AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Talking of which, as Anthony descended the staircase to the carousel he switched on his phone. He had a few minutes to spare because the belt was still empty and stationary.
The crowds had already gathered. Where the hell had they come from?
Glan
cing at his phone, he realised a problem of sorts. With no signal, the phone hadn’t connected to anywhere. Maybe it would when he was outside.
Anthony wanted a meeting as soon as possible. He had done a lot of thinking while he was away. He needed to make changes, take control of his life, maybe even go it alone – or retire altogether.
Two years ago he would never have thought that. Not even one year ago, or six months.
But everything changed three months ago. They’d gone a step too far.
That was down to Zoe. He didn’t think for one second if the other two – or himself – had been driving, that they would have killed David; and deliberately, in his opinion.
Yes, thought Anthony, it was time to move on.
He spotted his suitcase and moved forward through the complaining throng, who were moaning about not having seen theirs.
He grabbed it, dropped it onto the floor, extended the handle and headed for the “nothing to declare” aisle.
With customs cleared he entered the terminal to see a number of people holding placards. He didn’t spot anyone he knew so he continued to the exit for the car parks, threading his way through even more people, all intent on blocking his way.
To his right he heard convoluted conversations. To his left he could hear music. Not the usual piped crap they always played – music you couldn’t put a name to in a million years; it had more of a brass band or circus feel to it.
He was about ten feet from the door when he heard a loud scream that made him jump.
Anthony turned to see what it was.
Three seconds later he fainted.
Chapter Nineteen
Anthony woke up with a crowd round him. Initially he didn’t recognise anyone and he hadn’t a clue where he was. People were prodding and poking him, asking him what had happened. Was he okay? Thin people; fat people; old people; young people. You name it, he had them in front of him.
A multitude of colours and strange sounds suddenly exploded in his mind and Anthony remembered exactly what had happened.
He raised himself from the floor and rose to his feet almost in one movement, his head all over the place, glancing in every direction. “Where is he? Where is he?”
“Who are you talking about, son?” an old man asked.
“The clown. The clown,” shouted Anthony, “the fucking clown. Where is he?”
“I’m not sure,” said a woman with large glasses and wild red hair.
“He’s around here somewhere,” replied a teenager dressed like a tramp. “Do you want us to get him?”
“I fucking don’t,” said Anthony, picking up his case, trying to make a run for it. As he was about to move, a doctor appeared, with a nurse.
Anthony was going nowhere until he’d had a thorough examination. He argued but it made no difference. The pair of them marched him off into a side room, which turned out to be a staff restroom-cum-canteen. It was clean, quiet, pleasant smelling, and warm. Sweet tea was brought to him and he sat there for quite some time answering questions.
The doctor said he had coulrophobia.
Anthony knew exactly what it was. He didn’t need to be told; thirty fucking years he had been frightened stiff of clowns – he didn’t need a quack to analyse it.
They had left him with a second cup of sweet tea, and some time to compose himself; they said they would call back once he’d had time to calm down.
Fat chance. The tea had done nothing to help and Anthony once again relived the episode of what should have been a birthday treat.
