“Nah,” he said gruffly. Still chewing noisily on the toast, he added, “He’s probably having a huff with us ‘cos you made him clean his room and wash up. Gone to one of his mates’ houses for a few days, just to spite us. Probably planning to stay over at one of them druggie-type parties what some kids hold when their parents are away. Be pissed out of his mind, or shacked up with some young slut of a bird by now. I wouldn’t worry, if I were you. He’ll turn up sooner or later. You see if he doesn’t.” He screwed his face as he released another loud fart. “Anyway, he’s a big boy now. There’s nothing to stop him from staying out for a few days and nights if he wants to.”
After taking another loud slurp from his mug, Ted ripped off another chunk of toast, which disappeared into the yawning cavern that was his mouth.
Joan made a silent cringe, shuddered at the sight. Silently wondered what on Earth had moved her to marry the fat slob all those years ago. Why had she not had the sense to accept Charles’ proposal instead? He was much better looking than Ted. Better in the sack as well. Brothers. Totally different. Like chalk and cheese. Ted had spent his life pretending to work down the pit whilst Charles had made a packet out of running his own TV and radio repair business. She would be living in a large comfortable house by now. Foreign holidays, good food, and good clothes.
‘You’re an uncouth asshole,’ she thought with a resentful scowl.
However, after twenty-three years of marriage, she had become used to her husband’s lack of manners, and outwardly remained calm.
“I don’t know so much,” she said. “It’s been five days now. I don’t think he’s old enough to stay out this length of time on his own. He’s not eighteen yet.”
Joan hesitated, as if she were waiting for further comment from Ted, but realized he was too interested in demolishing the remainder of his toast. He was not going to say anything.
“This isn’t like him,” Joan continued. “I think he might have had the sense to bring Tinker home first, especially if he was planning to stay away for a few days. Can’t see how anyone would let Appollinaire take a dog with him if he was staying in someone’s house. Who would want a strange dog messing up their carpets?”
Still no comment from Ted.
Joan quietly carried on, as if she were talking to herself, “Uhuh. I’m sure he would have brought the dog home and fed him before going out again. And, he would have told me where he was going and how long he was going to be. He always does.”
Ted must have thought this funny. Made a small laugh and mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs, “Well. He can’t have gone far. He’s got no money, has he?”
Joan made a shake of her head, narrowed her eyes, and peered down at the dog’s empty bed. For whatever reason, she was taken aback when an unbidden pang of sorrow stabbed at her heart.
Dogs and Joan had never got along, not since she had been bitten on the ankle by an angry corgi at the tender age of eleven. She had been running along the pavement when the nasty animal had darted out from a front garden and attacked her, presumably because she dared to run instead of walk. But somehow, now, she wanted Tinker to come home. Really, she wanted Appollinaire to come home, but, she reasoned, if the dog were here then so would he.
Poor Tinker.
Ignoring the pronounced shaking of Ted’s head, she carried on, “You know this isn’t like Appollinaire. He’s never been out with the dog for more than two hours or so in the past. Even if he has stayed a few nights at someone else’s house, he ought to be back by now. It’s been five days.”
‘Yeah. Yeah. So you said,’ thought Ted. ‘Give it a rest, will you?’
Almost as an afterthought, Joan added, “Unless he’s decided to keep the dog with him and takes him for a walk each morning. We both know how Tinker would want his usual morning walk.”
“Uhuh,” agreed Ted as he rammed the final piece of toast into his mouth to be quickly followed by another large gulp of tea. Wiped the back of his hand across his wet, crumb-covered, marmalade-leaking lips. He silently wished his missus would shut the hell up.
“Well, if he isn’t back soon,” said Joan, “we’ll have no choice but to go and annoy the police again. I don’t think they’re doing enough to find him.”
‘Sniff. Cough.’
“No way,” muttered Ted suddenly interested in what she was saying. Made an exaggerated shake of his head, which underlined his refusal, as did the manner in which he thumped his right hand down on the arm of his chair. “The boy hasn’t been gone more than ten minutes. No!”
Joan started at his outburst, her eyes bulging in surprise. On the verge of snapping back at him, she urged herself, ‘Cool it.’
Managing to contain her anger, she folded her arms, narrowed her eyes, and made bossy.
“It’s been five whole days!” she snarled. “Not ten minutes. It wouldn’t have hurt you to shift yourself off your fat ass, get off that bloody chair, and go out to look for him. A bit of exercise might even help you to get rid of some of that beer gut.”
Joan’s eyes flitted to the more than ample mound of bare flesh poking out from beneath Ted’s grubby, gray T-shirt.
Ted noticed where she was looking and made a derisive laugh.
“Bollocks. Cost me a fortune this did,” he said as he lovingly patted his stomach with both hands. “You could get off your skinny ass and go look for him, you lazy cow. Do you more good than playing bingo for hours on end, it would. And don’t keep telling me how long the idle sod’s been gone. He’ll turn up soon enough, when he wants something.”
He burped loudly and made a satisfied grin as he released yet another noisy fart.
The muscles on each side of Joan’s face tightened as she gritted her teeth. Somehow, she still managed to keep a reign on her temper. Ted could be so abusive towards her at times, but at least the abuse was verbal, never physical. It was different for poor Sheila, the pug-faced little peroxide-blonde woman, who lived three doors away. The poor girl was always sporting some kind of bruise or other on her face and arms, sometimes even on her legs. God knows what torment she must go through. It was a wonder the police had not been called, some of the noises coming from that house. Anyone would think there was murder happening. Everyone knew her ‘partner’ was a crack-head drug dealer. He should have been locked up long ago. Joan could never understand why Sheila had not up sticks and left the dirty asshole. In Joan’s opinion, she should have done so years ago.
Knowing it would be no use trying to appeal to Ted’s better nature, mainly because he did not have one, Joan did not try. After all these years, he still thought he was the boss in the marriage, but she knew differently.
‘You fat, bone idle, useless sod.’
Regaining her composure, she said, “Well, if Appollinaire hasn’t come home, by the time you go out to the pub this afternoon, you can call in at the police station whether you like it or not. You can remind them how long he’s been missing. See what they have to say.”
She threw an ‘or else’ stare Ted’s way. Made threatening.
Big deal.
Ted’s answer was to emit another rather loud burp, followed by an equally loud fart, which necessitated the raising of his right ass-cheek off the cushion he was sitting on.
Joan pulled a ‘disgusted’ face and unconsciously motioned for the imaginary dog to follow her as she slowly made her way towards the kitchen.
“Come on, Tinker,” she whispered much to Ted’s amusement. “You’d better go out on the grass for a few minutes.”
‘Daft cow,’ thought Ted whilst releasing another rasping fart. ‘Losing her marbles she is…’
Chapter 35
Dark, gray rain clouds drifted quickly across the sky ushered along by a stiff northwesterly wind, making for another unseasonal dull morning.
Dreary.
Dismal.
Downhearted at the prospect of yet more rain, Joan hurried back into the house carrying the white plastic basket full of washing, which she had hastily removed fro
m the line outside. She quickly closed the door behind her and muttered something about it being like the middle of winter out there instead of the middle of summer. Placed the basket of washing onto the kitchen table.
With her arms folded around her shivering body, Joan stood cursing her folly.
‘Fancy going out in only slippers and dressing gown in this weather!’
Paused for a moment, she peered through the window and imagined the dog, Tinker sniffing around on the overgrown untidy lawn before stopping to cock his leg against the concrete line-post.
Ok. So. Joan had never wanted a dog in the first place, but, now, surprisingly, she was finding it difficult to hold back the tears at the thought of never seeing the animal again.
“Poor Tinker,” she sniffed quietly. “If he was here now, he would be in the middle of the lawn tucking his bum under to do a shit, any minute. Of course, I’d make Appollinaire go out and clean it up. After all, he’s the one who wanted a dog. It’s his job to look after it.”
Joan wrinkled her nose. Made another shiver, and shuffled her way back into the living room where the gas fire was kicking out more than enough heat to warm the room. Because Ted, when he had worked at the nearby colliery as a member of an underground Heading Team, had elected to take cash instead of a coal allowance when he retired, his pension now included the extra tax-free cash, which was handy because it more than covered both gas and electric bills. This enabled them to run the heating from morning to night during the winter months without having to worry about the cost. Although they did not need the full central heating on during this particular cold spell, the gas fire was working overtime courtesy of the Taxman.
Nice.
When Joan entered the living room, she huffed angrily at the sight before her.
Not surprisingly, Ted had conveniently managed to nod off in the short time she had been out of the room. Empty mug sat atop the equally empty plate placed on her side of the table.
‘What a sight. You’re like a bloody beached whale.’
“You idle asshole,” she whispered with a sneer.
‘How the shit did I get landed with a useless fat twat like you?’
Joan ‘accidentally’ kicked Ted’s outstretched feet as she walked past on her way towards the door leading to the stairs.
“Twat!” she hissed loudly.
Ted did little more than snort in his sleep.
Chapter 36
It did not matter whether the bird was still hovering around outside or not, Pol was determined; he would be going nowhere for the time being, least not until he was sure it was safe to leave the protection of the umbrella tree.
He clumsily pushed himself up and managed to sit with his back and shoulders resting against the main trunk. Carefully pulled away a large thorn, which was sticking in his left leg and another two more from his right leg. Luckily, even though they were painful, the thorns had done little damage having barely pierced his skin.
There was just enough room beneath the lower branches of the tree for Pol to sit if he hunched his shoulders forward with his legs bent up. He hugged his left arm around his knees and tried to brush a clear space with his right hand. There were hundreds of the evil-looking thorns forming a thick carpet on the ground. Looked as if most of them had been lying there for years. Once he had managed to clear a decent space for himself, he shuffled his bottom sideways and stretched his legs out in front of him.
“That’s better,” he whispered as he made himself more comfortable.
‘Bit cramped under here but never mind. It’s safe from the bird. I should be ok as long as there are no other weird creatures crawling round in here.’
Pol could not detect any beasties nearby or crawling around on any of the surrounding branches. He was not surprised. No animal in its right mind would want to wander around on a bed of sharp thorns.
‘I think I’ll wait until it gets dark before I go out. With a bit of luck, the bird won’t be flying around at night. I’ll make my way down to the river and have a drink. Even in the shade of this tree, it’s bloody hot. My gob’s as dry as parchment and I’m sweating like a pig. Perhaps I can find a tree like this to hide down by the river.’
With difficulty, Pol managed to remove his fleece and roll it up before placing it between his feet. Resuming his previous position, he allowed his head to droop forward and closed his eyes. Immediately, a picture of Tinker formed in his mind, and he gulped back a sob.
“Where are you, Tink?” he whispered.
‘I wonder.’
On impulse, he raised his head without opening his eyes, took a deep breath, and made another of his special whistles and listened.
Nothing.
No answering bark...
Chapter 37
Pol awoke with a start and stared around in confusion. Took more than a few seconds for his tired brain to remember where he was. Something, a sound he could not identify, had interrupted his sleep.
‘Where? What...?’
He listened with his head canted to one side, trying to detect the slightest sound.
He peered through the gap between the ground and the hanging branches. It was still daylight, although he could not be sure if it was still the same day. He glanced at his watch. Five past six. He could just make out the date in the gloomy light; Number twelve. Still the same day. He must have been asleep for almost an hour.
‘Bugger. The bird must have gone by now.’
Slowly, Pol pushed forward onto his hands and knees and peered beneath the lower branches of the tree. Turning his head from side to side, he carefully scanned the part of the surrounding area he could see, including the sky, before shuffling around the trunk to peer out from the other side.
As far as he could tell, there was nothing hovering nearby, but he still was not convinced the bird had gone. For all he knew, the crafty thing might be hiding somewhere close or circling overhead, just waiting for him to exit from the safety of the tree.
‘Got to be careful here. I don’t want to end up as bird fodder.’
As he saw it, he had two choices; one was to stay where he was and wait until dark, then try to make his way down to the river, the other was to make a dash for the relative safety offered by the myriad of large, and medium sized boulders which were lying around the bottom of the cliff face. He reasoned; if he managed to reach the cliff in one piece, and was lucky enough to find somewhere to hide, he would still need to get down to the river for some water. Otherwise, in this heat, he would die of thirst before daylight.
He reckoned he had no choice in the matter. The river was a lot further away than the cliff was so it made sense to head for the cliff. Less chance of being caught out in the open. He could make his way down to the river after it got dark.
‘Got to go for it. But, I’m not going out there without something better than a penknife to defend myself.’
He slithered back towards the main trunk and put his thinking head on. An image of a dark-skinned native came to mind. The man was holding a spear.
‘Ok,’ thought Pol. ‘Good thinking.’
Using his penknife, he cut off a six-foot long branch, about half an inch or so in diameter and almost straight. Only slightly bowed in the middle. Again, using his penknife, he stripped off the few small offshoots sporting numerous thorns of varying length. Niftily fashioned a sharp point at each end of the stick, his thinking being, two points might be better than one.
With ‘weapon’ in hand, Pol gathered his fleece, and warily, crawled out from beneath the umbrella tree. He kneeled for a moment, ready to dash back beneath the protective branches at the first sign of danger. Carefully looked around. Decided the bird must have given up. There was no sign of it.
He stood up and took a tentative step away from the tree.
To his relief, nothing tried to attack him.
Satisfied, he started out in the direction of the cliff, intent on reaching it as quickly as possible without actually running. One slip on a loose rock and he could
easily end up with a broken leg—did not much relish the idea of having to crawl over the rough ground on his belly...
Chapter 38
When Pol lay down, using his rolled-up fleece and his sweatshirt as a pillow, he found he could comfortably stretch out without touching the bottom end of the small cave with his feet, but only just.
Cave.
Well, almost.
The cave, which was more of a tube, open at both ends, was actually a low, almost-horizontal cone-shaped recess beneath a large irregular slab of rock. Pol assumed it must have broken off from the cliff at some time in the previous fifty-million years or so.
‘Might have been yesterday for all I know.’
The highest point of the recess was perhaps four to five feet from the floor, give or take an inch or two. The lowest point was little more than two feet wide by two feet high. The distance from the front to the back was approximately eight feet. Overall, there was ample room for Pol to either sit up, or lie down. The only downside was the unprotected entrance. Most of the irregular shaped entrance was covered by a fall of large rocks. Perhaps a quarter of the cave’s width, at its highest point, was open to the elements. Easy access for any hungry predator, which might decide to call on him during the night. What Pol thought of as the rear entrance was smaller than the front entrance but big enough for him to crawl through on his belly. This meant the gap was also big enough for something else to enter the cave.
‘Got to do something about that, don’t want anything creeping in when I’m asleep.’
A few small boulders ought to be sufficient to block the hole. If he could manage to find some rocks, which were small enough to for him pick up and carry that is. Meanwhile, there was no way he was going to sleep in such a small, unguarded space until he had put something substantial between him and the outside world. If some weird, hungry thing were going to creep up on him whilst he was asleep, he would never know anything about it. He would be dead before he could wake up!
Appollinaire: (The Other Side of Nowhere) Page 10