Stalker

Part 11

There were only two people he let tell him what to do, that was Paddy and Jackson. He'd put up a fight at first of course, make it clear he was having none of it only to eventually grudgingly back down.

Jackson had wanted him to go back to work, insisted he go back first thing Wednesday morning; he wasn't going though, he wasn't leaving him on his own at home, no way!

But come 8:30 Wednesday morning he found himself traipsing down the hill to the garage. Every now and again he'd look back over his shoulder, at the police car parked outside Smithy Cottage, needing the small amount of reassurance seeing it there gave him.

He was stopped several times, villagers asking how Jackson was, some were more inquisitive than others, or should that be just plain nosy? Well in Betty's case it was, she'd had a string of questions for him, the last one being, "Just what the heck is going on at yours?" She was an old lady, a bit of case and he liked her, everyone did, but sometimes she liked to know more than she had any right to, and in this case more than he or anyone could tell her. He was already on edge and her prying just served to irritate him, more than it should have done he knew. He could easily have given her a polite answer but no, he'd snapped at her and walked off. He'd heard her tut-tut and say "Well!" She'd no doubt complain to Paddy about his rudeness and then he'd get it in the neck from him. Right now though he didn't give a shit.

Cain wasn't in any better a mood than he'd been in on Monday, worse in fact, but he wasn't directing any of his ill temper at him, to everyone but it seemed. What had happened to Jackson had got to him. He was taking it personally. Nobody messed with the Dingles or anyone closely connected to them, and Jackson was one of the clan now. Cain had quietly told him he'd put some feelers out, if a certain section of the Dale's population had any clue as to who was targeting Jackson, word would get back to him.

He'd liked that idea, liked the thought of getting wind of who it was long before the police did, of having a chance of reprisal. But Cain had shot him down in flames when he'd mentioned that, no way was he letting him get involved, he was to keep his nose clean! He hadn't even bothered to argue, he knew there was no point, and anyway he didn't really hold out much hope of Cain's contacts being of any real help, something told him they moved in different circles to whoever it was after Jackson.

He'd have moped about all morning given the chance, he was a worrier, he couldn't help it, especially when it came to the people he loved. Cain knew that and had found him plenty of work, kept his hands and his mind busy all morning, then he'd sent him for an early dinner. As hard as he was, his uncle had a seldom seen softer, thoughtful side to him too.

He'd expected, well hoped to find Jackson sprawled out in front of the TV, the doctor had told him to rest but it seemed he had no intention of doing that. He found him sat at the kitchen table catching up with some paper work and making work related phone calls. He'd walked in to hear him promise his latest client to be back on site first thing in the morning. As soon as he'd ended the call he'd challenged him on it. He didn't think he should be going back to work, not just yet, he still had stitches in his head, he was still unsteady on his feet. They'd argued the toss and he'd lost, again. Jackson insisting he was fine, that he needed the money. Yeah he did, but he knew it wasn't really about the money anymore; it was about the police's ploy to catch his attacker.

His dinner break had lasted longer than it should have done and normally Cain would have given him earache over it, but not this time, he just told him what job to start on next.

He'd been back at work about an hour when the phone had rung. Cain had taken the call, then come to find him handing him a piece of paper with a name and set of directions written on it. He didn't want to go out on a breakdown, not one that took him god knows how many miles away from Emmerdale, from Jackson. Cain insisted he be the one to go though, he said he couldn't that he was waiting for a phone call.

After hauling himself up into the breakdown trucks cab he'd phoned Jackson or tried to, his phone had been busy. He told himself he'd try again later, he just wanted to know he was ok.

Half an hour later he was on the back of beyond road the car had broken down on. He knew the area vaguely, somewhere along this stretch of road was the farm he and Paddy had first come across Clyde. It had new owners now, the old farmer had died last year and the place auctioned off.

Clyde. He tried not to think about him too often, it made him miserable, more than miserable, he still felt so much guilt about what had happened to him. He'd done something stupid and Clyde had paid the price. He'd almost lost Jackson because of it too, but then he'd given him another chance...and they'd never looked back.

He could see the car up ahead of him now, he couldn't be sure of its make from that distance but it's open bonnet was a dead giveaway. The slip of paper Cain had given him was on the dashboard, he glanced at it for the owners name, it only gave the surname, Poulter. It sounded familiar for some reason, it was probably one of Cain's regular customers, although he hadn't said it was.

The driver got out of the vehicle as he approached but he was too busy parking the truck safely on the narrow road to take much notice.

It was only when he'd climbed out of the cab and turned to greet the other man that he realised why the name had been familiar. It was Baz... Barry Poulter!

TBC