Papercuts

by Colin Bateman

  ‘A skull found by someone on magic mushrooms.’

  ‘He didn’t say he was on them, he said he was looking for them. There’s a difference. I mean, you have to dry them out and all that, don’t you?’

  ‘How would I know?!’

  ‘I thought you’d be interested. I thought it might be a big story.’

  There was a knock on the door behind Alix. Rob signalled for Pete to come in. When he closed the door he said, ‘I take it youse are talking about Magic Martin?’

  ‘Magic...?’ Rob asked.

  ‘That’s what he’s known as. The tragic old hippy.’

  ‘Tragic as in...?’

  ‘He’s now a well-known expert on and supplier of magic mushrooms, but back when he was a teenager legend has it that he swallowed a handful of magic toadstools by mistake. Not quite the same thing, and highly toxic. Nearly killed the poor sod, and he hasn’t been quite right in the head since. Though of course, the legend could all just be bollocks. Either way, he’s in here a couple of times a year with crazy stories – last time he’d photos of fairies out in the woods. I mean, he was deadly serious about it, just like he is out there, but it turned out some kids had photo-shopped them. Magic Martin is easily led, if you know what I mean. So, all I’m saying is, whatever he’s selling, take it with a pinch of salt.’

  ‘He’s not selling anything,’ said Alix.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Pete.

  ‘You are a cynical man,’ said Alix. She looked at Rob. ‘So?’

  ‘So it sounds like a wild-goose chase.’

  But it was a Monday, things were quiet. Rob called Michael and Sean in and told them to take a run out to the Point with Magic Martin to see what they could find. He warned them that they weren’t going on a picnic or a day trip. Alix looked a little disappointed not to be sent herself. He asked Pete, fount of all knowledge, if he’d come across this Farmer Giles and Pete looked at him like he was mental, and Alix snorted, and Rob said, ‘What?’ Alix went out the door laughing, repeating, ‘Farmer Giles.’

  Rob said, ‘What?’

  Alix called back, ‘You were in England for too long. Farmer Giles!’

  *

  It was one of those damp grey days that the word mizzle was invented for. The wind off the bay was biting and the waves choppy. Access to the Point was via a narrow stretch of beach, and getting narrower all the time. They were in the car park, buffeted but protected.

  ‘We could go the long way round,’ Michael said.

  ‘Where’s your sense of adventure, man?’ Sean asked.

  ‘It’s not that. They’re not going to want me in uni if I’m drowned.’

  ‘So you told him?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘How’d that go down?’

  ‘Pretty well, actually.’

  ‘Any clearer what you’re doing, post-drowning, that is?’

  ‘Still in two minds,’ said Michael.

  ‘Not unlike...’ and Sean indicated Magic Martin in the back seat, who had his eyes closed and was mumbling away to himself. ‘Two – minimum.’

  Michael grinned. He took out his phone and started pressing buttons.

  ‘I thought we were—?’ Sean asked.

  ‘We are, just as soon as I...’ He typed something in. He hmmmmd. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘we should be fine... Let’s do it.’

  He got out of the car and stood zipping his coat up.

  Sean got out and looked over the top and said, ‘Please tell me what you were looking at on your phone.’

  ‘This. I have an app that shows me the tide times, high tides and the like.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. What’s the problem?’

  ‘Nothing beyond the fact that you need to get a life.’

  Sean opened the back door and Magic Martin peered out. He said, ‘It’s raining.’

  ‘It’s spitting,’ said Sean, ‘and you need to show us where you found the skull.’

  ‘I’ve explained exactly where it is. I’m not going out in that, and the tide’s coming in.’

  Sean looked towards the sea. ‘Not according to Apple it’s not, and in Apple we trust.’

  ‘I’m fine where I am,’ said Magic. ‘And anyway, I don’t want to get the hole shot off me again.’

  Michael said, ‘We can’t force him.’

  ‘We can force him out of the car.’

  Michael sighed, looked along the beach, then shook his head. ‘We’ll want to interview him if we find the skull. Leave him where he is for now.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like leaving him alone in the car.’

  They both looked at him. Magic had taken out a joint and was just lighting up. He inhaled, then offered it around. Sean took a hit. Michael looked aghast.

  ‘Sean, Jesus, we’re working.’

  ‘Oh relax, would you?’ He handed the spliff back to Magic and said, ‘Right, Daniel, we’re off to look for your skull. But if you’re staying here, I need to lock the car. No sudden movements, or you’ll set the alarm off.’

  Magic, eyes closed, head back, said, ‘Do I look like I’m going to be making any sudden movements?’

  *

  Gerry wasn’t convinced by Michael’s letter. He said, ‘Sure you know what they can do on computers these days. You’re sure it wasn’t faked, and all he’s doing is angling for a pay rise? I can’t afford a pay rise.’

  ‘You probably can,’ said Rob, ‘and yes, I’m sure it wasn’t faked. Michael hasn’t that in him.’

  ‘Sure about that? Never judge a book by its cover.’

  ‘With Michael, I think you probably can. He’s as honest as they come.’

  ‘That’s just what he wants you to think. Newcastle probably doesn’t even do journalism.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure it does. And I can’t stop him going.’

  Gerry sighed. ‘I know that. It’s the circle of life.’ They were in Rob’s office. Gerry lately seemed to spend as much of his time there as he did in his own. It was distracting, but there wasn’t much Rob could do about it. He continued to study his screen. Gerry said, ‘I was thinking.’

  ‘Always a dangerous thing.’

  ‘I was thinking, the paper’s been through a tough time these last few months, maybe we could all do with going out for a bit of a drink after work, you know, rebuild team spirit.’

  ‘I’ve been on those before, Gerry. They usually end in a fight.’

  ‘Aye, maybe, but why don’t we give it a go anyway? Nothing too formal, just a bit of a yarn.’

  Rob spotted Alix passing his door and heading for the kitchen. He lifted his cup and moved out from behind his desk. Actually leaving his office and abandoning Gerry there was often the only way to get him out of it. Though sometimes, even if he went for lunch, Gerry was still there when he got back. Rob didn’t even say anything, he just took his cup and walked out.

  Alix was sitting at the kitchen table. She was studying her phone while the kettle boiled. Rob stood over the kettle and said, ‘Get you one?’

  ‘No, work away.’

  ‘Biscuit?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Sure? Wagon Wheel?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘They really are smaller than they used to be.’

  She finally looked up from her phone. ‘What?’

  He was holding one up. ‘They’re smaller, much smaller than they were when I was growing up.’

  ‘Well, maybe that’s because you’re much older than I am.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  She didn’t smile. She concentrated on her phone. Rob poured his coffee. Then he poured her one. When he set it before her, she didn’t react.

  He said, ‘Are you annoyed about not getting the skull story?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you annoyed about what happened at my apartment this morning?’

  ‘Why would I be annoyed about that?’

  ‘Rebecca has a way of talking to people that sounds mean, but she really isn’t. She’s English.’


  ‘She was fine. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Rob.

  He stood by the sink, sipping his coffee.

  Alix tapped on her phone.

  After a minute of silence she said, ‘Do you think size matters?’

  ‘Uhm,’ said Rob. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, have you ever heard anyone complaining?’

  He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, no.’

  ‘I mean, bigger isn’t necessarily better.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief.’

  ‘What?’

  He gave an awkward little laugh.

  ‘No, really, what do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing, I...’ He hurriedly took a sip of his coffee – too much, too hot, and immediately started coughing. ‘Sorry, sorry...’

  He had dribbled down his front. His face was flushed. Alix was looking at him, perplexed.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘back to the grindstone...’

  He started to walk away with his cup but, before he made it to the door, Alix laughed suddenly.

  ‘Rob?’

  He stopped.

  ‘You do know... you do know I was talking about Wagon Wheels?’

  ‘Yes. Of course. Clearly.’

  ‘I looked it up. The people that make them say they’re only slightly smaller than they used to be. The problem is that, when you were a kid, your hand was much smaller, so the biscuits appeared really large. It’s your hand that got bigger, not the biscuit that got smaller.’

  ‘Okay, right.’ He nodded at her. ‘That’s good to know.’

  She held up her hands. ‘Do you think I’ve got small hands?’

  ‘I... really don’t...’

  ‘Or average-sized hands?’

  ‘I don’t...’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with average, is there?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘I mean, you wouldn’t want huge big hands like a giant, or wee tiny hands like a doll, would you?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Are we still talking about Wagon Wheels?’

  Alix nodded slowly. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, and returned her attention to her phone.

  Rob stepped out of the kitchen, aware that his shirt was stuck to his back.

  Alix watched him go, and a small smile appeared on her lips. Or it might have been an averaged-sized smile. She was aware that she could be evil at times, but it wasn’t a Nazi kind of evil, it was a good kind. She took a sip of her coffee, then got up and took a Wagon Wheel from the packet. She unwrapped it and held it up. It did appear smaller than she remembered. She bit into it anyway. She smiled. Rob’s wife probably ate a whole packet of them at a time.

  *

  It was bleak, out there. They didn’t even have proper raincoats and their shoes were smooth-soled town shoes not designed for long wet grass and gorse and climbing over barbed-wire fences with tufts of torn-out wool flapping in the wind, which meant they were damp and green-kneed and swearing a lot as they battled to remain upright. Sean led the way, taking care to protect his camera more than himself, with Michael following precisely in his footsteps as they tried to avoid the cowpats, like two fey soldiers crossing a minefield in enemy territory. When they got to where they supposed Magic Martin was talking about, they found a fly-tipping mess; torn black bin bags spilling their household rubbish, mountains of rubble, and soil, and broken furniture and ancient mattresses, all at the foot of a slope with an open farm gate at the top and a lane where cars had clearly stopped and dumped their loads. There were brambles growing up through it, and nettles, and glass underfoot. It stank.

  Michael and Sean stood looking at it.

  ‘There should be a law against it,’ said Sean.

  ‘There is. Doesn’t seem to make much difference.’

  ‘What’re we supposed to do with this lot? Are you going to poke through it?’

  Michael shook his head. ‘We could be here for months.’

  ‘Should have brought Magic with us.’

  They both nodded at what appeared to be an impenetrable mess. The rain was picking up, and the wind with it.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Michael.

  But before Sean could respond, there was a: ‘Hey! What do you think youse are doing?’

  They turned to their left, where a man was just emerging from a small copse of trees. As he advanced towards them they both saw the twin barrels of a shotgun poking from under his poncho-style yellow windcheater. Michael quickly reached into his jacket, produced his laminated press card and held it up.

  He said, ‘Sorry to disturb – we’re from the local paper.’

  The man said, ‘I don’t care about that, you’re on private property.’

  ‘Sorry, no... Yes, we are...’

  ‘You tell him, Michael,’ said Sean.

  The man was wearing rain-speckled glasses and had a short goatee beard; as he drew closer, he pulled the poncho back to reveal the shotgun properly. He said, ‘You’re trespassing.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Michael, aware that he had apologized for the third time, ‘we didn’t realize you... and we’re just following up a story... Someone reported finding something, something here... on this land. This is your land?’

  ‘Yes, it is, if it’s any of your business.’

  ‘They found a skull,’ said Sean.

  ‘A human skull,’ added Michael.

  Sean gave him a look.

  ‘Like fuck, they did,’ said the man.

  ‘Well, he swears—’

  ‘I don’t care what he swears. Human skull! Listen, this is my land. You shouldn’t be on it. No one should be on it without my say-so. I’ve things to be doing, animals to look after, but I spend half my time chasing people off of it and I’m pissed off. Private property is private property. Just because it’s near a beach, just because there’s a public walk way over there, doesn’t mean youse can roam across here. Private is private. And for your information – this is a farm, has been for hundreds of years, skulls turn up here all the time. Sheep skulls, cow skulls, wild cats and badgers. But not human skulls. Animal skulls. Did whoever it was take it with him? Do you have a photo? Why’re the police not swarming round here if there’s a human skull?’

  ‘We haven’t been able to establish... confirm if—’

  ‘I thought not. Listen, youse look pretty young, maybe youse haven’t been doing the job that long... You don’t want to be listening to every looper who comes to you with some mad story. If it’s not drunks and druggies it’s lampers or thieves trying to get the lead off of the roofs of the out-buildings, so I’ve enough to be worrying about without youse asking me about bloody human skulls. So if youse don’t mind...’

  He waved the barrel of the gun up the incline to the road above.

  Michael said, ‘Fair enough. But we’re parked the other way, do you mind if we hike back across—?’

  ‘I do actually. Take the road.’

  It would add half a mile to their walk back to the car.

  The rain was getting heavier, and colder.

  But the man had a shotgun.

  It took them several attempts to get up the hill, two steps forward, slithering three steps back because of the sodden grass and their rubbish shoes. The farmer watched them the whole time, stone-faced, comment-free.

  When they finally made it, and stepped through the gate and tramped away out of his sight, Sean said, ‘What a fucking ball-bag.’

  ‘Perfectly within his rights. But yes. What a fucking ball-bag.’

  ‘And, all the while, Magic Martin smoking his lights out in the back of our nice and warm and dry car. He’s another ball-bag.’

  ‘We’re in a world of ball-bags,’ said Michael.

  ‘What a stupid ridiculous job this is.’

  ‘It is daft. Some drugged-out nutter comes in and says he saw something unlikely, and we scamper off like obedient puppies. I mean, bloody hell, a human skull.’

  ‘Bloody hell, why didn�
�t he let us walk back across his fields?’

  ‘Just being bad for badness sake.’

  ‘He’s a mean son of a bitch.’

  ‘And a ball-bag.’

  ‘Definitely a ball-bag. Strutting about with a shotgun like he owns the place.’

  ‘He does own the place.’

  ‘Good point. But even so. Who walks about with a shotgun? He shot at Magic Martin, and if you ask me he wasn’t that far off shooting at us.’

  ‘He’s fucking nuts.’

  ‘He fucking is.’

  They walked on. A car roared past and splashed them. Sean yelled after it.

  A little further on, Michael said, ‘Why would he have a gun?’

  ‘To shoot people like us.’

  ‘Yes, but I mean, why? What’s he got to be scared of, cattle rustlers?’

  ‘Some people just like guns. Makes them feel big.’

  ‘That may be – but he was there at dawn, chasing Magic away, and he’s still there now, like he’s on patrol, like he’s protecting something.’

  ‘Or he’s just a ball-bag and a nut.’

  ‘Even so.’

  They walked on. Veterans now, they both instinctively moved to one side as another car roared through a large puddle, and avoided the splash.

  But then Michael stopped abruptly. ‘Fuck this,’ he said.

  ‘Fuck this what?’

  ‘He’s hiding something. He chased us off far too easily. We should have pressed him. I should have pressed him. You should have taken his picture.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘You...’

  ‘Absolutely. No flies on me, mate.’

  ‘Right, well. Then I was fobbed off too easily. We’re going to get the car, give your man a chance to disappear, then we’re coming right back to check that dump out properly. C’mon.’

  Michael started up again, marching forward with new determination.

  Sean stared after him, then gave a shake of his head. ‘Bloody hell, Michael – he’s a ball-bag and you’ve just grown a pair. There’s hope for you yet.’

  *

  As they walked, Michael called the fount of all knowledge and asked him to find out who owned the land in question. Pete said, ‘I don’t need to find out, I know. Name’s Derek Galvin, bit of a rogue, bit of a wheeler-dealer, been up in court quite a few times over the years, doesn’t actually do much in the way of farming these days – more into scrap metal, huge piles of old cars and the like everywhere. Council are on to him all the time to clean the place up but he pays no attention. Popular opinion has it he wants planning permission for houses so he can sell the land for a fortune, but he’s smack in the middle of the green belt – so he thinks if he creates enough of an eyesore they’ll grant the permission as the lesser of two evils. But he’s got no chance. Not there. Why, what’s he up to?’