Almost Eden, page 22
‘More like it, that’ll tire a big fish out, not break the line.’
We experimented for ten minutes, and with the tide up Robby stepped out into the dark, the shore in front of the house being lit well enough by the house lights. I remembered high tides here where the waves had lapped the front door, and of casting out whilst sitting on the windowsill in my bedroom.
Curious, and stepping out, I could see him sat on the low stone walls, rod in hand, the water just six feet away, just the other side of the path. ‘At least we don’t have far to go to get some fishing in.’
‘Aye.’
It was a pleasant calm night, a few lights visible across the estuary, a boat with lights now moving slowly up the estuary.
Fifteen minutes of patience rewarded us with a familiar sound. Robby turned to me and smiled through the dim light, the reel now letting out line, but with a pre-programmed resistance. He increased the resistance, reduced it, and experimented.
‘Poor damn fish will be so tired it’ll surrender and beach itself!’ I suggested.
Robby increased the resistance two notches and started to reel in. ‘Big‘un. And night time is best time for big‘uns.’
Making a racket, Robby reeled in “the big‘un”, stepping to the edge of the path as something broke the water. He dragged it in on the next modest wave, but then got wet when he grabbed it by the gills. ‘Pollack.’
It was a good twenty-five pounds of fish, a fish that had come in looking for sand eels or lug worm in the shallows, and had succumbed to Robby’s juicy worm. It would now be boiled for breakfast.
I slept well that night, and after breakfast the next morning – Pollack on toast, I took Robby with me to the bank at 11am. The lads were finishing off the house walls, and had been asked to paint the cellar if time permitted.
Figuring that Robby would act as a good deterrent to anyone wanting to part me from my money, I cheekily parked again in the pub car park and headed for the bank. Robby waited outside, looking suspicious, as if I might be inside and holding up this rural branch.
I signed a form, entered my pin number, and accepted the cash.
‘Might I ask what the cash is for?’ the man enquired. ‘For the form. We have to do that for certain amounts.’
‘I’m building an eco-farm,’ I told him, and that was not too far away from the truth. ‘Wind turbines, solar power, the works. The money is for things bought locally, and for the labourers. I have forty acres.’
Outside, I collected my bodyguard as he stood blocking the sun and worrying passers-by, and headed back, a quick stop made in the fishing tackle shop. With Robby in the car with the loot, I bought a fourteen foot monster of a rod, bells, and lights to both fit to the rods and wear about a person’s head at night.
Back at the house I hid the money, having told Robby I had drawn just four thousand pounds, certain that he had not counted it the car, and certain that he could not have counted it anyway. And now, with the money to hand, and not in one of those dodgy banks, I dragged everyone down to the cellar.
‘Right, I want cement – lots of it, and I want a wall made up, a room created, cutting this place into thirds. So that’s two walls actually. Each wall will have a doorway, normal size, and I want that hole blocked up, thick concrete, earth outside.’
Marcus accepted a wad of cash, and headed off to get some cheap cement. I just hoped he wasn’t pinching the cement. When he returned, he presented me with an Alsatian puppy, and it was adorable. I had never liked dogs, but this little fella was cute. I knelt and stroked it, getting a good response.
‘How much was it?’ I asked as I played with the puppy.
‘Only twenty-five quid.’
‘It’s called Max,’ Marcus’s buddy said, getting a quick look from a nervous Marcus.
I eased up. ‘And … the kennels gave it a name?’
‘Aye.’
I nodded. ‘And would that name have been on the collar, since there’s a mark for a collar – yet no collar.’
‘Collar was from the kennels, so we threw it away,’ they said.
‘Uh huh. Well, I just hope that you didn’t find the dog tied up outside a shop, its owner inside.’
They stared at their feet till I sent them back to work. I fed the puppy, Max, and created a collar from rope, an old blanket placed down for him. I was certain that the original owner would not think to look here, and I wondered when I stopped caring about such matters as the legality of ownership. Perhaps my attitude had altered after I had been kicked in the teeth by the senior partners at the firm, coming so soon after Wendy had kicked me in the balls and ripped my heart out.
Taking the puppy for a walk, carefully tethered, he sniffed the sand and found the water fascinating, but when a seagull landed he hid behind me, not yet the fearless guard dog I had hoped for. He would have to grow into it.
Funnily enough, I enjoyed taking the dog to the beach, and I wasted a good half an hour just strolling, taking in the view. I could now see why people liked to take their own dogs to the beach. At least there were no bylaws here about cleaning up the poop, no fine threatened from an odious sign at the back of the beach, and I figured we’d collect the poop for the crops anyway.
Heading back towards the house, I considered the cash in my room, and the excitable ball of fur at the end of the rope. This was it; there was no going back to my old life. I could get another job in London, sure, my skills were in demand – as they were here, and I could reclaim my apartment and carry on.
‘Carry on with what?’ I found myself asking the puppy. ‘Over Forty’s Night with Derrick, staring at wall, micro-waved meals?’
I knew that I might meet someone else, it was just that … I didn’t really want to; it felt alien to me. Despite the problems here, I was now keen - and as excited at the puppy, keen to decorate, to build, keen to plant crops and return to my love of gardening, and keen to get involved with alternate energy. And I had bought a dog, stolen or not, and a dog was for life, not just for the weekend visits - or until the rightful owner claimed it.
No, the decision had been made, and I realised then that I had be avoiding going back to collect my things from the flat. I had plenty of clothes here, there was not that much at the flat, but I also had things stored at a friend’s house. My passport and other private papers were at the apartment, and I would have to collect them. I’d also have to give the apartment back. But, for now, I’d not be like Cortez and burn my boats; I’d keep the apartment for a while. After all, I could afford it.
Thinking of work at the old firm, Derrick rang. I was in two minds about answering it. ‘Derrick.’
‘How’s it going down there?’
‘Good, no more problems, and I sold the silver.’
‘You’re loaded then.’
‘Yes, and I’m going to stay here now, now that I have no job to return to.’
‘They’re going to settle, I saw the letter.’
‘Well, that’s … good to know, I suppose.’
‘I have your stuff.’
‘Stuff?’
‘From your desk; photos, bits and pieces, a tie.’
‘Oh. Well, I’ll be back up in London soon, I’ll call you. Unless you can mail it all.’
‘Down there?’
‘Send to a firm of solicitors called Swains, Salcombe in Devon.’
‘OK.’
I kicked sand with my shoes. ‘Have you … found the woman of your dreams yet?’
‘Got a few nibbles, you know, playing the field. No rush.’
‘You’re not getting any younger, get on with it.’
After the call I was a little despondent, and the idea of someone from the firm clearing my desk annoyed the hell out of me. It was as if I had died, the remnants of my life cleared away and placed in a plain brown envelope. My alter ego, that of the working cost draughtsman, was now well and truly dead. Sighing and cursing in equal measure, I headed down the beach.
I made an effort on the room earmarked for Ben, and by time the pair of dog thieves had knocked off for the day the room was taking shape - and turning magnolia. Robby balanced his bulk on a small step-ladder and painted the ceiling a brilliant gloss white with a roller, and bit by bit the room brightened. On the bed itself new bedding sat waiting some attention, still in the packet, and fresh towels, also still in the packet. And somehow we had managed to get paint on the puppy’s ear, despite the fact that we had not allowed the puppy upstairs.
At 9pm I was well and truly knackered, and we sat down to corned beef and leftover fish, the dog getting the scraps. Robby offered to keep the dog with him, since it would whimper if left alone. After a warm shower I felt better, my limbs again aching, and I scanned The Sun newspaper in bed, and its tales of doom and gloom to come.
Return of the prodigal son
I woke early, a stiff breeze and broken clouds greeting me, and I considered that the recent good weather may have left us. In the kitchen I could hear sounds emanating from the cellar, and I found Robby blocking the hole with wooden panels, at least on the inside, the puppy running around the large cellar.
‘I’ll concrete tother side,’ he explained. ‘Flush wall this side.’
‘Good,’ I commended, mock chasing the puppy, who could move faster than I could. Unfortunately, when he did try and rush off he fell over a great deal, a less than impressive display for such an apex predator.
With Marcus on site, we mixed the concrete and filled the cellar hole, all hands then being diverted to the last of the paper to be stripped, many hands soon painting, the dog locked in the kitchen. The hallway was soon magnolia in a few places, brilliant white in other places, the wooden stair banister now painted white.
Making good progress, I called a halt at noon and fed the crew, the puppy constantly under people’s feet. A few hours of earnest painting followed, and Ben called at 4pm. I was tired, but I set off for Totnes, leaving Robby in charge.
It took more than thirty minutes to get to Totnes, despite no lumbering tractors to block my progress, and I found Ben stood waiting – blue jeans with trendy holes in the knees, a white t-shirt from some band. Still, he was cleaner and smarter-looking than I was right now. He threw his gear in the back - a large rucksack, placed his laptop bag on a seat, and slid in.
‘Good trip down?’ I asked as we pulled off.
‘Alright. Had some work to do, so I had my laptop on. Watched a film. How’s the house, ‘cause you stink of paint?’
‘You wouldn’t recognise the old place,’ I enthused, and I stopped to consider just when he had last visited. ‘You were last there when you were … fifteen?’
‘Think so.’
‘Five years,’ I noted. ‘Well, we’ve been painting, we’ve cleaned out the cellar, dried it out and painted parts of it, rendered some of the walls -’
‘Who’s we?’
‘I have a guy that lives on the estate, and two labourers.’
‘Splashing out, aren’t you...?’
‘Not really, it’s … an investment. And … it’s my retirement home; I may be there twenty or thirty years. Oh, I sold that silver, did I say?’
‘What did you get for it?’
‘Not what it’s worth, but it could have taken months to get it back from the police, so I sold it for three hundred thousand.’
‘Sweet. You’re loaded then.’
We joined a dual carriageway. ‘Well, I have the money from the divorce, and I’ve saved money in the past few years, so I’m not doing too badly at the moment.’
‘Couldn’t believe you were in the papers, then on the news; everybody in university is asking about it.’
‘Well, that shooting was not related to me, not really,’ I quickly got out. ‘They found who did it, and who killed my solicitor.’
‘What! Someone killed your solicitor?’
‘Sorry, I may not have told you. I had a solicitor named Mark Pugh and … well, he liked young boys, and one killed him. At the time I thought it was about the silver.’
‘Bloody hell, Dad, you were always such a boring old wanker-’
‘Hey, I’m not old, nor boring,’ I mock complained.
‘Not any more. And you look like a bloody Arab.’
I checked my image in the mirror, noting the tanned face and scalp, crow’s feet around my eyes. ‘Been a good week, weather wise, and I’ve been working outdoors. And fishing.’
We caught up on family gossip, on studies, and on plans and dreams, soon pulling into the estate. Ben eased out and grabbed his laptop bag, stood staring at the wind turbines for a moment. With his rucksack on his back he stopped to glance at the water turbine, Robby stepping out.
‘House is better,’ Ben noted as we walked towards it. ‘Alright, mate,’ he offered Robby.
‘How do,’ Robby responded. Facing me, Robby said, ‘I’ll check me cottage tonight, give you some peace to chat like.’
‘Thanks. But stop for supper first,’ I encouraged, leading him back inside.
I showed Ben his room - after warning him not to touch anything anywhere, and he dumped down his bags. His magnolia walls were dry enough, his wet ceiling beyond reach, his window open to help with the smell of paint. In the kitchen, the puppy jumped all over us till we fed it. With Ben examining the batteries with a special interest – he was studying electrical engineering after all – I got the kettle on, Robby fetching tins of mince meat.
Sat around the kitchen table, I explained much of what had happened, and Ben was staggered by it all. After the meal, and with Robby off to the cottage with the puppy, Ben said, ‘This guy Robby, he … a bit slow?’
‘He’s smarter than you realise, and he’s excellent with his hands. He also knows a great deal about farming, building, painting, fishing and … most country skills. He’s also completely trustworthy and honest, so don’t forget that. When I came here, Aunt Betty had handed him nine grand in cash – and he declared it to me, offered to give it to me.’
‘Not many would have done that,’ Ben acknowledged.
‘No, so be nice to Robby. He could also snap you like a twig. He has an accent, as you heard, and he uses old country sayings, so don’t take the piss or laugh.’
My son nodded. ‘I’ll have a look at the instruction book for the wind turbine later,’ he offered.
‘Please do, but keep in mind that the DC current is enough to shock someone … as I found out. I touched the damn wires and ruined a pair of trousers.’
Ben laughed. ‘DC current lingers in old wires, thick ones, sometimes for ages.’
I pointed at the batteries. ‘It needs something to stop absorbing current when the batteries are full. There may be a bit missing; they overheat in a brisk wind.’
‘I’ll have a look.’ He sipped his cooling tea. ‘Have you … spoken to Mum?’
‘More this past week than this past year.’
‘She don’t seem happy with her new fella.’
‘You’ve … met him a few times?’ I floated.
Ben nodded. ‘He seemed OK, but then he likes to talk the talk, yachts and cars. Likes the sound of his own voice.’
‘Yes, well he knows about the rumours of gold hidden here, that’s why he wants the place. But the gold isn’t here; this place has been searched more than a hot crime scene. Some turned up in London, so it’s long gone.’
‘But people still think it’s here.’
I nodded. ‘I could get a good price for the place from these idiots, but … I’m staying for a while. Hence the big nasty guard dog.’
‘That a metal detector in the lounge?’
‘Robby’s, to … find fish hooks when he drops them. We haven’t used it to scan the place yet.’
‘Can I do that?’ Ben keenly asked.
‘Sure, help yourself. But any coins you find on the beach are coming out of your pocket money.’ I reached into my pocket and handed over two hundred pounds. ‘I’m feeling flush. But, you know, don’t waste it.’
‘I get access to my trust fund soon,’ Ben mentioned as he pocketed the money.
‘Just hope the banking system doesn’t go tits-up on us,’ I quipped.
‘It’s not looking good, Jane’s dad is off to Australia.’
‘Jane?’ I queried with a frown.
‘My … a girl I started seeing,’ he said with a dismissive shrug.
‘Bring her down if you like,’ I offered. ‘She can meet your old man.’
‘She’s off to Corsica with her mum for a holiday.’
‘So what does Jane’s father do?’
‘Investment manager or something.’
‘Well, right now the stock markets are not doing too well,’ I said with a sigh. ‘My private pension is probably worth half what it was.’
‘Biggest loss in history for the UK markets,’ Ben informed me. ‘Bigger than ’87. The recession that followed that crash lasted years, so this will be worse.’
I tried to hide my concern. ‘Yes, but I have stockpiled corned beef and salt.’
‘We’re not going to war with the Germans, Dad.’
‘That … depends on which paper you read.’
He took a moment. ‘You seem upset … about your job, but you’re loaded now, Dad?’
I took a moment, lowering my gaze. ‘After the divorce I had little in the way of focus. After work I … would go home and … well, I’d not exactly moved on with my life and taken up an interesting hobby. My work gave me a pride, and a focus, and … it’s something you might understand after thirty years in a career. Besides, being sacked is hard to take, especially when it’s for the wrong reason.
‘I had the divorce to contend with, and then the loss of my work on top, so the prospect of sitting in that apartment all day was a horrible feeling.’
‘You decided to retire down here quick enough...’
‘I didn’t decide anything,’ I testily pointed out. ‘Most everything that has happened has been decided for me. Getting this place, finding the silver, getting sacked - none of my choosing.’
‘It’s worked out alright; most people would die to have a place like this and a private beach, fortune in the bank.’
