Cloud Cuckoo Land Page 9

  ‘Oh go on, Leonard, be a sport.’

  ‘OK, OK.’

  Lena approached with the tray ahead of her. Leonard looked at the pink wafers and the jammy dodgers, then closed his eyes and opened his mouth. He felt something cold slip underneath and over the top of his lip, then a sudden, localised pain. He screamed out and opened his eyes; something like a bee sting had cut into his upper lip!

  ‘Fuck!’

  Lena was standing over him, her concentrated face up close to his. She was lifting something away from his mouth, something like a staple gun.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

  Leonard jumped out of his chair. He couldn’t hit out at her so he kicked the table over sending tea and biscuits flying everywhere. He took Lena by the shoulders.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Leonard turned to Beryl.

  ‘What the hell is she doing?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Leonard, she’s got this thing with the staple gun just lately. I know it’s terrible behaviour but it’s not her fault! She has… problems.’

  ‘Problems?’

  ‘Emotional problems. Come here and let me have a look at you.’

  Beryl pulled him over to the light and brushed his hands away from his face. She lifted his top lip and rolled it over to look at where the blood was coming from.

  ‘Is the girl mad?’

  Lena was sitting in her chair knitting again.

  ‘Keep still! She’s not mad, no, and I can’t see anything wrong with your lip; there’s a little cut but that’s all.’

  ‘Yeah, but why in the hell would she do such a thing?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Leonard, she is prone to bouts of instability. Her parents were killed rather violently and she sometimes just reacts like this. Please don’t be angry with her, she doesn’t know why. You’re a stranger and she just needs to get used to you, that’s all.’

  ‘What do you mean, her parents were killed?’

  ‘Car crash, good old granddad was driving, newted to the gills on cheap whisky, he drove straight into a wall. The car rolled over and the roof collapsed. He was the only one to get out alive.’

  Beryl sat down again and picked up her knitting. Leonard rubbed his fingers across his lips and tried to salvage a cup of tea.

  ‘Well then, now we know each other a little better, I’d like to talk to you about Lena. I’d like get back to settling the terms of our agreement.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  Leonard rinsed his mouth with tea; he swallowed, tasted blood.

  ‘As I said, I find that the best policy these days is to trust no one, not a living soul. So in keeping, I am not going to trust you either. However, as I need your help, I am prepared to offer you a deal.’

  Beryl’s hands were looping around the needles, drawing up the blue yarn.

  ‘This rather careless granddad I’ve just mentioned, is the Warden.’

  ‘He’s your husband?’

  ‘”X” husband. The thing is, he used to talk in his sleep, he probably still does but I am not the one who lies awake next to him any more. He is a keen debaucher of young girls, so they are the ones listening now. I heard enough though, before I finally left him and the result is that I know more than most about the vessel project.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘It’s simple; I want you to check out the construction site. I’ll keep Lena with me until I have a favourable report from you. Then I will ask you to make sure that she gets onto the vessel.’

  ‘But why can’t you use your influence with the Warden?’

  Beryl laughed.

  ‘Even if he wanted to, and he doesn’t, he still couldn’t help. He has to do what the selection board decide. So I need someone like you to make sure that Lena is safe.’

  ‘What makes you think I’m the right man for the job?’

  ‘Give me some credit. I may be a silly old cow, but I know a good man when I see one. Is it a deal?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Listen to me, Leonard: if you think you’ve got a chance of getting onto the site without help, forget it. And the possibility of being selected for the list? Forget that too, the thing was filled a long time ago. The places have been bought out by the rich, the powerful and the murderous. This selection process is just a scam.’

  ‘Well, if that’s the case, how could I promise to get Lena on board?’

  Beryl lifted her glasses off her nose and looked at him squarely.

  ‘It’s a challenge, Leonard, something to rise to! And you should realise one more thing, at the outset.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This is the greatest challenge in your life. You must not wait these last few weeks out running around in a tiz, in a flat spin. Now is the time to act, to make your presence felt. The great moments in the history of the world were not won by the innocent bystanders, no! The future has to be fought for and taken, the future has to be won with heroic deeds!’

  She was being fierce, but not foolhardy. She meant what she said because there were tell-tale goose bumps on her arms and an emotional intelligence radiating from her face.

  ‘That’s it, then, that’s what’s on the table. I’ve already arranged the paperwork. I’ve arranged a pass which will allow you to go back and forth across the border. I will also supply you with a document that will grant you access to the construction site. This is the only way you will get past security. I’ll give you some goods to trade, some whisky and fags, and I’ll draw you a map and explain how to get there. In exchange I will expect a full report on the vessel site. Well?’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  Beryl smiled.

  ‘You think you have a choice?’

  ‘Alright, if Lena can promise to behave, then yes, we have a deal!’

  Leonard looked across at Lena; she was singing softly. She smiled and waved a ball of wool in the air.

  ‘Crew or turtle?’

  Leonard thought about it for a moment and then said.

  ‘Turtle.’

  ◊

  From now on, Leonard would have to be very careful. From here on in, he had stepped over the line to the other side, where official opinion would conclude that he’d earned the consequences, that ‘he’d had it coming to him’.

  He’d heard Warden’s warning along with everyone else in the interview room. There was no mistake; he was now, officially, playing with fire.

  It was just after first light when he stood beside the Land Rover and looked up. A pale blue break in the cloud to the east was the brightest point in the sky, there was a smell of rain in the air. A few windows in the Mirabelle were lit, insomniacs and early birds fixing breakfast. Leonard guessed that many of the guests just stayed in all the time, had food delivered and never ventured out. It was bad luck, but as he threw his bags onto the passenger seat, someone pulled their curtains aside and looked straight down on to Leonard’s clandestine departure.

  Leonard did not normally worry about bad luck omens, apart from not putting new shoes on the table, or when dressing, if you accidentally put something on inside out, you never took it off and put it back on the right way. In Leonard’s family, this was, and always had been, a ‘no no’.

  No point now in doing the rolling start he’d planned. The Land Rover was a noisy vehicle and he’d wanted to start the engine downhill of the hotel. That was pointless now, now that he’d been seen from above. He could feel the unknown eyes burning into the roof and putting the two’s and two’s together as he pulled away from the kerb and headed off up hill.

  The gearshift was awkward, the suspension rock hard, the steering was heavy and the tyre bolted onto the bonnet was distracting, but it climbed and accelerated. It was taking Leonard where he wanted to go!

  ◊

  They were Raymond’s eyes, up on the fourth floor, looking down. He’d been chewing on a part-burnt piece of toast as he watched the Land Rover pull away from the Mirabelle and climb the hill back towards
the centre of town. He was expecting as much, and he’d notified Warden the previous evening that he expected Leonard to take a trip up-country any day now. The view was good from the fourth floor, and with binoculars, Raymond was able to follow Leonard’s progress until he looped a roundabout and disappeared.

  He dialled Warden’s number into his mobile and waited for the tone to be answered. He looked in the mirror at his bloodshot eyes and grey skin; you could say that he was fed up with being Raymond.

  ◊

  Leonard stopped short of Tony’s bar, parked up, switched the engine off and watched the petrol gauge fall back slowly to zero; at least that worked. It was just before seven o’clock and the only place with any lights on was the baker’s shop. When he opened the car door he could smell the new bread on the air. He walked to the window and looked inside. The glass was all steamed up but he could just make out a couple of figures working in the background, white hats and white overalls carrying silver trays to and fro.

  Leonard carried on walking until he was standing outside the bar. He wasn’t sure whether to knock, he didn’t want to have to explain himself to Tony. But he wanted to talk to Adeline, he needed the photographs of the vessel. As he stood there thinking over what he should do, the top bolt slid back and the door handle turned. Leonard moved away and took cover in the baker’s doorway. He heard the door slam and then he heard footsteps, odd, limping footsteps. It was Adeline. He saw the side of her face as she passed, she had her head tilted forward and she was looking down at the ground.

  Leonard let her pass, then stepped out behind her and started to follow. He looked at her feet and wondered if she had lost her mind because she was wearing one flat shoe, one high heel; flat shoe on the kerb stone, high heel down in the gutter. She was walking steadily though, fairly fast, and behind her back she was carrying a leather glove, a fat-fingered glove like a scarecrow’s hand. She walked to the corner and turned right, still straddling the gutter. It seemed as if she might be off to join the circus, this was her act and she would never look back. She stepped around a lamppost and realised she was being followed. She spun on the ball of the flat soled shoe and grimaced at Leonard. She was embarrassed, like she’d been caught sleepwalking, or something similar.

  ‘What do you want?’

  Her voice was different, filled with anxiety, so Leonard shrugged his shoulders and kept quiet. Adeline walked towards him, looking tired and unhappy without her make-up, and wearing middle-aged colours. She looked the way younger wives do, when they ugly themselves up a bit so that the much older husband doesn’t feel so bad. She looked threatening though, holding onto the big club hand; maybe it was one of Tony’s hands, severed at the wrist.

  ‘I’ve been expecting you, Leonard. I have something to ask you.’

  That was ominous but Leonard reckoned that if she had prepared something to say to him, then he ought to let her say it, let it happen the way she’d rehearsed it in her head. If he let it go as planned, she would feel that she’d given a good account of herself, she’d feel that she’d been understood. Then the mood would at least be ordered and calm when he said, no, that he couldn’t, that he didn’t want to.

  She held out the big hand, the idea seemed to be that he had to shake it. That seemed OK, so Leonard gripped tight, and shook. Adeline let go of the glove her end, and thousands of seeds came spilling out of the wrist, raining down onto the paving slabs, bouncing and rolling, making a showering monsoon sound. He watched this happen in a kind of slowed motion. She was watching, too, her face bright with glee, as if a prank had paid off.

  God knows why, but it made Leonard smile, he was grinning shyly as Adeline skipped forward two steps and jumped into his arms. Leonard swung her round. It was the first time he had held her like this; he felt her weight, her mass, and had a better idea of what she consisted of, what she amounted to in the flesh and blood.

  She kissed him lightly on his mouth with her dry lips.

  ‘You know what this means, Leonard?’

  This was not just a statement of fact; it was, Leonard figured, some kind of a forecast, panning out.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  She stepped away from him.

  ‘It means that sooner or later, no matter what, you will be the father of my child.’

  ‘Ah, but what about Tony?’

  ‘Tony can’t, he can’t have children. It’s a medical problem and it’s a shame.’

  ‘Listen to me, Adeline, you may not even see this year out. The Ice Moon is going to hit the earth in less than two months.’

  ‘Yes, I know all that but there’s a lottery for the last places on the vessel, it’s a state residents’ lottery, and you can only enter if you are pregnant. I’ve never really thought of myself as a mother, but now, with all this space clutter shit, well, now it’s different.’

  Adeline was standing crookedly on the pavement, her whole body involved in making her case.

  ‘Do you know about the deal Tony has offered? The price, if I sleep with you, is that I will have to leave the city. Don’t get me wrong but I would be committing suicide if I took that kind of a deal.’

  ‘Stop dreaming about rescue, Leonard, it’s very unlikely you stand a chance of winning a place. You’ve not been recalled and it’s been a while since your interview, right!’

  ‘I know. Look, that’s why I’m going out to the construction site. I want to see if there are any other ways to get on board, any back doors.’

  ‘But you’ll never find it.’

  ‘I will, but I need the pictures, the ones you showed me, the satellite shots.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve still got them. Come in for a minute, they’re upstairs.’

  Leonard followed her into the bar and sat down where the air was sour. Daylight is not flattering for a nightclub, all the scratches show, all the vague nocturnal references stand out in ugly fact: the scorched lampshades, the atlas of wine stains on the carpet, the edges of the velvet seating polished black with wear and tear. Without the cover of music, the fridges hum, and without cigarette smoke, the pine cleaning fluids sting the nose.

  Adeline came down the stairs moving gracefully without the stupid shoes and passed him the envelope. No more was said; all the cards were on the table, the whole pack. She stretched one corner of her mouth into a quick smile and showed him the door. She wasn’t sad, no, she was quietly confident. She walked half way to the car with him and held her own elbows as Leonard slapped the gearshift into first and gunned the pedal, leaving her in a cloud of milky-blue diesel smoke.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The routine was that on the first of each month, a selection board inspector would call, always a different inspector, but with similar questions. He would want to take tapes of candidates away, and to discuss schedules. However, February was not a routine month, the inspector didn’t turn up until the twelfth, he didn’t want to see any videotape, he just wanted a strong, sweet cup of tea.

  They were on the top floor of the Administration building, Warden was sitting opposite the inspector, who had views out over playing fields and into far-off countryside. They were seated in straight-backed, straight-talking chairs and Warden was trying to suss-out the inspector. This one was a reddish haired man in his early forties, with a high colour and thick, horizontal eyebrows. He had pale eyes and red marks round his nostrils, where he’d been fingering his nose.

  ‘I don’t need to know about any more priority cases. The book’s just about closed and we have begun to sign off certain sections of the passenger lists.’

  Warden nodded, listening only, letting him say what he’d come to say, letting him get it off his chest.

  ‘They’re not saying how the intake will be organised, there’s not even a whisper about the procedure so I’m here to just suggest that you complete the induction within the next week to ten days and wrap it up, really. That’s about it! After that, who knows? I’m in the dark, too. All we’ve been told is to go home and panic-buy, stockpile whatever supplies
we can get hold of and just wait.’

  The inspector’s mobile phone rang. He held the receiver to his ear and stepped away toward the far corner of the room, seeking out a patch of personal space, a sumo circle of space where he kicked at the ground and had his whispered conversation.

  Warden took the opportunity to make his own call. He dialled and the phone rang just once before it was snatched up and answered.

  ‘Hello, sergeant Hayes?’

  ‘That’s correct, ID please.’

  ‘East Anglia, ward thirty six.’

  ‘Yes, sir, how can I help?’

  ‘Has my man been on to you about our nosey parker, Leonard Gopaul?’

  ‘Yes, sir, we have description of vehicle and probable route. We’ll pick him up this evening, give him something to think about.’

  ‘Good work. Let me know how it turns out.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Warden settled the receiver back but he felt uneasy, it was a dangerous time to fuck up. Martial law was not long in coming, and when his job was finished, he’d be very vulnerable. And these blokes like the sergeant were OK, until they changed their minds and decided that now was the time for you to be the enemy! You never knew who was whispering sweet nothings into their ears. You could never be sure about mercenaries; they had no loyalty, except to themselves. They were with you one day, against you the next, no arguments, no disagreements to tip you off, just the about-face of the gun barrel and good bye Vienna.

  ◊

  There were massive holes in the road filled with black water and there was a border of rubbish on each side of the street as Leonard drove through the outskirts of the city. Squashed traffic cones marked ditched and burnt out vehicles but the worst thing was that nobody stuck to their own lane anymore. It wasn’t clear whether you were supposed to drive on the left or the right, so Leonard straddled the centre line, kept his speed up and his headlamps on full beam. Cars weaved past each other on both sides of the road but Leonard held his line, and mostly the on-coming cars did all the evasive stuff. Maybe they thought he was driving a military vehicle and didn’t want a burst of machine-gun fire hacking into their tyres. The duel carriageways and then the motorways were even worse, like great unmarked car parks with idiots going in all directions, swerving around broken-down vehicles and slow-coaches.