by Sam Anthony
“Is it?”
“Yes. Just listen to the birds. Just look at the sky …”
“Just smell the cow shit.”
“Oh, you cynic.” She punched him lightly on the arm.
He rubbed it. “Ow. Not so hard. I don’t think you realise your own strength.”
“It must be all that weight training I’ve been doing.”
“That explains it. Do you beat up Eric, too?”
“Not so far, but I might start if he ever comes home. He’s always so busy at the hospital. When he’s on-call he often sleeps there, and I don’t see him for days. If I didn’t have Stumpy for company, I don’t know what I’d do.”
◆◆◆
Stumpy raised his nose out of a dead badger’s rotting ribcage. “Did she just say my name, mate?”
“She did, old chap, but I don’t think she wants you for anything.”
“Good. Hey, come over here and smell this. What do you reckon that is?”
“It’s obviously a dead badger.”
“No, the smell. It’s pungent, isn’t it? I’m getting rotting apples, mouldy cheese and just a hint of blackberries.”
“Hmm. I’d say it’s more acrid than pungent.”
Lord raised his head and started barking at the hedge.
“What is it, a rabbit?”
“No, nothing. I just felt like barking. Would you care to join me?”
“Why not?”
For the next five minutes, Lord and Stumpy barked happily at nothing in the hedge, tails wagging. Six feet behind them a rabbit gazed bemusedly at the two vociferous dogs, before shaking her head and lolloping off.
◆◆◆
“I ought to go to the gym more,” said Ollie.
“Nonsense. You’re in great shape.” Serena gave his biceps a squeeze. “For your age.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Relax, Ollie, I’m kidding. You’ve got a splendid physique.”
“But I’m not as fit as I should be. I can’t believe I’m forty-seven already. When did that happen?”
“March the fourteenth, wasn’t it?”
“You know what I mean. I’m getting old. I should be taking better care of myself. I gave up smoking five years ago, but I used to get through forty cigarettes a day. I’m almost certain to die of lung cancer.”
“Ollie, you’re one of the fittest men I know. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“I can’t help it. Bowel cancer is the one that really freaks me out. Every time I get a stomach ache I fear the worst. Serena, what if I get bowel cancer and die at forty-nine?”
“What if you don’t?”
◆◆◆
Stumpy had one last roll on top of the festering badger, and approached his friend. “Let me have a quick smell of your bottom before we go.”
“Help yourself, old chap.”
“Why do you think we do it?”
“Do what?”
“Sniff bottoms. I don’t really enjoy it, to be honest. Do you?”
“Not really. But I know why we do it.”
“Why?”
“For information. When I see a dog for the very first time, I know nothing about them. From a distance, it’s impossible to tell if they’re male or female, young or old, healthy or sick, happy or sad. But once I’ve savoured their aroma, I know it all. And, most importantly, whether they’re up for a quick spot of rumpy-pumpy.”
“Yeah, I see what you mean. I thought it was just for identification.”
“Is that all you use it for?”
“No, not all, obviously, but it’s the main thing. In fact, precise identification is my party piece.”
“How so?”
“Once I’ve sniffed an arse once, I can remember it’s owner forever. You could blindfold me and stick my nose into any dog’s rear end, and I’d be able to tell you if I’ve ever met them before and, if so, where and when.”
“You’re kidding. You can distinguish between fifty-seven thousand four hundred and nine different bottoms?”
“Fifty-seven thousand four hundred and twenty-six now.”
“My word, that’s impressive.”
“Cheers, mate.”
◆◆◆
“How’s Mia?” said Serena as they strolled on.
“Stressed as always.”
“Poor woman. I feel so guilty.”
“You do? Why?”
“Because I sit around the house all day, on my perfect little bottom, doing nothing, while she’s working her socks off at school.”
“Oh, that.” Ollie nodded and let out a long breath. “Have you thought about getting a part-time job?”
“Eric would never let me.”
“How come?”
“He gets jealous if I spend too much time with other people. It’s weird; it’s like he wants me all to himself, but then he rarely comes home. The only occasions we spend any time together are when I accompany him to work functions and charity events, and then he never lets me out of his sight.”
“You can’t blame him for that. You look all right when you make a bit of an effort.”
“Bloody cheek!” She punched him on the other arm, harder this time. “I always look ravishing, and you know it.”
◆◆◆
“Can you smell that, old chap?”
“Yeah, mate. Someone’s coming up the hill.”
“Let’s go and have a look.”
Lord and Stumpy ambled casually in the direction of the interesting approaching aroma.
“Holy shit! What a bitch!” said Stumpy.
“Don’t call her that.”
“No, it was a compliment. I just meant, ‘What an attractive female canine’. I’d definitely give her one.”
“One what?”
“One damn good shagging.”
“With the greatest respect, my good fellow, she’s too tall for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’d need a ladder to get your leg over that one.”
“How rude.”
“I, on the other hand, would have no trouble mounting her.”
“She’d never go for you. A bitch like that would prefer a dog with a bit of meat on his bones, not a skinny whippet like you.”
“How dare you? Whippets are as common as muck. No class.”
“Let’s go over there and see which of us she goes for.”
“I’m right behind you, old chap.”
◆◆◆
“I should probably be getting home,” said Ollie with a sigh.
“Okay.” Serena took a step towards him.
“Shit.”
She looked down at her shoes. “Where?”
“No, there are people coming.”
“Shame. That’s the one big drawback of these bright summer evenings: too many people about. There’s no privacy anywhere.”
“I know what you mean. Right, I’m going this way.” Ollie pointed at a well-trodden footpath. “Same time tomorrow?”
Serena smiled. “Naturally. I’ll see you then.”
“Lord!” Ollie bellowed.
“Stumpy!” Serena trilled.
◆◆◆
“Got to go. See you tomorrow.”
“See you, mate.”
Chapter 7
Sunday 6 July, 2003
Fairfax bedroom, 10:30 p.m.
Jemima stuck her head around the door. “Night, Mum. Night, Dad.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” said her parents in unison to the closing door.
Ollie picked up the newspaper and glanced at his wife. “That was a big sigh. Anything wrong?”
“God, I hate Sunday nights. The whole week ahead of me. Five long, miserable days till the weekend. Twenty-seven lessons to plan and deliver. Three hundred and fifty books to mark. Dozens of confrontations with recalcitrant kids who refuse to tuck their shirt in or wear their tie straight. It’s so depressing.”
“One day at a time, love. It’s only a fortnight now till your summer
holiday begins. Six sunny, carefree weeks. You can relax and recharge your batteries.”
“Yeah, ready for it all to kick off again on the first of September. I worked out how many days it is until then. Fifty-seven, if you’re interested. Why did I do that? Why can’t I live in the moment instead of dreading the start of the next school year?”
Ollie filled in the penultimate answer of the Sunday Telegraph cryptic crossword. “Very clever,” he muttered. It was unclear whether he was referring to himself or the clue.
“I could ambush him down a dark alley,” said Mia, apparently à propos of nothing.
“Huh?”
“Wayne Smith. I know where he lives. I could wait for him down a dark alley and kill him.”
“How? You’re not exactly going to overpower him, love. You’ve got the muscle mass of a twig.”
“Thanks, babe. I could shoot him.”
“With what? We haven’t got a gun.”
“I could buy one.”
“From where?”
“I don’t know. Amazon? A car boot sale?”
“They don’t sell lethal weapons on Amazon, and if you try to buy one at a car boot sale, you’ll probably end up in jail for handling stolen goods.”
“Okay, I’ll stab him, then.”
“Would he let you get near enough to stab him?”
“Probably not, unless I had a really long knife. Ooh, what about a spear?”
“Good thinking. Why don’t you pop down to Spears-R-Us at the weekend and pick one up?”
“At least I’m trying. I don’t suppose you’ve got any brilliant ideas.”
“Keep me out of this. I don’t want to be an accessory to murder.”
“You’re not being very supportive. I bet Steve and Eric would help their wives if they were working on a project.”
“It’s not a project, it’s the premeditated homicide of a minor.”
“But it’s for a good cause.”
“What good cause?”
“The betterment of mankind. The improvement of the gene pool.”
Ollie put down his paper. “Would it make you happy?”
“If Wayne Smith was dead? God, yes!”
“I’m not so sure.”
“How about if I knock him down with the Volvo? A hit and run.”
“Don’t you bloody dare. Have you any idea how much it would cost to get it repaired? And then there’d be all the palaver with the insurance company.”
“It would definitely work, though. That car is built like a tank. Even fifty miles an hour would be enough to crush the little shit to a pulp.”
“Mia, promise me you won’t try to kill him with the Volvo.”
“But …”
“Promise me.”
She sighed again. “I promise.”
“Promise what? I need to hear you say it.”
“I promise I won’t crush the little shit to a pulp with the Volvo. Happy now?”
“Yes.”
Ollie turned off the light, but Mia hadn’t finished.
“One of the kids in Jemima’s class is being bullied. I asked her a question about the exterior angles of a regular polygon last week, and she burst into tears, poor kid. I had a quick word with her after the lesson, and she said she was having trouble with some of the other girls, but she wouldn’t name names.”
“I bet Jem could find out for you.”
“Yeah. Remind me to ask her tomorrow.” She closed her eyes. “Goodnight, then.”
“Sex?” Ollie asked, but the tone of his voice made it clear that he wasn’t confident of a positive response. He didn’t get one.
“On a Sunday night! Are you mad? Sex is the last thing on my mind.”
“Fair enough. Goodnight, love.”
Ollie was worrying about prostate cancer when he finally dropped off to sleep.
Chapter 8
Saturday 12 July, 2003
The pub, 9:35 p.m.
The second Saturday of the month came around and Fiona, Serena and Mia were gathered in the lounge bar of the Hare And Hounds; Fiona with her pint of lager, Serena with her gin and tonic, and Mia with her mojito.
They were shrieking with laughter.
Between gasps, Mia said, “And then he had the balls to ask me if I’d had an orgasm …”
“What did you say?”
“I had to say yes. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”
All three of them squealed hysterically, receiving disapproving glances from some other patrons.
Serena was the first to compose herself. “Who’s that?”
“Where?”
“The slag behind the bar with her tits out for all the world to see.”
Mia twisted. “That’s Mandy, the new barmaid. She’s living in the cottage next door to the pub.”
“Hasn’t she heard of clothes?”
“Give her a break. It’s like an oven in here tonight. And, to be fair, they are impressive tits.”
Serena threw back her shoulders. “More impressive than these puppies?”
Mia, whose small shapely breasts perfectly matched her slight frame, wanted to punch her friend in the face.
Fiona, whose large amorphous breasts perfectly matched her food consumption and lack of exercise, wanted to knee her in the crotch.
“But hers are real, Serena. That’s the difference.”
“What are you implying?”
“Nothing.”
“Either you take that back or you and I are going to step outside and fight to the death.”
Fiona laughed. “I take it back, I take it back. Quick, let’s begin our discussion topic before there’s any violence.”
“It’s your turn, Fi. What’s it to be tonight?”
“Children.”
The twinkle went out of Serena’s eyes, and she slumped back in her chair.
Mia said, “Just one more week of school and I can give all my attention to just two children – Jem and Barney – rather than having to share it between the two hundred little brats I teach.”
“I hope you share it equally. It wouldn’t be fair to have favourites,” said Fiona.
“It’s impossible not to have favourites. Some of the kids in my classes are delightful, but, unfortunately, the nicest ones get hardly any of my time at all. Ninety percent of it is wasted on Wayne fucking shitting sodding Smith.”
“I’m getting the impression you don’t like him very much.”
“He’s an evil little bastard.” Mia took a huge gulp of her mojito and slammed the glass down on the table.
Fiona sighed. “We’re so lucky with our kids. Ava’s a little angel, and Jemima and Barnaby are wonderful too.”
“They’re great kids now,” said Serena. “But they’re growing up fast. Before we know it, Jem and Ava will be into sex and drugs and smoking, and Barney will be covered from head to toe with tattoos of Satan.”
Fiona was aghast. “Serena! What a terrible thing to say.”
Mia, who’d had more experience with children, said nothing.
“I hope I’m wrong, but these things do happen. I bet even Wayne Smith’s parents thought he was an angelic little baby.”
“Wayne Smith’s parents let him down badly. His dad either scarpered or was incarcerated before he was born, and his mum is a lazy, selfish cow. He pretty much brought himself up. Jem, Barney and Ava, however, have been raised by two loving, married parents. That’s the difference.”
“So is it nature or nurture?”
“A bit of both, probably. Wayne Smith is screwed both ways. His whole extended family are fat, stunted, lazy, unemployed drug addicts who don’t give a shit about him. Whereas our kids come from high quality gene pools, and have been brought up within families who’ve cared for them properly. I’m not worried. Jem is growing into a wonderful young woman before my eyes. I can’t believe she’s nearly sixteen already.”
“I know what you mean,” said Fiona. “Where does the time go? Ava is actually useful now. I used to look after her, b
ut now she’s beginning to look after me: breakfast in bed, cups of tea, dyeing my hair. She even does the washing up and the ironing sometimes.”
Mia nodded. “It’s the same with our kids. Jemima is a useful ally to have in school. She keeps me up to date with all the latest gossip, and explains what all the new-fangled words mean that kids use these days. I asked her to find out about some vicious bullying incidents, but she’s had no luck with that so far.”
Fiona sat up. “At school? How vicious?”
“I’d rather not say just yet. I want to find out more details before I discuss it further. It might be just a storm in a teacup. You know what girls are like.”
“Ava hasn’t said anything about any bullying.”
“That’s a good sign. As I said, it’s probably nothing.”
They stopped talking, and took sips of their drinks. Mia and Fiona’s eyes met, and Mia made a gesture with her head towards Serena. Fiona responded with the tiniest of nods.
“So, Serena, any luck getting pregnant?”
“What do you think?” said Serena, looking glum.
“It’s just a hunch, but I’m guessing it hasn’t happened yet.”
“And it’s not likely to happen if Eric and I never have sex.”
“Never? It can’t be that bad.”
“Okay, not never, but rarely. Not often enough to fertilise one of my thirty-eight-year-old eggs. I’m not convinced Eric even wants any more children. He’s been there and done that with his first wife. He talks the talk, but he’s reluctant to fuck the fuck, if you know what I mean.”
“How old are his kids?” said Fiona.
“They’re grown up now. All in their early twenties.”
“Does he ever see them?”
“No. He says he doesn’t want anything to do with them, but I think it’s the other way round. Something must have happened to cause a massive falling out, but I’ve no idea what it was. He refuses to talk about it.”
Fiona shook her head. “That’s so sad. I can’t imagine anyone being cut off from their children like that.”
“Eric doesn’t seem to mind. He never mentions his life before me.”
“So what’s your plan?” said Mia. “How are you going to get him to knock you up?”