by Oscar Turner
‘He'll just bring in a whole new team from that consortium he's part of. They won't give a shit about anything.’ Cyril pulled out his tobacco pouch to roll a cigarette, as he tapped his foot to the The Lonesome Cowboys.
‘Well no one wants to fall in love with me,
I'm like a tree without a forest, can't you see.
I'm always feeling lonely, 'cause I ain't got a one and only.
'Cause no one wants to fall in love with me.’ Sang Tommy, looking daggers at Phil Treadmear on double bass. Phil looked at Jim Robinson on the drums as they played. They both looked at Tommy and shrugged their shoulders. Tommy went over to Phil, who nodded his head and whispered in Jim's ear that they were playing the wrong song. Phil and Jim laughed. Tommy didn't.
‘Oh I try so hard to make the girls look at me.
But I guess they're blind or find better things to see.
Chris took another large gulp of his scrumpy and wiped his lips with back of his hand.
‘Hi Cyril, Chris. Great party hey! The boys are firing.’ said Sally, as she danced her way up to Cyril and Chris, precariously holding a huge glass of white wine, clearly not her first, hugged them both with her available arm and planted a soggy lipstick kiss on each of their cheeks.
‘Yeh, you can always count on the Cowboys to brighten things up.’ laughed Cyril as he juggled with his half rolled cigarette and glass to chink it with Sally's.
‘Yeh, probably be the last time we’ll see The Lonesome Cowboys. Time was I'd pray for that day.’ said Chris to his drink, before he took another swig.
‘Oh come on boys, cheer up will ya? Something'll come up.’ said Sally, tottering on her feet to keep her balance, using her attempt to dance to disguise it. ‘You gotta be positive! If we all put our positive energy into this thing, we can do it. It's amazing what humans can achieve when we are at one with each other! I was thinking of having a healing circle around the fire later.’
Chris and Cyril looked at each other and rolled their eyes.
Sally was a lovely woman. Born on the estate and never knew anything else. As a result of her isolation from the real world she was a positive thinker and preached positive thinking as if it was the very nexus of life. As a result of thinking positively, about everything, she had four children by four different fathers; all of whom hated each other because of it.
‘Great idea Sally. Count me in.’ said Chris. ‘I'll try anything.’
‘Cool. How about you Cyril?’
‘We'll see.’
‘Ello there boy,’ came Sam Henderson's voice from behind Cyril, followed by a healthy, tribal man hug.
‘Sam. How's things? Glad you can make it.’
‘Wouldn't have missed it for the world Cyril Barker. Reckon this'll be the first of many going away parties, way things are.’ said Sam, as he took a glug of his pint of scrumpy. ‘If I could cut that Edward's throat and get away with it, I'd do it.’
Join the queue Sam, your not alone.’ said Cyril attempting to stop Sam from diving into a pit of doom; as he was prone to do. ‘You'll be OK Sam, surely. Your cottage has been in your family for, what is it? Three hundred years?’
‘Still belongs to the estate though.’
‘Yeh, but Edward'll never get you out. You've got rights these days. You should go down to Citizens Advice Bureau, they'll sort you out.’
‘Oh, that be right Cyril. He can't throw us out. But you know what that cunt's like. He's going to make everyone here want to leave. Bastard.’ Sam looked around at the gathering. ‘All these people. Look at them.’
Cyril looked at them. Sam was right. All you could hear was laughter and chatting over the groaning Lonesome Cowboys. It suddenly hit Cyril. A lump formed in his throat. To think that this whole world was about to be dismantled. His world was here, with all these people, and now it was over.
‘Sorry, excuse me a moment Sam.’ said Cyril as he went over to his van, opened the door, went in and closed it again with Roger at his heel.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
The Deal.
‘Turn right here.’ said Polly, her heart beating furiously, her mind scratching around in a state of the unknown.
Johnny turned into the track and stopped.
‘Yes, this is the one, keep driving until you come to a forest.’
Johnny looked at Polly suspiciously and pulled away again. As they turned a corner in the track, Johnny stopped the car again. Up ahead to the right of the track stood a large truck loaded with huge trunks of oak, a monster bulldozer and a large pile of spider like roots and stumps, smoldered at the edge of a clearing, the size of a football pitch. A prefabricated building sat at the front of the clearing and piles of gravel and sand were dotted around.
‘Oh no, no please no.’ muttered Polly, her words muffled by her shaking hands, covering her face.
Johnny said nothing, looked at her, then drove forward, past the truck and stopped again.
‘Dear oh fucking dear.’ said Johnny with a sinister calm.
Suddenly someone appeared from behind the truck shining a bright torchlight at the cars windscreen. The torch beam scanned around the car as the wavering torch came closer: the moonlight cast a silhouette of a uniformed man.
Johnny wound down the drivers window, looked at Polly, making sure she could see his hand, poised between his legs. His gun lay on his lap, cocked and ready.
‘One fucking word.’ warned Johnny. ‘Just one.’
‘Can I help you sir?’ said the soft friendly male voice from behind the blinding torchlight.
Johnny said nothing until the man stopped by the car door, pointed the torch down to the ground and looked into the car, beaming a naturally soft smile. ‘Evening Miss.’
‘Yeh, we seem to be a bit lost.’ said Johnny brightly.
‘Ah well you ain't the first ones. Where would you be looking for then? If you're looking for the party, it's down there a ways next to the river.’ said the man pointing his torch back down the track.
Polly watched in horror as Johnny calmly raised his gun, pointed it straight into the man's face and fired. The spitting sound from the silencer popped her ears, as she watched the man stand there for a second, his eyes crossed, the small red hole perfectly in the centre of his forehead. He wavered slightly before his body collapsed vertically into a dead heap.
Johnny gently pulled away, turned around and headed back to the road, his hand never leaving the Dagenham dagger switch or his gun.
‘My God, how can you do that!?’ screamed Polly, ‘You're fucking evil.’
Johnny stopped at the road and calmly looked left and right. He waited a moment: deciding which way to go.
Polly was breathing heavily, the fear pumping through every part of her body, her streaming eyes fixed on him in disbelief.
Johnny turned right and accelerated hard, crunching his way through the gears, as if he were venting his anger.
‘Please, please don't kill me! I beg you,’ screamed Polly desperately. ‘I honestly had no idea! Please!’
Johnny stared dead ahead and began to slow a little, then turned down a narrow lane. He drove for half a mile, then pulled into a side road that led into a clearing in some woods. He stopped the car and turned off the lights.
By now, Polly's entire being was in turmoil: her breathing, so intense, there was no space for words.
Johnny undid his seat belt, sighed, reached for the door handle and opened the door wide with his foot. He looked across at her for a second and shook his head.
‘Don't fucking move.’ Johnny slowly eased himself out of the car pointing his gun at Polly's head. As he walked around the front of the car to the passenger side, the gun still aimed at her, Polly looked down at the Dagenham Dagger switch. She could reach it easily. Johnny unlocked the passenger door and yanked it open, pressed the silencer into her neck and bent down to unlock her seat belt. It took a few moments before he could release the deliberately difficult double catch and ease the belt back into the rollers of the inertia
reel.
‘Right, get out.’ said Johnny. ‘Keep your hands where I can see them. Just like the fucking movies.’
Polly held her hands up in front of her, eased her legs out first, then her body. She stood in front of him, waiting, her stiletto heels slowly sinking into the soft Earth. Johnny moved back away from the car and held the gun, both arms outstretched, aimed at her head.
‘Take off your pants.’
‘No please, please don't do this to me.’ sobbed Polly. ‘Just kill me, now. I beg of you.’
Johnny rolled his eyes, lowered the gun slightly, then looked at Polly.
‘I said take off your pants.’
Polly shook her head frantically. ‘No.’
‘We had a deal, Polly.’
Polly shook her head more and more, her eyes squeezed shut, tears flicking from her face.
‘This is a fuck up Polly. It's not your fucking fault. I know that. And I know that you used that money of mine to pay for Seymour's show.’
Polly froze suddenly and stood rigid staring at Johnny.
‘Yeh I know everything Polly. It's my job see. I do me research. Old Queen Carva’s got a really big mouth when he’s pissed up in those gay bars he goes to.’
‘He told you?’
‘Not is so many words Polly. He wasn’t even talking to me at the time. But you know what? I’m quite smart sometimes and you don’t have to be a Rhodes fucking scholar to work it out.’ Johnny smiled. ‘So. What we have to do is get my money back somehow, any ideas?’
‘I, I can try.’
‘So why the fuck did you drag me all the way out here then?’
‘I only used some of the money.’ said Polly, her mind clearing with the chance to live emerging.
‘How much?’
‘About £15,000.’
‘So that means there was £45,000 in the woods, is that right Polly?’
‘I don't know. I never counted it. I just grabbed some a few weeks ago.’
‘Tell you what Polly, you get that £15,000 back and I'll let you live. How's that?’
‘I, I can try, but it could take time.’
‘Time? Oh we've all got loads of time Polly. You've got a month. Is that long enough?’
Polly nodded her head. ‘Yes, yes. That's long enough.’
‘Good, now take your pants off, that was the deal. Or are you telling me I can't trust you to keep a deal.’
‘You can trust me.’ said Polly.
‘Oh I have to Polly, even though I'm the one with the gun, funny old world innit.’
‘So you will let me go, after.’
‘That's right Polly, scouts honour.’ Johnny lifted his right arm with a scout salute. ‘Dib, dib, fucking dob.’
‘Do you have condoms?’ said Polly.
'Condoms? Fucking Condoms, Are you fucking serious!? Now take your fucking pants off!’
Polly slowly bent down, lifted dress, hooked her panties with her thumbs, drew them down her legs, kicked off her stilettos and flicked her panties away with her foot.
‘Kick them over here.’ said Johnny.
Polly hooked her panties with her toe and skilfully flicked them over to his feet.
Johnny slowly bent down, picked them up and sniffed at them, before putting them in his pocket.
‘Mmmm, nice and sweet. Right. Now off with the dress then lay down and spread your legs.’
Polly reached behind her neck and pulled the back zip down, her dress slithered down to her feet. Johnny smiled as he watched her slowly get down on the ground, her eyes never leaving his.
‘Mmm, nice body, cute little tits. Now spread your legs.’
Polly slowly eased her legs apart.
‘That's what I like to see Polly, a shaven haven.’
Johnny fumbled with his trouser belt and fly zip with one hand, yanked his trousers down to his knees, then his underpants. He knelt down between her legs and touched her vagina.
‘Dry as a bone Polly. What's up don't you fancy me or something?’ laughed Johnny as he spat on his hands and rubbed the spit into her.
Polly closed her eyes and laid her head back in the damp leaves of the forest floor. She could feel is flaccid penis, working at her clitoris, getting bigger at every stroke. Then suddenly, she could feel his breathing close to her, then the cold steel of the silencer on her ear. She opened her eyes slightly to see his face inches from hers. His penis was hard now and was poised to enter her. He had that stupid look on his face that men do at the point of entry. Power, achievement, dominance, victory. Whatever it is, it is a point when a man is the most vulnerable.
The gun was in his right hand, his penis in his left, guiding it into her. With a sudden, spontaneous jolt, Polly pulled away from him, her hands desperately grabbing at the damp ground. He pushed harder and began to enter her. Polly suddenly felt one of her shoes in the damp leaves, grabbed it and with one furious swipe, smashed the heel into the nape of his neck. Johnny stopped and dropped the gun. He looked disorientated, as he pulled back and stood on his knees, his right hand feeling the huge hole in the back of his neck. Polly grabbed the gun, pointed it in his face and pulled the trigger twice. Spit. Spit. The recoil of the gun yanked at her wrists, as it flew back out of her grip and landed beside her head. Johnny fell backwards in a contorted heap of arms and legs.
Cyril sat on the bed, Roger beside him, leaning against him. Cyril felt overwhelmed with emotion. He had been rational about his situation until now, almost mechanical. He was going away, to find a new life. The money was maybe a gift, Natty always talk about things like that. But Sam was right, the whole estate and everybody in it was about to be turned on its head, forever. There was nothing that could be done and it was only now that it hit home how much this place and all its crazy characters meant to him. It and they meant everything, absolutely everything.
Roger licked him on the cheek, Cyril cupped Roger's head in his hand and kissed his silky ears.
‘Bless your little heart Rogerdog, at least we've still got each other. Eh.’
Roger sighed. Roger new exactly what was happening. Now Roger had a passport, having suffered the indignity of having a thermometer stuck up his ass, his lips virtually ripped apart to check his teeth and bloody great needles stuck into him by that fucking vet with peanut smelling breath, cold hands and an utter disrespect, for which Roger would have happily bit his head off for.
There was a knock on the door. ‘Cyril? You OK?’ came Nastasia's muffled voice.
‘Yeh I'm fine, I'll back out in a minute OK?’
‘Can we come in for a moment? It's really important.’ said Nastasia, slowly opening the door.
Cyril looked up at her. ‘What is it?’
Nastasia edged in, followed by Suzy, a flaming redhead, who had been Sir Thomas's secretary and then Edward's until she quit, after a row about what he was doing to the estate.
Cyril stood up. ‘Hi Suzy, how are you? Good to see you.’ said Cyril as he kissed Suzy on the cheek and hugged her.
‘I'm fine.’ said Suzy.
Cyril looked at both of them, puzzled. ‘What is it? What's happened? You look freaked.’
Nastasia looked at Suzy and nodded, as if to coax her.
‘It's Edward. He's dead Cyril.’
‘What! How? When?’
‘We don't know yet, he went away a few days ago. I've just got the call from Sir Thomas's brother, Gerald.’
‘What?’ said Cyril scrambling to make sense of it all.
‘Edward never told Gerald I'd quit, or about anything else he was doing to the estate by the sounds of it.’ said Suzy.
Cyril grabbed Nastasia and Suzy together and hugged them hard.
‘I don't believe it.’ whispered Cyril his breathing heavy.
Nastasia smiled and kissed Cyril's ear.
‘So what happens now?’ said Cyril to Suzy.
‘Well if it's as true as I hope it is, Gerald inherits the Estate, lock stock and barrel.’
‘Wow!’ said Cyril. ‘I only met him a
few times, he's seemed OK. He was pretty close to Sir Thomas wasn't he?’
‘Like peas in a pod.’ said Suzy. ‘He was supposed to have a casting vote on the Estate board on any major decisions. Sir Thomas had it written into his will. Edward's lawyers found some loophole in the law and had it removed. Gerald couldn't fight it, because he was bankrupt.’
‘Fuck!’ whispered Cyril as he pulled away from Nastasia and Suzy, rubbing his hair frantically. ‘Jesus Christ.’
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
The Beginning of the End.
Seymour rummaged through the vegetable rack looking for another carrot. Carrots are funny things. You have to have just the right amount of carrots in a stir fry. Too many and it looks like you had too many carrots and wanted to use them up and too few looks like you didn't have enough. It’s a delicate balance: carrots have a great taste, but can be overpowering if you have too many. He found one on the floor. Just right. Bit soft, but OK. He sliced it thinly and tossed the pieces into the sizzling wok.
‘Now where did I put that bloody soy sauce?’ muttered Seymour. He checked the clock on the wall and tutted to himself. Polly said she would be home by now. The stir fry would be ready in ten minutes. You can't reheat a stir fry, unless you want a soggy stew that is. Because that's what happens.
Maybe if he took it off the heat now and then blasted it when she gets in. It's risky, because the sauce can quickly saturate everything and all the flavours blend into a blob. That's the beauty of a stir fry, if you get it right, all those individual flavours, especially with fresh ginger to kick it along. Seymour turned off the gas, sat down at the table and took a healthy glug of red wine.
This baby thing just didn’t feel real somehow even though Polly’s words still echoed around in his head, like an uninvited mantra. It was just so hard to imagine. He’d never even considered the notion before. Seymour loved sex, so did Polly: sex was a major ingredient of who they were. They had occasionally discussed children, but more in an abstract way, like; have you ever wanted children? The answer was always equally abstract like; nah not really but you never know. Maybe one day. Seymour didn’t even like babies. On the rare occasions that he’d encountered them, he’d found them nothing more than irritating, selfish, attention seeking freaks and found it impossible to share the wonderment people seemed to have for them. But that smile Polly was wearing when she had told him, had burned into his mind’s eye. She looked so happy: it was intoxicating. Maybe babies are different when they are yours? Suddenly there was a pounding on the front door: a violent pounding that made Seymour shake. He went over to the door and stood a few feet away.