Small Holdings (7 page)

‘Again.’

‘Yes.‘

‘How’s Doug?’

‘Not good.’

Ray fitted the lid back onto the saucepan. He stared over towards the window. ‘I’ve got loads to do. I want to finish that gatepost this morning and I swore to Doug I’d weed the tennis courts.’

‘I think Doug’s got bigger things on his mind at present than the tennis courts.’

Ray scratched his beard. I added, ‘I also think we should consider telling Nancy not to go to Southend today for any more privet. We both know the park can’t afford it.’

Ray leaned his weight against the oven and shifted it, unintentionally, an inch closer to the wall.

‘But the problem is,’ I said, hoping for some kind of response, ‘I don’t know if we can really risk antagonising Doug any further. He’s already slightly . . . overwrought.’ Ray carried on scratching his beard. ‘What do you think?’

Ray picked up the roll of kitchen towel and tossed it over to me. ‘Have you tried pinching the top of your nose? That might stop it bleeding.’

Saleem came in clutching a folder and a bundle of papers. She threw them on to the table. ‘There,’ she said, ‘I knew he’d started keeping some of this stuff upstairs. He’s getting paranoid. Being secretive’s a real symptom of it. Right, let’s split this lot up between us and see what we can find.’

I looked over towards the door. ‘Doug might come back here at any time.’

Saleem smiled, ‘We’re OK. Nancy’s on lookout.’

Ray stayed over by the oven, like he didn’t want any part of looking through the papers. Saleem pulled out a chair and placed herself squarely on to it. She began leafing through. ‘Pull up a pew, Phil. Take the weight off your bad foot.’ I remained standing, breathing into a clump of tissue.

‘OK . . . OK . . .’ Saleem rifled through the top few sheets. She pulled something out. ‘Privet!’ she announced, excitedly, ‘Bingo!’ She passed it over to me. I looked at it. An advance order requesting privet amounting to the sum of fifteen hundred pounds.

Saleem carried on rifling. She said, ‘I don’t know how the hell he’s intending to explain away this little lot tomorrow at the meeting.’

I looked over at Ray. ‘Fifteen hundred pounds,’ I said, miserably.

Ray shifted his weight. ‘Maybe you should ring them,’ he volunteered, ‘and tell them we can’t actually afford to pay for it.’

‘Maybe.’

My head felt weightless. My head felt like the bright-faced bulb of yellow sunflower. All colour, display, no substance. I pulled out a chair and sat down.

‘Saleem,’ I said, gently, ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. About Wu not destroying Doug’s greenhouse. Because if Wu didn’t destroy it, then who did?’

‘Vandals.’

‘They didn’t break in. They had a key.’

‘Clever vandals. You’re dripping blood on the floor.’

I looked down. Cog had appeared at my feet and was nosing at the drops of blood. His little pink tongue protruded and he started to lap it up. I bent over to push him away and as I bent, my head started rolling and roaring like it was full of buzzing, like it was a fluffy bumble just about to detach itself, to fly off.

It would have flown, I’m sure it would have flown, except for the fact that at that exact moment Nancy burst into the kitchen and yanked me up. She stared into my face. ‘Listen,’ she said, breathless, ‘that’s Doug.’

Slowly, I blinked. ‘Doug?’ I tried to focus on her face but her eyes were everywhere. I tried to focus.

‘He’s taken the tractor. That’s him, outside. Listen.’

Saleem stuffed the papers into the folder, threw the folder into the cutlery drawer, grabbed hold of my arm. ‘Outside,’ she said, ‘come on.’

Actually, we must’ve looked quite funny, the four of us, standing there in a line, like we were preparing to be presented to the Queen in a formal ceremony. Just outside the gate, near the Ladies toilets, we had a full view of Doug, the tractor, the lakes, the greenhouses, the hill opposite, the whole damn vista.

‘Where’s he going?’ Ray asked. ‘Any ideas?’

‘Maybe he’s thinking about mowing the grass patch just beyond the bandstand,’ I suggested. Saleem snorted. Nancy said, ‘He doesn’t have the mower attachment on the back.’

‘Did he say anything?’ Ray asked, ‘to you?’

Nancy shook her head. ‘Nope. Just picked up the heavy-headed axe and climbed into the tractor.’

Ray looked at me. I shrugged.

‘This is it.’ Saleem said. ‘This is the big one.’

‘How? ‘ I asked, losing patience, almost.

‘I’ll bet you any amount he’s going to drive that tractor straight into the greenhouse.’

The tractor trundled and grumbled, between the lakes, beyond the lakes.

‘He wouldn’t do that.’

‘Wanna bet?’ Saleem put out her hand, palm skywards.

‘He wouldn’t do that.’

Beyond the lakes, up the hill. I saw the tractor’s rear indicator flashing right. Saleem chortled at this. ‘My God,’ she said, ‘he’s a one-off. He’s fucking
crazy.’

A sharp, right turn, a questionable gear-change. ‘Ouch,’ Nancy muttered. And then, a revving, a roaring, a speeding up.

‘He’s bending down,’ Ray said, perturbed, ‘not even looking where he’s going.’

‘I know what he’s up to,’ Saleem said. ‘He’s weighing down the accelerator with the axe-head.’

Fifteen foot to go. Ten foot, five. Doug bounced out of the tractor and landed, cat-careful, on all fours, stayed hunched for a moment, stood up. The tractor - ‘I told you! I told you’ Saleem cackled - slowed down for a moment, choked, stuttered, lurched, kept lurching, until
CRUNCH
. It hit the main glasshouse, shattering and clattering, bending metal, running, roaring, covering, collapsing. And shards fell from above, the engine cut. More collapsing, more shards, a tiny, silly tinkling, a rumble, a small, metallic burp.

Doug didn’t pause to look at or appraise his handiwork. He didn’t turn, he kept on walking. ‘He’s so cool,’ Nancy whispered, ‘like John Wayne or that other guy with black hair and funny eyes who’s in
The Gunfighter.’

‘Gregory Peck,’ Ray mumbled.

‘That’s the one. Yeah.’

A woman in a headscarf who had been walking her miniature collie nearby called out the dog’s name harshly and then, when he didn’t come to heel, put two fingers between her lips and whistled. And strangely enough, it was that whistle, that sound alone which made my legs shake and my eyes fill, not any of the others. That sound alone.

‘Oh shit,’ Ray said, ‘Doug’s heading back this way . I’m off.’ Ray scarpered.

Doug was strolling back in the general direction of the house. He was wiping his hands on the seat of his trousers. He seemed extremely interested in the condition of the flowering borders. At one point, I swear it, he stopped and removed a dead flower head.

Saleem turned to me. ‘Phil,’ she said, gently, ‘maybe you should find some rope and cordon the greenhouse off, make sure it’s safe before someone gets hurt over there. We’ll handle Doug. Between the two of us. Me and Nancy.’

I nodded. I turned. I went to get some rope, a canvas sack, some tape and a large, strong, natural fibred, needle-bristled brush.

It was arduous, it was risky and it took just about forever. I wondered where the hell Ra y had got to. I couldn’t imagine he was helping Nancy and Saleem with Doug at the house. And he certainly wasn’t here, helping me, clearing away the glass and mud and metal and vegetables. More than likely he was on the tennis courts, weeding.

I was almost glad to be alone. Things were moving slowly. I was moving slowly. Like something newly born, inhabiting a fresh and different body; testing out what I could and couldn’t do, establishing my limited capabilities.

Luckily the damage to the greenhouse was acute but also clearly defined. After a few hours of sweeping and chipping, of taping up sharp corners, of knocking out half-spent panes, I managed to clamber on to the tractor, clear out some of the glass, pull away the axe-head from the accelerator pedal, straighten out one of the mudguards which had bent and hit its tyre, and then switch on the ignition. Using my dodgy foot, my dodgy arm, I stuck the gears into reverse and roared on out of there.

I looked up nervously, as I reversed. I looked up at the glass ceiling and waited for a reaction, waited for it to shatter and crumble, but nothing happened. It kept its clarity.

And this was the curious part: I had so many other things on my mind - so much to keep in my head - but all the while I felt like everything was flowing. A liquid sensation. Maybe it was the blood in me, travelling through my body, blooming in my face, my cheeks, but then moving on, carrying on,
flowing.
And I should have been thinking and sorting and planning in my head, organizing, controlling, but in fact all I could think of were natural things. Concrete things. Physical substances.
Substance.
Nature. Bark, rock, soil, water.

And gradually I started thinking about water and rock. How they are the two most extreme substances, two opposite poles, and yet, and yet they can work together. They can work together and be together and live together and although they both have their own energy, their own terrible strength and power, at the same time, they do not
violate
each other. Because that’s how nature moves, how it works. It cooperates. And that’s how I wanted to move - no more smashing and crashing and thumping and punching, I wanted to move like the water around the rock. And that was how I
had
been moving, all along, if only I’d seen it.

‘Hey, Phil.’

What was I doing? I was in the greenhouse, standing amid the wreckage, and I was holding one of Doug’s giant onions and gazing at it.

‘Nice onion,’ Ray said, staring at me quizzically.

I imagined how this onion was inside. Layer upon layer of clean white flesh, containing, enveloping, pure and thorough. A circle. Each layer complete and depending. Each layer sharp and moist and spotless. It was so beautiful.

‘Maybe you should sit down for a minute?’ Ray took the onion from me and threw it into a wheelbarrow. ‘Won’t be able to eat that,’ he said, regretfully. ‘When they get too big they taste all watery. Don’t taste of anything, in fact.’

Ray led me outside. My leg and arm had both started to stiffen, and the dried blood inside my nostrils itched like crazy. I sat down for a moment on the grass verge. Ray appraised the tractor. He kicked a wheel. He cleared out some glass from under the pedals.

‘Not too bad,’ he said, cheerfully, ‘doesn’t look too bad after its big ordeal.’ He stared at me again. ‘You should go home for a while. Maybe put your feet up for a couple of hours.’

‘Have you been back to the house yet?’

He nodded.

‘How’ s Doug?’

Ray cleared his throat. ‘Lying low.’

‘What’s he doing?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Actually . . .’ I tried to straighten my thoughts out. ‘This morning when I found the greenhouse all messed up and I got into that fight with Wu . . .’

‘Yeah.’

‘Nancy was there. She just appeared from nowhere. And it was six in the morning, a good three hours before she usually gets in for work.’

‘Probably out for a run.’ Ray said, distractedly, and then added, ‘I just weeded the tennis courts.’

My head was throbbing. Ray climbed into the tractor and started up the engine. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator a few times and then put it into gear.

‘Climb in,’ he yelled. ‘I’ll give you a lift back to the house if you like.’

‘What about this?’

I pointed towards the greenhouse. There was still plenty of work left to be done. Ray waved his giant paw at me. ‘I’ll park this thing in the barn and then head straight on back.’

I struggled up and clambered on to the passenger seat. I hoped the tractor’s vibrating wouldn’t start my nose off bleeding again. As a cautionary measure I breathed through my mouth, very gently. While I breathed, I inspected my sleeves and shirt-front which were brown and heavy with dried blood. I scratched at it softly with my thumbnail as Ray and I jerked along, between the lakes, past the museum, past the toilets, a sharp right turn and then into the barn. The fabric was scratchy and hard. Stiff and solid and starched with plasma.

I was too slow. Something was very wrong with my head. I couldn’t keep up, keep pace, keep time. I stood in the courtyard for several minutes before I’d accumulated enough energy to even consider going into the house. Instead I stood staring stupidly at the rows of privet bushes, little green sentries standing to attention, properly apportioned. Sharply ranked. I stared at them for a while. Ray had gone. Everything was quiet.

I knew there was something that I should be thinking but I couldn’t think it. What was it? Did the privet need watering? I felt the base of one of the pots. Dry, but not too bad. I thought about fetching the hose and giving them a spray. But that wasn’t it. I looked around me. There was something else. A
lack. A
space. Something empty. And then it struck me. Nancy. The truck. Gone. Both gone. I turned and headed into the house.

‘Saleem? Doug?’

I pushed open the kitchen door. The air smelled damp and sweet and strange. The windows were covered in condensation. On the table, laid out, stretched out, was Cog. On his

side. He didn’t look his normal self. He wasn’t allowed, generally, to sit on the table or to lie on it. I put out my hand to touch him, to nudge him.

‘Leave him!’

Saleem was behind me. Then she was next to me and then in front of me. She grabbed hold of Cog and he lay limp as lettuce in her arms. A substantial dishcloth. Boneless.

‘What’s wrong? What’s up with the cat?’

Saleem looked hot and ragged. ‘He’s dead, stupid.’ ‘Dead?’

I put out my hand to touch him. Saleem jerked him away, out of reach.

‘Don’t do that!’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s a bit bloody late to start showing him affection now, Phil. It’s not like you ever gave a toss about him when he was alive.’

This was honestly the last thing I could have expected. The cat dead. This hadn’t been part of the picture. It didn’t connect to anything. I stared at Saleem. ‘What happened to him?’