Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom

by S. B. Davies

‘O’course, I’ve fettled for Mr Dave for over fifteen years, seen the comings and goings. Ere, you reckon that Enoch is in proportion?’

  Fergus blushed. Sandra reached over and touched his shoulder.

  ‘Only joking lad, he’s more Boadicea’s type. Likes a bit of warrior, does that lass.’

  ‘So you know her?’

  ‘Only to chat to, Mrs Yorkshire knows her better.’

  ‘Mrs Yorkshire? The housekeeper over at St Cats?’

  ‘Aye, like a mother hen to those lasses she is, and right strict with it. You don’t want to be caught trying to sneak in there of a Saturday night. Can see in the dark can Mrs Yorkshire. Huddersfield Royal Infirmary has a special category for recording injuries. As in “both collar bones broken, two cracked ribs, self-inflicted injury with assistance from Mrs Yorkshire’’’

  ‘Is she… Is she a visitor?’

  ‘Don’t rightly know, she’s been here a long time. She was Abbey’s nanny so it’s a possibility.’

  ‘Nanny?’

  ‘Aye, but nanny is a bit more like a bodyguard that changes nappies with that lot.’

  ‘Which lot is that?’ asked Fergus.

  ‘Mr Dave doesn’t like anyone to talk about them, what with the past and all. Let’s just say that you wouldn’t be the first one sweet on a lass from that neck of the woods.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Boadicea, she’s a visitor, you do know?’

  ‘Yes, Dave told me. Just my luck to find the woman of dreams and her to be an extra-terrestrial war junkie. I am a lover not a fighter.’

  ‘Don’t put yourself down. I heard you went a round with Enoch. That takes guts. Go on, get in their lad, the warrior bit can come later. Don’t fret, it’ll be right in end. By the way, on instruction from Mr Dave, I asked Painter to pop round this morning. I expect that’s to sort your apartment out. Anyways must get going, this place won’t clean itself.’

  Fergus sat staring into his tea and wondering if Dave had any Ibuprofen. He heard a knock in the distance and a muffled conversation.

  ‘Hurry up, Mr Dave, there’s tea in pot and I need to fettle your sack.’

  ‘Fine Sandra, I’ll be out in minute. We don’t have any Aspirin do we?’

  ‘There’s some in bathroom. You want me to get you some?’

  ‘Aye, thanks Sandra.’

  Dave walked carefully into the kitchen, wearing a towelling dressing gown with swirls of bright colours all over. The tartan slippers didn’t match, but brought the overall image back to Yorkshire.

  ‘You look as bad as I feel lad,’ said Dave.

  ‘Overindulged?’

  ‘Aye, but it’s mainly the bruises. I feel a little ashamed, yet vindicated. I’m a man of principle, I defend the truth where I find it, and I was sorely provoked.’

  ‘Yeah, it was unfortunate to run into an Institute of Physics social event,’ said Fergus.

  ‘They were merely misguided.’

  ‘Oh, so it was the bunch of lads from the Socialist Workers Party on a stag night?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘The Vegan society football team and all that fuss about non-animal finings?’

  ‘A mere sideshow. No, it was the Women’s Institute hen party that started it. Have you ever tried to get all the shred in a jar of marmalade exactly the same length and width? Ridiculous.’

  ‘So it all kicked off over an argument about jam?’

  ‘She threw the first punch lad; I was the victim in all this. Bloody hurt too, right in the ear.’

  ‘Your defence of traditional jam making techniques is laudable, but why attack the police?’

  ‘Well, I am vexed by their willingness to implement politically motivated laws, but mainly because they arrested you.’

  ‘Me? What did I do?’

  ‘Nowt lad, that’s the point. You stayed under the table like I told you, unlike the bloody mutt; couldn’t resist a having a go at the Vegans.’

  ‘What’s it got against them?’

  ‘Ever heard of vegan dog food? Any road, while the Women’s Institute grappled with the Socialist workers and everyone had a pop at the Vegans, the lads in blue arrested the only innocent in the pub.’

  ‘Why has everyone got it in for the Vegans?’

  ‘They shouldn’t be so bloody sanctimonious. In any case, the only lot who didn’t get thumped were the physicists. They put up a bar stool shield wall the Romans would’ve been proud of.’

  ‘So you rescued me from injustice?’

  ‘That was the outcome, aye. But, I sort of let it lie, being that I was engaged in an endeavour.’

  ‘I see, an endeavour,’ said Fergus.

  ‘Yes, me and this big-boned lass from the W.I. were trying to break down the physicist’s wall by throwing Socialist Workers at it. Excellent grasp of trajectory those lads.

  When the Police dragged you out, the dog gave up on pummelling a Vegan, which is a major sacrifice you understand, and chased after you. I wouldn’t have gotten involved at all, if they hadn’t tasered the mutt.’

  ‘They tasered the dog?’

  ‘Aye lad, right in the gentleman vegetables. By the time I got there it was tearing the flashing blue lights off the top of the squad car. There were bits of anti-stab vest and broken truncheon all over the shop. Any road we beat a hasty retreat before the armed response unit turned up.’

  ‘So that’s when we went to the hotel?’

  ‘Yes, though borrowing the squad car was an error. One of the coppers hid in the boot to get away from the avenging mutt. He must have been whining on his radio, coz next thing it’s a major terrorist incident.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It’s all over Tinterweb.’

  ‘You mean the Internet or the World Wide Web.’

  ‘No, I mean the Tinterweb. It’s all over your precious Internets too.’

  ‘So how did we get away?’

  ‘By stealth and cunning. We were home and briskly towelling off in the presidential suite when they tracked us down. I have no idea how they managed it, perhaps leaving the squad car in valet parking wasn’t such a good idea.

  Anyways, they are accustomed to diplomatic incidents at Claridge’s and we departed in style with suitable provisions for the trip home.’

  ‘So much for the legendary low profile,’ said Fergus.

  ‘Bah, they are always over-reacting down south and London is the worst. In any case they aren’t looking for me. There are pictures of a dark, brooding good looking fellah splashed all over the shop, so you needn’t worry either.’

  ‘Cheers Dave. Anyway, what’s the plan for today?’

  ‘I plan to recover and spend the day pootling about the allotments; you on the other hand have a busy day ahead. We descend into the catacombs tomorrow and we will need supplies. There is a list in here.’

  Dave passed ‘The Guide to the Huddersfield Catacombs’ to Fergus.

  ‘Also Enoch wants to see you, about noon he said, in the courtyard.’

  ‘Some bloke called Painter is coming too,’ said Fergus, ‘but I don’t know when.’

  ‘Painter, aye grand chap. He’ll fix you up in no time, just tell him what style you want and he’ll do it all, right down to the scented candles.’

  ‘I am not a scented candles type, soft furnishings are of no interest to me,’ said Fergus.

  ‘Alright, keep your hair on. It’s just that lasses like that sort of thing. Male furnishings boil down to a sofa, a TV, and a fridge, but if you want to persuade a lass to visit, then it’s cushions and all that.’

  ‘Ah, good point. It’s just – ‘

  ‘Your masculinity is fine, even with the girly haircut.’

  Fergus stroked his hair.

  ‘What’s wrong with my –’

  ‘Youth of today, no bloody sense of humour. Cowboy up cupcake. Stop being so sensitive, it doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks. Why don’t you go and find Enoch and see what he wants. Oh, and puts some trousers on, you gave Sandra a fair old shock.�
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  Fergus walked along the top terrace. The sun was shining and he could smell the grass and compost aroma of the allotments along with a hint of exotic spice. Someone was singing a discordant song in an unknown language. The allotments were a strange place, yet Fergus felt like he had returned home after a long trip.

  Enoch was waiting for him in the courtyard.

  ‘Bonkah, Rugby Boy. This for you.’ Enoch held out a bright pink manikin with no head.

  ‘Lovely, I don’t know how to thank you,’ said Fergus.

  Enoch glowered at Fergus.

  ‘This armour, finest kind, camo broken, only one colour. We decide colour for you little girl. Easier to spot too.’

  ‘This is real Palaver armour?’

  ‘Yar, for children. When you know how we broke camo, you choose colour. Now strip and suit up. Take off pretty bracelets too.’

  ‘What. Strip off here?’

  ‘Nobody cares little girl. You get armour coz Dave needs help.’

  ‘And I can’t take off the handcuffs. I don’t have a key.’

  Enoch raised his eyebrows, grabbed Fergus’s wrist and held one side of the handcuff’s hinge with thumb and forefinger, then grabbed the other side and pulled. There was a sharp crack as the hardened steel pivot pin snapped and Enoch opened the handcuff. Enoch took off the other handcuff and handed them to Fergus.

  ‘Memento. Warriors don’t get caught.’

  Fergus stripped off. He was interrupted by a wolf whistle. From her allotment over the way, Boadicea waved, held her hands about a foot apart and winked.

  Naked and feeling smug Fergus stepped into the bright pink suit. It felt like warm, smooth plastic. It slipped on easily, stretching as needed.

  ‘Now helmet and plate,’ said Enoch and placed a helmet on Fergus’s head. He felt something firm press against his back locking the helmet in place.

  ‘Now backpack,’ suddenly Fergus felt a huge weight and his knees almost gave way. Then the air in front of Fergus showed glowing symbols, the weight disappeared and he could move his neck.

  ‘Contact and locked,’ said Enoch, ‘Now you soldier; little girl soldier.’

  ‘I have control,’ said Enoch and the symbols flashed and changed quickly.

  ‘Targeting off, armour off, environment normal, gravity belt missing – we fix that. Ah, helmet colour…Purple.’

  ‘Ha bloody ha,’ said Fergus, ‘who said the Palaver have no sense of humour’.

  ‘You wearing it Rugby Boy. Want to fix. Learn fast’.

  Enoch went through the options, what each symbol meant, and then he switched the armour on. Fergus felt the material change; it became hard and unyielding. He tried to walk and fell flat on his face.

  ‘Walk hard. Little girl legs not tripping sensors.

  Fergus tried again, this time striding as if walking through water and it worked. There was a tiny delay then the suit moved for him. It was effortless, but needed concentration. Running was a joy.

  ‘Backpack equipped for little girl, not so useful. Try it, reach behind head, think sword.’

  Fergus did as told and found nothing.

  ‘Behind head, soft flap, push hand in.’

  Fergus tried again, this time he found the flap and under it the hilt of a sword. He pulled it out. It was a magnificent Katana.

  ‘Yar nice sword, daughter’s favourite.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Daughter’s armour. How else get good armour quick. Wear with honour.’

  ‘I’m touched. Thank you Enoch and thank your daughter for me.’

  ‘We do it for Dave. Now belt. Want to fly Rugby Boy?’

  Enoch handed a thick belt with a large square buckle to Fergus.

  ‘Push latch into buckle. Armour sets level.’

  Fergus put the belt around his waist and pushed the end of the belt into the buckle. It was like a chunky seat belt.

  ‘Pay attention. Not toy,’ said Enoch.

  Fergus stopped fiddling with the gravity belt and looked at Enoch.

  ‘So how does it work?’

  ‘Set level, jump. Simple enough for you?’

  ‘No, how does it work, the Physics?’

  ‘Oh. Field stuff. Changes energy better.’

  ‘What? Kinetic energy into potential energy. Thus you need less energy to go higher and gain less energy from being that high?’

  ‘Not bad little girl. Now jump, hard.’

  Fergus jumped. He shot up thirty feet in the air. When he looked down he got an awful tingling in his bladder. The fall would kill him. Fergus clamped his mouth shut on a scream and descended. His feet hit the turf and his legs absorbed the shock. It was like jumping a foot in the air.

  ‘Rules,’ said Enoch. ‘One, no momentum, so hit ground, hit walls ok. Two, jump up high, target long time, not ok. Three, do not take belt off.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Three serious. Take belt off, boom, hello ground.’

  ‘Ok.’

  ‘Now fun, belt set observer mode.’ Enoch knelt down and cupped his hands. ‘Foot here, Rugby Boy, leg straight.’

  Fergus stepped onto Enoch’s hands and stood up straight. Enoch launched him into the air with a grunt. Fergus broke the world record for acceleration in a vertical plane. Falling off a cliff was pedestrian. Try to imagine standing on the top of a rocket ship during take-off, and then speed it up.

  Fergus’s scream dopplered around the allotments. A falling note of sheer terror. As he gained height, Fergus looked down through the rushing wind. Each allotment looked like a slice of cake cut in half. He could see a van in the courtyard and a small, dark dot that was Enoch. Suddenly his vision blurred and the allotments became vague blocks of colour. He blinked hard and shook his head, but he could not focus. Strangely the blurring only affected the area around the allotments.

  Fergus arrived at the top of his trajectory and started down. The allotments looked like a vast yellow blob on an enormous green tablecloth. The rest of Huddersfield was in sharp focus, giving him a frightening appreciation of how far he had to fall.

  Fergus feared he would miss the allotments, then realised where he arrived was irrelevant. The actual surface he struck would only dictate how far they would have to dig down to recover his body.

  Fergus wanted to panic, but didn’t know how to start. He struggled to keep his feet pointing downwards. He tried kicking his legs and that sent him into a slow vertical roll. The ground was much, much closer. He screamed.

  Something hit him hard in the back.

  ‘Bonkah!’ yelled Enoch though the rushing wind.

  ‘Enoch!’

  ‘Yar. Forgot peanuts.’

  ‘What?’ yelled Fergus.

  ‘Keep legs down, knees bent.’

  Enoch rotated Fergus until he pointed straight down.

  ‘Don’t worry, got armour,’ said Enoch and pushed himself away from Fergus.

  ‘See you in ground, little girl’.

  Distracted, Fergus hadn’t noticed how close the ground was. He saw the roof of the pavilion and noticed small patches of lichen. Then he struck the lawn with a loud thud. Enoch landed close to Fergus with a small thud, his bent knees absorbed the shock.

  ‘Can’t you lot do nowt without damaging my lawn. I only just got that repaired,’ shouted Dave from the veranda.

  Fergus was embedded knee deep in the pavilion lawn.

  ‘Knees bent, little girl. Ground soft, like your head,’ said Enoch.

  Fergus struggled out of the lawn.

  ‘Sorry Dave,’ said Fergus.

  ‘That’s quite alright, feel free, it’s not like I bother to mow it, water it, feed it, edge it and the like. Now bugger off and leave me in peace.’

  Fergus and Enoch walked back to the courtyard where Enoch forced Fergus to practise jumping from one side to the other.

  ‘Oi, are you Fergus Loaf?’

  Fergus and Enoch turned round. A man in paint-spattered, white overalls stood with a hand on his hip and a sarcastic look on his face
. He wore a bright red yarmulke with gold embroidery and silver bangles up his wrist. He looked Enoch up and down.

  ‘Bloody off-worlders, turning up here, nicking all the theatrical roles, and making the place look untidy.’

  ‘Painter! Bonkah! How goes it little man?’

  Painter leapt forward and cracked his forehead into Enoch’s. To Fergus it looked more like an attack than a ritual greeting.

  ‘Bloody marvellous and now I have a headache. How can it get better? We’re still banned from The Slubber’s by the way. The rule is cast iron – no show tunes.’

  ‘‘Wand’rin’ Star’ is classic, not show tune,’ said Enoch.

  ‘Is he wearing that for a bet?’ asked Painter.

  ‘Camo broken, we break it good.’

  ‘You’re still funny; like a badger in a cake shop.’

  Enoch grinned.

  ‘Hello Fergus. I’m Painter. Sandra tells me you need some decorating.’

  ‘Yes, the apartment is empty apart from kitchen equipment,’ said Fergus.

  ‘So you’ll want everything. Beds, wardrobes, settee, TV, computer, carpets, tables, and no doubt a window.’

  ‘Yes please. But no cushions.’

  ‘Ah come on, you need at least one cushion. What else you going to wear on your head when drunk? Lampshades are passé.’

  ‘Well… I thought, um… A sofa would be nice, but what colour I don’t know.’ Fergus was adrift on the sea of interior decoration. A dangerous ocean for the unwary male, with many a good man gone overboard.

  ‘Look, leave it to me. I’ll make it masculine, but not butch. Enough soft furnishing to make any visiting lass feel comfortable. Mid-range consumer durables. Push the boat out a bit on the bathroom. Get you a nice emperor size bed –’

  ‘Can you make that a water bed?’ asked Fergus.

  ‘No I can’t. Once the novelty has worn off, they’re bloody useless. But I can do you a Jacuzzi and an open fire. Trust me, that’s a bigger draw than being kept awake all night gently bobbing up and down.’

  Fergus looked uncertain.

  ‘You don’t think I can get it just the way you want it? Well, let’s see how well I understand the real you.’ Painter looked Fergus up and down a few times.

  ‘You’re not gay, despite being dressed in skin-tight pink latex.

  You want to own a big motorbike, but they frighten you.