by Stuart David
‘That sounds like a plan,’ I said. ‘Kick back in the sunshine. Live it up.’
He dusted the arse of his pants and then said he’d better be getting back to the festivities. ‘Come on up and we’ll get some Champagne,’ he said, but I told him to go on ahead.
‘I’ll get a wee bit more of this fresh air and then I’ll see you up there,’ I said.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Positive. It’s a nice spot out here, I’ll stay and soak it up for a bit. I’ll see you in there.’
I stood and watched him skipping up the lawn, back towards the celebrations, and then I turned about and took in the scenery. There was a good reason I’d decided to stay on for a bit, over and above the conversational carnage that awaited me inside at the dinner table. And it was this: while the two of us had been standing there, idly chewing the fat, it had gradually come to my attention that, besides our voices and the sound of the odd bird here and there, the place was awash with silence. We must have been miles away from a main road, nowhere near a flight path, and with everybody else tucked away behind the thick stone walls of the old country house at the top of the lawn, the conditions were absolutely perfect for an ideas man in need of a new idea. And if there was one thing I was in need of at this particular point in history, it was definitely a new idea.
Brian Caldwell had been the only person on the planet prepared to put his weight behind the fingerprint thing, and that ship had well and truly sailed. Reflecting on it now, that was probably for the best. Judging by his recent behaviour, I wasn’t entirely convinced he actually had the kind of temperament I’d be looking for in a long-term business partner.
I walked further down the hill, towards a path that led off into a wheen of trees and greenery, and I just let the silence soak into the depths of me. Maybe John Jack had been right – maybe DNA was the thing nowadays, maybe my idea as it stood would have had limited appeal. I severely doubted it, but I decided it was best, under the current circumstances, to at least allow that as a possibility, in the hope it would be easier to move on.
At the bottom of the hill I turned around and looked up at the venue again, realising that it was pretty much down to me that this celebration was going ahead. If I hadn’t been wanting to keep McFadgen away from Vince, and just wanted McFadgen off my back, Vince would no doubt be in the slammer right now, with this whole match abandoned. A fat lot of good it had done me, though. I’d gotten hee-haw out of it – absolutely zilch, except this silence. This wee minute of quiet.
But maybe that would be enough. Maybe everything else had just been a preliminary to get me here, into position to receive the big one, the game changer, the idea that would catapult me from the day-to-day grind of nicking and scheming, out into the pale blue yonder, out into the world of luxury and ease, out into the sunshine and sand, the wife stoating along beside me with a great big smile on her face, nattering about this, that and the next thing as we tried to decide which upmarket resort to winter in this year, and whether we should go for the Picasso or the Rubens for the front room.
I walked longways across the lawns. It was bound to come, my idea. It was a rare thing indeed to come across a peace and quiet like this, and it was probably only the noise and chatter of everyday life that had prevented me from connecting with the monster that I knew must be waiting in the back bit of my brain. So I walked, and I listened, and I waited. ‘Patience, son,’ I said. ‘Patience, Peacock.’
There was no doubt at all that that was what was needed. That was the only thing that was presently required.