Cloud Cuckoo Land Page 14

  Eddie jogged over to Leonard and slapped him on the back.

  ‘Nice one, here you go.’

  Eddie handed over a stick of juicy-fruit chewing gum and Leonard stripped it with his cold fingers and bent it into his mouth.

  Eddie had mud-splashed shorts on over his tracksuit, football boots and thick gloves. His skin was glowing hot and his eyes were keen and squinting as he focused in on Leonard’s face.

  ‘That was a toe punt, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, well.’

  ‘Nearly took my head off.’

  The ball bounced by, then Vicky arrived in her red tracksuit with its thick plastic zip which she kept running up and down to make a whizzing sound.

  ‘Hello, Leonard, are you leaving us?’

  ‘Maybe, have you got a car here?’

  Vicky answered.

  ‘Yeah, we came in the Merc’. It’s in the garage, isn’t it, Ed?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Can I borrow it?’

  ‘Course you can, we’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘Are you sure? See I might not be able to bring it back?’

  ‘Look, at the end of the day, we’ve got to help each other out, right? Vicky thinks you’re an all right bloke and I trust her opinion so, OK!’

  ‘Thanks. Can you show me the car?’

  ‘Course, but I don’t understand why you don’t stay put. It’s safe here, and well, it’s gonna get a bit dodgy out there, isn’t it!’

  ‘I’m going back to the city. I’m going to see what I can do to level the playing field.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve had it with being polite and inoffensive.’

  ‘You’ve what?’

  ‘I’ve always been passive, I’ve lurked in the background, I’ve let others lead. I’ve been a kind of neutral observer and that makes me feel guilty.’

  ‘Guilty for what?’

  ‘For not doing anything.’

  ‘At the end of the day, I mean, with that kind of game plan, well that’s fair enough. Come on, then. I’ll show you the car.’

  Vicky kissed Leonard and jogged off towards the goal. Leonard followed Eddie back towards the garage. He stopped at the rolling metal door and bent down to the handle.

  ‘Do you want to know what I think, Leonard?’

  ‘Yes, I do yeah.’

  ‘I think the world’s on its last legs, it’s gone to pot.’

  ‘You mean fucked.’

  ‘Yeah, alright, it’s fucked and you know what else!’

  ‘No, what?’

  ‘I just don’t believe all this asteroid crap, not a hundred percent anyway. I’ve heard rumours in the clubhouse; some people think it’s all in our heads. It’s like a mass hallucination, or a conspiracy, do you know what I mean? It’s like some long shadow of all that can go wrong and will go wrong. It’s mass hysteria, really, I’m sure that’s what it is.’

  ‘I just wish you were right, Eddie.’

  Eddie blocked the garage door up with a piece of wood so it wouldn’t unravel. The Mercedes, with its piece of occult jewellery stuck on the bonnet was waiting quietly inside. Eddie opened the driver’s door and Leonard climbed in.

  ‘It’s a three litre, fuel injected engine. It goes like shit off a shovel, so watch yourself. You’re going to need petrol pretty soon, it’s a gas guzzler.’

  ‘Thanks, Eddie.’

  ‘See you, Leonard. Good luck.’

  Eddie turned and walked away. He cart-wheeled his arms and broke into a run, heading back to Vicky.

  ◊

  There was no trouble on the way out of the site, Leonard just raised his hand to the gate security guards and they lifted the barrier for him. He drove out of the valley, picking up speed as he got used to the way the car handled. He was speeding through a moody landscape, towards a stormy weather front. He felt like he was in a car commercial, like he was being filmed from high above and in extreme close up. All the oblique angles were being covered, the airflow whipping up and over the bonnet, washing chrome raindrops from the galvanised body work. He felt like one of those drivers they employed too, ‘x’ rally drivers; you never saw their faces because they were always kept in anonymous silhouette, hidden behind flaring reflections on the windscreen. Every time he kicked the accelerator down, the engine responded and the car lurched forward. He was having to concentrate on the narrow lanes which were cut into the sides of the valleys. The bends were tight and blind, sometimes he’d round a bend and two or three sheep would clamber up a slope, moving as little as possible to get out of harm’s way.

  He tried the radio, turning up the volume and dialling through the presets, but there was nothing but white noise.

  Leonard hit the brakes hard, stamping on the pedal with the ball of his foot to avoid smashing into someone walking across the road. It didn’t quite work and the figure avoided impact by jumping up onto the bonnet and rolling off the passenger side.

  Leonard got out and ran round the front of the car. The man sat up. He had a long green coat on with a snorkel hood zipped up right to the end. When the head turned and pointed at Leonard, the face was hardly visible behind the fur, it was way back there like the last pickled onion in the jar.

  As Leonard got closer, the man unzipped and folded the hood back off his face. It looked like Dave, the same straggly hair and the eager face of a foot soldier.

  ‘Dave?’

  ‘Leonard.’

  ‘What are you doing out here?’

  ‘Walking home, I did a night shift.’

  ‘Are you alright? I could have killed you!’

  Leonard grabbed Dave’s hand and hauled him to his feet.

  ‘That might have been the best thing that could happen to me. I’m fed up with my useless life; I’m such a drain on limited resources.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘They’ve stopped paying us, I just go in for something to do. Seems like all anyone’s got to do now is wait, and go fucking crazy waiting.’

  ‘Get in the car, Dave, it’s bloody cold out here. I’ll give you a lift home.’

  Dave didn’t move. He seemed a bit slow on the uptake, like he was thinking with a blunt instrument. Dave, for some reason, thought that now was the time for a handshake. His hand was crushing, too bold because he’d been thinking about it too much. He went to the passenger door and climbed in. Leonard flipped the sun visor down and looked into the mirror mounted on the underside. You get a crisp image from these small mirrors; Leonard had some pinkness around his eyes, some anxiety in his fixed expression.

  He started up and pulled away, they were soon up to eighty.

  Dave undid his coat and settled in his seat.

  ‘You’ve got to turn right at the next junction.’

  ‘OK.’

  Cars are not only built for getting you from A to B, they are for conversation too. Speaking your mind comes easily with the landscape flowing by.

  ‘Bit hot in here, isn’t it?’

  Leonard adjusted the heater.

  ‘Strange days.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I said strange days; we’re living in strange days.’

  ‘You could say that, Dave.’

  ‘Food for the soul though, isn’t it? When you think about it, you’ve got to confront your mortality with the end on its way, hey? It’s taken the pressure off though, hasn’t it? I mean my natural endowment is minimal; to be honest, I am a flawed and incapable individual, quite worthless in fact. But I don’t worry about the future anymore. I don’t expect to win, I don’t expect to lose, I just live day to day, hand to mouth. And of course, this must be the fated path of my eternal soul so, what can you do? Go over the bridge and follow the road, I’ll tell you where to turn off.’

  Leonard followed Dave’s directions and listened in on his curious mumblings, a mixture of daytime TV slogans, agony aunt phrases and random truisms. The last time they met Dave hardly spoke, he was timid and introverted. Maybe he meant well, but Leonard wishe
d he would shut up. Things like the soul were being mentioned far too often, and with far too much conviction.

  Dave may not be an educated man, but he’s not stupid either. He’s rank and file, keen but in need of leadership.

  ‘What will you do, now the job’s finished?’

  ‘Not much. Hey, it’s getting cold in here, isn’t it?’

  Leonard turned the heater back up.

  ‘Do you want me to take you back with me, into the city?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Well, think about it, weigh it up in your own mind’.

  ‘I’d rather not, I’m not so hot at making my own plans. Can’t you tell me what to do?’

  ‘Well no, you’ve got to decide.’

  ‘I’ve got a bit of a stomach ache.’

  ‘Do you want me to stop the car?’

  ‘No, ‘course not. Look, where the road turns left, you take the track up hill on the right.’

  Leonard turned in and dropped the auto shift into drive one. The track was steep and muddy; he would have to use his momentum to get up to the drier ground ahead.

  ‘That’s it, just park in front of the window there.’

  The house was built of solid stone, tightly puzzled grey-green stone with pale reddish veins. It had a long, low angled roof, a ridge of black slate, splattered with yellow-green lichen.

  Dave tipped himself out of the car and walked to the door. He didn’t knock or look for his key, he just pushed heavily and it opened. Leonard followed him in and closed the door. It moved stiffly under the weight of a piece of machinery attached to the door. Leonard stepped through an ankle-deep carpet of shredded paper, he looked around and saw that the hall table, the stairs and banisters, the top of the picture frames, they were all coated in a layer of shredded paper and cardboard fibres.

  ‘It was my parents’ house. It used to be a farm.’

  ‘But what’s with all this paper and shit everywhere?’

  ‘Ah, that’s, well that’s just the way it is here, it’s the way it’s always been.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look, Leonard, just wait for me will you? I’m going to pack a bag and come with you into town, OK?’

  ‘Good, good decision. Pack some working clothes.’

  Leonard turned left into a small sitting-room which had an open fire place with a plastic flower arrangement stuffed into the grate and a bay window seat. He sat in the bay and watched the postman arrive; he parked his van at the bottom of the lane and started to struggle up the path with a handful of letters.

  As Leonard stood and walked into the hall, he could hear the postman step up to the door. A crack of light shone in through the letterbox as it was pushed open and three brown envelopes were posted through. They dropped into a wide basket positioned directly beneath the letter box. A loud electrical revving started up from the machinery attached to the door, followed by a short sequence of violent ‘zings’ as each of the envelopes were shredded to bits and sprayed into the air.

  Dave came down the stairs, threw his bag for Leonard to catch and Leonard caught it cleanly. People love to throw things and then have you catch them; it feels like something has been communicated without the aid of language.

  Dave locked the house up and tucked the keys under the coconut mat.

  ‘There’s a garage a few miles east of here, do you know it?’

  ‘Ah, yeah, I think so.’

  ‘We need to get over there and pick up a Land Rover that I left there.’

  ‘OK.’

  ◊

  When they got to the garage, the Land Rover was sitting on the lot with a ‘For Sale’ sign stuck to the windscreen. As Leonard peeled off the letters, a mechanic strolled out of the shop.

  ‘You interested in the vehicle, Sir?’

  Leonard handed him the rolled up words.

  ‘It’s my vehicle, I left it here a few days ago.’

  The mechanic smirked then dropped his gaze to the floor.

  ‘It was abandoned, sir.’

  ‘I’m taking the Land Rover away with me.’

  ‘Look, don’t you get it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Finders keepers.’

  The mechanic took a pistol out of his dungaree pocket, shook his head and made a lip sucking sound. Leonard wasn’t thinking straight, he was too fuming mad to think; if he had taken the time, it might have killed him. Before the mechanic could raise the weapon and take aim, Leonard had punched him squarely on the nose, as hard as he could. The mechanic toppled backward and dropped to the ground and as he cupped his hands around his nose, blood came dribbling through his fingers.

  There was no comment from the mechanic when Leonard went into the kiosk and came back with the keys. Dave brought the petrol pump over and waited for instructions.

  ‘Fill her up please, Dave.’

  When both cars had been filled he settled Dave into the Land Rover. He looked keen but not that capable and Leonard worried that he might well crash into the back of the Mercedes. That was always more likely to happen when someone was trying to follow and not lose you.

  So Leonard drove slowly because the Land Rover had a top speed of about sixty-five, seventy. Dave stayed a fixed distance off the tail gate, gripping the wheel tight, and his face in the rear-view mirror showed his eyes bulging in concentration. Leonard smiled at that, like Batman proud of Robin.

  When they reached the motorway it was clear of traffic. They drove south and at the top of a long climb, they reached a point where they could see clear across country to the suburbs. In the far distance, the city tower blocks were surrounded by a low, grey fog. It was like looking in on an art class, a perspective drawing, with closer buildings in sharper focus, some foreground detail and just the one fixed light source rolling away to the west.

  Before they made it into the suburbs, Leonard turned off the motorway, switched off the engine, and had a chat with Dave, a pep talk. He had a go at building Dave’s morale and then explained how he’d had the Land Rover for much longer than he said he would and that maybe Dave could offer his services out on the farm to make up for it. Dave seemed keen on the idea of making himself useful. Leonard gave him the border pass but hung on to his travel permit; that would get them both through the checkpoints. He gave clear instructions on how to get to Reggie’s farm and sent Dave on his way.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Mirabelle stands out in silhouette against the setting sun, a few pale electric bulbs light up the windows. It’s dull light though, rated in single figure candle power.

  Each time Leonard had returned to the hotel, he’d had the feeling that this was a seafront building, and each time he’d been disappointed by the fact that it was not. The area was just a straggling, indecisive, commercial, retail, wholesale mix up.

  On the pavement outside the hotel was a neat and tidy pile of soil. Up close it looked like an artist’s colour, a burnt umber pigment. It was a small pile, like a molehill or the diggings from a vole hole. Three steps up to the entry door, there was another pile of the earth and then inside, in reception, a pair of tiny earth mounds standing a stride apart.

  There was no-one in reception, Harry’s office was empty and there seemed nothing more to do than go to bed. But as Leonard passed the reception desk to take the stairs, he noticed an envelope in his pigeonhole. He reached over and pulled it out. It was from Administration, a notification signed by the Warden: Mr. Leonard Gopaul had been granted a stage two interview. Leonard expected something like this; it was a simple tactic, a means by which he would save them the trouble of bringing him in. He’d simply present himself for arrest.

  He climbed up to his room and lay flat out on the bed. He was tired and bored, an antagonistic mix that could mostly be fixed by masturbation. Tonight, though, was not the night for those dull fireworks. For the first time in a fair while, he felt like company, random human company, ‘warts and all’ people, not the polished, perfect citizens of the construction site. He would have
a shower and venture out into the curfew, find something to eat and quite a lot to drink.

  It was just an idea, but no match for Leonard’s fatigue. He rolled onto his side, pulled the duvet up over himself and fell asleep.

  ◊

  On Monday nights the bar closed early, there was no lock-in after curfew, so Adeline and Tony had the whole evening to kill. Tony had put the chairs up on the tables by seven o’clock and stomped off to watch sport on TV. This was Tony’s treat, Tony’s down time, and he ordered himself take-away Chinese. Adeline hated the stuff so she cooked for herself in the kitchen downstairs.

  Tony was beginning to relax, everything was going fine, he’d settled into his chair. The carefully placed beer-and sports-related advertising was cutting back and forth and the picture was crisp. He could hear Adeline downstairs rattling pans, he liked to hear her down there, and be entertained up here.

  But suddenly the screen faded to black and white, and words appeared saying that due to unforeseen etcetera, the third round replay had been cancelled.

  ‘Bollocks de bloody bollocks!’

  They kept doing this lately, and didn’t bother to explain why anymore. He had Chinese on the way, for Christ’s sake!

  He flicked around the channels a bit but he couldn’t find any emerald green, no natural or Astro-turf, no sign of the lovely colour, marked with white lines, or bunkers or flags or stumps; it was useless.