Ross Raisin - Gods Own Country

Mornin’ feller, owt fresh?

He gave me the eye a moment. Thought I’d stole all the food already. But he didn’t need bother worrying, there was plenty in there, he could see so himself now, as he picked out a whole box and dropped it on the floor. He didn’t have much of a hunger today, though, he left all the scrag-end pieces and just picked at the choice bits. Go on, men, he looked up at me, I can see you’ve something to tell. I smiled. He was no calf-head, old Hobble-Hop. I told him the whole story, and he was mighty interested, watching me all the time. Looks like you’re going to breed her sometime soon, he said. Then I told him I was going to get her some jet, something gradlier than a tin bracelet, a necklace or similar, but I needed some money first because I didn’t want to steal anything off the woman in the shop. He mulled it over a moment, then he went back to his box. No, sorry, can’t help you there, lad, it’s beyond me. He tossed away a chip. Folk certain put a lot of vinegar on their food, don’t they?

I marked sudden there were two lads watching us from the railing other side the pier. Fucking freak, one of them said, and he turned to walk off, laughing, but the other sudden darted at Hobble-Hop, hissing and wheeling his arms. It boggled him, and he lost balance, flapping his wing against the tarmac and the gammy leg trailing useless until he righted up and flew off, skriking loudly.

I watched them traipse off toward the end the pier. They had their shirts untucked, their school ties made into short stubs like the nimrods in my class used to have them. They didn’t notice me follow behind, they were all concentration kicking a pebble between each other. They got to the end and slouched over the railing. One of them gobbed into the surf. Oi, nimrods. They swung round, confused. You think you’re funny, eh, chasing him like that? They were betwaddled something champion, they’d not have been more capped if Dracula himself was stood there chiding them. Now, dear fellows, of course I don’t want to do this, but you can’t go behaving in that manner, I’m afraid. I’m going to have to drain the blood from you. I stepped up to the bigger one, him who’d run at Hobble-Hop, and I could see he didn’t know what to do, he glegged at his charver but he didn’t know what to do neither, it’s not every day you meet a convict on the pier. What the fuck’s your problem, freak? I made a grab for his tie but the ground was slippery from the sea-spray and I skidded, he pushed me in the chest, knocking me over. Fucking freak. I looked up, not a cloud in the sky, there was a seagull gliding about, I couldn’t tell if it was Hobble-Hop or not because the legs were tucked in. I got a kick in my side and I doubled over, closing my eyes a moment. Sod off Cyclist. Another kick, on the leg, and I felt a cold splat on my cheek. Let you out the mental hospital for the day, have they? I tried to get up but my stomach cramped. Bracelet? What sort of present’s that? But they were running away laughing, they couldn’t hear me.

I touched my cheek and a syrupy drool of gob clung to my finger. I wiped it on my jacket and got to my knees, picking up the pieces of food that’d fallen out my box. Hometime. She’d be wondering where I’d got to, by now.

I walked careful slow down the path from the cliff, limping like my old charver on the pier. My leg was getting an ache up from where I’d been kicked, jipping each time I stepped on it. A proper resting was what it needed. We’d stay indoors now, the afternoon and the night, and I’d spy about for a boat early next morning, while she had a lie-in. I walked past one of the rock-bombs from the day before, half buried in the sand. I had a go digging it out with my foot but there was no shifting it, it was there forever now so I left it be and scrambled round the rock jetty. I don’t know what you’re idling at. She’s been waiting an age already, she likely thinks they’ve caught you, and here you are digging at rocks, I’ve never known the like — you wouldn’t find my husband, Mr Popeye, doing anything like that, believe me. She was right, course, so I hurried on, my brain filling with the night before, and the smell of her, the flesh of her thighs — it didn’t matter she’d let the Cyclist spend them times with her, he was forgot now. There was only me. I’d forgive her everything. Popeye’s wife gave me the wink. Don’t worry you’ve been too long, she’s waiting for you, and who’s the one with the key, anyhow? She gave me the wink again — it’s me, of course. I slid in through the creep-hole and I thought, I’d need to put something on the sand underneath, make her comfortable, a shirt, something out the bags, but as my eyes tuned to the dark and I viewed round I realised the cave was empty, she’d gone. All there was left was the rope coiled on the sand like a giant dead worm, and the bracelet, lying there next the two rucksacks.

I thought sudden I heard her and I scrabbled out the door, but when I looked about there was no one there, only a pair of seagulls fighting in the sky. I’d wait for her to come back. Middle of the night, that was when I’d get looking for the boat. She could come with me, if she wanted, or stay at home, as she pleased. I’d not tie her up again. We’d sail without stopping, we wouldn’t know where we were until morning and the sun rose up, a vast of orange over the water edge. So, that’s where we are — the middle of the ocean, no land for a hundred miles all round.

♦

My leg throbbed each time I got up, like there was a lead ball trapped inside that dropped whenever I moved, but I’d been wrong thinking it needed a resting, that was just making it worse, so I went outdoors for a walk on the beach to get the blood moving. It was cold out, evening setting in. Someplace distant an engine was buzzing over the water. When we were on the boat, I’d know where she was the whole time. Drifting out to sea, nobody to bother us, only the tug of the engine and the seagulls mawnging that the fish net’s still on the deck, and all the things that’d happened floating further and further away. Daft bleeding gulls, following an empty boat — Hobble-Hop was pissing his kecks laughing at them. This here’s a passenger boat, you cloth-heads, passenger boat for two. We’ll land up wherever we want. There’s the place, see, a viewsome-looking spot of land, that — full steam ahead, no folk there, no puffin shite, nothing. But wait on, spoke too soon, look. Should’ve known it was all a bit too postcard, Father, what’re you doing here? Come to give you a braying, Nimrod. Right you are, and no better man for the job. Do you hear that — Father’s come to give me a braying, come all this way, he has. But she wasn’t listening, she was stood with her back to me, nattering away, it wasn’t until I craned my neck to look round her I saw she was talking to Norman, sat in a new vehicle he was showing her. Nought to sixty in seven seconds, I could hear him saying, a gash of a smile on him. Nought to sixty in seven seconds, what the fuck do you know about that, Norman? She gave me the wink. Daft sod.

There was a noise then, and we all looked round. Eh up, what’s this, another boat? Father was chuntering something. Quiet up, Father, there’s plenty time for the braying afterward, let’s have a see who this is first. It was the police — the southern copper and his herd of gawby sergeants. They were in an orange lifeboat, buzzing toward us bouncing on the waves, their hands on top their heads keeping their helmets on. They reached the shoreline and skidded on to the beach. I stood rooted as they jumped out the boat and the waterline drew back splashing over their boots. Afternoon, fellers, I said, then I turned and ran for it along the beach. Greengrass! The wind was rushing against my chops and down my nostrils. Nothing like the sea air. Best treatment there is. Greengrass! Get back here you old nazzart! Greengrass! Sorry fellers, but you’ll not catch me. And I was right — a gap was opening up behind me, but what I hadn’t clocked was another group, in front, coming straight toward me. I near ran right into them, one of them was shining bald and these two red ears sticking out, he belted me in the stomach, taking the wind out of me. No need for that, fellers, you’ve got me now, but they were teeming round, pressing me down, a swarm all over me like maggots at a dead sheep. He’s secure, someone was shouting. Course I was bleeding secure — I had about eighteen handcuffs on me. Father and Norman and the girl had gone now, I was being marched to the lifeboat. One of the police was poncing in the surf, trying not to get his kecks splashed. You’re fucking insane — tied there like a dog, another was spittling in my ear, and he must’ve belted me again, because I blanked out after.