by Tim Orchard
Everything seemed changed and a bit out of control, and somehow her throat was dry and she realized she was holding her breath. The idea of dealing with actual criminals hadn’t occurred to Petal before, and being ready for them—what did that mean? Would they have to fight them? What if innocent islanders were hurt? She couldn’t think straight. It was like too much information! And then, of course, Dick was sitting beside her on the other side, one hand resting on her thigh and with absolutely no idea what she was feeling. It was overload—her heart was beating bish, bash, bosh—and also, she had gone partially deaf. She just couldn’t concentrate or seem to grasp what was being said. People spoke but their words flew past her ears and out the door, gone forever. And still she left her knee where it was, against Si’s.
Stuff was talked about and she heard words and even whole sentences without connecting one to another. Sometimes she breathed and sometimes she held her breath back. The feelings she was feeling moved almost too quickly. It was like the Si thing had come up all of a sudden and slapped her. The fact it was someone she’d known since childhood seemed to make things stranger. What had changed? Something about Si and his thigh against hers. She liked it; it wasn’t his fault. Dick, on the other hand, hand on her thigh, she didn’t know now about him anymore. What had changed? She didn’t know. She couldn’t think. What was that white noise? Then suddenly it seemed Dick was talking and that was unusual. Mostly he left the talking to her.
Dick said, “I know you’re talking about doing something for the whole island and all that, but what if some people don’t agree? What if they just want to take their share of the money and leave?”
Petal tried to focus. Dick’s hand wasn’t touching her thigh anymore. Instead, Dick was gesturing about above the table, like he had a point to make. Petal gaped at him. The money was for the island and the people of the island. It wasn’t a personal thing; it was a communal thing. Why would anybody want to take money that was never even theirs? She tried to protest.
Dick laughed. “If someone offered me ten grand or something, I’d leave like a shot!”
Petal looked disbelievingly at her boyfriend. Was he serious? Ever since he’d gone to see his mother, he’d talked about leaving the island and going to London, but Petal had shrugged it off as just talk, but maybe there was more to it than that.
Dick’s mother had run off back to London when he was in the terrible twos, and he’d not seen her again until earlier this year. Apparently, she had offered him a room in her house. What was that about? They hardly knew each other. Dick had talked about them going away together, but Petal wasn’t going anywhere. She’d been born in London and that was enough already!
Meeting his mother after so many years had changed a few things for Dick. He couldn’t help but blame his father for keeping them apart all these years, but Henry was old and he’d had a hard life, and like most men of a certain age, he was an emotional cripple. But what was hard had become harder recently, as he’d realized his father could no longer run the farm without him. That scared him. He had ideas and ambitions and felt hamstrung by his father, the island, and Petal was great but…
Everyone assumed he didn’t know his mother and that was true, but she had, all through his childhood, sent birthday and Christmas presents. A return address was never included. Then, on his eighteenth birthday, a check had arrived and a letter with her address. She hadn’t said sorry or anything like that, but like the past was the past, right?
It had taken close on two years for Dick to pluck up the courage to go and see her. Even then his dad didn’t like it, but what could he do? She’d invited Dick to visit and that was what he’d done, and, yes, his mother had offered him a place to stay, but his father was an obligation he didn’t know how to get out of. He’d raised him despite everything, and you can’t dodge that bullet. If anybody ever wanted a prodigal brother to turn up out of the blue, it was Dick. Yes, kill the fatted calf and then he, Dick, could just bugger off. He knew it wasn’t going to happen. There wasn’t a long-lost brother, sister, auntie, uncle, cousin, no one. They were the last of the line.
“Dipstick’s got a point, but we can sort that out later,” D.C. said.
Dipstick! Petal’s natural instinct was to jump and defend Dick, as she had so many times before, but the words stuck in her craw. She bit her lip and almost unconsciously let her hand slip from where it lay on the table until, beneath, it came to rest on Si’s thigh. She felt him tense before his hand softly covered her own.
Across the table, John Newman said, “Yes, whatever about that. Come on, Petal, let’s hear what you have to say.”
They all looked at her. She realized she didn’t know what she had to say anymore. They all waited on her. Petal had spent half the day thinking, but now her mind was a complete blank. She needed more time to study the co-op idea and form a proper plan. She tried to remember the passion she’d felt when she’d confronted D.C. on the beach and hoped that it could carry her through now, but with Dick on one side and Si on the other, it was all getting too complicated. Then there were the dodgy fucks they had to deal with to make it happen, not to mention the amount of money D.C. had talked about. It all seemed like too much.
Removing her hand from beneath Si’s, Petal got to her feet. Standing was a mistake. Looking down on those expectant faces, when she didn’t have an idea: not good. Nothing was in her mind, and if any of them thought she had an original idea, could they please tell her what it was, right now? One of the things she’d learned from D.C. was to let them know: when you walk, you’ve got your head up, regardless, and when you’ve got nothing, go aggressive. She took a deep breath and said whatever came into her head. “What does it matter? What has it got to do with me? Everything I thought has been messed up already, with crime and money. I didn’t know, I just thought we could save the island. Maybe we still could but I don’t know how! All right, call me stupid, but I still think a co-op is a valid idea. I’ve been to Dymchurch and found out some stuff about co-ops but…” She stumbled and stuttered and came to a sliding halt. When she sat down, Si took one hand and, unbeknownst on the other side, Dick took the other, and that was all very well, but the other faces around the table told her the truth.
What she’d said was nonsense. She could feel the tears pricking at the back of her eyes, even before D.C. shook his head and said, “You’ve let me down. You know, I listened to you on the beach and I thought about what you said and I could see the sense in it. But you ain’t convinced me this time, and if you can’t convince me, don’t know how you expect to convince the rest of the people when we get them together. You better think on and sort yourself out.”
On the verge of tears, Petal looked at her dad, and harsh as he was, he was right but it didn’t help.
Julie snapped, “D.C.!”
At the same moment, Si pushed back his chair and jumped to his feet. “That’s not fair! The idea was Petal’s but you can’t expect her to think of everything!”
With a withering look, D.C. said, “An idea is just that, an idea. We all get them, it’s what your brain’s for. Ideas go nowhere unless you come up with the practicals. An idea is like philosophy, no use unless it works in everyday life. I’m telling you, when they come back these people won’t come back with flowers in their hands.” He pointed at Petal and shook his head. “I expect more of you, girl. If that’s all you got, I’m off. Let me know when you’ve sorted yourself out.” He turned and headed for the door.
Julie and Phil Paloney chorused, “D.C.!”
John Newman rose and followed him to the door. “Come on, D.C., we’re here to sort this out between us. Don’t go.”
But D.C. wasn’t listening. He waved a hand over his shoulder as he mounted his bike and said, “Talk to them about starting a co-op, John, that was one of Petal’s original ideas that she seems to have forgotten about. If we manage to get the money, we’ve got to clean it—you can’t just walk into a bank with that much cash and open an account. I’ll see you, Jo
hn Newman.”
The meeting dissolved but not before John Newman had a say. If they could manage to sell it, without too much trouble, he wasn’t against the idea of using the dope money to revitalize the island, but it couldn’t stay in his barn, it was too easy to find. Lift up the tarpaulin and there it was. Julie told them she would help Petal with the co-op idea. As a group, they went and looked in the barn, and for those like Julie and Phil Paloney, who’d not seen it all together in a lump, as it were, there seemed to be an awful lot of it.
Back in the kitchen they thought about where it could be hidden. Dick suggested the police house. Ho fucking ho! Paloney put the blocks on that. There was a derelict just outside the village—an option perhaps. Trouble was then anybody could find it. Underground would have been ideal, but there weren’t any caves on Stickle. No! It was Kent, not Derbyshire. Bury it? That would need to be quite a big hole. Some of the other blow-ins who liked a smoke had sheds and garages where it could be hidden, but then that was just more people to deal with, more chances of chat. More chances for things to go wrong.
They thought and pondered, and then Si looked at Dick and said, “What about those old cellars under your house? No one goes there. In fact most people don’t even know they exist. Reckon it would be safe there, wouldn’t it?”
The cellars! Dick shook his head. “What about my dad? He’d go mad if he found out!”
Si said, “Come on, your dad wouldn’t even know—I bet he never goes down there.”
Dick was in a corner. He looked around the table. They were all waiting.
In the end, he swallowed and mumbled, “Well, he’s going over to Dymchurch Friday for glass for the greenhouses. When he goes, he usually stays and comes back on the Saturday afternoon ferry.”
With uncharacteristic finality, Si smiled. “So we do it Friday after the ferry leaves.”
20
It was about eight A.M. when D.C. arrived at Julie’s the next morning. “I came to say sorry to Petal, maybe help her,” he said, and shrugged. “You know, get a proper plan together before the next meeting.”
Julie tilted her head and scowled. There was more than one reason she wasn’t happy to see her ex-husband so early in the morning, and she said, “The thing I’ve always liked about you, D.C., is you’re always yourself.”
D.C. puffed his chest out and grinned happily. “That’s what I try to be—”
But Julie cut him short with a look. She didn’t need to hear how it was basic existential philosophy, how it was important to be in the moment whenever possible. All she could see at that moment was the little-girl-lost look on Petal’s face as he’d left the meeting the previous night.
With an edge, Julie said, “Sometimes, in certain circumstances, I wish you could be someone else instead. Just for a few minutes, you know?” Julie always knew how and when she’d hurt D.C. If he loved you, it was easy, and now she could see the little movements of despair all across his features. She didn’t want to hurt him, but there it was. Love is a strange thing. She watched the air come slowly out of D.C.’s lungs as he deflated and flopped down onto the couch. She sat on the couch arm and rested a hand on his knee.
Despite their differences, the pair generally supported each other, even occasionally still falling in bed together. But that wasn’t now. Still with a chill, she said, “I know, I know, you don’t want to hear it, but sometimes less is more. Sometimes your strength, it’s like a weakness because it’s unnecessary. You made Petal look like a fool. What did that achieve? What good did it do?”
For once D.C. didn’t have a word to say. He knew she was right but it didn’t stop him from hurting. He felt a great need to be comforted. There wasn’t going to be any comfort. Hesitantly, he tried again: “I didn’t—”
With a curt shake of her head, Julie stood and moved over to the sink. “Don’t bother. I’ve known you for too long.”
There were a few bits of dirty crockery in the washing-up bowl. Julie ran water. A squirt of liquid. With a cup and dishcloth in her hands, she paused and looked out across the field, where the chimney of the Newmans’ farmhouse could be seen through the trees.
The floorboards creaked overhead and D.C. looked up. “Look, when she comes down I’ll say sorry. I’ll help her.”
With a sigh, Julie let her hands dangle in the water, looked down, and closed her eyes. There was nothing she could do.
People expect to see what they expect to see. D.C. expected to see Petal. But it wasn’t Petal coming down from above but John Newman. John Newman was a surprise. Something was wrong. D.C.’s brain demanded a moment, a hiatus, a timeout, as it tried to compute the bloody obvious. John Newman. Julie. Rewind. John Newman had just come downstairs. John Newman was hanging about first thing in the morning in his ex-wife’s house. What’s worse was that D.C. really liked John Newman. Worse yet, he still loved Julie. Why hadn’t they told him?
Bolting upright and off the couch in a moment, D.C. strode, shoulders squared, two steps toward John. He shook his head and jabbed his finger, head all over the place. First time? No. He could tell. And if Petal knew, then Dipstick knew. And Si. For once he couldn’t think of anything to say but continued to jab his finger at John anyway. He felt like a dill and turned away, walking back across the room, everything nagging at him now. Every moment was a moment to D.C., that was the way he tried to live. What a joke! Reality hurt. They had always pretended to be so grown-up about this sort of thing, and now he didn’t feel very grown-up at all. They’d both had dalliances but had always kept it out of each other’s faces. But this was John Fucking Newman. This was on another level.
Some things are going to come and come straight off, like a slap in the face; other things are on the horizon and come slowly, like the beast slouching toward Bethlehem, and John Newman had seen this coming a long way off, coming on slow, but now it was here and it was as it had always been, inevitable. The finger jabbing didn’t bother him. He smiled, he said, “All right, D.C.?”
D.C. couldn’t help himself. Didn’t even ask himself. His voice was back. “What the fuck are you doing here at this time of fucking day! This is definitely going beyond the beyonce! Ain’t you got some kind of bovine or ovine to castrate or some other farmyard shit to do?! Look at you, the fucking gay Lothario farmer sneaking down the stairs! Or is it just the landlord collecting his rent?”
Julie made to speak then, but before she could, John interrupted. “What? What are you on about? I’ve heard of ‘begin the beguine,’ but ‘beyond the beyonce,’ that’s nonsense, even for you!” John Newman didn’t like to argue but he didn’t roll over either. Quietly, he added, “Sod you, old son.”
D.C. shouted out that it was an old Battersea saying and something his old mother would say instead of swearing because she—unlike you, you cunt—was a very religious woman. D.C.’s raised voice brought Petal down from above, and she stood in the doorway at the foot of the stairs and watched.
John said some things, reasonable things, like “You told me you didn’t know your parents. Foster homes and orphanages, wasn’t it?” D.C. said things, unreasonable things, in an attempt to defend a mother he never knew, never had, and to slag off John.
At the sink Julie slapped her hand down hard on the draining board. “Stop it, D.C.! John and I, we—” She stopped. What was the point? She felt no reason to explain herself to him. She was a grown and independent woman, and he was like a child sometimes. Anyway, turn up uninvited and you find what you find. Herself and John had been seeing each other for nearly eighteen months. She sighed—maybe they should have told him at the start.
D.C. took the sigh as a sign he was off the hook and made to start up again, and Julie snapped, “Shut up! Just shut up!”
In the lull that followed, Petal said cheerily to John, “Call him a hippie.”
D.C. sneered, John laughed, Julie laughed, Petal grinned. John Newman said, cheekily, “Don’t come preaching morals to me, you old hippie!”
That was it. With nose-curling di
sgust, D.C. spat, “I ain’t no fucking hippie! I never was! It’s a fuck-off weak philosophy—all that ‘we’re all in it together’ nonsense. It’s patently fucking obvious we ain’t, are we? Some people are takers. I don’t know if it’s genetic or what, but there ain’t no changing the takers.”
Newman frowned. He was getting a bit umpty himself now. D.C. lived free on his land. Had for years now. “Are you talking to me? Are you talking to me? Are you of all people calling me a taker?”
Defensive and wrong, again D.C. sneered like a child. “Fuck you! Take it however you like it. It’s bad enough you sleep with my woman—”
The wet dishcloth flew across the kitchen and slapped D.C. upside the head. Without even looking at Julie, he picked it up from the floor where it had fallen, wiped the side of his face with his shirt cuff, and tossed it back into the sink.
“Okay! Sleep with my ex-wife. But I tell you, calling me a hippie, there you really insult me, John Newman.” It was nonsense and he knew it.
They were all looking at him. Physically it was all there—the jabbing finger, the strutting shoulders—but the voice was weak. The power was gone. The argument was gone. D.C. was hurt and couldn’t hide it. His Julie and John. He looked shocked, shook, the hard exterior beginning to crack and crumble, but luckily the foundations were deep and he held himself tight, despite the tears in his eyes. And, because there was still something between them, sometimes Julie thought to reach out to him but couldn’t; she was just too angry. Instead she snapped again, “Get out!”