With One Lousy Free Packet of Seed (9 page)

All this blithe normality! How incredibly ironic! When just a few yards away fate was unfolding, slowly and backwards, with only Lillian to know.

She tore the message off the machine and read it through, several times. She even read it bottom-up a few times, too, just to recapture the original sensation of receiving it. And then she put it in her top drawer and turned the lock. She peered at the motorcycle messenger and decided it would be a shame to wake him.

‘Not from the elusive Mr Makepeace, I suppose?’ Michelle was passing, on her way to the sandwich shop, and had spotted the fax.

‘No,’ snapped Lillian, ‘it wasn’t.’

‘Lackaday,’ said Michelle, not as a joke. ‘Could I ask you to be preternaturally sweet and keep an eye peeled for his book round-up?’

Lillian gave her a look that said No, actually, Michelle could not ask her to be as sweet as all that. In fact, just try it. And as for the peeled eye, what an unpleasant turn of phrase.

‘You see, between these four walls, Lillian – these four quaint but cosy living-room walls, I suppose I should say,’ she added, glancing at Lillian’s magazine rack, ‘I suspect Mr Makepeace of making things up. He keeps missing deadlines, but instead of apologizing he says, “Didn’t you get it? I posted it on Friday.” I asked Osborne to tell him we haven’t received the latest piece, and I just
know
he’s going to pretend he’s done it already.’

‘Huh,’ said Lillian.

‘Well, it’s annoying!’ exclaimed Michelle, suddenly quite heated. ‘It’s unprofessional. When he says, “I posted it on Friday,” I have to pretend I believe him, because I can’t accuse him of lying. I hate it. And I don’t understand why Osborne has befriended him, either. What can he see in a jerk like Makepeace, who can’t stop telling lies?’

In fifteen years, Lillian had rarely heard such passion from Michelle. It was rather entertaining. Did she say ‘jerk’?

‘Want me to sort him out?’ said Lillian flatly.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I could sort him out. I’m good at sorting out liars.’ Herewith, she tapped her locked drawer significantly, and gave Michelle a level stare.

‘You’ve lost me, I’m afraid,’ said Michelle. She shoved the swing door and marched out, leaving Lillian to her own devices.

‘Oh yes,’ said Lillian to herself, ‘I’m very good with liars.’

‘I’m going back,’ said Makepeace. They had reached Angela Farmer’s gate; and Osborne was stooping to pick up the nice bunch of flowers he had dropped, nervously, for the second time; and hoping he wouldn’t topple over, through sheer nerves, when he tried to regain the upright position. The long walk to the front door always took him this way; he reckoned it was the adrenalin. Fight or flight, they called it. Which was fair enough, since he would certainly have fought anyone who tried to stop him running away.

‘What?’ he said. ‘Going back? You mean you aren’t coming in?’

‘No, I’m not.’

Osborne was confused. ‘But I thought you wanted to meet her.’

‘I never said that.’

‘You did.’

‘I fucking didn’t.’

‘Oh. Mm. Right.’

The older man needed a minute to take this in. ‘Oh well,’ he said, trying to sound regretful, ‘I suppose if you’re going back now, I can always catch a train. Tsk, don’t worry, I can manage. After all, it’s up to you, it’s your car –’

‘No,’ interrupted his friend. ‘I mean, I’m going back to Dunquenchin.’

Osborne looked at him. He had made his announcement as though ‘going back to Dunquenchin’ was something that a man’s gotta do.

‘But they’ve both gone out. The boy went out first, and then the fireman. Don’t you remember, we saw him from the florist’s? I waved, and he pretended not to see us. In any case,
what’s the fascination? If that boy is a bit funny about me, isn’t it better just to get away and forget about it? He didn’t know who I was, so no harm done.’

‘But I want to find out who Digger was.’

‘Digger?’

‘Last night, he said his dad shouldn’t have worried about Digger, because everything had been under control. Perhaps he felt about Digger the way he feels about you.’

‘Stop it, mate. It’s not worth it. Let’s just do the interview and go home.’

‘No.’

‘Have a cup cake?’

‘Fucking
no!’

‘How will you get in, in any case?’

‘I unlocked the back door this morning, when I was taking my bike out.’

‘I don’t like it.’

‘You don’t have to. You just be nice to Ms Farmer and sit in her shed, and I’ll do the rest.’

It would be fair to say that when Gordon opened the door at Ms Farmer’s, holding a pale blue négligé in his hand, Osborne did not rise above his emotions.

‘Aagh!’ he exclaimed, and dropped the flowers again.

‘Didn’t expect to see me?’ said Gordon carefully. This is the only way to deal with these people, he decided. Don’t let them see you are afraid.

‘Well, not so soon,’ admitted Osborne jumpily. ‘Er, I’ve got some – well, business with Ms Farmer, if that’s all right.’ Don’t say what it is, thought Osborne. For God’s sake, don’t tell him you are the shed man at
Come Into the Garden.

They looked at one another. There was a long pause.

‘I know,’ said Gordon. They both took a deep breath.

‘I know who you are. And I think I know why you’ve come. You’re from
Come Into the Garden,
aren’t you? You’re the man who does the sheds.’

Oh God. Osborne gulped. ‘’Assright,’ he said in a tiny voice.

‘I know your work,’ said Gordon very carefully.

‘Oh good. Er, thank you very much.’

‘Where’s your friend?’

Osborne started guiltily. ‘Nowhere,’ he said. ‘I mean, I don’t know. Nothing to do with me, anyway.’

‘You’d better come in,’ said Gordon.

‘No, it’s all right,’ said Osborne with a brave smile. ‘I’m fine here.’

‘I think you should.’

‘No, it’s a lovely day. Tell you what, where’s the shed? I’ll start there.’

Back at Dunquenchin, Makepeace had climbed the stairs to Gordon’s modest little office – a top-storey room with a tiny window, and very little sign of Gordon’s immense success. It was nearer to an average teenager’s playroom than to an executive office, with papers and gadgets and bits of computer scattered about like toys. What it did have, however, was a fax machine, something Makepeace spotted at once. Could this be his perfect opportunity to clear himself with
Come Into the Garden?
If not, why not? Despite the rather stressful circumstances, this was too good a chance to miss. Hastily he scribbled a note to
Come Into the Garden,
and fed it, without more ado, into the fax.

‘Why didn’t he come in?’ asked Angela. ‘I don’t get it.’

Gordon considered. ‘I just think he’s a bit peculiar.’

‘Well, I’ll drink to that. Shall I go out and speak to him, do you think? I mean, if he’s just gonna look at the shed on his own, I needn’t have got up so early. I mean, now I think of it, I needn’t have got up at all.’

They were watching from the kitchen window.

‘Listen, can I phone Dad? It’s just that the other one, his pal, isn’t with him, and I’m a bit worried what he might be up to.’

‘Gordon, this isn’t like you, sweetheart. What’s on your mind?’

‘Well, it may just be rubbish, but I think these blokes might be a bit desperate. I don’t know; out for revenge, or something like that.’

‘I get it. Your dad did one of his risottos, am I right?’

‘No. I mean, yes. But that’s not it. Can I use the phone?’

‘Sure.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

Makepeace was startled when the phone rang, and even more alarmed when he heard it answered downstairs. ‘Fuck,’ he said aloud, and then wished he hadn’t.

‘Dunquenchin,’ said Gordon’s dad, as though it were quite a normal thing to say, but then his tone changed. ‘What on earth’s the matter?’ he said. ‘Yeah, but I only just got in. Listen, if there’s trouble I’ll sort it out. You stay with Angela, and I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’

Just then the fax machine started to rumble, and Makepeace panicked. Gordon’s dad was looking for him! The big man with the beach-ball shoulders and those searing Rumpelstiltskin analogies! Oh God. Should he hide, jump out of the window, what? Why hadn’t he picked up a hatchet from downstairs, or a ladder, or a large colour picture to hide behind? And now this sodding machine was giving him away. ‘Shut up!’ he hissed at it, and rushed over to turn it off. But glancing at the message emerging from the machine, he realized to his considerable discomfort that it was addressed to him, and was a reply from
Come Into the Garden.
Oh fuck, how incriminating! Even if he hid, Gordon’s dad would find out what he’d been doing. As soon as it was finished he ripped it from the machine and stared at it in horror.