Man of RuinEpisode One_Extra Special Pre-Release Edition

by Oliver Franks

  “Thank you,” I said, not meaning to but sounding rather formal. “That would be great.”

  “Wonderful,” she said. “So, where are you now? I’ll come and pick you up.”

  I considered the possibility it might be a trick, but put that thought straight out of mind. I needed a break, needed help, and she was offering it. It was nothing to be sniffed at.

  “I’m in town.” I looked around me. “I can be on the High Street in a few minutes.”

  “Alright, wait for me at Asda.”

  “OK doc,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “That’s alright—”

  “No,” I said. “I mean it, thank you. A big fat thank you. If you hadn’t called, I don’t know what I would’ve done. Seriously.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  So I headed to Asda, feeling a huge sense of relief. At least I could stop worrying about where to take my next pee.

  Still, some doubts crept in. Perhaps she’d force me to call the police? Or maybe she’d drop me off at the local psychiatric institute? I wasn’t sure I could stomach informing her of the latest incident with the wheelie bin. But no, I had to trust her. She had sounded trustworthy. And what choice did I have? Still, she was an older woman, a doctor, a highly educated person with a big house and a garden and money and all of that gubbins. A snooty husband too most likely, and probably a bunch of spoiled kids roughly my own age. I hardly knew her, and she had no idea what sort of silly lad I was. Staying with her would be awkward, to say the least.

  Christ, why did everything have to be so complicated?

  Chapter 9

  The Doctor picked me up in one of those giant plush cars, a big silvery thing with hulking over-sized wheels and everything three times bigger than it needed to be. Clambering up the step to get in, I found it somewhat awkward to reach out and swing the door shut. Once safely inside, I sank down into the lovely big leather seat.

  “Thanks Doc,” I said, looking at my shoes.

  “That’s OK David,” she said, rather cordially, and drove off.

  What with the utter chaos and despair of the day, and my almost embarrassing relief at the docs’ offer, I was feeling completely zonked. The doc too was being very reserved. Technically there was plenty to talk about, but the last thing I wanted to do was mention that poor tramp.

  Driving through the busy streets of Crawley, my nerves jangled. It wasn’t just the overwhelming strange turn of events, the car itself was a beast. With us sat high-up on our thrones several feet above most other vehicles, it was like driving along a road filled with toy cars. Every time we came close by one I worried the doc would fail to notice it and we would drive over its bonnet and leave it a crushed mess.

  Eventually she turned on the radio, tuning into some classical music station. With violins and cellos and what not twittering from the speakers, the chit-chatter did not flow.

  *****

  I dozed off. When I woke up we were arriving at her house, evidently some way out of town, out in the Surrey countryside on one of those quiet lanes, all on its ownsome.

  “Here we are David,” she said, parking in the huge driveway.

  “Wow.”

  I had been right about her living in a big house. It was a whopper, a new looking building with two floors of clean brickwork and lots of large, shiny windows. A mansion, in my book.

  The doctor stepped up to the front steps, her heels clippety clopping on the marble. Immediately I heard the barking of dogs from within. She fished out the keys from her handbag and opened the door. Two great golden retrievers came rushing out, their tales wagging excitedly as she patted them on the head.

  “Dog lover eh?” I said.

  Unfortunately I hated the muts myself, the smell mostly, though I decided to play nice since she was being so hospitable and all.

  “I grew up with dogs,” she said, crouching down and putting a hand under the chin of one of them while the other rubbed its muzzle on her leg. “Wouldn’t know how to live without them. How about you?”

  “I don’t mind a dog,” I lied. “I can take it or leave it.”

  “Well, this is Ian, and this is Botham,” she said.

  I laughed. “What, like the cricketer?”

  She flashed me a look. “Yes. My husband named them, and it wasn’t worth arguing over. I like the sound of the names.”

  “Right…” I said.

  She stood up and went inside the house. The dogs followed her in, and so did I. I guess I’d always been a bit of a dog myself.

  That was all good too. From now on I’d be peeing in the garden with ‘em.

  *****

  I was a little apprehensive at the prospect of meeting this husband, or in fact, coming into contact with anyone really, since any encounter would inevitable involve some explanation for my presence. I had noticed that there were no other cars parked out front, though there was certainly space, and to my relief the house was empty, apart from the doctor and her dogs.

  “Make yourself at home,” said the doctor as she raised the blinds that had been lowered over the series of huge French doors at one end of the large open plan living room-cum-kitchen-cum-dining room.

  “Thanks,” I said, sitting awkwardly on one of the many sofas.

  “Can I get you anything? Cup of tea?” she asked.

  “Yeah, some tea would be nice,” I said, staring out through the French doors to the huge garden beyond.

  It certainly didn’t seem ‘unkempt’ to me. There was a wide, well mowed lawn surrounded by flower beds and with a table and chairs set out on a patio to one side where the house extended in an L shape. In the distance, at least 100 feet I reckoned, the lawn came to end and there were what looked like bushes. Further than that, I couldn’t see, although there were some windswept looking hills in the far beyond.

  “So, David,” she said, making the tea.

  “Yes?” I said, only just managing to stop myself from referring to her as ‘Doctor.”

  “Would you like milk and sugar?”

  “Oh,” I said. “Yes please. Four large sugars please.”

  “Did you say four?” she said, with a look of disbelief.

  “Yup,” I said. “I’m not sweet enough.”

  She nodded slowly and put in the sugars.

  “Here you go,” she handed me a steaming hot mug.

  She went back to the kitchen area, picked up a mug she had made for herself, came back over to the living area and sat on another of the sofas.

  “Thanks,” I said, raising my mug to her.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, holding hers between her hands and blowing on it.

  She was sitting very upright, her legs crossed neatly, while I slouched back into the sofa. For some reason, I therefore felt compelled to sit up straight too. It was a bit of an effort, but I managed it.

  There then followed an awkward few minutes where both of us sat, silently sipping our tea. She seemed a little on edge, and that was exactly how I felt. I was struggling to think of her as a person who made tea and chilled out, rather than a doctor. It was as if this house was merely an extension of her office, and at any minute she would start prodding me and asking personal health questions. Conversation was not forthcoming. At first this pleased me, I was happy not to contemplate the fate of that acid-mauled destitute, his ghastly screaming still ringing in my ears, or the future that lay ahead of me like a wasteland. But the more we sat there in silence, the more it made me uncomfortable. There was something a little unhappy about this woman, the way she sat and stared so plainly, a hand brushing casually over Ian or Botham’s head, whichever one it was that was sat at her feet.

  “I’m sorry David,” she said eventually. “I’m a little tired now, I could do with a nap. Would you mind if I excuse myself? I’ll make some dinner later.”

  “Sure thing,” I said.

  She stood up and placed her mug on a table next to the sofa.

  “If you need the to
ilet, as I said you can use the garden,” she said, walking to the French doors.

  I stood up and joined her there. She pointed vaguely out towards the hills.

  “If you go all the way to the back of the lawn, you’ll find a little path to the right of the bushes. Just go down there and you’ll reach an overgrown field. I don’t mind where you go but please just be careful of the dogs. They like to run out there sometimes.”

  “OK, I’ll watch out.”

  “Good.”

  She turned and looked at me seriously now.

  “I want you to just relax here, OK? You’ve got a lot to think about. We both have. Watch TV if you like, and help yourself to anything you want. I don’t bite and neither do Ian and Botham. Not unless you give us a reason to, anyway.”

  With that she turned and left the room, dogs in tow.

  “Sure thing, doc,” I said, under my breath.

  *****

  Funny me being there on my own. It was a big old house, no mistake about that. I don’t think I’d ever been inside such a cavernous place. Just the living room on its own was worth two of every room in my little box flat, maybe more. So I didn’t know quite what to do with myself. Settling in and being all natural and relaxed didn’t seem right somehow. My chilling out routine normally involved munching and drinking soda pop, but despite what she said I felt a bit hesitant to rummage through the food and things.

  I flicked on the TV. A whopper of a screen it was too, filling an entire wall and hanging there all pristine like some kind of precious painting. And she had Sky. Awesome. I clicked up and down through the channels, searching for anything with lots of blasting, punching and swearing.

  I found a Van Damme flick. It passed the time OK I suppose, but I just couldn’t settle. The sofa was too huge and comfy, the decor of the place too fancy and expensive looking. It just wasn’t very welcoming, despite all the money that had evidently been spent on decorations. It felt like a showroom, not really a gaff where real people could chill in their jammies, let it all hang out, have a bit of a chinwag. If you know what I mean.

  *****

  I took to pottering about, since relaxing didn’t appear to be on the cards. I inspected the ornaments, artwork and pictures daintily on display throughout the abode - crystal swans and painted porcelain dogs, a chest of shiny trophies, signed sports photos hanging on one wall, mostly cricketers I think, I didn’t recognise any of the faces. There was a piano in one corner, all clean and shiny. And a large painting of a yacht in some kind of sunny harbour.

  One coffee table did have what looked like a small collection of family pics and I spent a few minutes examining them. There was one of the doc and her hubbie. She was sort of smiling, but not quite. That seemed to be her way. The hubbie had a big smile though. A middle-aged guy with a dusty brown crown of hair laid like a bush around his shiny bald crown, and wearing a very nice suit. His smile looked completely fake to me, like he was putting on a show, or a dinner party for guests he hated. There were one or two pics with all four of them, the two parents with their two grown up kids, around about my age. The boy and girl both looked very smart, the boy in a posh dark suite and the girl in some kind of frilly white dress. They had the same fake smile as their dad too. Perhaps it was just a photo posing thing, I guessed. I wouldn’t know myself, we never did such things in my family.

  The dogs left me alone while I was snooping around. One of them had gone up with the doctor, while the other had settled down for a nap on one of the sofas where their appeared to be a special blanket for him. I could have sworn he was watching me, but every time I looked at him his eyes were closed.

  I went for a piss in the garden as instructed. Down the lawn it was getting chilly now, a bit of icy wind in the air. I slipped down the path to the back of the lawn and found the opening at the side of the bushes there. I walked through it. The bushes were overgrown and tall, so it was like entering a little forest, the branches and leaves around me on all sides, like sneaking through to another world. Then all of a sudden the big field appeared before me, frost hovering over the tall grass, all crooked and wild, and a big fat red autumn sun sinking on the hills behind. Kind of cool.

  I pushed myself a bit of the ways into that field, stomping out a path through the mess of greenery. When I reached a certain point, I felt ready to go, so I just came to a stop.

  I unzipped and let it rip. There was nothing to fear here. No people, nothing to damage or be damaged by. I enjoyed the moment I can tell you. Yes, the grass did all burn away. Yes, there was a strange smell, this time sort of like a bonfire. Yes, I left my mark on that field, a roughly circular space where all plant life had been obliterated, leaving just a smooth and wide brown hole of dead and polluted earth. A bird above might have noticed it, but that was it, this was a big field out in the middle of nowhere, and it would take a hell of a lot of pissing to ruin the whole thing. It was bliss, to be honest, just being able to pee again, free from worry.

  I zipped up and had a little thought that gave me a chuckle. Perhaps the doc wanted her field cleared? Perhaps that’s why she’d asked me here, to do some bothersome gardening for her? Perhaps I could have myself a new role in life? Dave, human weed killer?

  Chapter 10

  Having had the first uneventful pee of the day, I walked back to the house with a nice sticky sense of peace and harmony, all smothered in it. Things seemed just about tolerable, even a mite better than tolerable.

  The doc had woken up again when I entered the kitchen, and she seemed content to play some kind of a mother routine with me now.

  “So, what would you like to eat David?” she said, all smiles.

  She had changed and was now wearing just the kind of comfy garb I liked to chill in, sort of a furry tracksuit, albeit it with a middle-aged-feminine sort of a vibe, brown and beige colours and whatnot.

  “Oh I don’t mind doc,” I said. “Whatever you’ve got.”

  “Hmmm…” she said, opening the fridge. “Got some leftover veggie lasagne. And a lentil curry. And…” she stuck her head right in there, it was a vault of a fridge and all. “Some smoked mackerel too.”

  I didn’t want to be rude but none of those options appealed to me in the slightest. I was very much a fast-food man. High carb, high energy intake was my order of the day, each and every day. I ran a very strict diet for myself. Never any of that vegetarian nonsense on my menu, and fish was only to be consumed deep fried and with mountains of thick cut chips.

  She looked at me and I think she sort of got where I was coming from.

  “Well,” she said, crossing her arms. “Since you’re here, and Chris is away,” I guessed Chris to be her hubby, “why don’t we just order in a pizza?”

  “Oh yeah, pizza,” I said, trying not to sound too relieved, both about the pizza and the husband. “Can’t go wrong with a pizza.”

  “Fine,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I do love pizza myself actually. Only Chris is on this big health kick. Strictly low carbs and fresh fish and veggies. Do you know, I don’t think we’ve had pizza in over a year…”

  She seemed to go off into a little waking dream.

  I didn’t care. Takeaway pizza. She was an angel. A true lady. And this Chris, well, the less said about him the better.

  *****

  It was a strange little nugget of an evening, make no mistake.

  She called for that pizza - a medium thin and crispy Hawaiian for her, an extra-large thick-cut Meat Feast with cheese filled crusts for me - giving me a look when I gave her my selection, what I’d call good-humoured disbelief tinged with disgust, and then it was straight to the fridge, in and out and back to the table top with a chilled, half-drunk bottle of French white.

  “Excuse me if I have a drink,” she said, pulling out some glasses from a nearby cabinet. “It’s been a bit of a day. Would you like one?”

  “Probably shouldn’t,” I said. “But that’s never stopped me before. Go on then. I haven’t had the easiest of days myself.”<
br />
  “No you most certainly haven’t,” she said, pouring the wine.

  We both took our glasses, she raised hers and I felt a bit awkward again because I wasn’t used to drinking in such a civilised fashion. She looked at me and smiled and sort of burst into a little giggle, the like of which I would never have expected to see from her.

  “For Gods sake, relax,” she said, clinking her glass onto mine and taking a large sip.

  I shrugged my shoulders and took a decent pelt myself. It was nice, proper wine. Cool to the tongue and bursting with fruity grapes. I could almost picture those grapes being picked from the vines, being handled by the dainty fingers of buxom farm maidens riding white swans to their French villas in the sunshine.