Andy was roosting at the St John Ambulance station again, even though today Jack Fovargue was now aware of his presence and there was therefore no need to conceal himself. He enjoyed the company of the two first aiders, who were assiduous dispensers of tea. Besides, it was better for both Fovargue and himself if he carried out his surveillance from a distance.
If Fovargue had felt self-conscious about being watched by a policeman, which Andy doubted, any awkwardness was quickly dissipated as soon as he was approached by the punters. At present, these consisted only of a few of the most eager show-goers and the occasional fellow stallholder. The latter were probably motivated as much by boredom as curiosity, but Fovargue loved playing to the gallery, even if he could muster an audience of only one or two individuals at a time.
There was a sudden roaring sound. Everyone looked sky-wards. A fighter jet came powering across the sky and boomed off into the distance. Dazed by both the noise and the brightness of the sky, Andy was still struggling to refocus his eyes when a second plane burst upon his senses.
‘F-35s,’ said the St John Ambulance man knowledgeably. ‘On manoeuvres.’
Andy nodded and clasped his hand to his forehead, light-headed from the unexpected intrusion and lack of sleep. His face began to throb lightly from the previous day’s assault.
‘You all right, mate? Here, take a seat and I’ll fetch you some water.’
Andy sat down heavily on a folding plastic chair. His head was spinning. He closed his eyes and briefly fell into a strange waking sleep – he was still conscious, but the darkness seemed to be closing in on him from all sides.
‘Head between your knees, now. Easy does it,’ said the St John Ambulance man.
Obediently, Andy did as he was told. It was an unpleasant posture and he felt a bit of an idiot – he was vaguely aware that a couple of kids had halted nearby, presumably to stare at him. However, after a short time the fog that had seemed to envelop him cleared. He sat up again, his face flushed.
‘Drink some of this now,’ said the St John Ambulance man. ‘And sit there for a while. Don’t try to get up too soon or suddenly.’
Andy took the glass. He glared at the kids, who wandered on, disappointed, probably, that there hadn’t been more of a drama. There was a slight breeze, which he found refreshing, and by the time he’d drunk the entire glass of water in slow sips, he was feeling much better. He glanced across at Fovargue’s stand and could see no one gathered there. This was surprising, because, as he’d already observed, Fovargue usually managed to command an audience of some sort. He stood up and saw that the stand was deserted – Fovargue himself had disappeared. In a rush of panic, he took a few steps forward and saw the pantechnicon was still standing where Fovargue had parked it, at the edge of the field, the same spot he’d chosen the day before. Andy breathed a sigh of relief. Fovargue couldn’t have gone far; he must just have taken a toilet break.
‘Have you seen the soil appreciation bloke walk past?’ he asked the St John Ambulance man, as casually as he could.
‘Jack Fovargue, you mean? We know him quite well – he comes to a lot of these dos. He’s gone off on that little KTM Enduro bike he has. Probably to get some grub or something. He usually travels with it in the lorry – I think that’s why he drives such a bloody great big thing. His wife’s got one, too. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her today. She was here yesterday. It’s not like them to leave the stand unmanned.’
‘Christ!’ said Andy.
‘Is something the matter?’
‘I don’t know. But probably.’
He whipped out his phone as he hurried round the back of the first aid post to get some privacy and called Tim.