by Tim Orchard
Silence ruled. Here was the crux, here was what it was all about. Stand or fall. No one spoke. Julian shuffled his feet, and Postmistress P said, “Not a very nice man, your dad, is he?”
It was true, but for Amber it seemed she’d said just enough bad things about her father and fancied a change. She said, “Depends who you are and what he wants.”
Postmistress P laughed. “True enough of us all.”
From near the back, a man said, “Anyway, he’ll have a job. There isn’t a ferry on a Sunday.” That caused a little ripple of laughter.
Recognizing Tony from her journey over, she said, “That won’t bother him. He’ll pay you generously, and if you won’t take money, he’ll use force.”
Tony said, “Him and that big fella?”
Flatly, Amber said, “There will be more of them this time.”
Henry asked, “How many?”
Amber didn’t know, so she guessed. “Four or five. He told me he’d have ten grand with him and it’s take it or leave it, but he won’t leave without the dope. Perhaps I could talk to him?”
Henry asked, “But from what you told me earlier, since it was moved, he doesn’t know where it is, does he?”
Amber shook her head. “No.”
Unable to stop herself, Petal pointed at the girl. “Why should we believe her? I don’t trust her. She’s already told him where the stuff was once. She saw us move it. All she needs to do is walk out of here and phone.”
Dick spoke up. “Have you got a better idea?” Petal’s face colored, and when she didn’t answer, he snapped, “Well then.”
Before an argument could start, Paloney interjected. “Anyway, the hardest thing we have to contend with will be getting the money.”
Henry asked Amber, “How do we do that?” The girl was at a loss.
D.C. pulled a face. “That’s the tricky bit.”
Paloney said, “So what are you saying?”
Despite Petal’s sneering look, Amber said, “Perhaps I could help. He’ll expect me to meet him and take him to where it is.” She paused. “I could talk to him.”
Paloney gave her a sideways grin. “From what you said, he doesn’t sound like a man who’s coming to talk.”
Amber wasn’t sure but said, “Knowing Dad, he’ll talk, until he can’t get his own way.”
Enough was enough. The policeman leaned over and whispered in Julian Crabbe’s ear, and the vicar clapped his hands and addressed the congregation. “If we voted, say, on a show of hands and decide to accept the majority vote, would that seem reasonable?”
There were only two gainsayers. One, a very old man, didn’t raise a hand because he hadn’t any idea what was being said, and by the time it had been explained to him it didn’t matter because the majority rules. The other was the woman Liz, with the two children. Julie asked what her objections were. Mostly it seemed to be on some kind of quasi-moralistic grounds, about drugs being bad. She said, “Is this the sort of thing we should involve ourselves in and what do we tell our children when they ask? What about the moral question?”
The moral question was too much for D.C. and he jumped up, exasperated. “Morally? There isn’t a moral question involved.”
She tried again: “But we’ll be breaking the law. What will happen if they catch us?”
Before Paloney had to repeat himself, D.C. waved a hand in his own direction. “Me. I already said I’ll take the blame and Paloney already told us he’s the law here. Also, there is a difference between morality and the law. So let’s get beyond what the cargo is. All right, some of you don’t take drugs and some of you don’t even like the idea of other people taking drugs. Fair enough. But try to think of it as merely a product, you know, like beans—and if we had a hill of beans turn up on the beach and we found a buyer, would it be wrong to sell the beans?” He held out his hands in supplication to the woman. “Come on, really? It’s like finding some lost hoard of Saxon coins or something, what do they call it?”
Paloney said, “A treasure trove.”
D.C. nodded. “Yeh, thanks! It’s like that, except we don’t have to offer ours to the government before we can spend it.”
Liz sighed heavily and said, testily, “I’m not happy, but I accept the majority decision. I want to stay on the island as much as the next person—I was only asking. I just don’t think we should have to break the law to do it.”
A spoiler plan for Carter was formed and the meeting ended. A bit later, outside the church, where a lot of the islanders were hanging around, talking the whole situation over, Paloney, police hat under his arm, finally took the spliff from D.C. After a long drag he said, “Thank heavens that’s over.”
D.C. put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Yeh, but tomorrow’s coming.”
Off to one side by themselves, Amber and Dick went through a little litany of accusation and apology. Dick dismayed, Amber contrite. But none of that could last for very long. They moved to each other slowly and near to each other such that they couldn’t help touching; little gestures and looks, and love wasn’t dead. Dick reasoned, whatever her original intentions, Amber had come good and the past was the past and love still existed. Amber felt a little spaced out, like she’d gone through some kind of trial. Deception had been stripped away and she had chosen a side. The only worry was it wasn’t her dad’s side. They kissed, it was good.
Henry was happy. He didn’t know exactly why, but he didn’t care either. Something had slipped away, like when people say a weight had been lifted off their shoulders, but what he felt was more abstract. He spoke to people and shook hands with folks he wouldn’t normally acknowledge, and it was nice when people said, “Nice one, H,” or “Way to go, Henry.” What could he do but smile and say thank you? He’d shaken hands with John Newman for the first time in nearly twenty years. He felt all strange and open. It was a sensation he’d forgotten.
He couldn’t explain why the world had turned when he’d looked at Amber earlier that evening, but it had and he’d known, in an instant, Dick was as good as gone. It was a flash and the world had turned. It was what Henry wanted, needed, and he hadn’t known it completely until that moment. The idea made him smile. Suddenly the farm, the bane of his adult life, his chosen burden for years, didn’t matter. As they walked to the Land Rover, he put his arms around Dick’s and Amber’s shoulders and said, “This is the most exciting thing to happen here in…” But he couldn’t think of an in, so he said, “There’s cold cider in the fridge. Why don’t we go back to the house and talk about the future?”
Sometimes it takes time to get around to things, and the three of them sat at the kitchen table drinking ice-cold cider. One, two, three glasses. Henry raised his chin toward Amber. “You’ve got a good girl here, boy.”
Dick was in a kind of semi-shocked-type state. It was like suddenly the real man had stepped out from behind the man. Dick was stunned and it wasn’t over.
Henry poured more cider. “I’ve been stupid. I’m sorry. I’m going over to see John Newman tomorrow. It’s been a long time coming, but think I’m going to say sorry to him. When we were your age, we were best friends, like you and Si.”
He paused and they all drank more cider, starting to get a bit pissed. Henry was on a roll, so he said, carefully, “You’re going to leave.” He waved at Amber. “And who wouldn’t.”
It was all too much for Dick, he couldn’t believe it. He did a double take on his dad to give himself time, then he said, slowly, almost warily, “I would like to leave, but I know how things are and, anyway, I don’t have anywhere to stay or any money.”
Henry looked at Dick and Amber across the table. He felt soft and daft and quite peaceful. He was breathing easy. He said, “Why don’t you go and stay with your mother until you sort things out.”
Pushing himself up from the table, Henry shambled from the room. They could hear him clumping about upstairs and pulled faces at each other and wondered whatever would happen next. After a few minutes, he returned and slapped a post office savings
book on the table and pushed it toward Dick. He watched the sudden look of shock as it flitted across his son’s face as he open the savings book.
“Dad, this—this is thousands.”
A surprise still to himself, Henry smiled. “I’ve been putting a bit away for you for a few years now. You won’t starve. Enough to set yourself up in…” He stopped, having absolutely no idea what Dick wanted to do. He shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
Dick shook his head. All the excuses he’d had for staying on the island, for staying safe, for dreaming rather than taking action, were gone. It was strange, overwhelming. Confused, he said, “But what about you? I can’t leave you alone on the farm.”
Henry studied the lino at his feet and then looked up at Dick. There were tears in his eyes. “Son, sod the farm! Don’t make the same mistake I did. I’ll look for someone with a few bob to invest, a partner or someone to help take the load.” Henry shrugged and stood up from the kitchen table. “It’s all change, son. You, me, the farm—all change. Anyway, I’m going to have a piss.” He waved a hand at Amber. “Sorry, don’t mind my language.”
When he’d gone, Amber whispered, “Your dad’s lovely. He was so nice to me earlier.”
Stunned by his father’s sudden metamorphoses into Mr. Nice Guy, Dick laughed out loud. His dad being lovely. That was a first. He’d heard his father called many things over the years but lovely wasn’t one of them. He said, “What’s happened? What have you done? What did you say to him? I don’t remember him being like this since I was a little kid. It’s fantastic.”
Amber blushed. “I-I don’t know, I just told him the truth. I was scared at first but he was nice, he listened.”
To Dick, it seemed his world had turned upside down in a couple days. All the impossibilities had become possibilities. It was all almost too much to take, and it made Dick giggle some more. He shook his head in complete admiration. “You’re lovely, Amber. Thank you.”
29
Henry sat at the kitchen table for a good while after Dick and Amber had shuffled off to the flat. He still felt strange and a little elated and not ready for sleep. He walked out into the garden at the front of the house. The grass was long and the rosebushes were blown and half covered in rank, climbing reeds. He pulled down his fly and leisurely pissed on the nearest one.
All about him was quiet, and Henry took long, slow breaths. He hadn’t felt so relaxed in years. For once, he didn’t resent the farm or the island. He glanced about at the old house and garden, at the tall trees all shadowy and dark, and he looked out beyond, to all the places he couldn’t see, all the acres of the farm and the low-slung black lump of the island, and he felt good.
Back in the house, he took a fresh quart of cider from the fridge and walked back through the garden and out onto the road. It was near midnight, and the moon dropped light, fitful and random, through the shifting clouds. Henry mooched about, sipping cider, with no particular place to go. As he entered the village, he was surprised to see a beaten-up Morris Minor parked beside the phone box. There were two kids asleep in baby seats in the back, and Liz was on the phone.
Since his wife left him, Henry had had few affairs and even fewer with women on the island. Liz had been one of the few, and somehow they were still, ten years on, almost friends. She’d turned up one summer, before D.C. and the rest of the wasters. It had been easy to tell she didn’t come from the laboring classes, but she’d worked in the fields with the rest. It had also been obvious, back then, she was fragile, and while they were lovers she’d told him she’d had a nervous breakdown while at university—a culmination of years pandering to overbearing parents whom, she’d claimed, she never wanted to see again. Sensitive as she was, it had amazed Henry they had ever managed to get together, and their affair lasted but the one summer.
Liz had stayed on. To Henry, a shadow of that fragility had stayed on with her as well. A few years later, she had hooked up with Terry Davis, one of the island’s more useless residents. They were together for a while, but after the second of the two chavvies made an entrance, Terry had quit the island. Some said he was working on the rigs off Aberdeen.
Without thinking much about it, Henry pulled open the phone box door, and Liz jumped and the handful of coins from her hand spilled to the floor. She stared at him, bugeyed. “What do you want? What are you doing here—are you drunk?”
Surprised, Henry pulled back but kept a hand on the open door. “Me? Nothing. I saw you and just thought I’d say hello.”
She squatted to gather up the coinage. “Hello? You must be drunk, wandering around in the middle of the night.”
Henry laughed. “Maybe, but what are you doing this time of night? Who are you phoning? Not Terry, surely?”
Liz swung her head back and forth, like a heifer awaiting slaughter, as she counted the cash. “We don’t speak anymore.”
Unable to help himself, Henry said, “With luck, he’ll never come back.”
Straightening up, Liz gave him a look he couldn’t read, but there were tears in her eyes. “I wasn’t phoning him. I don’t even know where he is.”
There must have been near a quid in Liz’s palm—it wasn’t a local call. Henry drank a little cider and thought about the way she voted. He passed the bottle to Liz; she palmed it off. Henry joked, “Who you phoning, then?”
She didn’t answer for a few seconds, then said, “I was surprised at you tonight, the way you voted.”
Henry had been surprised himself for hours on end now, and he shrugged and drank. “I think I voted for the best.”
Liz was unhappy, weighed down, and it had been hard lately to think straight. The boys didn’t help. In a dark part of her, she wanted to smash something, to go as she had in her teens, off the rails. Unhappily, she admitted, “I said I’d go along with the majority, but I can’t, I think it’s wrong. It’s not the drugs—well, not altogether.” She gestured toward the car. “I’ve got two young children.” She spoke as though it was some kind of truth, some baseline that everybody understood. In case Henry was too drunk to comprehend, she added, “No one should have to rely on criminality to survive, not in a country like this. It corrupts us all, even the innocents. If you must know, I was going to phone the police.”
Henry did not immediately react to this. He was the man, after all, who’d created a row until a policeman had finally been posted to the island, when it hadn’t had one for years. They sent Paloney, and whatever he’d thought before, he’d come to realize the man was perfect for the island. Finally, he smirked, “Come on, Liz, if the real police come here, half the island could be arrested for something.” He stopped, then said, “Even you.”
That got her. She bridled. “What do you mean? I’ve done nothing. I’m doing nothing. What are you talking about?”
Henry looked sideways, he drank some cider, he looked up at the sky, and he pointed at the car. “Don’t take this wrong, Liz, but I know your car’s not legal.” Before she could reply, he added, with a grin, “Even Paloney knows your car ain’t legal.”
It was true. Liz opened and closed her hand over the money and started to cry. She could barely keep the basics together anymore. She said, “I don’t know what to do, Henry.”
He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He didn’t want her to phone the police, but a little bit drunk, he didn’t know what to do either and so went for a simple drunk’s answer. “Look, Liz, why don’t you go home. Here.” He shoved the half-full bottle of cider into her hand. “Drive the kids home and put them to bed, have a little drink and think about it. Sleep on it, think about everybody else.”
Liz took the bottle. She was fed up with thinking of other people. “I know Terry was…” She shook her head. “It’s not been easy. To be honest, I don’t want to think about anything anymore. I like you, Henry, but I don’t know, I’m scared for the future.”
30
Once he’d decided on a course of action, Carter liked to get things done. They set out early, Carter and Simp in the B
MW and the other four stooges following behind in the panel van. What he actually felt, no one but Carter knew. To Simp everything Carter did was a confidence-building exercise. It was bluster, ego, arrogance. Carter was in charge and he liked to show it, in the way he flexed his shoulders, in the deep brown luster of his brogues, the way he adjusted the jacket of his dark maroon mohair suit, the way he darted his head forward and pulled at the cuffs of his shirt. The way he talked to the thugs in the van. The way he relaxed back into the seat of the car as it shot through the long stretches of London’s sprawling suburbia, out into the green of the Kent countryside. A little king in his world.
They settled into the drive. Simp jabbed a tape into the deck. Another soul compilation. Wilson Pickett went by and then Sam Cooke. When Gladys Knight came on singing “Midnight Train to Georgia,” Carter gave an obnoxious laugh. “Will you listen to this? Fuck me, what a fucking bunch of shite! Listen to her. Sitting there with her poncy L.A. mates and slagging off her bloke.” Mockingly, Carter started to sing along to certain lyrics: “L.A. proved too much for the man. He couldn’t make it… he’s going back to… the world he left behind.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, took his flask out, and, looking at Simp in defiance, took a long snifter. “What a horrible song. Basically, she’s saying he can’t cut the custard, and all her mates, those snide fuckers, singing in the back, Oh, ah, and he didn’t get far. What the fuck? Listen, she sings, So he pawned all his hopes and even sold his old car.” Carter jabbed a finger at Simp. “She even puts him down because he doesn’t have a good motor. Oh, yeh, and then she tells her mates she’s going.” Carter warbled, “And I’ll be with him.” He took another shot from the flask. “Like he’s a complete tosser, but what can a girl do? She loves him. Then there’s her friends, we know you will, we’re sure you will, like she’s some kind of martyr. A bunch of snide fuckers. So tell me, soul man, what kind of a two-faced cunt is she, eh? Who’d want to go anywhere with her?” He slumped back into his seat and expelled a great lungful of air. Simp handed him a couple of tablets. Carter took them and washed them down with another snort.