The City and the Country - Chapter One

Chapter 1 - Simon

The sky was sky blue and the grass was grass green and the sun was, well, yellow I think, but it was hurting my eyes and I had to look away. I stared at my shoes for a while to refocus. They were brown, buckle-up and ankle-length with scuffs and dirt-marks from the three-mile walk. The plastic carrier bags I had hanging from each arm had begun to make the muscles on the spine side of my shoulder blades ache. I raised my head to an upright position, allowing me a view forward along the dirt path to where it curved around the hill roughly thirty metres ahead. An elderly couple appeared, marching in full walker regalia. They were both grey haired and short. The man was balding, his pate red from the high sun. The woman wore pigtails, and her bronzed face made her look like a Cherokee. As the distance decreased between us time seemed to speed up. I started to tense as they came closer and then it all happened in a rush. I navigated swiftly to the right-hand side of the path and the man, speeding up to overtake his partner and thus achieve single file, looked at me as I passed. I could see he had adopted a thin smile, stretching the ageing skin of his cheeks. I pre-empted him. ‘Hi’, I murmured. ‘Hello’ he said, and snapped his head straight again to look into the distance. The woman came next, and she had her head averted away from me, gazing up the slope of the hill in feigned interest. I sped up imperceptibly and passed her before any awkwardness could kick in.
Rounding the hill, and out of sight of the walkers, I stopped and sat down on the springy downland turf. I rummaged around in one of the carrier bags and pulled out a carton of milk, which I opened and guzzled greedily. Surveying the landscape before me I could make out, through the shimmer of heat haze, the valley floor bisected by the silver thread of a river winding its way lazily towards the estuary. A lone canoeist in a bright yellow craft was the only sign of humanity. I rose again wearily and trudged along the path for another ten minutes until my thin track met the stone covered surface of the old coach road. From this point I could see its original route, dipping into the valley before soaring over the downland peaks westward. The wind really let fly across the hill tops on this part of the downs where centuries before the coach drivers urged their horses on under storm clouds with the lightening electrifying the coastline.
My journey took me downwards into the valley where the coach road disappeared into dense woodland. The shade from the trees was refreshing after the exposure of the hills, and I luxuriated in the cool shade and the dank smell of foliage and undergrowth. There was a rabbit up ahead, squatting in the middle of the track, staring at me. I could see its body tense up, uncertain which way to run. I reached within twenty yards from it before, in an explosion of indecision, it shot straight up into the air, landed awkwardly on its chin, and rocketed into some bracken. I laughed out loud which was the final straw for a pheasant that had been lurking nearby. In a flurried panic of wings and feet the pea-brained bird burst out of its cover and flew into a tree trunk. Temporarily stunned it wobbled off into a nearby field. The wildlife seemed to be on a short fuse I reflected as I carried on under a twittering canopy.
Entering the village required the crossing of a white wooden bridge spanning a river. Curling along the valley floor, the river, merely a glint in the sun’s eye seen from the hilltop, was now a flowing mass of water nearly a hundred feet across. Two swans patrolled the far bank, their necks swivelling like CCTV cameras. I made it half way across the bridge until, as everybody who used the bridge invariably did, I stopped to lean my elbows reflectively on the side-rail and gaze downstream to where the river disappeared into the sea. The sun sparkled off the surface of the water, hurting my eyes. I had to look away. Pulling some scratched shades from my shirt pocket I continued my journey to the village side, turning sharp left along the towpath and arriving at a small cottage on the water’s edge.
I entered the cottage using a six-inch long cast iron key and ducked immediately under a low hanging beam. Dropping the shopping bags I marched across to the TV, picked up a whisky bottle that was perched on top and poured myself a half-tumbler. I let the harshness of the liquid soak into the back of my tongue until gravity pulled it into my throat. It scoured the inside of my pipes and settled down below, throbbing warmth through my nervous system. My mind drifted. I am back at school. The classroom is hot and oppressive. A fly is humming lazily by the window. The teacher, a woman dressed in a caftan and wearing John Lennon glasses, is droning the Ancient Mariner. I feel sick. Oh no! I’m going to vomit in front of the whole class! Somebody is banging at the classroom door! No. Wait a minute. Somebody is banging at the front door. I snapped to and steadied myself. ‘All right, all right’ I said, and the banging stopped. ‘Come in’, I shouted. ‘It’s unlocked.’ The door swung open, sunlight streaming past the silhouette of what was evidently a man wearing a flat cap and wellingtons.
‘Ay up Simon’ he said through a throatfull of gravel. ‘Ow’s tricks?’
‘Evening Euan. There’s some whisky on the telly. Grab yourself a glass’
‘Yeah, cheers’ croaked the figure, grabbing a glass from the sideboard. ‘Not disturbing anything am I?’
‘No no’ I said, flopping down on a worn sofa. ‘I’ve just got back myself. Did some shopping over at Newgate.’
Euan sat down carefully onto an armchair opposite and took a long thoughtful sip of whisky. ‘There’s a meeting tonight’, he said. ‘Eight-thirty.’
‘OK, I’ll be there’ I said, stretching out and resting my feet on the armrest. ‘Anything special?’
‘Nah’ Euan rasped ‘Danny’s just back from London and he’s giving us an update on that insurance job.’
‘Oh, right, right’ I said, drowsy from the exercise and the alcohol. ‘I need a bath and some grub first so I’ll see you there.’
Euan took the cue and eased himself upright. He lifted his craggy, unshaven face skywards and drained the rest of his glass.
‘By the way’ I said, staring into the amber liquid. ‘You stink.’
‘I’ve just been mucking out the pigs!’ he complained, a hurt expression bunching his eyebrows. ‘Oh’, he added quietly and staring at his boots. ‘Sorry about the floor.’
I looked down and the trail of god knows what that led from the door.
‘Forget it’ I said wearily. ‘The cleaning lady comes tomorrow.’
Euan made a noise which sounded like the death throes of a consumptive but was probably a laugh. ‘See you later then buddy.’
‘Yeah, see you.’
He left, banging the door rather too vigorously behind him, leaving me to watch disinterestedly as the whisky bottle first rocked and then toppled off the TV to shatter on the hardwood floor.
After I had showered and changed I cooked up some bangers and mash and virtually imbibed it in front of the TV news. There was an item about the G8 conference in Bangkok. The usual cliché of protestors clashing with police provided the foreground, but I concentrated on the street in the distance where a young Thai girl in a short skirt was leading a shifty looking middle aged white man down a side alley. I remembered seeing a similar scene after the Tsunami, with a similar couple picking their way through the wreckage. These sex tourists should be conscripted, I thought. They know no fear.
Once I had gorged myself to within a wafer of complete satiety I hauled myself off the sofa, killed the TV, and after a brisk mouthwash of whisky walked straight into the front door. I glanced at the whisky bottle to fathom how much I had drunk; a disconcerting amount. I took a deep breath, carefully opened the front door, and left.
You can never take reality for granted I thought, as I trudged my way unsteadily up the silent street. No matter whether you kicked a rock until your big toe had been driven back into your foot; that hardness, that solidity will always contain within itself the seeds of doubt and uncertainty. And you didn’t have to play mind games with dreams and demons to discover, after even the briefest acquaintance with modern thought on these matters, that so called reality is a far stranger place than the human mind can possibly imagine. We are all involved in a vast guessing game. It’s true that we have become pretty good at guessing, and that a long series of correct guesses tends to amount in our mind to a certainty, but that distance from guesswork to knowledge, however small, is where reality lies. Or so it seemed, with the whisky swilling around in my head.
The unlit street was heavy with quiet. A smell of bonfires pervaded the air; a ton of vegetation and aromatic wood smouldering and smoking across the village. I made my way north towards the market cross, a traditional place of meeting for centuries and now spotlighted by the full moon that had peeked above the rooftops. I could now hear the distant sound of humanity; the burble of voices accompanied by a bass rhythm. I cut down an alleyway on the far side of the cross and banged on a formidable looking oaken door. A letterbox opened emitting a blast of sound and two beady and rather bloodshot eyes peered out.
‘Yeah? Oh its you. Hang about.’
A catch was released and the door swung open, flooding the alleyway with light. I entered the brightly lit hall and swung immediately left towards a traditional looking pub bar with ornate wooden front and etched glasswork behind. I went behind the bar, grabbed a pint glass, and poured myself a pint of Harveys. I placed it carefully on the bar top, lit myself a cigar, and surveyed the scene. It was a throng. There were clumps of people around the hall holding drinks, chatting and laughing, with a general mess of people standing or moving about in between. There was some jazz coming from the large speakers on the far wall: Miles Ahead. I saw Euan towering over a small, dark haired young woman who was wearing a black dress, walking socks and Dr. Marten’s boots. Euan still had his soiled wellingtons on. I caught Euan’s eye and he beckoned me over.
‘Si, this is Katy, Danny’s sister.’
She eyed me coolly.
‘Hello Simon’ she said softly. ‘I don’t suppose you remember me?’
I cast my mind back to Danny’s family: the farmhouse mother, the father who always wore a suit and owned a sweet making business, and the ten year old girl who was perpetually in the woods climbing trees, appearing occasionally for meals in various states of disarray.
‘Well, you were a bit different then’ I said, taking her in. I must have looked appreciative because she started to glow.
‘Look, the meetings about to start’ I said.
There was indeed a perceptible movement towards the stage at the far end of the hall with chair scraping and a general increase in the noise level.
‘Let’s grab a seat.’
We all picked up a chair from one of the stacks at the side of the hall and sat down as near the stage as we could while maintaining comfortable leg-room. I liked this organic seating arrangement rather than rows. It was fitting. A tall blond woman in a dark business suit climbed the stage and stood above the audience. She clapped her hands a few times and the noise died down. All eyes were now on Sally Strong, chairperson of the village council.
‘Hi everyone, thanks for coming at so short notice. Although Euan, you could have changed your boots. You’ve smeared shit all over the floor.’
There were general shouts of good-natured abuse at this and Euan sheepishly left the hall to change.
‘OK, OK. Settle down a bit. We’ve got a lot to get through.’ Euan returned and the noise abated.
‘Right. First off we have a couple of new residents. Tony, Mary, could you stand up.’
In front of me a woman of around fifty with long blond frizzy hairy and wearing what looked like a carpet stood up and turned around. She beamed a smile at everyone which lit up her shiny, pink, healthy looking face.
‘Let me formally introduce Mary Schiff and Tony Bannerman to the meeting. They both completed induction last night.’
I turned in my seat and saw a tall man - he must have been at least two metres – standing and grinning with a lot of perfect white teeth. I ruefully passed my tongue along my irregular collection of spikes and gravestones and turned to face the front.
‘Mary was proposed by myself and seconded by Dick Spence. Tony is an old colleague of Danny Sligo’s. From University was it Danny?’
‘Yeah, that’s right’, came a familiar voice from the bar area. I turned around again and saw Danny posing by the bar, his shaven head divided by wraparound shades. The black leather jacket was a new touch.
‘Tony was seconded by Mick Baker.’
‘You’re joking!’ I said out loud, and some laughter greeted this.
‘No honestly, it’s true’ said Sally. ‘Mick confirmed it last night.’
I turned round to face Tony, who was still grinning.
‘Consider yourself privileged mate’ I said. Mick, the council’s accountant and general fixer, was notoriously tight-arsed with new residents. I doubt if hAl the residents would be in the village if Mick had have his way.
‘I do’, he replied, in a soft North American accent. Canadian perhaps.
‘OK, thanks you two’ said Sally, picking up a clipboard. ‘Now we have two items on the agenda this evening. Danny will be giving us a report from the London office a bit later on, but first I have to report that another villager has been arrested. Audri Chouman has now joined Al Pegler in the Sheffield nick. The legal team are on the case but we need somebody to do a debrief. Any volunteers?’
I raised my hand.
‘Thanks Si’, said Sally. ‘Not the most glamorous of assignments but it has to be done. OK Danny, you’re on.’
Danny carefully placed his bottle of Grolsch on the bar top and made his way onto the stage.
‘Hi everyone’ said Danny, raising his hand in acknowledgement. ‘Hi Danny’ a few of us sang back. Danny caught my eye and mouthed ‘later’, pointing towards the bar. I nodded.
‘OK. London office reports the following projects as closed.’
Danny listed a number of FTSE 100 businesses with a corresponding cash sum. ‘Debriefings will be at my place next week. The following new projects are being set up and will require people.’ Danny read out a similar list to the first.
‘The project office are drawing up the necessary skill sets and they will be published on the web-site tomorrow. All in all, financial year-end accounts are reporting funding of two and a quarter billion Euros, and the distribution office are drawing up a new development programming for the coming year. Any suggestions for grants can be made on-line. Right, well unless there are any questions, I’m dying of thirst.’
There was a smattering of applause and the meeting broke up. We replaced our chairs, and Euan, Katy and myself joined Danny at the bar.
‘You’re smelling sweet Euan’ said Danny, taking a swig from his bottle. You been worrying those pigs again? I hear you’re trying to teach them some kind of rudimentary form of football’
‘They love it!’ said Euan. ‘You know what I say. A happy pig is a tasty pig.’
He was right about that. Euan’s pork, from succulent sausages and some unbelievable bacon to drool inducing joints, were a legend in the village. As far as I knew, he had a form of voluntary monopoly, based purely on the excellence of his produce.
‘They come from far and wide’ I said, and sipped at my whisky. ‘Some bloke drove all the way down from Barnsley last week for a kilo of sausages.’
‘Bollocks’ said Danny, conversationally.
‘It’s not bollocks Danny it’s true’ said Euan. ‘A kilo is the most sausages I’ll sell at one go. Otherwise I’ll have to get more pigs and produce more and then I’d be knackered every day and the quality would go down and everything would turn to shit. He wasn’t happy mind, what with travelling down and the overnight stay he must be out over 250 Euros. Plus the ten Euros for the bangers. I hope he doesn’t fork them before he fries them. He’ll lose some of that expensive flavour.’
Euan gurgled happily into his pint and Danny disappeared behind the bar to rustle up some more drinks.
‘So Katy’, I said, turning to her. ‘What’s it like having a genius for a brother?’
‘Is he a genius?’ she replied over her wine glass. ‘Hey Danny. You didn’t tell me you were a genius.’
‘You didn’t ask’ said Danny. ‘Anyway, I thought it was obvious.’ He spread his arms wide in an ‘ecce homo’ gesture but, met with three blank stares, flapped them down by his sides. ‘Anyway, talking of genius, what about those figures eh?’
‘It’s phenomenal Danny,’ I said sincerely. ‘I bet Alex and the team can’t spend the money fast enough.’
‘Don’t you believe it’ said Danny. ‘Alex said she could get rid of twice the amount without anybody knowing. Anyway that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. There’s a new project being discussed that could take us to another level. We’re keeping it close right now, just a few appraisers, but it looks promising and it’s right up your street. Do you want in?’
‘Who’s the client?’ I asked.
Danny lifted his shades onto his forehead and stared at me with his black eyes, a smile ghosting across his lips. ‘Cougar Oil’ he said, studying me.
I spat out some of my whisky. ‘Those bastards! Are you kidding? Count me in!’
‘Ah, that’s what I like to see’ said Danny. ‘Enthusiasm. By the way, me and Katy are going fishing tomorrow. Coming?’’
‘Sure, what time?’
He told me, and I almost choked on my beer.