Small Holdings (6 page)

OH, THIS WAS NICE
. Kind of wet and slippery and I was moving without any effort. But, thinking about it, something was hurting, was hurting. A bump and a rucking and a grazing. A long distance away I heard a voice, a tight little voice, unfamiliar, which was saying, ‘Can’t force flow. Flow flows.’ Flow
flows.

Actually, the more I thought about it - and, be assured, there was no rush, no reason to rush - the more I gave it thought, the less happy I felt. My head was banging on the ground. My arm was aching, turned under me. I was being dragged. I felt mud and grass and then I felt gravel. My beard was so full of it. Bits of stone finding a home. Until, finally, I was still.

Something happened then, but I was no part of it. The gravel shifted, right up close to me, and then my face was wrapped in a warm, soft towel and a vapour darkened everything.

‘Hello Phil. Hello Phil. Hello.’

‘Wah?’

Shit. That was me.

I opened my eyes. Saleem had her face up close to mine and she was covered in blood - her cheek and her hand.

‘Don’t be shocked. I’m not hurt. This is your blood.’

‘Oh.’

She wiped at her face with a piece of tissue while she said, ‘Nancy’s here. She dragged you in.’

Nancy materialized in front of me. ‘I dragged you in. I’m really sorry. I’d never have taken the hoe away if I thought he was going to attack you. He’s so powerful for a little fella. Like David Carradine in
Kung Fu.’

‘Where’s Doug?’

Saleem had a bowl full of warm water and a roll of kitchen towel.

‘He’s upstairs. Still in bed.’

She leaned over me again and applied something damp to my cheek. ‘Want to know what kind of injuries you sustained?’

‘Uh, I feel OK.’

‘Well, apart from the odd cut and graze, I think you broke your nose and sprained your arm. Maybe you sprained your ankle too. It’s swelling out a bit.’

My ribs hurt when I inhaled. I tried to sit up, still woozy. ‘What time is it?’

Nancy checked her watch, and I noticed again how dirty her hands were. Muddy hands.

‘About half-seven.’

My arm did feel bad. We were in the kitchen. I was on the floor.

‘I think might like to sit on a chair.’

Nancy helped me up.

‘Should we call the police?’ she asked, settling me down again with a small huff of exertion.

‘We can’t call the police,’ Saleem said quickly. ‘We’d be fucking ourselves over.’

I was mystified by this response. ‘Doug will probably want us to call them,’ I said. ‘That Chinese devil destroyed Doug’s greenhouse before he assaulted me.’

Saleem expressed no surprise at this. Nancy didn’t either. ‘In that case,’ Saleem said, ‘we should really let Doug decide whether he wants to get the police involved or not. They’re his vegetables, after all. And you . . .’ She stared at me for a moment with an almost fond indifference. ‘You’ll mend.’

After a short pause she turned to Nancy and said pointedly, ‘Aren’t you in a hurry to unload that privet or something?’

Nancy shuffled her feet. ‘I suppose so. I was just worried about Phil

‘Actually,’ Saleem said, ‘I think we should tell Phil about where you’re supposed to be going today.’ Saleem turned towards me again. ‘Guess where Nancy’s going?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Tell him, Nancy.’

Nancy walked over to the sink and washed her hands. She spoke with her back to me, over her shoulder. ‘Doug’s got me going to Southend again for some more privet.’

‘Privet? How much more?’

‘Loads. And on Friday, too.’

‘Did he give you any order forms?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Can I have a quick look at them?’

‘I’ll get them later. They’re in the truck.’

Saleem butted in, ‘D’you think you might be concussed?’ she asked, purely, it seemed, out of interest, as though she and Nancy had had a small wager on this possibility. I was about to answer and then I heard a movement upstairs, a creaking.

‘Doug’s up,’ I said, panicking, ‘What shall we do? Maybe I could get to the greenhouse and tidy things up a bit if you two could try and keep him here for a while.’

I tried to stand up. I nearly managed it, but something buckled. ‘I’ve got to start unloading,’ Nancy said, sounding blank somehow, avoiding my eyes. She went out. I gazed after her, confounded.

‘You can’t hide things from Doug, Phil,’ Saleem said calmly. ‘He smells trouble at fifty paces.’

Doug was on the landing now. I could hear him. Then he was on the stairs, descending.

‘Also,’ Saleem added, ‘I didn’t want to say anything before, but in case you were determined to call the police, I’m not entirely sure that it was Wu who destroyed the greenhouse.’

‘What?’

Doug was behind the door, right behind it. He was at the door. He was pressing some of his weight on to the door handle. I saw the handle move, down, up again, saw the door push inwards, towards me, and behind it . . . Doug.
Doug.
Square-chinned, resolute, hinged. Hanging on, like the door, but only just. I watched as Doug took his hand from the handle and I watched as the door closed behind him, smoothly, quietly, automatically.

Doug stood there and appraised me. He drank me in, slowly, and then he said, ‘Phil, there’s something hanging out of your nose. Looks like a big, raw, red caterpillar.’

He went and switched on the kettle. Saleem said, ‘There’s tea already in the pot.’

Doug grunted appreciatively, switched the kettle off again and took himself a mug off the mug-tree. ‘I’m only telling you, ‘ Doug added, lifting an eyebrow in my direction, ‘because I’d find it difficult to eat breakfast with that thing just hanging there out of your nostril.’

Saleem handed me a piece of kitchen towel. I did the best I could. I pulled at the clot, manually at first, and the jelly came out and kept on coming like I was unravelling a dark, dense, red jelly brain through my nostril. When the jelly finally dissolved into loose blood, I blew my nose vigorously, rolled what I’d gathered into the tissue, pinched the bridge of my nose and stared up at the ceiling.

Doug was pouring himself some tea. Saleem - who was staring at me with a kind of fascinated disgust, hypnotised by the mighty clot - tore her eyes away when it had finished coming and said, ‘Doug, Phil was just saying how someone broke into your greenhouse and totally wrecked everything.’

My mouth fell open. I think I stopped breathing, for a second. Doug stopped pouring.

‘What did you say?’

I continued staring at the ceiling. ‘Doug,’ I said, ‘I’m sure the damage isn’t terminal. Some of the plants will be fine. It was only stupid vandals.’

Doug said nothing. He put down the teapot and walked out. I heard him slipping on his shoes in the hallway, and then I heard the front door slamming. I tried to stand up.

Saleem walked over to the sink. ‘Doug’s not going to be wanting his tea now,’ she said, cheerfully. ‘Do you want it?’

I was hot on Doug’s heels, well, warm on his heels because I wasn’t finding it too easy to walk. My ankle kept rolling, like I was strolling on a ship in a high wind, up on deck, trying to keep my balance.

Outside, Nancy was standing by the rear flap of her truck, staring off into the distance, after Doug - his retreating back. She was cradling a small privet plant in her arms. As I staggered past her I said, ‘Nancy, whatever you do, don’t go to Southend for any more privet until I’ve had a word with Ray first.’

She put the tree down and trailed for a few paces behind me.

‘Phil, how did he take it?’

‘What?’

‘Doug. What did he say?’

‘He didn’t say anything. Not yet, anyway.’

‘He’ll be all right, though?’

‘This is probably the very worst thing that could’ve happened.’

‘The very worst thing,’ she parroted, speculatively, and then shouted, ‘Hang on,’ and sprinted off in the direction of the house. I carried on walking. After thirty seconds she was back again. She caught up with me just before the first lake.

‘Here,’ she panted, passing me one of Saleem’s walking sticks. Saleem kept a small umbrella stand full of them just inside the front door.

Nancy handed me a stick which had a handle carved into a hare’s head. It was a beautiful thing.

‘Don’t put too much weight on your bad leg, you’ll only make it worse.’

I took the stick.

‘I’m sorry,’ she added, sounding it, ‘about you getting hurt and Doug getting hurt.’

‘It’s nobody’s fault.’

I twisted my hand around the hare’s head.

‘And don’t put too much weight on your bad arm, either.’

‘Thanks.’ I took a few experimental steps forward. Nancy didn’t walk with me. She hung back, remaining stationary.

I walked on. It was easier with the stick, but still slow. And in all honesty, I was glad of the time it took me to get to the greenhouse. I was almost glad of the pain. It was a kind of empathy. If not with Doug - he was a complex creature and I was obliged to find my own level, emotionally - then at least with his spoiled and battered vegetables.

‘I’m sure the damage isn’t terminal.’

Doug looked up and over, towards me. ‘I think you said that earlier,’ he muttered, witheringly. He was standing in the centre of the debris, inhaling the chaos.

‘This shouldn’t have happened,’ he said, finally, ‘It’s all
wrong.’

‘You know, it might be possible to replant a couple of the tomatoes. Some of the radishes look all right too.’

‘The tomatoes?’

Doug bent down and picked up one of the tomatoes which had detached itself from its plant. He held it in his hand like it was a cricket ball, a large cricket ball.

‘You’d better get out of here,’ he said, dispassionately, ‘before I lose my temper.’

I was deciding whether to take his advice and leave when Doug clenched the tomato he was holding in his fist, took a couple of quick steps to build up momentum and then hurled it at me. I ducked. It flew past me, just to my left and struck glass, the pane closest to the door, striking it, splitting, shattering the glass.

Doug bent over and picked up an onion. He weighed it in his hand. ‘D’you know what the worst part is?’ Doug asked, still sounding as calm as anything.

I felt something warm on my top lip.

‘You’re bleeding,’ Doug said. ‘I don’t want blood all over the floor in here.’

I mopped at my nose with my sleeve. The sight of blood seemed to pacify Doug again, even if he wasn’t actually directly responsible for it.

‘The worst part is that I must’ve left the door unlocked. But I know in my gut that I would never have done that. In
my gut.’

Doug dropped the onion and walked over to the door. ‘See that? No sign of a forced entry. Nothing broken.’

‘Maybe they picked the lock.’

Doug bent down and stared at the lock intently, as though waiting for it to tell him something. Eventually he straightened up again and said, ‘I don’t think so.’

He turned his back to the door and appraised the devastation before him. ‘I could swear to you that I locked that door,’ he said, ‘but I
can’t
have. D’you know what that means, Phil? How it feels?’

I shook my head.

‘It feels like I can’t trust my own instincts on this one. I can’t trust my own instincts. And if I can’t trust my instincts, what can I trust? Who can I trust? Nothing. Nobody.’

Doug spent a moment considering his words. They seemed to please him. He crossed his arms. My nose was still bleeding.

‘Red blood,’ Doug said, ‘Red, red, red blood.’ He cleared his throat. ‘There’s only one way to get around this.’

I looked up, hoping Doug was about to respond rationally,
hoping.
Unfortunately his eyes were dark and clear. He uncrossed his arms. ‘My instincts tell me this,’ he said, ‘and I shouldn’t trust them because they’ve already lead me astray . . .’He inhaled deeply. ‘You can only match this kind of gesture,’ he indicated towards the mess and the mud with a grand sweep of his arm, ‘you clan only match this kind of gesture with an even
bigger
gesture of your own.’

I weighed up this notion in my mind. An even bigger gesture. I didn’t really get it but I knew it wouldn’t necessarily be a good thing. I said, ‘We could call that kind of response an escalation, Doug, and I don’t know if things that go up, things that get bigger, are always . . . uh . . . good.’

Doug appreciated my insight but would have none of it. ‘Nope,’ he said, determinedly, ‘getting bigger. That’s the natural order of things . . . Clarity,’ he added, ‘cleanness. Big and neat. That’s what I’m after.’

My nose was still bleeding and my shirt sleeves were about as soaked as they could get. I yanked up my shirt-front and put it to use.

‘Shall we start cleaning this stuff up?’ I asked, through the blood and fabric.

‘I don’t think so,’ Doug said, ‘I think you should go back to the house and change your shirt. That much blood doesn’t look respectable. Consider the feelings of the park users. Clean up.’

I didn’t want to leave him. Something in my stomach told me not to. I said, ‘I don’t like to leave you alone in the middle of this mess.’

Doug opened the door for me. ‘Give me a minute,’ he said,’ ‘to be privet. I need to be privet for a moment or two. Get washed up.’

I walked past him, shuffled past him, out through the door.

Ray was in the kitchen, standing next to the oven and peering into a pan. In one hand he held the saucepan’s lid, with his other chubby paw he pulled at his bottom lip, yanking it halfway down his chin.

‘Ray, Did you see Saleem and Nancy yet?’

Ray - deep in his own thoughts - hadn’t heard me come in. He jumped like a scalded cat and dropped the saucepan’s lid when I spoke and then managed to frighten himself again with the clatter that it made. He bent down and picked it up.

‘Uh, I saw Saleem. She’s upstairs. She’s searching through Doug’s room for evidence.’

‘Evidence?’

‘Order forms and stuff. Receipts. I think that’s what she said.’ He stared at me. ‘Where did all that blood come from?’

‘My nose.’

‘Wu got you.’

‘Yes.‘