His Vampyrrhic Bride by Simon Clark

on Nicola’s face. There was such an expression of pain there. It was heart-rending to see her like that. And he had news for her
. I’m leaving the valley. I’m going to work in France. Goodbye.
    That was the moment he knew he could never utter those words.
    ‘We’ve got flour and eggs at home,’ he told her. ‘You can have those.’
    ‘Keep your damn eggs.’ She was still angry from the attack. ‘Why should I want your charity?’
    ‘So what
do
you want?’
    Nicola stared at him. She didn’t say anything. The shadows seemed to grow darker. In contrast, her eyes grew brighter. They were like lamps burning out of the gloom.
    Some inbuilt resistance broke inside him. At that moment, he couldn’t stop himself from doing what he did next. ‘Do you want this?’ His tone seemed brutal even to his own ears. Then he took hold of her shoulders. When she didn’t react he kissed her on the mouth.
    That’s when she did react. She put her hand around the back of his head and pushed her face up to his. She was kissing him, her lips moved against his.
    The sound of the river stopped. Or, at least, he stopped hearing it. The only sound now was the pounding of his heart.
    This time he really did feel as if he’d crossed the point of no return. He’d started something important. And he wondered what the consequences would be.

FIFTEEN
    S unlight blazed down on the orchard at Mull-Rigg Hall. Tom Westonby had started chopping down a dead apple tree when his father gave him some startling news.
    ‘Tom, I’m getting married.’
    Tom stared at the man in shock. ‘Married? Who are you marrying?’
    He felt an unnerving sense of déjà vu. Just two hours ago, Chester Kenyon had told him that he was getting married to Grace and had asked Tom to be best man. Then came the confrontation with the village bullies led by Bolter, the man with a face full of scarlet blisters brought on by drug abuse. Following that, he’d caught up with Nicola on the river bank. And then the kiss. He could still feel Nicola’s lips on his. For the last couple of hours he’d thought about nothing else.
    ‘So, who . . .?’ Tom felt mentally winded. He couldn’t catch a sensible train of thought. He gave his father a hard look. ‘Married?’
    ‘I shouldn’t have sprung the news like that.’ Russell Westonby still wore a huge grin. ‘I’ll give you a clue who I’m marrying. You will be the son of the bride.’
    ‘Uh, thank God.’
    ‘You didn’t think I was running off with the local milkmaid, did you?’
    ‘Something like that.’ Tom sighed with relief. His hands were actually shaking. ‘But you’re already married to Mum . . . aren’t you?’
    ‘We had a civil wedding when we worked in Uganda. Both of us were younger than you at the time. We married in a mad rush. The impetuousness of youth, eh?’
    ‘So, why now?’
    ‘Your mother and I are starting to regret that we didn’t do the full family thing, inviting everyone to a traditional wedding.’
    ‘Though you aren’t getting remarried?’
    ‘Technically, no. It’s a renewal of our wedding vows.’
    Tom held out his hand. ‘Congratulations, Dad.’
    Smiling, his father shook it. ‘Thank you, son. Oh . . . by the way, I wondered if you’d be best man.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘I couldn’t think of a better man to ask.’
    ‘Thanks . . . but that’s weird.’
    ‘Why weird?’
    ‘You’re the second person to ask me to be a best man today.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘Chester Kenyon asked me this morning.’
    His father smiled. ‘Maybe there’s a wedding virus in the air.’
    ‘Maybe.’ Tom leaned the axe against a tree. He was pleased . . . of course he was pleased, on both counts of being asked to serve as best man. Only, he felt a chilling creep of unease. As if he’d just caught sight of a gravestone with his name on it.
No, that wasn’t logical. You can’t be alarmed if good things happen to you.
Suddenly, he remembered a veteran diver who used to worry when he found