Sinema: The Northumberland Massacre Read Online Free PDF Page B

Northumberland National Park scene, and a paper napkin. Her ample breasts, bulging in a plain matronly dress, swayed close to his face as she swept away imaginary specks of dust from the table.
    After a hearty Scottish fry up that would block all but the healthiest arteries, followed by two cups of Rington’s tea, he headed out into the cool fresh morning sunshine.
    It wasn’t quite nine AM, but the village centre already seemed a bustle of activity. The SPAR and the Post Office both had customers, Henhouse Steve could be seen leaving the former in a sweaty Lacoste t-shirt and jogging shorts. Three older gents, two in obligatory beige overcoats and caps and the third in a tartan dressing gown and slippers, were stood around the bench under the mighty oak. They stopped their animated conversation on seeing the stranger in their midst. All three turned in unison to stare at him. There was no attempt at subtlety, just open curiosity.
    Whitman offered them a broad smile and then turned right to head down Miller’s Road. Unlike Main Street, the narrow off-shoot was cobbled and far more in keeping with Whitman’s mental image of a quaint little village. After passing S Priestly Chemists and a cluster of narrow terraced houses, Miller’s Road ended quite abruptly. It was replaced by a gravel footpath that led into a dense wooded area of birch, oak and alder. Thick luscious branches intertwined above the path to offer a latticework canopy.
    Not wanting to backtrack just yet, he decided to venture into the woods. The bubbling, dove-like call of a black grouse, somewhere within the woods, greeted him as he walked casually along the shrouded path. Vibrant bluebells and clumps of wild grass lined its edge, and a rustling of leaves rippled through the branches above with the caress of a gentle breeze that carried on it an array of woodland scents.
    A five minute walk brought him into a bright picnic area with a swing, roundabout, slide and a wooden climbing frame. This quiet woodland sanctuary was clean and well-kept; the grass well-groomed and not a scrap of litter or an expletive of graffiti. It was bordered on the far side by a shallow, rocky stream with stepping stones that allow the walker to continue along the path beyond. Narrow dirt tracks led off on both sides of the clearing, leading deeper into the forest.
    Dressed in an obscenely short denim skirt and tight low cut top, the barmaid – Lisa – stood at the swings pushing a little girl gently backwards and forwards. She hadn’t noticed his arrival. There was a distant, dreamy look in her eyes as she gazed out past the stream. She looked pale and fragile in the dazzling sunshine.
    The girl, maybe four, was also quiet and following her mother’s gaze as she swung back and forth, accompanied by the rhythmic creak of the chains. As he approached, he could see a resemblance between mother and daughter, except for the thick curly blonde locks on the child.
    “Hi,” he said finally, having crossed most of the distance.
    “FUCK!” was her startled reply as she swung round to face him, her diminutive chest heaving almost out of her low top. Seeing that it was Whitman, she flushed red and composed herself, hoisting her top up to a more respectable level. “Sorry, you scared the shit out of us there.”
    Whitman laughed and, holding up his hands, he offered a brief apology. “This your daughter?” He bent down and smiled at the little girl who had now fixed her intense stare on him. She had wide, curious eyes, the same colour of stormy sea grey as her mother’s.
    “I’m four,” she said matter-of-factly.
    Feigning astonishment, he said, “Wow, I woulda thought you were at least five!”
    She smiled, but it was brief and followed by a shrug that said, ‘yeah, typical adult thing to say’. Her attention immediately returned to the swing and she kicked her small legs off the ground to resume the motion.
    “Yeah, Haley weren’t exactly planned,” Lisa said awkwardly,