The Village Fate

by William Hadley

  Chapter Eight

  Hubert turned to his sister as they approached the bridge, “now Claudilia I need you to be polite this morning and play nice. Macintosh Energy is important to the village and if this meeting goes well we’ll do some valuable business with them. You may not like them, but this is business, so behave.” Claudilia grunted.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” said Hubert as they rumbled along the road towards Macintosh Energy. “This new technology is generating power as well as being good for farming, we can use the by-product as a fertiliser and we get a good price for the crop we deliver. He’s employing local people, who are spending money in the pubs, one of which we own, and in the local shop. I can’t see what your problem is.”

  “I don’t have a problem with the indigestor Hubert, and I like Angus. But I hate the way Mrs Muck thinks she is better than the rest of us.” … The snotty cow drives around in her brand new Range Rover with her nose in the air, she needs a good punch on it if you ask me!

  “Her name isn’t Mrs Muck, and you’ve got to stop calling her that. One day it’s going to slip out when someone’s listening, then think how hurt she’ll be. Her name is Maggie, or Mrs Mackintosh if you must, but please Claudilia, not Mrs Muck,” replied Hubert.

  “I don’t understand what you see in the woman.” …Five foot and seven inches tall with blond hair (from a bottle I’d bet) and blue eyes. Thin because she lives on air and lettuce leaves as well as spending two hours a day in the gym and the sauna. She flirts with Hubert all the time and claims to be “around forty”. That’s what he sees in her. “She’s so thin Mr Crumble could blow her over with one of his farts, and she acts like a total air head. No, I take that back, she is a total air head. She never rides a horse and can’t even fish. I have nothing in common with that….” Claudilia hunted for the right words. “That stick insect.”

  Hubert sighed.“Okay, just try will you. Remember this is business. You don’t have to like them, just think about the money.”

  “Come on, we’re here,” said Hubert as they drove through the gates and past the new sign announcing Welcome to Macintosh Energy, tomorrow’s power from yesterday’s waste. “Pull on a smile and if you’re good I’ll buy you lunch at the pub on the way home.” Hubert parked in front of the reception building and inwardly groaned. He was parked next to a green Porsche Cayenne Hybrid, Angus had been talking about it for months and Hubert heard that one had been delivered. Still the walk from their house to the office was about two hundred meters and Angus was a busy man. You need a fast car to cover that sort of distance each day!

  Hubert, Claudilia, JR and Max didn’t get out of the car, they exploded from it. The two dogs had seen the office door open and Hamish come out. Hamish was no longer young, but he managed a few minutes of running around when his friends JR and Max came to visit.

  Behind Hamish came Angus, at six foot in his socks he was neither tall nor short, he carried his fifteen and a half stone well and his once brown hair was speckled with distinguished grey flecks.

  Claudilia took a good look at him as he descended the three steps from reception to the car park, and once again decided that this was one Macintosh she’d like to try on for size …God, did I think that out loud - I didn’t mean it like that - well perhaps I did, just a little. It was just such a shame he’s married to that stick insect, she thought as he approached, arms wide and ready to engulf her in a welcoming hug, Claudilia hugged back and hung on for a moment longer than necessary. She enjoyed the feeling of his strong arms around her.

  “No hugs for me thanks Angus,” said Hubert. They shook hands and together the three walked back to Angus’s office. There were nods all round, “Cindy, be a love and bring coffee for three,” he called through the door to his assistant.

  “It’s the first time you’ve been here since we finished phase one of the build isn’t it?” Angus didn’t sit behind his desk, instead he settled into an easy chair and gestured for them to take the office settee. “Most of the landscaping’s done and it looks much better from the road than it did during the construction phase. We still have some tidying up to do, and with the council contract we’ll need to build an extra receiving area, as well as

  the second digester. It’s all very exciting, but also quite stressful right now.”

  “So are you in full production yet Angus?” said Hubert.

  “We’re a little under eighty percent I would guess, we need to look at the quality of the feedstock, and the rate the agitators work. But we’re still in our first few months and there’s lots of adjustments to do. A little bit here, a little bit there, I’m confident that by the time we’ve been going a year we will be hitting our target. Right now it’s summer, there’s less demand for gas so the national grid can turn us off at night. By the winter we’ll be pumping enough gas to heat five thousand homes.”

  “Okay, Angus that’s enough of the sales stuff,” laughed Hubert, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “you’re not talking to a tour group from the local high school. How’s it really going, be honest?”

  Angus sighed and his shoulders dropped. “Well, as I said, we are at about eighty percent on a good day, but we could use a few more good days. And we need to look at how we manage our feedstock, there’s too much running around at the moment, tractors coming and going at all hours. But my real worry isn’t what we’re doing out there,” he pointed in the general direction of the yard. “That’s manageable. No, it’s where I’m going to find the capital for the second digester, and I need it, if I’m going to make this place really pay.”

  Cindy came in with the coffee, there was a lull in the conversation while she left and Angus poured. “We need about three hundred and fifty thousand pounds. With that we can build the new bays for receiving kitchen waste, a conveyor for sorting the stuff that can’t go in and a great big grinder that’ll break the solid bits into a gungy soup.” Angus leaned back and continued. “Capital’s not as easy to find as it was a few years ago. Investors are worried about Brexit and the returns from renewable energy aren’t as high as when we had a coalition. We can go on as we are, and it’ll be okay, but to make real money we need to be handling food waste for the council.”

  “What’s changed?” asked Claudilia.

  “The Tory majority and the referendum, that’s what changed. Now they don’t have to keep the Lib Dems happy they’ve reduced their support for plants like this. Our first phase is okay because the contract was signed before the tariff was cut, but the new digester will have a new contract and the rate will be less than half that of the first one – it’ll be very marginal. Most short term investors have lost interest.” Angus looked straight at Hubert. “What I need is someone who can see the bigger picture. Someone who can recognise the long term value. It won’t pay much for the first couple of years, but when both plants are running at capacity there’ll be twenty years of good returns from this business.”

  Then he smiled, clapped his hands and said, “now drink your coffee and let’s have a walk around shall we.” Angus snatched up his keys and phone then opened the door to where Cindy was working at her desk, a radio played the local BBC station in the background, the volume was turned down low. “We’ll be outside for a while if anyone important wants me, and if Maggie calls, you can tell her I’ll be out for lunch.”

  As they walked across the carpark to the silage clamps Angus explained his need to go out for a couple of hours. If Maggie knew he was on site at mid-day she’d bring him a tofu salad, or something similar. “She’s a great cook of course, but from time to time I’d like to recognise what I’m eating. Today I fancy something which once had a pulse, I think I’ll pop across to the pub for a steak sandwich, or something like that.”

  At the first of the digester tanks feedstock was being loaded, a large yellow tractor was collecting silage from a nearby clamp and depositing it in the delivery hopper. “The conveyor at the bottom moves the heap towards the crushing rollers,” said Angus. “They break up any s
olid bits and that helps release the gas.” The tractor dumped another load into the pit and the conveyor came to life, inching several tonnes of silage towards a set of slowly turning teeth.

  “What can you put in there Angus,” asked Claudilia.

  “You could use almost anything, even an old tree trunk gives off a little biogas as it breaks down. The best stuff is highbred rye grass or maize. They give the highest mass-to-gas ratio, which in the end is what it’s all about. With the new food waste contract we’ll be putting all sorts in, everything from an unfinished bowl of cornflakes to roast chicken bones, that’s why we need the big grinder, so it’s all the same consistency when it goes into the tank. By the time it gets past where we’re stood now, you won’t be able to tell what it started as.”

  At the car it took little to convince Angus to join them for lunch. In the end they each had the traditional ploughman’s with a pint of Belcher’s best bitter. The pub had a small brewery at the back where they made their own beers. Belchers best was always popular, as was the Belcher’s birthday brew, a strong golden ale which was only sold on the anniversary of Claudilia or Hubert’s birthday, along with that of their great grandfather, Clifford Belcher. It was Clifford who’d built the pub and the brewery. …Old CB had been thrown out of every pub within walking distance of the farm. It had happened so many times he did the only thing he could. He built his own brewery and a pub right in the heart of the village. He sampled every new batch before it was put on sale and spent most of his time lightly pickled. When he died the family didn’t know if he should be buried, cremated or thinly sliced and serve on a wafer with cheese.

  “Right,” said Hubert. “I can’t spend the whole afternoon in the pub, I’d better go and see what Sally’s been up to.” A smile flashed across his face when he thought of her. It quickly disappeared as Claudilia jabbed him in the ribs. “Ouch that hurt, and what are you doing this afternoon?” he asked.

  “I thought I would take Pumpkin out. I want to see the new houses again, and I’d like a look at the sheep on top of Monk Hill.”

  Brother and sister said goodbye to Angus and watched him and Hamish leave the bar.

  “If you fancy dinner, give Marie a call and turn up around seven,” said Hubert. “The kids would love to see you and she always cooks too much.”

  Chapter Nine

  At Bindweed Cottage Claudilia changed into her riding clothes, she turned on the TV so Max had some company and told him to keep off the sofa, …a total waste of breath, he’ll be up there before I’m out the gate. Then she walked the short distance along the lane to the stables. The previous evening had been warm and mild, Pumpkin was still in his field. She crossed the yard to the gate and called his name, “Puuuuummmmpkin”, twice before he looked up from the grass he was munching and ambled across to her. “Silly sod aren’t you? Wouldn’t you rather go out for a ride than eat boring old grass?” said Claudilia as she stroked his head. She took him across to the stables, brushed his mane and tail and made sure his feet were clear of stones. Satisfied with her check over, Claudilia slipped on his bridle and saddle, put a hat on her head, and, with a single puff hauled herself into the saddle. She gave him a light squeeze with her knees, they trotted out of the yard and up the lane towards Monk Hill.

  Halfway up the lane Claudilia left the road and entered a grass field which sloped to the south. It’s chalky, well drained soil made it was a perfect place for the ewes with lambs. Claudilia loved to walk Pumpkin slowly through the flock, the sheep took very little notice of the horse and rider. From her seat she could look down and see if any showed signs of lameness or looked unwell. …The problem with sheep is the little buggers drop dead just to frustrate you. One day they’re fine and the next they’re lying on their back with their feet in the air. They do it on purpose - just to piss you off.

  Today everything looked fine and they were all the right way up. As she passed, the young ones raced back to their mums and buried their heads underneath. You could always tell when they were latched on and drinking, their stringy little tails would dart back and forth like a windscreen wiper at maximum speed.

  Claudilia passed through the flock and back onto the road further up the hill, she crossed over and went into a field of wheat. The seed heads were out but still green, there was at least eight weeks until harvest time, which she estimated would be late July, so far it was all looking good. As Pumpkin carried her along the side of the field she looked across the village rooftops. She could see the river Wimple snaking lazily under two bridges and around the village green. Behind her and away to the west Claudilia could make out the anaerobic digestion tanks at Macintosh Energy. Ahead and to the east, the development of new houses was visible beyond a line of trees.

  When they got to the building site it looked as if no one was around. “That’s strange,” she said to Pumpkin. It was only four thirty and somewhere she could hear a mixer running. Claudilia slid off her horse and tied his reins to the gate. “Hello” she called as she walked through the buildings. Some of the houses were just shells, a few had roofs and several looked as if the interiors were being worked on.

  There was no answer to her calls but the sound of the mixer was getting louder, she must be going in the right direction she thought. At the last house, or where it would be once the walls were up, she saw Gus crouching, half beside and half under the big mixer, with a hose in his hand.

  “Hi Gus, are you all on your own?” she called, not wanting to make him jump. “where is everyone?”

  Gus turned his head to see who was talking to him, he smiled when he recognised Claudilia and said. “We’ve been pouring floors all day and they’ve buggered off early,” Without coming out of the gap he was squeezed into he continued. “It’s POETS day you see, Piss Off Early, Tomorrows Saturday. Lazy sods have left me to clean out the mixer on my own, but to be fair, there’s not much more they could’ve done today anyhow.”

  “It looks like a messy job, can you reach where you need to?” Claudilia asked.

  “Just about. If I squeeze into this gap I can almost get to the last bit. But I need to lower that boom and I can’t reach the lever from inside. I’ve put some string on the handle but I can’t quite get the tension I need. Not from this angle anyway.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I’d ask you to spray the water, but you’re far too big, you’d never get through this gap. Can you just ease that lever down a touch? But don’t put all your weight on it. If you do it’ll release the shoot and drop to the floor; you’ll probably break the lever off too.”

  Claudilia bristled at the remarks about her weight, but she’d offered help so she’d do what she could. “Okay, get in and start spraying, when you say so I’ll move it down a bit.”

  As Gus moved into position his muffled voice came from under the mixer shoot .“You know, it’s funny. We used to call you Claudilia the concrete mixer when we were kids. Because you had such a big mouth and were always shovelling food into it.” Gus slid across so he could get the hose spraying just where he wanted it. Happy with where the water was landing he called out, “Okay, just ease the handle down will you. Go gently and stop when I say.”

  Claudilia grasped the handle and slammed it down hard. The shoot juddered, then dropped, its full weight hitting Gus on the side of his head with a satisfying thud, like a large hammer hitting the top of a fence post.

  Claudilia bent down and looked at the limp body, already half buried in wet concrete, its head was caved in on one side and a deep gash above an eye oozed blood which mixed with the wet aggregate beneath. “That’s got‘a sting” she said to anyone listening, fortunately nobody was. Gus had fallen forward onto the ground, and was lying with his face turned sideways. Claudilia studied the man’s expression, his piggy little eyes were wide open, his eye brows were high and his mouth formed a perfect “O”, as if he might have been forming a word ...Something like “Oh fuck, that hurt”. Above all he looked surprised.

  A
sound like a wave running up a stony beach came from the mixer shoot. Claudilia stepped smartly back as more of the wet grey mixture came pouring out. Gus disappeared from view. First his face, then his entire head, and finally his torso as far as his waist was lost under the rising tide of concrete.

  “Sorry Gus. There must have been more left in there than you thought,” said Claudilia to the settling heap.

  The foreman still held the hose in his right hand, but his forearm was all you could see. It looked quite comical thought Claudilia, it reminded her of Guinevere rising from the lake with the sword Excalibur …It’s a reference to King Arthur of Camelot, a very good story and you should read it when you’ve finished this one. Water arced to a puddle in the gutter of the unfinished road.

  Still wearing her riding gloves, she wiped the splashes of wet concrete off her boots and walked back to Pumpkin. Claudilia climbed into the saddle and they retraced their route back along the side of the wheat and through the sheep field. “Pumpkin,” said Claudilia as she rode along the side of Monk Hill. “I fancy dinner with the family. It would be best if we were surrounded by people this evening I think. But first let’s go home and get cleaned up.” She smiled as she added. “and We’ll have a cup of tea and a slice of cake, we might even have two.”