by Nigel Price
“He found it there?” Harry asked.
The girl translated, adding refinements of her own. The creature made a series of grunts, some of them probably words.
“Yes,” Ingrid said. “He came out this morning to carry on harvesting and found the hand lying there.”
“Oh.” Harry looked around. “How did it get there? And why frozen?” He looked at the creature who was playing with the hand. “He can’t have just found it there.”
Ingrid shrugged. “Why not?”
Harry hardly knew where to start. “You don’t generally find severed hands lying around.” He stooped closer to the wheelbarrow and reached down to the stacked asparagus. He moved a couple of stems aside next to the stain. It wasn’t a stain. It was a sliver of skin.
The creature lurched at him. Harry stumbled backwards.
There was a cry from behind. They turned to see a tall figure striding down the narrow earthen lane towards them. From the man’s size, look and age Harry guessed this was probably the creature’s father and owner of the farm. In his hand he was carrying a pitchfork. His other was pointing at them.
He barked again, closing the distance.
“He is asking who we are,” Ingrid said.
“I got that. Doesn’t look too friendly.”
The man arrived and barged past to place himself between them and his son. He muttered something to the creature who limped away on the far side of the wheelbarrow, then stood there chastened.
There was a quick-fire exchange between the farmer and Ingrid. Harry got it. “He seems keen for us to go,” he said.
Ingrid was firing further questions at the farmer.
“What’s he saying?” Harry asked.
“He says he has called the police and that they are on the way.”
“Does he know any more about the hand?”
“He says not. Just what his son already told us. They came out this morning, and there it was.”
Harry thought about it. Eventually he said, “We’d might as well go then.”
She went on questioning the farmer who seemed to be getting crosser, the volume of his replies louder.
“I think he wants us to go,” Harry offered. “If he’s called the police and they are on the way, there’s nothing we can do. No one’s hurt – at least not here. It’s none of our business anymore.”
Ingrid ignored him.
“Ingrid?”
“I crashed my car because of his son waving that thing at me.”
“Does that mean you have to wait for the police too?”
“The farmer’s telling me to fuck off.”
“Perhaps we should.”
“It’s not your car.”
“It’s not really his son’s fault.”
She stamped her foot and swore. “How am I going to manage now?”
Harry could see her eyes were shining.
“I have to collect my son and get him to school.”
“Was that were you were going?” he asked.
She nodded. “He spent the night with a friend. I was on my way to get him.” She looked at her watch. Then turned away and wiped the back of one hand quickly across her eyes.
“I’ll give you a lift,” Harry said. It would make him late but that didn’t matter. He could rejig the timetable.
Ingrid heaved a huge sigh. The farmer was still rambling angrily. She turned on him and let rip. He blanched and stood back. Then replied with a burst of his own. He pointed to the road.
Get the fuck off my land. Something like that.
And so they did.
Three
They stood looking at the wrecked Golf.
“Are we supposed to wait until the police arrive?” Harry asked.
“Probably, yes.” She stared morosely at her car. “My son will be wondering where I am.”
“Call him.”
“I left my handy at home.” She looked at him. “Mobile.”
“I know. I work here on and off. My German’s basic but I get by.”
They stood at the roadside for a while. Another car drove past, the driver staring at the wrecked Golf and almost driving into the back of Harry’s parked Jaguar as a result.
“I think we should move. The farmer can tell the police about your accident when he gives them the hand. Can you go into a police station later today and see if they need any information about your crash? No one else was involved. No one’s been hurt. They might want to check you hadn’t been drinking, but other than that …”
“You can give me a lift?”
Harry nodded. “The least I can do.”
“Thank you.” She started towards his car. “I’ll show you the way.” As she got in she asked, “Won’t this make you late for whatever you were going to do?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Harry wouldn’t. That was the great thing about working as a consultant for Delaney’s. He was his own boss once he’d been assigned a project. How he ran it was up to him. His current one was winding down. Over bar the shouting. And there wouldn’t be any of that. All parties had worked well. His post-exercise report would be full of congratulatory platitudes, a few recommendations to justify his role – and their financial outlay – and that would be that. All tied up in a couple of days. Then back to England to wait for the next one.
He started the car. Glanced at her.
“Körbecke,” she said. Where Harry had just come from.
He retraced his way back up and over the ridge, then dropped down to the side of the lake again. He rolled easily past Haus Fischer. Most of the other cars had gone, the overnight guests having checked out and moved on. He seemed to be the only one staying for more than a single night. In the summer it would be busier, people coming out from Dortmund and Düsseldorf and further afield for long weekends of watersports or just for walking in the woods.
“You say your ex was English?” Harry said to break the silence.
Ingrid stared out of the window towards the choppy surface of the water. Trees were being tested by the wind and leaves scuttled across the road like bold mice in front of the purring Jaguar. “He was.” She chuckled. It sounded bitter. “Big mistake that was.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you married?”
“Was,” Harry said.
“Children?”
He shook his head.
“At least that’s one thing we got right, my husband and I,” she said. Harry glanced her way. She was looking out of the window again but he saw the crease of a smile at the corner of her mouth and eyes.
“What’s your son’s name?”
“Thomas.”
“Just the one child?”
“Yes.” She turned to him. “Look, this is good of you to go out of your way like this. I’m sorry if I snapped earlier. It’s just that somehow I now have to sort out my car on top of everything else.”
“Busy life?” Harry asked.
Her answering sigh was from the depths of her soul. “My ex-husband’s – how do you put it? – an arse.”
“Ah.”
“Yes, ah. He is supposed to pay maintenance but he does nothing. Resists and opposes everything. Ignores all letters from my lawyer. I’m trying to finalise things, but it just goes on and on.”
“Can he do that?”
She laughed. Not in a good way. “My husband can do whatever he likes. Don’t ask me how, but he can and he does.” She paused a beat and quickly added, “I didn’t mean to burst out like that.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m an optician,” she said. “I spend all day gazing into people’s eyes.” They swapped a smile. “And then I prescribe them glasses.”
“Regular work though,” Harry said.
“Good enough.”
“Do you have your own practice?”
“No I work for a chain.” She turned to face him. “This is very boring. What about you? How do you get to drive a nice car like this?”
“It’s hired,” he admitted. And then t
old her about himself. At least the parts that were acceptable in polite, getting-to-know-you conversation.
She seemed impressed. “God that sounds more exciting than my work. So your job is to stress-test people by putting them through hell? Sounds like my husband.”
Harry smiled. “I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but yes. I put people through hell. But I suppose it’s one they have to go through. ‘Train hard, fight easy.’ Old army saying.”
“And your project is at the airport? Soest Erwitte?”
“Just along the autobahn. Route 44.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction they had just come. “I’m staying at Haus Fischer. It’s not the closest hotel but it’s the nicest. The rooms are simple but spotless, and the food’s good. And if there’s a bit of a motorway commute in this every day, I’m not going to complain.”
“I know the place though I’ve never been inside.”
“If you live nearby there’s no reason you should have.”
“Quite near. Soest. Just across the autobahn on the north side.”
“Nice town,” Harry remarked, and with that Ingrid pointed to a house at the end of a row of identical houses coming up on their left. Harry drew up alongside it and stopped.
“I’ll wait here,” he said.
Ingrid got out. She stooped into the car. “I hope so. You’re my ride.” She smiled. She turned and went towards the house. Harry watched her go. He could smell her perfume in the car. He guessed she was somewhere in her early to mid thirties. About ten years younger than him. He guessed she looked after herself. Probably Pilates or yoga or stuff like that. Her hair was blonde and cut short. Stylish probably, in so far as he was any kind of a judge of such things. Which he wasn’t.
And she had that look in her eyes. At some point her life had come apart. She had walked through fire. But doesn’t everyone? It’s just one of those things.
Four
When she reappeared, a thin boy strolled at her side. He was holding her hand but when he caught sight of Harry he quickly let go of his mother. He studied Harry’s car suspiciously. Harry watched the boy’s eyes scroll from end to end of the Jaguar and noted the beginning of a smile.
That’a boy, Harry thought. He leaned round and opened the rear door, pushing it as wide as he could.
The boy stepped up to it and stopped. Ingrid leaned in. “This is Herr Brown,” she said. “Harry, this is Thomas. Herr Brown is going to drive you to school this morning.”
“How do you do, Thomas? Pleased to meet you.” Was that what you said to children of nine or ten? Harry felt it might be a bit formal. But Thomas was more interested in the car’s interior as he clambered aboard. His eyes were everywhere. Finally they met Harry’s. He reached out a hand. Harry shook it. It felt like a warm doughnut and about as sticky.
“I’m Thomas,” he announced. “My Mum says you smashed our car.”
Ingrid slid into the front passenger seat on the right. “Er … that’s not quite what I said.”
Harry laughed. “No worries. I was part of the whole equation. Let’s leave it at that.” He glanced at Ingrid. Quietly, so his passenger in the rear wouldn’t catch it, he whispered, “Presumably you didn’t mention …?”
She shook her head.
“Mention what?” a voice piped up from behind. Harry caught Ingrid’s wince.
“Mention what, Mum?” Thomas asked more insistently.
“Nothing, Tom. Just leave it, okay?”
There was a long whhhyyy? sound from the back, but it had resignation in it that Harry understood as surrender. He checked in the rear-view mirror and caught the boy’s eye. He shrugged. Thomas grinned.
“Nice car,” Thomas said as Harry pulled away from the house.
“Good sleepover?” Harry asked, proud of himself for initiating such a natural conversation.
“Scheiße. Johann’s Mum never lets us do anything we want.”
“Language!” Ingrid said.
“You speak good English,” Harry tried again.
“My Dad’s English. But he’s an Arschloch. At least that’s what Mum tells everyone.”
Harry quite wanted to hear the boy’s take on the matter but left it there. Instead, Ingrid switched quickly to the subject of homework. It seemed there was some test or other today. Surprisingly Thomas hadn’t prepared for it. Harry couldn’t help smiling as he listened to the exchange between mother and son.
For the third time that morning he tackled the ridge road. When they dipped down through the hamlet on the far side, they saw Ingrid’s Golf still in the ditch. There were no police cars in sight, but as they drove past the entrance to the farmyard they saw a grubby white Skoda parked there. Three men were conversing in a tight little clutch. One was the older farmer. The other two were new to Harry. Big men in jeans and short jackets.
“Police?” he asked.
“Must be,” Ingrid answered.
“They don’t seem interested in your car.”
“I’m not surprised, considering the other matter,” she replied.
“What other matter?” a voice from the back piped. Harry saw the broad smile on the boy’s face in the mirror. Where a straight-forward enquiry had failed, he had escalated to charm. Harry noted the twitch at the corner of Ingrid’s mouth though her lips remained sealed.
She caught Harry’s eye and then she was smiling too. “You see? There is no respect for parents any more these days. Children think they should know everything. I would never have …”
A theatrical moan erupted from behind Harry’s seat. “… spoken to my parents like that,” Thomas mimicked, saving his mother the trouble of completing her own sentence.
As the Jaguar went into the corner, Harry took a last glance back at the farm in his wing mirror. One of the men had darted out and was now standing at the edge of the road staring after the retreating car. He held a pad and pen and his face was screwed up with the effort of catching Harry’s registration plate. For a second Harry considered stopping and going back. But he had a job to do. A kid to deliver to school where a test had to be taken. Maths or something equally fun. There would be plenty of time to catch up with the police later. Indeed, he’d be seeing one of their colleagues in the afternoon. A liaison officer from the local force had been an essential part of his exercise at the airport. Harry had written the scenario, centring on a supposed crash. Small, nothing too dramatic. Not a total wipe-out. As well as the various elements of the airport staff, all the local emergency services had been represented. He could check later with Ernst, the chummy copper. The two of them had got on well. Ernst could advise him what best to do. If anything needed doing at all.
The school was a brand new building in the outer suburbs of the town. Soest itself was ancient. Once it had been part of the Hanseatic League. Harry had heard of that but hadn’t a clue what it was. Nonetheless, Soest had been part of it. The old town was surrounded by a wall that was still mostly complete. There was a pleasant walk along the top of it, broad enough for trees and grass and flower beds and benches. Harry had done the full circuit once on his recce and planning trip.
All the old churches and buildings were not really old at all. The originals had been blasted to pieces either by Allied bombing during the war, or in April 1945 when the ground forces had captured the town, been thrown out again by a German counter-attack, only to retake it later. There hadn’t been much of the original stuff left, Harry understood, though wandering through the streets it was hard to tell. The reconstruction had been well done, and the town had a feel about it that was somehow both modern and old at the same time. Like much of the country in fact.
Thomas hopped out and slammed the rear door harder than Harry felt was necessary. He reminded himself it was only a hire car. The kid could slam away all day if he chose. Still, it was a Jaguar. Some things needed to be shown due respect.
He said goodbye to the boy and noticed that Thomas was standing tall, casting glances at his arriving friends, checking they were no
ting the car that had dropped him there. Ingrid had got out too and there was some gentle shoving and side-slips as Thomas avoided her goodbye kiss. She ended up settling for a wave. She didn’t have much choice. She got in the car again. Harry watched her watching her son walk away.
“He’s a nice kid,” he said. And felt insincere. It sounded false, even though he meant it. What the hell did he know? But wasn’t that the sort of thing you were supposed to say about someone else’s child?
“He is,” she replied, still looking after him. He wore a backpack. The figure of a superhero was splayed across the back, performing a dramatic leap. All lightning and masks and Lycra.
“Do the two of you manage okay?” Harry asked. “Without his father, I mean.”
She turned to look at him, genuinely puzzled. “Yes,” she answered firmly. As if he’d asked the dumbest question on the planet.
He felt his cheeks redden.
She noticed it and relaxed. For the briefest moment she placed a hand on his arm. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound curt. Again. We manage fine. Actually we’re better off without him. There was nothing especially bad about him. Just … he never kept his word. Unreliable. That’s not what a boy needs. Not what any child needs. It was a bit tricky at first, but everything’s fine now.” She thought about that. “More than fine.” She looked at her watch and frowned. “Except I’m late for work.”
“Which way?” Harry put the car in gear and followed her directions.
A series of turns took them closer to the heart of what would have been old Soest, if such a thing had survived. One advantage of having been flattened and then rebuilt, was that the streets were that bit wider and better able to handle modern cars.
Eventually they pulled over by a row of shops. One of them displayed the sign for an optician’s. Rack upon rack of spectacles filled the window, and posters of ridiculously tanned and handsome people looking even greater bespectacled. None of them looked anything like Harry’s darling old father, now gone. Thick rims and thicker lenses, all smudged with greasy fingerprints and mended with filaments of wire and sticky tape.
