Nicola Barker - Small Holdings

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.‘

‘Again.’

‘Yes.‘

‘How’s Doug?’

‘Not good.’

Ray fitted the lid back onto the saucepan. He stared over towards the window. ‘I’ve got loads to do. I want to finish that gatepost this morning and I swore to Doug I’d weed the tennis courts.’

‘I think Doug’s got bigger things on his mind at present than the tennis courts.’

Ray scratched his beard. I added, ‘I also think we should consider telling Nancy not to go to Southend today for any more privet. We both know the park can’t afford it.’

Ray leaned his weight against the oven and shifted it, unintentionally, an inch closer to the wall.

‘But the problem is,’ I said, hoping for some kind of response, ‘I don’t know if we can really risk antagonising Doug any further. He’s already slightly. . overwrought.’ Ray carried on scratching his beard. ‘What do you think?’

Ray picked up the roll of kitchen towel and tossed it over to me. ‘Have you tried pinching the top of your nose? That might stop it bleeding.’

Saleem came in clutching a folder and a bundle of papers. She threw them on to the table. ‘There,’ she said, ‘I knew he’d started keeping some of this stuff upstairs. He’s getting paranoid. Being secretive’s a real symptom of it. Right, let’s split this lot up between us and see what we can find.’

I looked over towards the door. ‘Doug might come back here at any time.’

Saleem smiled, ‘We’re OK. Nancy’s on lookout.’

Ray stayed over by the oven, like he didn’t want any part of looking through the papers. Saleem pulled out a chair and placed herself squarely on to it. She began leafing through. ‘Pull up a pew, Phil. Take the weight off your bad foot.’ I remained standing, breathing into a clump of tissue.

‘OK. . OK. .’ Saleem rifled through the top few sheets. She pulled something out. ‘Privet!’ she announced, excitedly, ‘Bingo!’ She passed it over to me. I looked at it. An advance order requesting privet amounting to the sum of fifteen hundred pounds.

Saleem carried on rifling. She said, ‘I don’t know how the hell he’s intending to explain away this little lot tomorrow at the meeting.’

I looked over at Ray. ‘Fifteen hundred pounds,’ I said, miserably.

Ray shifted his weight. ‘Maybe you should ring them,’ he volunteered, ‘and tell them we can’t actually afford to pay for it.’

‘Maybe.’

My head felt weightless. My head felt like the bright-faced bulb of yellow sunflower. All colour, display, no substance. I pulled out a chair and sat down.

‘Saleem,’ I said, gently, ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. About Wu not destroying Doug’s greenhouse. Because if Wu didn’t destroy it, then who did?’

‘Vandals.’

‘They didn’t break in. They had a key.’

‘Clever vandals. You’re dripping blood on the floor.’

I looked down. Cog had appeared at my feet and was nosing at the drops of blood. His little pink tongue protruded and he started to lap it up. I bent over to push him away and as I bent, my head started rolling and roaring like it was full of buzzing, like it was a fluffy bumble just about to detach itself, to fly off.

It would have flown, I’m sure it would have flown, except for the fact that at that exact moment Nancy burst into the kitchen and yanked me up. She stared into my face. ‘Listen,’ she said, breathless, ‘that’s Doug.’

Slowly, I blinked. ‘Doug?’ I tried to focus on her face but her eyes were everywhere. I tried to focus.

‘He’s taken the tractor. That’s him, outside. Listen.’

Saleem stuffed the papers into the folder, threw the folder into the cutlery drawer, grabbed hold of my arm. ‘Outside,’ she said, ‘come on.’

Actually, we must’ve looked quite funny, the four of us, standing there in a line, like we were preparing to be presented to the Queen in a formal ceremony. Just outside the gate, near the Ladies toilets, we had a full view of Doug, the tractor, the lakes, the greenhouses, the hill opposite, the whole damn vista.

‘Where’s he going?’ Ray asked. ‘Any ideas?’

‘Maybe he’s thinking about mowing the grass patch just beyond the bandstand,’ I suggested. Saleem snorted. Nancy said, ‘He doesn’t have the mower attachment on the back.’

‘Did he say anything?’ Ray asked, ‘to you?’

Nancy shook her head. ‘Nope. Just picked up the heavy-headed axe and climbed into the tractor.’

Ray looked at me. I shrugged.

‘This is it.’ Saleem said. ‘This is the big one.’

‘How? ‘ I asked, losing patience, almost.

‘I’ll bet you any amount he’s going to drive that tractor straight into the greenhouse.’

The tractor trundled and grumbled, between the lakes, beyond the lakes.

‘He wouldn’t do that.’

‘Wanna bet?’ Saleem put out her hand, palm skywards.

‘He wouldn’t do that.’

Beyond the lakes, up the hill. I saw the tractor’s rear indicator flashing right. Saleem chortled at this. ‘My God,’ she said, ‘he’s a one-off. He’s fucking crazy.’

A sharp, right turn, a questionable gear-change. ‘Ouch,’ Nancy muttered. And then, a revving, a roaring, a speeding up.

‘He’s bending down,’ Ray said, perturbed, ‘not even looking where he’s going.’

‘I know what he’s up to,’ Saleem said. ‘He’s weighing down the accelerator with the axe-head.’

Fifteen foot to go. Ten foot, five. Doug bounced out of the tractor and landed, cat-careful, on all fours, stayed hunched for a moment, stood up. The tractor — ‘I told you! I told you’ Saleem cackled — slowed down for a moment, choked, stuttered, lurched, kept lurching, until CRUNCH. It hit the main glasshouse, shattering and clattering, bending metal, running, roaring, covering, collapsing. And shards fell from above, the engine cut. More collapsing, more shards, a tiny, silly tinkling, a rumble, a small, metallic burp.

Doug didn’t pause to look at or appraise his handiwork. He didn’t turn, he kept on walking. ‘He’s so cool,’ Nancy whispered, ‘like John Wayne or that other guy with black hair and funny eyes who’s in The Gunfighter.’

‘Gregory Peck,’ Ray mumbled.

‘That’s the one. Yeah.’

A woman in a headscarf who had been walking her miniature collie nearby called out the dog’s name harshly and then, when he didn’t come to heel, put two fingers between her lips and whistled. And strangely enough, it was that whistle, that sound alone which made my legs shake and my eyes fill, not any of the others. That sound alone.

‘Oh shit,’ Ray said, ‘Doug’s heading back this way. I’m off.’ Ray scarpered.

Doug was strolling back in the general direction of the house. He was wiping his hands on the seat of his trousers. He seemed extremely interested in the condition of the flowering borders. At one point, I swear it, he stopped and removed a dead flower head.