Cloud Cuckoo Land Read online

  The only thing for it was to go down and watch Adeline. He quite liked to watch her when she was kicking around the kitchen. He preferred her morning fixture though, that was his favourite; she was at her best just after she’d woken up. She’d arrive slowly in the kitchen ready to be insulted and attacked by all the inanimate things. Every morning, the world conspired to work against her: the coffee would be too strong, she would burn her finger on the toaster, there would be a funny smell in the air, she wouldn’t be able to find her slippers and there wouldn’t be any post. Adeline would be angry but it would be a level anger, one which would not rise to a fever pitch. She would discuss all these annoyances with herself, in between taking tentative looks in the mirror. She would be saying shit and shit! But after her first cigarette and the second coffee, she would manage to turn things around, she would try out a few dance steps, with her arms bent and head bowed, her face hidden by her tumbling hair.

  ◊

  Adeline sat down again at the kitchen table and ate her pasta with olive oil, parmesan cheese and pine nuts. It was one of Tony’s dishes, one his mother had shown him when he was a boy. She ate the food and drank a glass of not very good red wine. These days wine, beer and spirits were being supplied very erratically by the black market, their stock was low because the monthly delivery was three weeks late. She flicked through some out-of-date lifestyle magazines. She liked to flick through and study the perfect faces, all blasted with ecstasy. She liked to let the advertising draw her in, and believe it all again, even if it was just for a little while longer.

  When she’d finished eating, she walked to the window and had a look-see at how the seeds she had gathered from the spilled glove were doing. They were germinating, the first leaves showing. She picked one, bit into it and tasted an acidic sap.

  Tony crept down the stairs until he was standing at the open kitchen door. Adeline had her back to him; at first he thought she was smoking with a cigarette holder but it wasn’t that. She had a thermometer in her mouth.

  ‘There’s no bloody football. No TV at all, in fact.’

  Adeline took the thermometer out of her moth and read it.

  ‘What’s the matter, are you poorly?’

  ‘No, I’m ovulating.’

  ‘Oh, congratulations, I’m very happy for you.’

  Adeline turned to fill her glass. Tony took careful aim and lobbed his screwed up take-away menu at the back of her head. He liked the look she gave him as she glanced back over her shoulder. She swallowed some of her wine and hurled the glass at Tony’s head. It hit the wall level with his eye-line and shattered, making a loose artistic statement and a perfect sound effect.

  This was good sport for Tony, his short attacking move had been countered with flourish and vigour. The exchange had sent his pulse racing up nicely. He laughed and put his best foot forward, his left foot, as he climbed back up the stairs.

  Adeline switched the kitchen lights out then went to the fridge. She liked the way the box of light lit the room, it made the place stagey and theatrical, it made her want to act out her fantasies, made her want to perform miracles. She reached into the door for a carton of milk, took a few sips and then went upstairs.

  ◊

  The bedroom lights were out so she climbed in beside Tony and listened to his breathing for several minutes. It was steady and even, so she rolled over. She wanted it to look like an innocent, sleeper’s gesture, part of that endless search for a more and more comfortable position. As she rolled, she aimed her tensed arm and hammered her snouty elbow into the bridge of Tony’s nose.

  She waited, but there wasn’t much of a reaction, he murmured and sighed but that was it. She looked and there was some blood running from his nostrils onto his top lip. He was still breathing, though, and his heart was still pumping. She figured that it must be possible then, to knock someone out while they were sleeping.

  She brought her lips up close to his ear and said.

  ‘Sleep well, my love.’

  ◊

  Raymond had spent all day trawling the streets; it wasn’t that easy for a man like him to proposition beautiful young women. They didn’t want to stop and talk sex to a pensioner, that was just too weird, that was asking for trouble. Truth is, Raymond was having difficulty hiding his contempt for the job. He couldn’t help himself, but he was kind of seeing the world differently. He was slowly becoming a man who not only disliked Warden but, to a greater extent, didn’t actually like men at all. The maleness of men was sickening, so out in front and expecting to be deferred to. They were always so self-aggrandising, and always lying to themselves about what they wanted. They thought that all they had to do was to rustle up some show of character by rushing in, taking charge and fucking things up.

  He spent some time in a couple of coffee shops where he’d found girls before, but his heart really wasn’t in it. By the time the street lamps were lighting up outside, he was enjoying a feeling of benevolence that was washing over him, as he watched the girls come and go in all innocence.

  Warden wouldn’t ring to see how he’d gotten on, he hated Raymond knowing that he was horny. He always treated his sexual arrangements like take it or leave it amusements, like he wasn’t fussed either way. Raymond had decided to keep on the right side of the old man, though. Warden had alluded, ‘tongue in cheek’ to a place on the vessel for Raymond, so he might as well try to stay on the right side of him.

  The streets were clearing ahead of curfew and he decided to head back to the hotel on foot. It was a cold night so he flipped his collar up and tucked his scarf in around his neck. The walking generated some body heat, enough so that he could loosen his scarf by the time he got there.

  The lights in the reception area of the Mirabelle were dimmed and in the half-light the place was almost welcoming. Raymond looked in at the reception desk and noticed the envelope that he’d left there for Leonard was gone. That was good, he’d head off now he had something to tell Warden. It would dilute the fact that he’d had no luck finding him a new girl.

  ◊

  Morning sunlight was shining through a lime yellow curtain. Leonard was sitting on the bed, pointing the nozzle of a hair drier into a sock. He had discovered this method for drying wet socks as a student. It worked brilliantly and the sensation of slipping a scorching hot pair of woolly socks onto cold feet was not to be taken lightly. He slipped his outdoor boots on over his warmed feet and stepped out into the hall. He took the stairs automatically whilst he was doing up his watch. The boards creaked as he turned left at the bottom of the stairs and entered the lounge. The room was brighter than normal because three sets of French windows at the far end had been opened onto the garden.

  Leonard recognised the two people who were sat chatting at one of the tables placed in direct sunlight, but how did Dave know Ian? As Leonard approached, Ian looked up.

  ‘Ah, there you are then. We found out that we were both waiting for the same man, young Dave and I.’

  Dave stood and smiled, and offered his hand so Leonard shook it. Ian piped up.

  ‘Let’s get some breakfast, shall we? It’s on me.’

  Ian turned to the waitress and tried to get her attention. She was standing in the corner of the room, drying cutlery. Each time she dropped a knife or fork into the tray, it made a kind of cymbal crash, like a terrible drummer struggling to keep time, very slow and improvised, jazz time. She didn’t notice Ian, so he got up and went over to order the food.

  Leonard leant in to Dave.

  ‘What have you told him, Dave?’

  ‘Ah, oh, just that we met up north and I’d decided that I’d rather die in company than up on the hills.’

  ‘Did he ask about the vessel?’

  ‘Yeah, now that you mention it, he did mention it, yeah. What’s the vessel?’

  ‘Never mind, don’t give him any more information, OK? And don’t tell him where you are staying.’

  ‘Well, shit he knows that, first thing he asked.’

  ‘
All right, just be civil and boring, maybe he’ll leave. What are you doing here anyway?’

  ‘Well, Reg sent me out on a fuel run. It’s hard to find diesel, and I’m using up the last quarter of a tank looking for more, it’s ridiculous.’

  Leonard leaned back in his chair as Ian returned.

  ‘It’s on it’s way, tea all round and a full English brekky, the lot.’

  Ian sat down, took his sunglasses out of his top pocket and settled them over his brown, poker-playing eyes. His shirt was loose at the neck and rolled to the elbow; he tipped his chair back so his face was in the sun.

  Leonard closed his eyes and let the sunlight heat his face. For a moment they looked like old friends taking their ease outside a clubhouse somewhere.

  Thin lace curtains hanging in the French windows swayed gently in the breeze, the air did not carry the seasonal wind chill.

  ‘It’s warm, isn’t it?’

  The waitress brought the tea and settled the cups.

  Dave didn’t take sugar so he was sipping first; he swallowed, and then spoke.

  ‘Yeah, it’s one of the side effects of the Moon.’

  Ian dipped his sunglasses and stirred sugar into his tea. He took the hot spoon and placed it on the back of Dave’s hand.

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘What about the moon?’

  ‘The weather’s all wrong: winter and summer, back to back. Look back down the path there, the two trees on the corner, cherry trees they are, well they’re in blossom!’

  ‘But it’s way too early…’

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s what we’ve been saying at forecast, it’s going to be a forced spring, a very short and early spring then straight on to the hottest summer we’ve ever known. Except most of us will never see the summer, of course. It’s the side effect of the mass of the Ice Moon. It’s kind of realigning the earth’s angle of rotation, the gravitational field has shifted, the year is being brought forward.’

  Ian leaned in closer to Dave.

  ‘How fascinating! It’s really quite clever of you to know all this stuff, David.’

  ‘Well, you just pick things up at the centre, it’s coffee break chit-chat.’

  The breakfast arrived and Leonard sauced his eggs and bacon, peppered his grilled tomatoes and mushrooms, and hogged it down, keen as a hungry dog. He couldn’t be that sure yet but it seemed as if Ian was trying it on, trying to seduce Dave, and Dave was happy enough, or naive enough, or both, to let Ian pay him fool compliments.

  Leonard ate gratefully though; it had been a long time since he’d eaten so well.

  ‘So, Ian, what do you want?’

  Ian took a long time chewing on his mouthful, then said, ‘What do you think I want? I want you to tell me how you got on up north.’

  ‘It was interesting, it was educational.’

  ‘Care to elaborate?’

  ‘No.’

  Ian stirred three sugars into his tea and then placed the back of the hot spoon against Leonard’s forearm.

  ‘Ouch! What are you doing, you idiot?’

  ‘What I can’t understand, Leonard, is why you weren’t killed snooping around up there in the hills.’

  ‘It was a waste of time, a wild goose chase. I never found the vessel, I just got kicked around by security patrols.’

  ‘That means you must have been close.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I sort of don’t care anymore. If these are the last few weeks of our lives, I don’t want to spend them chasing around the country for nothing.’

  ‘I don’t believe you, Leonard. I’m a good judge of character and you are just too ambitious to give up this easily.’

  Leonard stood and tucked his chair under the table.

  ‘Thanks for breakfast.’

  Ian rose too.

  ‘Do you mind if I have a word with you outside, Leonard?’

  ‘All right.’

  Ian offered his hand for Dave to shake.

  ‘Do excuse us won’t you, David, and do come and see me. I’m sure that I can arrange some diesel for you.’

  ‘Thanks, Ian. Yeah thanks, that’s great!’

  Leonard stepped out into the garden and walked onto a lawn that needed mowing.

  Ian followed with his hands on his hips; he looked out of breath.

  ‘Now then, Leonard, all joking aside, tell me what you found out!’

  ‘I have told you, wild goose chase.’

  Ian moved closer to Leonard, far too close for comfort. Leonard raised his arms, it was a reflex action but Ian didn’t like it. He took hold of Leonard’s shoulders, and turning away he rolled him over his hip and onto the ground. Leonard was now looking up at the sky; he was winded and felt his breakfast in his throat. Ian pressed his knee into Leonard’s chest, reached into his pockets and searched through his wallet.

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘Shut up! I’m serving a curfew violation on you.’

  ‘But you’re not a policeman.’

  ‘Oh, aren’t I?’

  Ian dropped the wallet like he’d remembered something more important. He was flushed in the face; he placed a hand against his chest and started breathing heavily.

  ‘You alright?’

  Ian couldn’t say anything for a minute, it was as if he was having to shut up while he swallowed something that was really difficult to swallow. He walked to the garden wall and steadied himself.

  ‘You alright, Ian?’

  ‘No, I’m not. It’s my fucking useless heart, it’s had enough of me.’

  ‘What should I do?’

  ‘You’ve got a car outside, haven’t you?’

  ‘You know I have, Ian.’

  ‘Get it started, you’re taking me to Hospital.’

  ◊

  Ian didn’t speak in the car, he just sat in the back crumpled up and breathing heavily. It wasn’t far to the Hospital, just down into the business district but by the time the building came into view, Ian looked pretty rough. Leonard drove in and tried to figure out the colour-coded departmental blocks; there were big signposts everywhere to explain what red, blue, green, orange and pink were. He parked up and waved some people over from accident and emergency. They ran across the forecourt in their green jumpsuits, uncurled Ian and laid him out on a stretcher.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘I don’t know, he had some sort of attack.’

  Ian was trying to raise his hand; he managed a finger, to signal that he could shed some light. The nurse leaned down and Ian whispered something like: ‘It’s my heart you arseholes, it’s my pig’s heart! I ran out of immuno-suppressants, get me into intensive care!’

  The nurses wheeled him off, mechanics of the human body getting on with another routine pit-stop.

  It was true, then: Ian had this animal centre, his blood pumped around his body by a bag of pork gristle. It was no wonder that he didn’t look that good. No wonder that he lacked some of the most essential human characteristics.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The good thing about Adeline’s mother’s letter was that it was very specific, very clear. Thank God the old girl wrote in English or the whole thing would be impossible. Tony left the bar early, with the excuse that he was off to play a round of golf, so of course Adeline thought nothing of it. He did go to the golf course anyway, it was the nearest woodland and early on a Wednesday morning, apart from the odd junior champion, it would be deserted.

  The first instruction, when he got to the edge of the trees, was to urinate, which was fair enough as he needed to anyway. He moved through the deep woodland to the right of the fourteenth fairway. The air was sweet and moist, purple flowers sprouted from the rich, red soil. The letter said to find a substantial tree, an Ash tree, with a regular spread of branches and a full crown. He would have to match the drawing and leaf diagram up to the real thing, because he had no idea what an Ash looked like. Why an Ash tree anyway? These were all oaks. He found two lost balls and put them in his pocket; a Dunlop 65 and Slaze
nger with a smile sliced into it.

  Where the golf course boundary met some private houses, Tony found his Ash, or as the letter specified, Fraxinus; It is written that the human race will be protected and restored by a man and a woman who find shelter in the branches of the Ash. A man and a woman who have eaten the honey-dew secreted from its flesh. Adeline’s mother talked the most bollocks he had ever heard in his life, but to be honest that didn’t matter anymore, he had decided to do this. He followed her instructions, picked up the measuring tape and started to mark out a circle.

  ◊

  Leonard had a couple of days before he had to turn up at the Administration interview. If they left him alone for those days, maybe he could set a few things up, get a few things in place.

  First of all he had to go and see Beryl, tell her about the vessel and ask her why she hadn’t told him everything she knew before he left.

  He took the stairs down to the basement and knocked on the boiler-room door. There was nothing, not a sound and the room was locked shut. He couldn’t do anything until he’d spoken to Beryl and asked about the stapler and the microchips, he couldn’t make any plans until he understood what was going on. He couldn’t bear to sit waiting in his room either, so he went out into the street, determined to enjoy the good weather and the forced spring. And it did feel good; he squinted at the sun, absorbed its warmth and walked west this time. There was nothing else to do but kill some time, time that was running out anyway.

  High grey clouds seemed to be floating down from the north and below these, creamy cumuli were caught in a southerly breeze. As Leonard watched and walked beside the open green of a public park, the criss-crossing clouds seemed like a silent screen pie-fight going on above his head.

  He stepped in through one of the park gates, a place he usually loathed, because it was the place the urban planners wanted you to go to unwind, and the idea that an urban planner could second-guess how you wanted to unwind, really pissed him off. Flower beds laid in grids, Bristol fashion, made him feel physically sick. No matter what the old folk said, they were not, ‘Oh, look at that, that’s lovely isn’t it, Leonard!’ No, they weren’t, they were an insult, a ground zero of hope, a reminder of how governed and how empty an average life could be.