Bog Roll Battles (Clovenhoof: The Isolation Chronicles Book 1)

by Heide Goody

  “We will be selling these from a street stall the day after tomorrow,” said Clovenhoof. “All profits to be divided amongst us.”

  “Divided how?” asked someone.

  “Fifty percent to me, and fifty percent divided among every knitter or crocheter who produces at least ten triangles by that time. The amount will be pro-rated according to the number of pieces you produce. Ben is in charge of the bean-counting, and he will take a five percent commission. Nerys will help with sales and she will be paid on an hourly basis for her time.”

  “Fifty percent is a lot for you considering you’re not actually doing anything,” said a woman on the next table.

  “What can I say? I’m a businessman.”

  12

  “Get Out of Here travel agents.”

  “It’s Nerys Thomas here. I’m phoning up about my travel insurance.”

  “Hello,” said the woman. “Are you looking to buy travel insurance?”

  Nerys stood by the window of the second floor, staring critically at a man carrying a family-sized bag of sixteen toilet rolls down the Chester Road.

  “No,” she said patiently. “I phoned last week to claim on my insurance as I was forced to cut my holiday short and I had to fork out for an emergency flight home.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” said the woman brightly. “Well, there is some positive news.”

  “I can claim back the cost of the flights?”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t claim back the cost of your flights. I have checked the policy with head office and since you voluntarily cut your holiday short and didn’t actually have any illness then there’s nothing to claim for.”

  Nerys angrily repositioned the photo of Aunt Molly on the window sill.

  “How can that be so? The insurance is there to protect me if some unexpectedly expensive occurs. Something unexpectedly expensive did occur. There was a pandemic. Have you seen the news? I was forced to buy plane tickets.”

  “And did you take out insurance pacifically to cover pandemics.”

  “Specifically.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The word is specifically and no, of course I didn’t. Who would take out specific pandemic insurance?”

  “People who would want to avoid buying plane tickets to escape a pandemic. Now, your regular insurance simply doesn’t cover you for such unexpected events. It’s one of them force majeure things, an act of God.”

  “Act of God, is it? I’ve got a neighbour who used to work with the Big Man and I don’t think he’d take too kindly to you randomly blaming things on God. My holiday was interrupted by something out of my control, ergo you need to cover my costs.”

  “Okay,” said the woman haughtily. “First of all, my name’s not Ergo, it’s Karen. Secondly, I have made it very clear that neither we nor the insurance underwriters are liable. You didn’t take out pacific insurance—”

  “Specific.”

  “—and therefore you don’t get a pay-out. Frankly, you’re taking a very selfish attitude. These are tough times for travel agents you know. There’s all this over-exaggeration about the virus, which is basically just flu as far as I can work out, and that’s hitting our profits. My first quarter bonus is very much in danger. So, stop whining about the changes to your holiday that you made and stop trying to make me out to be your escaped goat.”

  Nerys stood in silent fury. “Scapegoat,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The phrase is treating someone as a scapegoat. What’s an escaped goat?”

  “It’s just a vigorous peach.”

  “A what now? Do you, by any chance, mean a figure of speech?”

  “I really do not know what you’re on about, madam.”

  Nerys was about to angrily end the call when she remembered something. “You said you had good news for me.”

  “I did,” said Karen the travel agent. “I was going to offer you a discount holiday as compensation. We’ve got fifty percent off on all our European holidays right now.”

  Nerys ended the call.

  13

  Clovenhoof set up an impromptu market stall in the big supermarket’s car park. There was, of course, an actual market in the town centre, but that required the sort of red tape and payment of fees that Clovenhoof decided would not form part of his current emergency business model. He would no doubt be held up as a role model for his agile approach. His market stall was largely formed of plastic boxes full of stock, with a display created from a pair of microphone stands that he’d sneaked out of the Boldmere Oak while Lennox wasn’t looking. Between the stands he had strung up a row of crocheted toilet paper triangles. The knitters and the crocheters had, apparently, moved from one triangle to another without snipping the yarn, so it was very easy to make a display like a little washing line.

  “Oh, take a look at these gorgeous crafts!” said a woman walking past with a baby buggy. “I’ve been looking for some bunting to decorate Camilla’s bedroom. This is perfect.”

  “This is toilet paper. It’s reusable so you don’t need to panic-buy the paper stuff in the shops,” said Nerys standing behind the stall in an apron with pockets for the cash.

  The woman gave a nervous laugh. “Seriously? I mean it looks like bunting. I could use it as bunting if I wanted, surely?”

  “That goes completely against what we are—”

  “—not a problem,” interrupted Clovenhoof. “Fifteen quid a set. Choose your colour. It’s all handcrafted locally.”

  The woman handed over the cash, chose her favourite colour and went away happy.

  “I can’t believe you’ve sold it as bunting,” said Nerys. “How is this solving the toilet paper crisis?”

  “Think of it this way,” said Clovenhoof. “When the money starts rolling in, the knitters will knit faster, don’t you think?”

  “You could be right, I suppose.” Nerys pocketed the cash and smiled at the passers-by.

  The next people who stopped were a couple. “Is this a charity thing?” they asked.

  “We are supported by community volunteers,” said Clovenhoof, neatly evading the question. “We are addressing the current crisis by making available this reusable toilet paper. You’ll see that we have reinvented the shape, which was well overdue, I’m sure you’ll agree. I don’t know when toilet paper was invented, but it was definitely due an upgrade. So, what you would do is this.” Clovenhoof squatted and pulled a triangle out of a nearby box and placed it on his open palm. “It’s shaped to maximise the wiping potential when you have a stubborn dangler. You’ll be familiar with the different styles of poo, yes? What everybody wants is a clean break, but it’s not always possible; and so much depends on what you’ve eaten the day before. So you might be faced with the loose and splatty, or the watery shart if you’ve got a really bad belly. But let’s say it’s not quite that bad and you’ve just got a dangle, yeah? When you get one of those pesky hangers on, this clever design means you can get right in there and gather it up with one hygienic swipe.” He mimed the action, straightened and held out the triangle. “In your mind’s eye, picture it now. Voila! What was hanging off your arse is now neatly gathered in your hand.”

  Nerys kicked his ankle and nodded at the couple who were frozen in place, their faces aghast. “I think you should shut up now.”

  “Now is not the time to be squeamish. Have they got any toilet roll in stock?” He waved an arm towards the supermarket.

  “Actually, they were just putting some out as we left,” said the woman, recovering slightly.

  “Well, let’s say the worst came to the worst and they ran out,” said Clovenhoof. “Wouldn’t you rather have options?”

  “Do you know what, I would.” The man pulled out his wallet. “How much?”

  “Ten quid for a set,” said Clovenhoof. “Nerys, would you like to help the gentleman?”

  Nerys’s attention was elsewhere, though. She was staring daggers at the supermarket entrance.
Clovenhoof followed her gaze and saw that several people were staggering out with enormous amounts of toilet paper.

  Nerys ran across the car park. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she screeched.

  Clovenhoof hastily completed the transaction. “Do you see how it’s stressing people out? You have made the right decision here. Tell your friends.”

  Clovenhoof watched as Nerys hectored a young man who pushed a trolley filled with toilet roll.

  Nerys was incensed. “Is this all for you?” she yelled. “Did nobody inside tell you that you’re a selfish pig? You need to leave some for others.”

  “Sweetheart, they’re flat out in there,” said a passing older man. “They’ve just told me this is even busier than Christmas, but they’re staffed up for a normal week. They can’t take on the likes of this young idiot.”

  Nerys faced off against the toilet roll hoarder, grabbing the end of his trolley. “You’re not going anywhere with this!”

  “And you’re going to stop me are you?” he mocked.

  “Well, I might help her,” said the older man, grabbing the trolley.

  “And me.”

  “And me.”

  Nerys grinned triumphantly as the hoarder released his trolley and backed away. There was now a small crowd supporting Nerys’s effort. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do next now that she had a trolley full of toilet paper. The security guard had walked over and gave her a questioning look.

  “Where were you when these bastards were taking all the toilet roll?” she asked him.

  “I don’t have the power to stop people buying what they want,” said the security guard. “The store hasn’t set a policy, though I know they’re talking about it.”

  “You don’t need a policy to know what’s right!” said Nerys.

  “What are you going to do with this lot?” asked a passer-by. “I’ll give you twenty quid for it.”

  “This is not for sale!” She knew what needed to happen with this. “It’s going to the food bank.” She wheeled the trolley back into the supermarket and found the food bank donation basket. She unloaded all of the toilet paper into it and returned the trolley. She went back to join Clovenhoof who, against all the odds, had sold more of his bat shit crazy crochet.

  A few minutes later, the security guard came running over. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but some bastard has nicked the toilet roll out of the food bank basket!”

  Nerys knew that she had a quick temper, but what she felt now was a surge of utter rage. She could barely credit that another human being had done this. And yet she could see all around her the evidence that people were capable of selfishness beyond the norm.

  “Right. I want you—” she poked the security guard in the chest “—to make sure twenty quid’s worth of toilet paper gets put back in that basket as soon as some is available. Give me your phone so I can enter my number. Call me when it’s done and I’ll come and make sure it’s safe.” Nerys pulled twenty pounds out of the apron pocket.

  “Make sure it’s safe?” echoed the security guard.

  “Hey that twenty quid’s our takings!” said Clovenhoof.

  “I’m not sure this is entirely within company guidelines—” started the security guard.

  “I don’t want to hear any more bellyaching. This is how it’s going to be. These are extraordinary times, and I am taking action. Do as I say.”

  14

  Ben had spent the whole night and much of the next day watching the chickens on his cameras. It was better than watching the news, which only seemed to detail the numbers of people falling ill around the world. In comparison, watching the goings on of four innocent and simple chickens was deeply therapeutic. They each had their own personalities.

  Bucephalus was the bold, exploring chicken, the first to rise each morning, the first to find worms or seeds in the ground around their little house. Marengo was the playful one, a little joker of a hen, always sticking her nose in whatever the others were doing. Palomo was the loud one, the fiery one. And Mrs Cluckington, puffed up and feathery, she was the most overtly chicken-y of all his lovely ladies.

  His girls had laid three eggs since the previous night and Ben was contemplating tearing himself away from the screen to go collect them when his phone rang.

  “Yup?”

  “Can you come and join us down at the big supermarket?”

  “Nerys? I thought you were out selling Jeremy’s stupid toilet paper things.”

  “We were, but now I’m setting up a sting operation.”

  “What?”

  “And I need more bodies.”

  “Are you sure you need bodies like mine?” asked Ben.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll have a weapon.”

  “But I need to watch my hens.”

  “There are more important things at stake, Ben! Get down here now!”

  15

  Clovenhoof was having a cracking day. They had sold all of the crocheted and knitted toilet paper. As a consequence he agreed to help Nerys guard the food banks toilet rolls. The security guard had called them just as they were putting the empty boxes back into Nerys’s car.

  The food bank basket was now piled high with toilet roll. Nerys, Clovenhoof and Ben patrolled the area, pushing trolleys as they casually strolled up and down. Clovenhoof didn’t consider Ben was throwing himself into his undercover role sufficiently. He mooched up and down the aisles, not even pretending to put things in his trolley, instead hunching over the stupid Poultry Keeping for Profit and Pleasure book of his.

  Nerys was perhaps drifting in the other direction: admiring and considering every item she found on the shelves like a shopping channel presenter, before either putting it back or placing it in the trolley among treasured favourites.

  Clovenhoof, who knew a thing or three about covert operations, kept things loose and casual. As he travelled up and down by the tills with a perfect “Oh, where is that one item I came in for?” look in his face, he entertained himself by trying to guess who might make a move on the toilet roll. Would it be the shifty-looking guy with the goatee beard? Probably not, but Clovenhoof generally cast goatee beards as a criminal act all by themselves. As it happened, the person who made a grab for the toilet roll in the basket turned out to be a well-heeled woman who stalked along, head held high, and simply lifted a packet on the way past.

  “Code Red! Code Red!” yelled Clovenhoof. “Eagle in the breadbasket! I repeat, eagle in the breadbasket!”

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” screeched Nerys, swooping across to grab the woman’s arm.

  “Sorry? What are you doing? Get off me,” said the woman.

  “I saw you steal that toilet roll from the food bank box.”

  “What? Is there a problem? It’s all just free stuff, isn’t it?” The woman looked at Nerys with disdain and made to push her trolley out of the store. Clovenhoof swung into action and blocked off her exit with a bootlegger turn of his trolley.

  “You’re going nowhere, doll face,” he said.

  The security guard ambled over. Ben came alongside with his trolley

  “I don’t believe I’ve done anything wrong,” said the woman, deeply unconcerned.

  Nerys pulled a pair of pink fluffy Ann Summers handcuffs from her pocket and swiftly fastened the woman’s arm with one link and clamped her to the food bank basket with the other.

  “This is a citizen’s arrest. You don’t have to say anything, but anything you do say is just going to piss me off, sister, so don’t bother. I saw you take toilet roll out of the food bank.”

  “This—” the woman waggled the handcuffs “—is assault. And, look, that box is for donated food and goods. It doesn’t pacifically say that we can’t help ourselves.”

  “What did you say?” Nerys hissed.

  “It doesn’t pacifically say—”

  “Again.”

  “Pacifically?”

  Nerys’s face screwed up in utter disgust. “You’re going
down,” she snarled and waved the security guard to take the woman away. “Throw the book at this bitch.”

  Clovenhoof, who delighted in interpreting things literally when it suited his desires, grabbed the heavy poultry book from Ben.

  “No!” yelled Ben, but it was too late. The woman shrieked as the hefty volume clonked her.

  “You didn’t have to actually throw a book at me,” she moaned, holding her broken nose.

  “Quite,” said Nerys archly. “It’s just a vigorous peach, isn’t it?”

  The End

  Episode 2 of the Isolation Chronicles can be found here:

  UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B087HG734J

  US: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B087HG734J

  Thank you from the authors!

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  There is lots more Clovenhoof material if you liked this one. Read on to see where it all started...

  Clovenhoof by Heide Goody & Iain Grant

  Charged with gross incompetence, Satan is fired from his job as Prince of Hell and exiled to that most terrible of places: English suburbia. Forced to live as a human under the name of Jeremy Clovenhoof, the dark lord not only has to contend with the fact that no one recognises him or gives him the credit he deserves but also has to put up with the bookish wargamer next door and the voracious man-eater upstairs.

  Heaven, Hell and the city of Birmingham collide in a story that features murder, heavy metal, cannibalism, armed robbers, devious old ladies, Satanists who live with their mums, gentlemen of limited stature, dead vicars, petty archangels, flamethrowers, sex dolls, a blood-soaked school assembly and way too much alcohol.