out the precise shade of things he hadn’t seen for decades. Match it, with one glance. He didn’t need to dither about, doing ‘deciding’. It wasn’t a skill; he just could. Despite the fact he couldn’t do lots more stuff that was supposed to be bog-standard. Phin was buttermilk Andrex, with no loo.

  Colour played the pivotal role in his perception; with all five senses. It did determining his reactions. Five hues that had to harmonize before things felt right. The essence shining from both sets of blues was singular. A metaphorical DNA match. So, why the bejeezus had Jake deemed himself ‘dangerous’ to Phin? Who was not as doolally as he looked; he knew damn well that he would be dead already, if he’d been a rabbit. In snackeroo terms? Phin felt about as imperilled as a teapot.

  He wasn’t scared for the simple reason he knew that Foxy meant him no harm. Phin might get hurt as a consequence, but that was true when he crossed the road. He would rather get run over than potter around in a crash helmet and bicycle clips to be ‘on the safe side’. He didn’t want to live his life in a suit of armour. For a start, he was much more comfy naked than suffering stuff that made him scratchy.

  Feelings were lethal, full stop. They made you vulnerable. Phin suspected that falling in love meant you’d never feel safe again. None o’this would have ever crossed his mind if Jack hadn’t kept coshing him with constant frets for his welfare. It was a lot like having a wasp buzzing about his head, stopping him from eating his sandwich in peace. Phin spent the rest of the drive rustling up the perfect sarnie to describe Jack. Something spicy with a bit of bite…oozing relish.

  Anticipation was fizzing through his veins when he parked the van, his heart aflutter like hummingbird wings. That was daft. He was meeting Foxy, and yet he felt just as he had when he’d walked into The Albion, which was more than a mite unseemly. Phin would do trying almost anything once and admit to many a kinky quirk, but his fondness for animals was the ‘exception that proved the rule’…and thus, not a jot excessive.

  Foxy’s tail was swishing with much the aplomb of Jake’s bum when he bounded over to greet Phin, even his brief wuff of welcome sounded pleased to see him. A snuffabout seemed to satisfy Foxy that all was well, then he shot off across the stubbly grass, leaving Phin to follow in his wake. To the place he’d believed too perfect to improve in any way, whatsoever. In a lifetime littered with wrongness? Phin really had excessed himself.

  Foxy was waiting atop their grassy mound when Phin arrived, his face raised skywards as if he were moonbathing. He looked serene. Proud. Cloaked in ancient majesty as he sat amidst the ruins. Phin paused beside a tumbledown wall and gazed up at him, mesmerized. Too enchanted to shatter the silence, for fear he might spoil something too magical to exist beyond it. Too flawless to belong in Phin’s future.

  He was struck by the strangest realization as he crossed those last few feet to Foxy’s side; Phin could scarce wait to reach him and yet, he wasn’t beset by the fretful hyperneed to rushrushrush and stifle some fear he’d never been able to name.

  He just felt…right. Phin never felt right. The closest he’d ever known was not feeling wrong. That only happened when he was alone. But here, now, walking towards the two-for-one friend he’d never had, all was right in Phin’s world. Something had slotted into place. The piece he hadn’t known was missing. As if his whole life had led to this moment. A thought as demented as everything else he’d rustled up since Jake’s clothes exploded. Ooh, if only that came fully loaded with the symbolism it promised…

  Foxy? Somehow looked content to sit and wait until dawn stole the dark away. He was serenity itself. As regal as a statue of Anubis (the Sphinx had a human head—Foxy thankfully, did not—that might have been a bit freaky).

  “Hello Foxy…” Phin’s kept his voice soft, unwilling to shatter the spell hovering over them as surely as the blanket of stars. After sitting down beside his foxy friend, legs stretched before him, Phin was content to do waiting for Foxy to take the lead. As ’twere. For a timeless moment they simply sat, facing forwards. If Foxy wanted to do so for the rest of the night, it was fine by Phin. He wanted Phin here, full stop; that was more than enough.

  Foxy turned his head towards Phin, who echoed the movement and found himself staring into eyes that no longer glowed the way they had back at the Albion. While they still glistened Starlite bright, they weren’t luminous; agleam from within. They didn’t look supernatural. Despite being far from ordinary. They could never be that. Simply because they were Jack’s eyes. Not a jot of doubt remained in Phin’s mind.

  “You’re beautiful…” Words barely above a whisper, made all the more reverent for that. Foxy did dipping his head…in negation of Phin’s words? Or, had they made him go all bashful? “You are. Either way.”

  His head shot straight back up to spear Phin with cerulean, Jake’s eyes, wide with shock.

  “You can’t be surprised I did working it out, so you must be shocked to be thought beautiful either way. You’re a daftie. I loved Foxy first, why would that change because he’s more than I thought? That doesn’t do making sense. It’s like ice-cream.” Foxy tilted his head, eyes aboggle. “It is! With a flake. Ice-cream is scrumptious, as are flakes. I sure wouldn’t be miffed if I was served a 99, after assuming I would get a cone. That’d be bonkers. They both taste better if you scoff them together.”

  Foxy’s tongue did lolling, his breath huffing out in cloudy snuffs. “You’re doing laughing at me, y’scoundrel. Humph. I would rather have a 99 than a sandwich with a wasp, that’s for sure. So there.” Foxy rolled both eyeballs inwards, going cross-eyed at Phin. How rude. “I suppose you think it’s more akin to ice-cream with ketchup. Y’might like them well and good separately, but not together. Pfft to that. I’d be prepared to give it a bash before I did grumbling ab
out it. Are you hungry? I am, it’s all this food chattering. Tell you what, let’s go back to the van and you can scoff the bacon. I might even throw in a sausage, if you’re a good boy.” Phin told him, reaching out to ruffle Foxy’s ears. It was irresistible; it made him go all daft.

  “Jack, I’m not sure if you can do choosing to change, or if you can’t…control that. If you can, then I hope you’ll stay Foxy for a while. You’re welcome either way, but I’d hate you to think that’s not true. P’raps that’s why you brought me here, rather than my van, perhaps not…but it’s easy ’nuff to prove. You might not want to come with me whatever you’re wearing o’course…and that’s okay too. I could always scoff some ketchup ’n’ ice-cream, if you prefer…” Phin shrugged, casual as y’please, as if his heart wasn’t hyperfluttering with hope as he clambered to his feet. Foxy thumped his tail a few times, but its rhythm was a smidge stuttery. Hesitant.