Almost Eden, page 33
Ben immediately turned to his sister. ‘Why don’t you come back down to Devon with us?’
‘Ben,’ I called. ‘It’s … not really safe … down there … sometimes.’
‘Fuck ‘em,’ Ben let out. ‘If they bother us we’ll bother them.’
Sophie had lifted her face and adopted a frown. ‘What’s … not safe?’
‘A … few other things have happened in Devon, besides the silver you heard about,’ I began. ‘Have you … not heard, or seen the newspapers?’
‘Newspapers?’ she asked.
‘It’s something we can chat about when you’re feeling better,’ I suggested.
‘She’s not a child,’ Ben cut in with. Addressing Sophie, he said, ‘Dad inherited Aunt Betty’s house, and he found stolen silver there – a million quid’s worth.’ Sophie’s eyes widened. ‘And there’s gold hidden down there, people looking for it, worth millions.’
‘And three people were killed over that gold,’ I reminded Ben.
‘Killed?’ Sophie repeated, and I was quietly cursing Ben for having brought this up.
I heaved a sigh. ‘Some people were looking for the gold and … they fell out and shot each other, is as best we can figure it,’ I lied. ‘The problem is: treasure seekers may come to my land to see if the gold is buried somewhere.’
‘Wait till you see Robby; six foot four, twenty stone, loaded shotgun in his hand. Ain’t no one going to bother us.’
‘Who’s this … Robby?’
‘My right hand man. He lives with me.’
‘Lives with … you?’ Sophie struggled with.
‘I still have this apartment,’ I said, taking in the lounge. ‘But I now live in Devon. My old firm … they sacked me.’
‘Sacked you?’
‘They, and Special Branch, thought I might have known about Aunt Betty all along.’
‘Special Branch? What … what have they got to do with Betty?’
Having a huge theatrical sigh, I stood. ‘I’ll get some toast sorted, more tea, since it would take eight hours to explain it all.’
Ten minutes later, we settled, but Ben jumped in with, ‘When you go back down, I’m going with you. Sophie can come with us, or stay with friends till mum is back.’ He faced his sister. ‘Come on, Soph, you’ve got time off, just sit on the beach.’
She sipped her fresh tea. ‘I don’t want to be in the house by myself,’ she softly uttered. Making eye contact with me, she said, ‘I’d love to see the old house again, and the beach.’
‘There may be trouble,’ I cautioned. ‘And if anything happened to either of you…’
‘Hey, old man,’ Ben snapped. ‘We worry about you as well, you old wanker. Who’ll be looking out for who?’
That outburst had made me feel oddly proud of my son, as well as wanting to slap him at the same time. I did not yet think of myself either as an old man, or an old wanker, although in Special Branch circles that was how I was considered.
‘Well … er … we could explain everything to your sister, and … she can make an informed choice.’
‘On the way,’ Sophie suggested in a weak voice.
‘You only have the clothes you’re in,’ I pointed out.
‘I can buy a few t-shirts and pants.’ She waited. ‘I want to be away from London for a while.’
I forced a false smile and nodded. ‘Of course.’ I stood. ‘Then I guess I’ll pack up the rest of my stuff, because I don’t know when I’ll be back this way again.’
‘You’ve really moved down there?’ Sophie puzzled.
‘It’s a long story, but we do have a long journey to make.’
Grabbing my large suitcase, I left my suits and shirts hanging, and elected to grab some of the more practical items of clothing that I owned; trainers, t-shirts, boots and jeans. Towels seemed useful, a hat or two to keep the sun off. The contents of my bedside drawers were hurriedly deposited into a Tesco’s bag, my private papers placed into my suitcase – less my contract of employment with the old firm.
Spare sunglasses and glasses were carefully placed inside shoes – shoes inside the suitcase, shorts, I even grabbed swimming trunks.
Looking around the apartment, I decided to leave everything else, and there was not much to show for a lifetime, or for thirty years of marriage. I asked Ben to bring the painting, we packed the bread and milk, a few other items, and I closed the door on my old apartment. And I firmly closed the door on my old life.
With Sophie questioning the smell of diesel, we began the journey back.
Reaching into my jacket, I pulled out a wad of cash. ‘Keep this for bits and pieces, or in case we get separated.’
‘Jesus, Dad.’
‘What?’ I puzzled.
Ben took the wad back, and thumbed through it. ‘Five grand in fifties.’
‘Really. Oh, sorry, Soph, wrong wad.’
‘When did you start carrying wads like that around, Dad?’
I exchanged a look with Ben. He counted out three hundred and handed it to her.
‘So,’ I sighed. ‘Where to start.’ We headed west. ‘My Aunt Betty was not actually a blood relative, she was born to the Norton family…’
As we passed Reading, there was a great deal of ‘Jesus fucking Christ, Dad!’ coming from the back of the car, but I was not unhappy, it was taking her mind off things, and by time we pulled in for petrol near Swindon Ben was making jokes.
‘You stole a puppy, Dad?’ Sophie asked.
‘Can you prove that?’ I countered with.
‘And these cans of stolen diesel – that’ll explode if we crash!’
‘It’s not stolen diesel, it’s just that we couldn’t be sure of where it came from, or if the VAT has been paid … or not.’
Ben emerged from the services shop with two things; a brand new laptop in its box, and a pre-pay mobile, both handed to Sophie. As we pulled off, Sophie realised that the laptop was top of the range. She also realised that Ben had bought her ten scratch cards with pre-pay time on them. The items had been purchased with my cash, but it was the thought that counted.
‘I’ve lost all my study material, and emails,’ Sophie mentioned.
‘We can retrieve your emails, and attachments,’ Ben insisted. ‘You’re with Gmail, and you can get them back. I’ve done it. And your phone was Vodaphone. Get a replacement phone, and they can load the old numbers from frequent use. You just ring people and say – who’s this?’
‘Sounds like you’ve been through that,’ I noted as I drove.
‘Had two phones nicked, and one laptop,’ Ben stated, none too concerned.’ He cranked his head around to his sister. ‘When we get to the house it’ll take an hour to set-up the laptop, then I can use my dongle to get your emails back.’
Seeing them cooperate like this brought me to the edge of tears, but I fought it away; this reminded me too much of what I had lost when they had gone off to university. Images of them playing in the sand at the estate came flooding back, memories of long hot summers, but those memories no longer hurt.
Passing the time, I resumed the story of our dysfunctional ancestors - and of my sudden and dramatic change of lifestyle. We passed Bristol, now on the M5 and heading south, rain lashing the windscreen. Sophie dozed off at one point, Ben dozing off a little later, and I fought to stay focused on the road. I pulled in to get takeaway food as we crossed into Devon, the car soon stinking of fried chicken, but at least the smell of diesel had gone.
The clouds parted beyond Exeter, the A38 busy, Sophie remembering features along the road, a few roadside pubs we had stopped at when she was young. The sign for Kingsbridge loomed large half an hour later, and it was 3.30pm when I eased to a halt to move Robby’s gate. Gate aside, I drove down the access road, the blue water of the estuary bursting into view, Sophie managing a smile.
As we unloaded, a very grubby Robby appeared around the house, shotgun in hand, the weapon looking like a twig compared to his bulk.
‘Bloody hell, Dad,’ Sophie let out, but not as a complaint.
‘How do,’ Robby offered as he neared, his big frame blocking the sun.
‘Eaten all the bloody food in the house?’ Ben cheekily asked Robby. ‘Any left for us?’
In the kitchen, Sophie knelt and stroked the puppy. Straightening, she said, ‘It seems different, the house.’
‘A lick of paint on the outside, thoroughly painted inside,’ I keenly explained. ‘Greenhouse, terraces, wind turbines – all new.’
‘You did all this in two weeks?’
‘More or less, yes.’
Robby appeared at the door. ‘Miss, if you knows these fellas what bothered you, I’ll teach ‘em what.’
She studied him for a moment. ‘Thank you, that’s sweet, but … the police are searching for them. And … they’re in London.’
‘Thank you, Robby,’ I said, hoping to change the subject.
With Robby gone, back to supervise Marcus, kettle now on, Sophie asked, ‘Would he hurt someone?’
I stopped to consider my answer, a look exchanged with Ben. ‘If they bothered any of us … yes, he would. So please be careful where he’s concerned. He’s a very honest and straight man, works hard all day long, but he has … limited schooling. But if you were in a pub with him, and you asked him to hit someone, he’d probably put them in hospital before thinking through the consequences – so be careful.’
I sat and faced Sophie. ‘Do you need … check-ups or anything?’
‘Six weeks, unless there’s an infection.’
I studied my medical student daughter, and her huge black eye. ‘Ask for whatever you need, pain killers, etc. Do you … mind if I ask the extent of your injuries?’
‘Got punched when I wouldn’t give my phone over, they snatched the bag but I wouldn’t let go, then a girl -’
‘A girl?’ I loudly repeated.
‘Girl stabbed me in the shoulder. I thought she had punched me till I saw the blood.’
‘Any … lasting problems?’ I delicately ventured.
‘Shouldn’t be, no, but I will see a physio at some point.’
Ben asked, with a smirk, ‘Did you learn anything from the procedures?’
‘Some, yes. Wrong side of the bed though.’
‘Any nice young doctors?’ he asked.
‘Ben,’ I called. ‘I’m sure she had other things on her mind at the time.’
‘Their bedside manner was terrible,’ she noted. ‘And when the nurses found out I was a medical student they were a bit bitchy.’
I left them chatting and joined Marcus and Robby on the slope, Max at my ankles, and I was dressed now better than I had been since first arriving.
‘All OK, boss?’ Marcus asked.
‘My daughter will stay here a while, she was robbed in London, a bit shook up.’ I shrugged. ‘How’s progress?’
‘Nearly finished second terrace, start of the pig pen,’ Marcus keenly informed me.
I pointed at a ramshackle chicken coop, a new addition.
Robby said, ‘Needed summit in a hurry.’ He shot Marcus a look. ‘Thirty birds.’
‘Thirty! Bloody hell, Marcus, how many people do you think live here?’
‘Well, you can sell them.’
‘Or make one very big omelette,’ I quipped. ‘Any more asparagus?’
Robby led me up the slope, and before the stone wall ran two neat lines of asparagus, and there had to be two hundred individual plants. And all had been recently watered.
‘Will they survive here and do well?’ I asked Robby, kneeling to inspect the line.
‘Aye, same soil. But they need water. Bit dry yer.’
‘And our free range chickens?’
‘I’ll make up summit for them. Not many eggs till they’s settled. Nervous now.’
‘Being grabbed at night will do that to a chicken,’ I quipped. Turning, I took in the view of the estuary, glad to back, very glad. ‘Robby, I’ve collected my things from London, so … I won’t be going back to live there.’
‘You’s here now?’
‘Yes, for better or for worse, or till the gold seekers kill me, I’m here.’
A new perspective
That first evening with Sophie at the house, I was both delighted and concerned in equal and opposite counter-balancing measures, a strange roller-coaster of emotion. I was delighted to have both of my offspring at the house, a place where we had all enjoyed family holidays together, but I was also concerned about my fracking neighbours at the farm next door.
Sophie grabbed a room facing the slope, fresh bedding and towels issued, and with the day still warm she wandered down the beach with Ben, the puppy trailing along behind. I observed them from my room, sitting for ten minutes and trying to think things through, then wondering just what there was to think through. None of this had been my doing, I had not made a choice and signed a form, I had been thrust into all of this, an unwilling participant along for the ride.
But the same universe that had conspired to put me under pressure and put me in danger had also conspired to bring my children here, a gift worthy of a quiet prayer of thanks. Seeing them throw sticks for the puppy filled me with joy, the warm weather firmly taking my mind back to summer visits here. Such memories no longer hurt; they no longer reminded me of what I had lost after the divorce, that dark cloud had left the skies for now.
I could see Ben pointing to where Captain Norton had been found, and I shook my head, wondering how it might affect Sophie.
Checking under my mattress, all was as I had left it, no one had pinched the cash, and my ASDA plastic bag still contained a large amount of cash, a foolish amount to keep in the house. Still, I figured that there were a few other families out there right now that had cash at home, and when Ben and Sophie left here I figured I hand them a reasonable sum for emergencies.
Upon their return to the kitchen, I handed over the old photographs, Ben and Sophie now trying to piece together just who was who in their family tree. And they were fascinated with the Nortons, not perturbed or keen to leave, talk of using the metal detector to see if they could find old coins of value. My fears had been transposed onto how I thought they might feel, but the kids were anything other than deterred from staying here and enjoying the place.
As a kid, I had been scared by vampire movies, but now those very same vampires were considered cool and sexy. It was the same principal here, my kids possessing none of the fears that I seemed to harbour on their behalf. And Sophie, she admitted to both biting and punching the people that had robbed her, her spirit slowly returning.
After our evening meal, Ben helping me cook and Robby kindly giving us some space, and with the dishes left awaiting some attention, we sat in the spacious lounge, the puppy of questionable legal origins curled-up on Sophie. We discussed Aunt Betty, all of us trying to combine our brain power and figure out just what did happen here, Sophie promising to check online, and at length.
Since people had become interested in their family trees several websites had appeared, and for a small annual subscription you could trace your ancestors. The various websites offered scanned images of registers held by local councils or parish offices; births, marriages and deaths. Hatch, match and despatch - my father used to say.
The painting that had hung over my fake real log fire was now hanging over a real fire, the fire’s burning wood crackling, both Sophie and Ben trying to figure the paintings origins, a handy tell-tale signature missing from the canvas. We cracked open cans of beer, talking of relatives now dead, my brothers and parents, my grandparents, and why Aunt Betty had returned to the Norton household – and to her fate.
That fate had brought us all here, and I still puzzled why she had chosen to name me in 1968. It was one more mystery that excited Ben and Sophie, the horrors of this house seen as an interesting puzzle to solve. Sophie headed off to bed early, and I followed her up, checking her room. I also asked that she put a chair against the door, that she keep the curtains closed, and that she scream if anything happened. She thought I was being sweet, but also – very delicately – told me not to be such an old wanker.
I checked the house, the door and windows, and walked around the outside before thinking of turning in, the evening warm. When I noticed a large figure on the access road I panicked till I realised it was Robby. I walked over to him.
‘Alright, Mister Roger?’
‘Yes, she’s … a bit better now.’
‘What happened, like?’
‘Robbed, in the streets in London. She had got back from a trip away, went and saw some friends in Luton, was going to stay for a night in a hotel in London and see and friend, then travel to Oxford to see another friend and look at some medical stuff – she’s a medical student – but, well, she was attacked.’
‘I hear nothing but bad ‘bout London. Not rightly wanna go there.’
‘It can be hectic, but some people like that. Some people find a quiet country house to be … too quiet.’
‘If I has some money, food, and trip down pub one or twice a week I’s happy.’
‘Well, now you have plenty of money for trips down the pub.’
‘Marcus says those people, they’s worried about banks and all in area.’
‘Yes,’ I sighed. ‘There may be problems there. So tomorrow I’m going shopping, and I’ll send you, Ben and Marcus out. Just in case.’ I was about to go, when I asked, ‘How often do you patrol the land?’
‘I goes around at midnight, has a look. At dawn I looks for tracks.’
‘Tracks?’
‘Aye, tracks from anyone in night. Always clear in morning dew they is.’
‘Good. And … thank you, Robby.’
I locked the back door, wondering where the puppy was. I searched downstairs, but then figured he had followed someone upstairs. I knocked on Sophie’s door. ‘Sophie, have you got the puppy?’
‘Yes, he’s happy in here with me, and I made up a litter tray.’
‘There are rules about stolen goods in guest rooms. And any mess, you’re cleaning it up. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Dad.’
