Argleton, Chapter 1: Argleton Fields
Matt and Charlie travel to the precise co-ordinates of Argleton, a town that doesn't exist.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Charlie peered over the neatly trimmed hawthorn hedge into the field beyond. At its edge was a small pavilion, weatherboards and railings painted fresh white, beams and pillars in crisp black. Although the roof sagged a little, every decorative ridge tile was in place. Numbers painted in the small gable above the main door revealed it had been built in 1887.
“I have the precise co-ordinates of — well, you’ll see! — plugged into my map,” said Matt, brandishing his phone.
Thwack! came the unmistakable sound of cricket. The pitch was in play, men in cricket whites standing around in various states of relaxation. The bowler approached the wicket in a loping run, rolled his arm over and let go of the ball. Despite looking slightly harried, the batsman hit a four and a gentle cheer drifted through the air along with the scent of newly mown grass.
“Ah, there’s nothing like cricket to prove that summer has finally come,” Matt said, as they set off along the path that skirted the pitch. “You know anything about it?”
“A bit,” said Charlie.
“Never really figured it out, myself. All I know is that the team with the score most like a telephone number wins.”
“Well, that does rather depend.” Charlie glanced at the outfield where a portly gentleman stumbled backwards, trying to make a catch. “If they don’t finish play, say because of bad light or rain, then the second team doesn’t get a fair go, so the result has to be calculated.”
“Why does the ref wear a lab coat?”
“Umpire. The guy in the white coat is an umpire.”
“OK, so why does the umpire wear a lab coat? He’s not going to break off play for a quicky dissection halfway through, is he?”
Their path led them northwards towards the pavilion. A small group of spectators lounged in folding chairs or on picnic blankets, enjoying their postprandial lull. Another lazy cheer went up. Matt headed over to the nearest onlooker, a pensioner with a Panama on his head and a glass of Pimms in his hand.
“Matt!” Charlie hissed, hanging back and reddening in sympathetic embarrassment, although Matt himself felt none.
“Who’s winning?” Matt stood by the man’s side as if they were old friends.
“Aughton, my boy, Aughton.”
“Good to see the home side doing well,” said Matt, remembering the road sign they had passed as they closed in on their goal. “Who are you playing?”
“Haydock. Although injury has them at a disadvantage, our lads are doing a fine job today.”
Another thwack, another cheer. From the distance came the drone of a small plane carving great aerobatic slices out of the sky. The warm sun on his skin reminded Matt of the long summers of childhood, when six weeks stretched into an eternity. This three day weekend didn’t compare.
“Well, good luck! I’m sure you’ll prevail.”
“Why, thank you! That’s very kind.”
Matt rejoined Charlie and they walked on. The match continued behind them, with cheers and gasps in seemingly equal proportion drifting by on the haze. As they neared the top of the field, the path opened out into a small, sparsely planted orchard. The trees seemed abandoned, their trunks rising up out of thick, wild grasses that hadn’t seen a mower in many a year. Thick apple blossom promised a crop that would keep the local wasp population, and perhaps the occasional passing walker, well fed.
“We have to either get into this next field on the left,” Matt said, staring at the map on his phone, “or go north and then west.”
“What about that gap in the hedge up there?” Charlie pointed towards a fingerpost that in turn pointed towards a distinctly empty space. A narrow bridge led through the hedgerow and across a hidden stream. They clambered over the stile and, in a few strides, were on the other side and wandering through well-cropped grass.
“Now that is one impressive cow,” said Matt, pausing in awe at a mass of black and white grazing in the middle of the field. He sniffed. “And impressively aromatic with it, I might add!”
“Erm,” said Charlie. “I’m not sure that’s…”
“Cows are docile, right? Just great big lumbering stomachs on legs.”
“Well, mostly, but that’s not a cow, Matt.”
“Of course it’s a cow. It’s not a fluffy little sheep, is it now?”
“No, I mean, it’s not a cow. It’s a bull.”
“It can’t be a bull, it doesn’t have any horns. Anyway, I’m sure it doesn’t mean us any harm.” Matt started off towards the beast, which looked up at the sound of his approach.
“Doesn’t mean us any harm?” Charlie hung back, watching Matt with apprehension. “Look at the size of it. It’s a good foot taller than us!”
“Nah, it’s just a big old softie.”
“I really don’t think this is a good idea, Matt. You don’t just barrel on up to a Friesian bull and get in its personal space.”
“Bulls don’t have ‘personal space’, Charlie.”
“I think you’ll find this one does.” Charlie scanned the hedge, looking for a way out. She began edging along the field border, picking her way carefully through the hummocky grass, one eye on the bull and the other searching for cowpats.
The bœuf en hoof approached.
“Matt, let’s get out of here.”
“It’s just curious. I mean, at the end of the day, it’s a herbivore. It doesn’t eat human.”
The bull’s tail swished aimlessly as it stared at them. Matt couldn’t help staring back, although he also couldn’t help wondering if that wasn’t a very bad idea. Staring can be, after all, a sign of aggression, he thought. The bull’s stare did not appear to be born of the friendly curiosity Matt specialised in.
“I think we ought to run,” Charlie said.
“I think you’re right,” Matt finally admitted.
“On the count of three, head for that gap in the hedge, right? OK?”
“ThreeTwoOneGo!”
The pair lurched forward from their standing start and tried to sprint without turning an ankle. The bull watched for a second, then broke into a headlong run. They adjusted course, trying to give it a wider berth.
Shit, this bull runs fast, Matt wanted to say, but his laboured breathing left no room for witticisms. He focused on his escape route. There was a chance that they were going to make it, he thought, putting on an extra spurt. The bull thundering behind him, he vaulted over the bars of the gate, surprising himself in the process. He hit the ground awkwardly on the other side, stumbling forward. Momentum rolled him over, but not entirely out of the way of an equally clumsy landing by Charlie. She tumbled headlong towards Matt, fetching up sprawled across his chest. A red flush raced up her neck and she pushed herself quickly on to her back.
The two lay panting, staring back at the Friesian monster that had pulled up short in front of the gate. It snorted, breathing hard, although not as hard as the puny humans that lay sprawled before it. One last grunt and it turned, lumbering away, disinterested in the creatures it had successfully chased off its land.
“Oh crikey,” Matt gasped. “That was close.”
“You really are an idiot sometimes!” Charlie said, catching her breath and watching the mountain of meat disappearing behind the hedge. “This had better be worth it!”
“Of course it’s worth it!” Matt sat up and fished in his pocket for his phone. He groaned.
“What’s up?”
“My phone. I must have dropped it when we ran.”
“Oh no! You’re not saying we have to go back in there, are you?”
Matt caught Charlie’s eye and grimaced. They hauled themselves to their feet and crept slowly towards the gate, bending low so as not to draw the attention of the Friesian.
“You climb over, I’ll keep look,” whispered Charlie. Matt shot her a dark look, but given that it was his phone that was lost, didn’t comment further. Instead he slowly clambered back over the gate, keeping his body close to the top bar and trying to be quiet. Charlie peered into the field from behind the hedge, searching for any sign that the bull was on the return.
Matt, crouching, scanned the grass in front of him for a telltale glint of shiny black. He inched back the way they had run, head down, trusting Charlie to be his lookout. With a rush of relief he spotted the phone, end up in the grass. He grabbed it and dashed back to the gate, gracelessly scrambling over in case trouble was coming up behind him.
“You got it?”
“Thankfully.” Matt stood up, happy to be on the safe side of the hedge again. “Right, let’s find this damn place!” He surveyed the view.
“What place? It’s a field.”
There was no denying it. Lush grass tickled their ankles. Ahead they saw one of Lancashire’s finest pastures, enclosed by hedges on all sides and, this time, delightfully empty of livestock.
“It’s not just a field, Charlie,” Matt smiled, his equanimity restored. “It’s the field.”
“The field? There’s nothing here.”
“Patience! We’re not quite there yet!” Matt held his phone out in front of him, casting it slowly back and forth before getting a fix and moving carefully forward again.
Charlie trailed behind, muttering. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“No, I’m being precise. We need to be located at precisely… 53.54404, −2.912807. We will be standing on those exact co-ordinates in three…” He took a step. “Two….” He took another. “One!” He beamed, holding the phone proudly ahead for a moment before staring down at his feet.
“There’s still nothing here!” Charlie squinted, looking around, searching for some indication of why they were there.
“This, Charlie, is Argleton: The town that defies explanation!”
“Argleton?”
Matt aimed his phone at the ground and took a photo of his feet.
“Argleton. It’s a phantom town. A town that’s listed on GeoMaps but which doesn’t actually exist. GeoMaps have no idea how it got there. The company that originally supplied the data doesn’t know either. They even said as much. ‘I really can’t explain why these anomalies get into our database,’ they said. Right now, you and I are standing slap bang on an anomaly.”
“I see,” Charlie said, although there was nothing to see. On the far northern side, the roof of the village hall poked up above the hedge. The hall belonged to Aughton, the nearby non-fantastical town. She could hear the grumble of the A59 to the northwest and, very faintly indeed, the cricket match that continued on the village pitch.
“You know, there are even businesses listed as being here in Argleton,” Matt continued, wrapped up in his own enthusiasm. “And that’s the weird thing. This isn’t just a single anomaly. It permeates GeoMaps. Must drive locals mad, having their shops and offices located in a field in a town that doesn’t—,” he paused, staring at his phone. “Good grief! There’s wifi!”
“What?” Charlie came up behind him and peered over his shoulder at the phone screen. “Maybe it’s from the village hall.” They both peered at the grey roof in the distance.
“They wouldn’t have a wifi signal this strong,” Matt disagreed. “Ha! The wags! The network ID is ‘notrealG’!” He laughed. “It’s an anagram, you see. The letters of Argleton also spell ‘not real G’, with the G meaning GeoMaps.”
“Can you connect?”
“It’s asking for a password. I wonder…”
Matt started to key in alternative anagrams for Argleton that had been listed in one of the news stories he’d read.
“Not large. No. Great Lon. No. Give me a hand here, Charlie. I’m rubbish at anagrams.”
“I’ll say. ‘Great lon’ doesn’t even mean anything.” Charlie drew out her own phone and connected to the mobile web, searching for an anagram site. She soon started reading out options. “Great on L.”
“And that means something? Anyway, no.”
“Let no arg.”
“No.”
“Not le arg.”
“Are you turning into a pirate, or what? Still, no.”
“We’re running out now. How about, Get on l’AR?”
“L’AR? That sounds distinctly French. Not to mention nonsensical… Wait? Bingo!” The pair of them burst out laughing again as Matt’s phone connected to the hotspot.
“This is cool,” said Matt. “No one is going to believe that we are actually at Argleton, uploading a picture of the very spot via wifi called ‘Not real G’ with a password of ‘Get on l’AR’. What do you think that means, anyway?”
“God knows,” replied Charlie. She shifted closer to Matt, pretending to peer at his screen as he entered his message. The ‘send’ progress bar made no move. As they waited, Charlie wondered if Matt was as aware of her proximity as she was of his. She flushed and sharply stepped away. “Er,” she said nervously. “Look! A red kite!” She pointed upwards into the blue sky.
“Who’d be flying a kite on a day with no wind?”
“Not that kind of kite, you daft git. It’s a bird, and a rare one round here. Look, there it is!” She pointed.
Matt peered into the sky, the slow wifi connection temporarily forgotten. A small dialogue box bounced into view on his phone screen:
> Download Argleton App?
“I can’t see it.”
“Damn! It’s flown in front of the sun now. Oh, no, there it is!” She nudged him in the ribs and pointed again. Matt re-adjusted his grip on his phone. His thumb brushed the touch sensitive screen, which flashed up a new message:
> Downloading.
“Oh yeah! I see it!”
> Download complete.
> Gathering user data.
> User data collected.
> Hibernating.
“Wow! We are really lucky to see a red kite round here. Anyway, is your upload done yet?”
Matt glanced at his phone, wondering if it had crashed. Just as he was about to restart it, the progress bar gave a sudden spurt.
“Yup! There we go!”
“Excellent! Now, the question is, how do we get back to the car without crossing paths with our new friend, Mr Bull?”
“No,” said Matt. “The question is, is there another Argleton?”
If you want to read Argleton all in one go, download the free ebook now. And why not try The Gates of Balawat or The Lacemaker as well!