Andrew Hurley - The Loney

‘Aren’t those the men we saw on the way here, Father?’ said Miss Bunce.

‘Aye,’ he said, with a look of irritation that Parkinson had singled him out.

‘Where’s Clement, I wonder?’ said Mrs Belderboss.

‘I don’t know,’ Mr Belderboss replied. ‘Why?’

‘That is his Land Rover, isn’t it?’

‘So?’

‘Well, why have they got it?’

‘How should I know?’

‘Do you think he’s lent it to them?’

‘Don’t be silly, Mary.’

‘I’m not being silly, I should think they all muck in together round here, don’t they?’

‘Hardly,’ said Mr Belderboss. ‘If they’ve got his Land Rover, then it’s because he’s sold it to them. Or it’s an exchange for something. I mean they don’t always deal in money out here, but they don’t give things away either. It’s a tough life being a farmer. You can’t afford charity.’

The elderly man got out last and coughing violently into his sleeve, he leant against the side of the Land Rover watching us.

‘Toxoplasmosis,’ said Mr Belderboss, nodding to him.

‘Oh, give it a rest, Reg,’ Mrs Belderboss sighed.

Parkinson and Collier went and stood by the side of the fish stall smoking cigarettes. Mummer said hello to them, these were her people, after all. The men listened as she tried to start up a conversation, but they didn’t talk back. Rather, they grinned, Collier winding the chain around his forearm to keep the dog obedient.

‘Who are they?’ said Miss Bunce as Mummer and Farther got back onto the bus.

‘Who?’ said Mummer.

‘Them,’ said Miss Bunce, pointing out of the window. ‘They don’t seem very friendly.’

Mummer looked back at the men who were now selecting fish and laughing with the fishmonger, as the one with jaundice spluttered into his fist.

‘Oh, Joan you really have lived in London too long,’ she said. ‘They just have different ways. Here, hold this.’

She handed the newspaper packet to Miss Bunce while she settled herself into her seat and we pulled away.

The men watched us leave, Parkinson nodding to Father Bernard and Collier saluting with his black mitten.

***

The smell of fish filled the bus and steadily bloomed as we ran along the lanes back to the house.

Miss Bunce held her hand over her nose. ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she said. David reached across and held her hand.

‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Joan,’ said Mummer. ‘Don’t be so dramatic.’

Miss Bunce wafted the smell away with her hand. ‘I thought that fish shouldn’t smell at all if it was fresh.’

‘No, that’s beef, isn’t it?’ said Mr Belderboss.

‘Chicken,’ Mrs Belderboss replied. ‘Is it beef or chicken?’

‘Look,’ said Mummer. ‘We’ve bought fish from that stall for years and it’s never done us any harm, has it?’

She looked at Farther.

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s always been very nice.’

‘Well, I’m not having any of it,’ Miss Bunce said.

‘Well then you’ll be hungry,’ said Mummer.

‘And I’ll be glad,’ said Miss Bunce. ‘We ought not to be eating at all today.’

Mummer rolled her eyes. ‘That rule only applies to meat, Joan,’ she said. ‘Fish is fine, isn’t it Father?’

‘I think we might risk it, aye,’ said Father Bernard as he changed gear and slowed down to take a hairpin bend in the road.

‘That’s just as well. I’m not sure I’d last until tomorrow with nothing inside me,’ Mr Belderboss laughed from the back seat.

Around the corner we came across someone walking on the edge of the ditch.

‘That’s Clement,’ said Mrs Belderboss. ‘Slow down, Father.’

Father Bernard pulled in a few yards ahead and wound the window down. Clement stopped.

‘Can I give you a lift?’ Father Bernard called.

Clement looked around him and then came to the window, peering at us all and then at Father Bernard.

‘Nay, you’re alright,’ he said.

‘It’s no bother to take you home.’

‘I’ve not far to go,’ Clement said.

‘Well how about I at least take you as far as Moorings?’

Clement looked up into the rain. ‘Aye, alright,’ he said. ‘Take me to Moorings and I’ll see me sen right from there.’

Clement wedged himself between Hanny and I on the back seat. His wax jacket smelled of dried up bodily excretions and damp straw. An astonishing, curdled smell that had subtle layers of foulness for the nose to explore.

He didn’t say a word all the way back, but stared straight ahead and I got to know his profile intimately: a mangled ear stuck on the side of his head like a lump of bubble gum; a nose that had, like his cheeks, turned purulent with end-stage rosacea; a few stray wiry hairs around his lips that the razor had missed several times. When he went to scratch his nose, his sleeve slipped down and revealed a swallow tattooed on his forearm. He saw me staring at it and covered it up.

There was a rumour that he had done time at Haverigg, though whether it was true or what he was supposed to have done, I didn’t know.

When we arrived back at Moorings, Clement waited until everyone had gone into the house and there was only Father Bernard and I coaxing Monro out from under the seat where he had been sleeping. Monro yawned and ambled down the steps and into the house. Father Bernard watched him go and then turned to Clement.

‘Are you sure you won’t let me take you back to the farm?’

Clement shook his head. ‘I’d rather walk from here.’

‘Alright, well you take care of yourself.’

Clement walked away and then stopped and came back.

‘I don’t know if I should say anything, Father,’ he said. ‘But I’d not forgive mesen if I didn’t give thee a word of warning.’

‘Oh? About what?’

‘Stay indoors as much as you can.’

‘With the weather, you mean?’

‘No, I mean keep thaselves to thaselves.’

‘What makes you think we were going to do otherwise?’ said Father Bernard with a small laugh.

‘There are folk around here who aren’t that happy that you’ve come.’

‘Like who?’

‘I’d rather not say.’

Father Bernard smiled faintly to himself. He knew who Clement was talking about.

‘Well, I’m sure we won’t do anything to upset them, Clement. And in any case, it didn’t seem like that to me.’

Clement frowned. ‘How do you mean, Father?’

Father Bernard glanced at me.

‘Well, I stopped in the Bell and Anchor the other day to get out of the rain and someone very kindly bought me a drink.’

Clement looked as though he had swallowed something nasty.

‘Who was it?’

‘Mr Parkinson, the butcher. Why?’

‘And did you return the favour?’

Father Bernard shook his head. ‘I hadn’t time to stay.’

‘I don’t mean a drink, Father.’

‘I don’t follow you, Clement.’

‘I mean, did you invite him up to Moorings?’

‘I don’t recall …’

‘He has a way of making folk feel obliged to him, you see,’ Clement cut in.

‘Well, I didn’t feel like that,’ said Father Bernard. ‘Like I say, it was just a drink.’

But Clement wasn’t listening. He clutched Father Bernard’s arm.

‘Because if you were to invite him, he wouldn’t just take it as a pleasantry. He’d come and bring them all with him.’

‘Who’s all?’

‘It’s just better if tha keeps away from him.’

‘But there must be a reason, Clement.’

‘Aye, plenty.’

‘Such as what?’

‘I can’t say.’

‘Clement?’

‘I’m sorry, Father. I must get back to Mother.’

Clement looked at Father Bernard and then down at his feet, as though he had failed in some way. Then he walked to the lane, paused while he looked around him again, and then went off through a gate and over the fields.