Rich Hawkins: The Last Plague

“Good,” Frank said. “I need a beer.”

“Same here.”

Frank guided the car around a tight bend. The sun was falling and the chill in the air touched his skin. His headache was almost gone now. He spared a glance away from the road and saw the fields open up on either side. Some were filled with the distinctive yellow of rapeseed, stark against the land’s dull greens and browns.

“Reminds me of Somerset,” said Magnus, staring out of the window.

“Yeah,” said Ralph.

“You sound disappointed,” Magnus said. “Would you have preferred to go up north?”

Ralph grunted. “You must be joking. Last time I went up north a transvestite tried to fondle me.”

Narrow country roads. Almost sundown. The light was fading.

“Do you hear that?” asked Joel.

Frank changed gear. “Hear what?”

“Rumbling.”

“Could be my stomach,” Ralph said.

A military truck shot around the bend, filling most of the narrow road and momentarily blocking the low sun. Its shadow fell across the car, engine growling like a large, angry animal.

Frank turned the wheel sharply, bringing the Corsa to a stop at the side of the road, skidding on the grass. The truck’s massive wheels passed inches from Frank’s window, swiped the wing-mirror and kicked up bits of gravel and dust against the car. Ugly angles of dark green metal smeared with dried mud. The stink of diesel and oil filled its wake as it disappeared down the road.

Frank looked at the wing-mirror lying on the road.

“Fucking squaddies,” Ralph said.

Another army truck blared past them and crushed what remained of the severed wing-mirror.

Frank scratched the side of his head. “Shit.”

Magnus looked back down the road. “Wonder where they’re heading.”

“They were in a hurry,” Joel said.

Frank felt his chest tighten. He fumbled for his asthma inhaler and sucked on it, breathing deeply. His breathing evened out. A rush of relief.

“You want me to drive?” Joel asked.

Frank put away the inhaler. “Let’s get going. Try to reach the cottage before late afternoon.”

He put the car back in gear and left the mirror’s remains on the road.

Joel pointed ahead and to the left. “There’s the turning.”

Frank slowed the car and changed gear to negotiate the entrance to the side road. It was more of a dirt track than a road, and the car trembled upon small craters, dips and bumps.

“There it is,” said Joel, folding the map, pleased with himself. “Been a while since I’ve been here.”

The cottage was flanked by grasslands, gentle slopes and open fields. A sentinel shape against the clouding sky. Wild flowers were small blooms of colour. The dirt track widened into a gravel driveway. Frank stopped the car at the front of the house. He turned off the engine, savoured the silence. He undid his seatbelt and sat back in his seat.

“Finally.”

“Looks like a nice place,” said Magnus.

“And we’re staying here for free,” Joel said.

“Nice one,” said Ralph.

Frank glanced at the plastic stump where the wing-mirror had been. He scowled, exhaled. He’d get it fixed when he returned home.

The cottage was a relic from the early years of the last century. An arched flagstone roof. Brick walls painted white. A wooden arch over the front door. Tulips idled in flowerbeds either side of the front door, under the downstairs windows.

Wind-chimes trembled in the breeze.

The cottage reminded Frank of the house he grew up in. He felt a strange pang of childhood nostalgia; of innocent days before the shadow of adulthood: taxes, dead-end jobs, banks, high blood pressure…

…Children. A child.

He pushed that last one away.

“Sorry about the wing-mirror,” said Joel.

He looked at Joel. “These things happen.”

The four men got out.

Frank leaned against the car, resting his arms on its roof.

Ralph yawned and arched his back, stretching towards the sky like a mad priest; tattoos on each arm, curlicues of black stretching down to his wrists. He bent over, barely able to touch his toes, grunting and grimacing like he was performing amazing feats of contortion. His hairy arse crack peeked above the waist of his jeans.

“Talk about the dark side of the moon,” Joel said.

Ralph straightened, raised his middle finger.

Frank opened the boot and started unloading their bags.

“Careful with that one,” said Ralph when he saw Frank place his holdall on the ground. “My booze is in there.”

Magnus was talking on his mobile, his face flustered. “Yes, dear, I’ll call you later, don’t worry. What was that? No, I won’t get too drunk. No, there isn’t going to be a stripper. Joel didn’t want one.” He paused, listened. “What? No, I don’t care if we have a stripper, it doesn’t bother me.” Magnus noticed the others watching him and shook his head.

Ralph meowed and made a whipping noise.

“Yes, dear, I won’t forget to call you later. Look, I’ve got to go now, okay? Okay then. Bye.”

“You might as well have brought your missus with you,” said Ralph.

“Is everything alright?” said Frank.

They were supposed to have arrived at the cottage yesterday evening, but Debbie had made Magnus stay an extra night to help look after their sons.

Magnus slipped the mobile into his jacket. “Same old shit. Nothing new.”

“Come on, mate,” said Ralph. “Grow some balls. It’s Joel’s stag weekend.”

Magnus glared at him. “You know the boys are ill. You know what Debbie’s like.” He turned away.

“Leave it,” Frank told Ralph. “It’s not his fault.”

Ralph shook his head.

After the bags had been unloaded Frank locked the car. Joel produced a key from his jeans.

“So your Uncle Jasper owns a few cottages like this one?” asked Frank.

Joel swirled the key-ring around one finger. “He owns several holiday cottages up and down the country. He does okay.”

“Alright for some,” said Ralph, scratching his beard. He picked up his tattered holdall and slung it over his shoulder.

Joel unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped inside. Magnus followed him.

“What do you reckon?” Ralph asked. “Good place for a piss up?”

Frank patted him on the shoulder. “You told me once that anywhere is good for a piss up as long as you’ve got booze and good company.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah, but you won’t remember because you were drunk when you said it.”

“I do have my moments of wisdom.”

“Occasionally.”

Ralph grinned. They listened to the wind dance around the eaves.

Frank lifted his bag.

Ralph said, “Listen, mate, I know the last year’s been shit for you and Catherine…”

“I don’t need pity.”

“I know, but I see the anger and frustration in your eyes sometimes. I don’t blame you for feeling that way. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve both been through.”

“I’m fine, Ralph. Really.”

“I’m just saying, boss, that if you need someone to talk to, don’t feel embarrassed to ask.”

“You’re just a big softy, aren’t you?”

Ralph glanced around like he was about to impart a secret. “Just don’t tell anyone, mate. I’ve got a reputation to protect. Shall we go inside?”

“Good idea.”

Frank put the pizzas in the oven. Joel emptied bags of crisps and snacks into large bowls.

“Have you booked a stripper?” asked Joel. “I specifically said no strippers. I said no strippers.”

“Joel, I didn’t order a stripper.”

“Are you sure?”