A Bit of Earth (26 page)

‘It was awful. I was wedged in too. These fairground toughs, you know the sort, all really good-looking in an if-Elvis-had-been-a-weasel kind of a way, they were laughing, but they pulled me out. Dad was really stuck. In the end they dismantled the car around him. They had to switch off the electricity, so they kept going on about all the money they were losing. A crowd gathered. Dad and I had gone by ourselves, so I was standing there all alone, trying to pretend that he wasn't my dad, and that I just happened to be watching, so I felt pretty guilty even at the time, as though it was somehow my fault. I'd asked to go on the dodgems …'

‘But all kids ask to go on the dodgems.'

‘In the end they got him out. I think Dad and I might be the derivation of the phrase “Who ate all the pies?” Dad was so embarrassed he gave them almost all the money he had in his wallet, so we couldn't have gone on anything much else, even if we'd wanted to. We walked home. Luckily he had enough money left for some chips, as we were both pretty miserable.'

‘I can see why you don't like bumper cars. But you wouldn't get stuck,' said Madeleine.

‘You never know. What were you doing coming up here?'

‘I just wanted to see how high it goes.'

‘Actually it might go even higher than this. Through that door. Look.'

It was a very small door. Madeleine worried that Max might not actually fit through it. They would have to crawl, or do a sort of Cossack-dancing shuffle.

‘I expect it's locked anyway.'

But it wasn't. They pushed gently and it opened.

‘I don't think we should …' said Madeleine, but Max was already through. It was very dark.

‘Prop the door open with something,' said Max. ‘Here.' He handed her something. The bar of coconut ice.

‘It's not big enough,' said Madeleine, ‘I need something else.'

‘Try this.' He shoved something else towards her. It was very heavy. A clock, a very old classroom clock. Madeleine wedged the door open with it.

‘Now people will know there's somebody in here.'

‘Better than not having any light.'

‘It must be a storeroom. Props and things. Imagine bothering to carry them all the way up here.'

‘Perhaps there's another way down, or a lift.'

There were stacks of wooden chairs, filing cabinets that were locked but sounded empty, and crowds of two-dimensional figures, the extras from
Alice in Wonderland,
standing around in dusty gangs.

‘I've always been scared of those playing cards,' said Madeleine.

A stuffed wolf, on its hind legs and dressed as a pirate, was guarding rolls and rolls of orange carpet.

‘Oh,' Madeleine said, ‘I think we should go.' She realised that she sounded like Anne in the Famous Five.

‘They can't have more than one stuffed wolf,' said Max, taking her hand. ‘Let's see what's through here.'

They went through a pink velvet curtain.

‘We're in the gods!' said Max. They were a hundred feet above the revellers. They sat on the cold floor and leant against a column to watch what was happening beneath
them. ‘Feeling hot, hot, hot' drifted up, but Madeleine and Max were quite cool now.

‘Let's see where this goes.' They followed the row of seats, then went out through another door, through a fire exit and they were on the roof. A metal staircase led down the side of the building, like a New York fire escape in a movie, rusty and ready for the hero and heroine to go swinging down. But they didn't.

They could see the whole of the city, and smell the sea. The rain had almost stopped, or perhaps they were just so high up that the drops were blown away. Max put his arms around her. She could feel the strong, thick flesh of his face. His shoulders were huge. She felt enclosed. She looked up and kissed him.

‘Come to Seattle with me,' he said.

‘Um, I was maybe going to do a PGCE.'

‘Do you want to be a teacher?'

‘Um, no.'

‘Then don't.'

She kissed him again.

‘Come to Seattle with me.'

It was turning out to be a bad day for Professor Martyn Swatridge. The Students' Union paper had come out with a story about the site of the proposed new facilities. Honestly, who did they think was in line to benefit from them?

NATURE RESERVE AND COMMUNITY PROJECTS
THREATENED BY NEW FACILITIES

The working group charged with finding a site for the long-awaited new sports science facilities and leisure centre have earmarked the university's botanical garden as the best place to put it.

The peace and tranquillity of the garden, home to many rare birds and unusual plants such as Japanese knotweed and convolvulus, could soon be shattered by the sound of excavators and workmen listening to Radio Two.

Our reporter visiting the garden found a party of schoolchildren hard at work on their little plots, as well as a group of vulnerable people with health issues tending their own beds.

The department of Botany uses the garden for its research, and DramaSoc is about to use it as a Regent's Park-style backdrop for its next production,
A Midsummer Night's Dream
starring the lovely Phoebe Enright, who is tipped for the top and heading for a leading London drama school, as fairy queen Titania. It could all turn into a bit of a nightmare for Professor Martyn Swatridge, chair of the working group. Rumours of tree protesters ready to mobilise may persuade him to think again.

Well, he'd be damned if he was persuaded to think again by some thrusting ignoramus on the student rag. First he'd heard about the kids and the loonies' gardens. Damn. Better go take a look.

It was Midsummer's Day. Felix had gone to the garden to meet Guy. They would be going round to Judy's for tea. When Felix arrived he could see that Guy was busy talking to some students in the greenhouse. The garden seemed full of people. The students who were doing the play were making a lot of noise. Felix thought that they were just mucking about, but actually they were getting ready. They had a honeycomb of pop-up tents for the costumes and props, and tables to use for selling drinks and programmes. They were sellotaping posters to the front of the tables and hanging decorations and strings of lights in trees. They were even using his special spying tree. He stood and stared. Nobody took any notice of him. He decided to go his secret way, down the secret path to visit the newts.

Professor Martyn Swatridge ran a hand over his bristly maw, and went into the garden. Funny how you could work somewhere for more than thirty years and still not know every corner of it. He gave the thespians a wide berth and sat down on one of the railway-sleeper edges of a raised bed. It looked bloody new. He read the sign:

‘This is the Future and Hope Project Garden. We hope you will enjoy looking at it. We are a group of survivors of the mental health system. This is all our own work. The garden is here by kind permission and with the support of the university's Community Liaison Department. Thanks!'

Yeah, thanks a bloody lot, he thought. Bloody left hand not knowing what the right hand, his hand, is doing …

Runner beans were making the most impressive wigwam he had ever seen. They probably called them bloody tipis now, or yurts. There were sweet peas and Californian poppies, tomatoes and strawberries and tiny, newly planted lavender bushes. It all looked very new, could only have been there a matter of weeks, and it all seemed very jolly and much better than his own sour, half-hearted efforts at home. I'll give them bloody raised beds, he thought. He was pleased to see a dandelion clock. He blew it hard at some of the rows of seedlings. Probably lettuces. Ha!

He could see another little plot on the other side of what were probably once some rather nice lawns. He went to take a look. This one had a line of jolly scarecrows to guard it. Marigolds predominated. He detected the work of small people. You wouldn't have caught his own kids doing gardening voluntarily, maybe if he'd paid them enough …

He decided to go to the top of the garden, to take in the whole picture. The path was steep and zigzagged. Bloody hell, was that a banana tree? And there were giant cabbages on sticks. A wild rose snagged his trousers, he slipped on some loose stones, grabbed at something and got a palm full of scratches. Some of these leaves were bloody sharp. At the top he puffed and struggled to catch his breath. There really should have been a bench. He sat down heavily on a bit of mossy tree trunk.

Well, the place was huge, but very sloping, probably subsidence problems. Plenty of room for anything though. He could see the students, some now in costume, a few Athenians and fairies and rude mechanicals. There were ranks of plastic boxes that must have been filled with ice and bottles. He started to get his breath back. An annoying pair of chalk-blue butterflies fluttered around his head. He tried to bat them away, but they took no notice. He sat very still and attempted to ignore them.

Perhaps the committee was going to have to go with another option. Maybe too much opposition to the plan here. More mileage in developing this as an environmental asset.

Then he saw a child, a little kid in school uniform darting around through the trees. Probably up to no good, nicking stuff, or damaging things.

‘Hey!' he yelled ‘What are you doing?' He galumphed down the zigzag path. The boy had disappeared into a copse, but he was after him. The wet leaves were too slippery, his left shoe went right under water. You couldn't even see where the paths stopped and the streams began. Bloody self and hasty hazard.

‘Hey you! What do you think you're doing?'

He had the boy cornered now, just a little squirt, probably only seven or eight. He grabbed his wrist.

‘What are you doing in here on university property, eh?'

‘Um, um,' said Felix. All the things they'd always told him at school came flashing into his head.

Run, Yell, Tell!

Never, Never Go!

He tried to yank his wrist free, but the man was too strong. He had a horrible smell and grey and red skin.

‘Well?'

‘Let me go!' Felix tried to free himself again, but the man just held on tighter and caught hold of his other wrist too. ‘Let me go!'

‘You tell me what you were doing. Smashing things? Damaging plants, eh?'

Felix felt the blood stopping in his arms.

‘My dad works here,' Felix managed. ‘He's right there in the greenhouse.'

The man loosened his grip very slightly. Felix tried to kick him but his legs were all wobbly and he missed.

‘Oh, he works here, does he? What is he, grounds staff? You shouldn't be in here, you know.'

Felix wondered if he could get past him, perhaps there was a way over the fence behind them that would come out at Erica's. Then he realised what he must do.

‘DAD!' he yelled, louder than he had ever yelled before. ‘DAD! DAD, HELP!' And Guy heard. He came running. Everyone in the garden heard, and some of the students came running after Guy.

‘DAD! HELP!'

‘FELIX!'

Guy appeared through the trees. ‘You get away from my boy!' He pushed the attacker in the chest, really hard, saw him slip and fall backwards, his head was in the water.

‘Dad, mind the newts! There are babies!'

‘What the hell are you doing?' Guy growled. He was standing over the man now. He could put his boot on him, his leg was poised to do it.

The attacker sat up. ‘Bloody hell!' he said. ‘I thought he was a vandal. I didn't touch him. I never would … Got kids of my own.'

Guy had his arms around Felix, who was almost crying.

‘Did he touch you?'

‘He grabbed my wrists.'

‘Look,' said the attacker, ‘I thought he was a vandal. I was protecting university property. I'm on the Acquisitions, Developments and Maintenance Committee! I'm Professor Martyn Swatridge.'

‘Oh you are, are you?'

Felix had now picked up a big stick. Guy felt like picking up a rock, but instead he let the attacker struggle to his feet. The back of Swatridge's head was wet and muddy. He had huge damp patches on his back and legs. His jacket was soaked. His shoes were ruined.

‘What are you doing going after little boys in a garden?' said Guy. Some of his students had appeared behind him. Phoebe, Oberon and some fairies were there too.

‘Look, I thought he was a vandal. I made a mistake. I'm sorry.'

He could see the looks of complete disgust on their faces.

‘I'm all right, Dad,' said Felix. ‘But I hope the newts are OK. His head went right in one of their ponds.'

‘The newts will be fine. They'll have just thought a big log fell in or something. Felix, are you really OK?'

‘Yeah, Dad.'

Swatridge was trying to leave. He could feel something in his hair, probably a glob of blood. When he put his hand to it, he discovered some sort of disgusting water snail. He tossed it back into the pond. He had to say ‘Excuse me, excuse me,' to get through the students. They all turned and watched him leave. There were oak leaves sticking to his jacket. His trousers had thick stripes of muckiness.