by Heide Goody
"Rumours will spread. This place is falling down. One could almost give in. Lie down and die."
The prior made a slight noise although it could simply have been wind.
"Well, I don’t have the option of giving in," said the abbot. "I have no way out."
He tapped the crown of his head beneath his thick wig of grey hair.
"The flood didn’t touch me. No man will touch me. Death won’t touch me."
He took a deep breath.
"Tell me again, brother. What is death like?"
The prior said nothing.
"You’ve been there and back. Does death hurt? What is Sheol like? Is it a world of cold and shadows? Would I find peace in death?"
The prior remained silent.
The abbot stood up.
"Well, I’m sorry, brother. If I cannot have peace, if death won’t take me, it won’t take you either."
He went and opened the cabinet near the base of the apple tree. He looked at the contents of the watering can. Much of the blood had congealed but it was still mostly liquid.
"This place has been good to us," he said, though whether this was directed to the prior or the tree he wasn’t sure himself. "But it’s probably time to move on."
The abbot poured the remaining blood into the soil at the base of the tree.
"All out. Time for your treatment again."
Chapter 9 - In which stags and hens celebrate
Spring had also arrived in the Midlands.
Ben was quietly impressed. Less so with the weather, but more with the fact that seven blokes had been found to attend his stag do, which was an impressive feat considering that Ben would have struggled to say he had any real friends at all. The eight of them had all been picked up and driven in a minibus to a woodland location in Warwickshire, arriving in one piece and at the correct time.
This was particularly impressive given that Jeremy Clovenhoof had organised it all.
Ben was less impressed when he saw the sign on the gate as they drove through.
"Paintballing?" he said.
"Yup," said Clovenhoof, air drumming in excitement.
"Paintballing?" he said again, just in case he had misread the sign and misheard his best man.
"Yup."
"Super."
They drew up in a courtyard beside a farm shed on the edge of wood.
Ben glanced across at his friends Darren and Argyll from the wargaming club as they climbed down from the minibus. Argyll took breaths from his inhaler, alternately gasping and chattering about tree pollen. Darren pulled a battered Twix from his trouser pocket, and smiled as he unwrapped it. In terms of physical prowess, he and his friends might just rustle up the bits between the three of them to make one capable soldier.
He leaned across to Clovenhoof.
"What made you think that paintballing was the way to go?" he asked.
His best man beamed back at him.
"I mentioned to Manpreet that you were keen on wargaming. He says it’s a very similar experience."
"Right," said Ben, "Manpreet’s the guy that you work with?"
Clovenhoof nodded.
Manpreet was a big man, probably the same size and weight as Darren. However, whereas Darren had the physique of an overfilled water balloon, Manpreet was more like a tightly packed steel drum. Ben watched the powerfully-built man as he dug into his rucksacks and pulled out a paintball gun.
"He’s got his own gun," Ben hissed.
"Yes. Nice, isn’t it?"
"I thought we’d be given them by the organisers."
"He comes here all the time," said Clovenhoof. "Apparently a lot of the expert players have their own weapons."
Ben sighed heavily.
"I think I hate you, Jeremy."
"Never mind him," said Clovenhoof. "The interesting stuff’s going on with that little group."
He indicated towards Michael and Andy, stood a little distance from Reverend Zack who was gazing serenely at the trees and taking deep breaths of country air. Michael and Andy were in animated conversation, but kept glancing at Zack. The St Michael’s vicar was apparently unaware of the attention.
"What do you mean, interesting?" asked Ben.
"I know you didn’t have a ringside seat like I did, but Andy’s the one who gave the good Reverend a fearsome telling-off for being a gay-hater when he came to the flats that time."
"Reverend Zack’s homophobic?" said Ben.
"He’s afraid to leave the house?"
"I mean is he prejudiced against gay people?"
"Oh. No, I don’t think he is," said Clovenhoof. "He’s not an Old Testament kind of preacher, really. But the entertaining thing is that Andy thinks he is."
"And you’re going to put him straight on that?"
"Where’s the fun in that? No, I’m going to stand back and watch. I expect one of them will have a bullet in the back by the end of the day."
~ooOOOoo~
Jayne peered at the stylised map on the back of the brochure as Nerys drove.
"If this map is to scale, then it’s a few hundred yards after that motorway junction that we just went over."
Nerys glanced across.
"When has that kind of map ever been to scale?" she asked. "I think there’s some special skill to drawing those. They try to make a place look easily accessible, even if it’s in the middle of nowhere."
She looked at the SatNav.
"Which this place is, by the way. We keep going on this lane for another eight miles."
Jayne settled back and took the opportunity to scan the leaflet once more.
"We can walk away from these treatments with three inches off our waistlines," she quoted. "Three inches! Just think how much better my wedding dress will look."
"Your wedding dress is going to look sensational, whatever you do," said Nerys. "Ben’s grateful to have a woman in his life at all, he doesn’t need a supermodel. He’s already seen you naked, so he’s not going to recoil in horror, is he?"
Jayne shifted with the uncomfortable recollection of her unscheduled skinny-dipping experience several months before. In charitable moments, she hoped that Ben had seen her emergence from the Welsh waves as something akin to Botticelli’s Birth of Venus but she had probably looked more like the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Of all the horrors that she'd experienced on that day, the knowledge that everyone had seen her stomach swinging like a sporran was the thing that haunted her more than the stinging cold and blistered feet.
"No, it’s not just about pleasing men, Nerys. Wouldn’t you like to lose a few inches and have a face that glows with health and well-being?"
"Of course. I wouldn’t mind that at all, if they really can achieve it in one day."
"One Day Radical Detox," Jayne read aloud from the brochure. "It sounds like just the thing, and it’s so much better for us than having the usual drunken hen party. We can relax and feel virtuous. It's a win-win situation."
They turned into the grounds of a country estate and drove along a tree-lined avenue. Signposts directed them away from a grand Georgian house and to a gravel car park within a quadrangle of low, modern buildings.
"So we don’t actually get to stay in Applebower Hall?" said Jayne.
"Apparently not."
"Still," said Jayne brightly. "We’re not here for a tourist experience. Radical detox, here we come."
Five minutes later, they were signing in at reception.
"Disclaimers?" said Jayne, scanning the small print.
"Against any reactions," said a small young woman appearing at their side. She had blonde hair, skin tanned a caramel brown and a broad Australian accent. "And any minor injuries."
"Injuries?" said Nerys.
"It’s just standard stuff, ladies. You get this at any place."
"Really?" said Jayne, who had never had to sign a disclaimer against ‘anaphylactic shock’ before.
"I’m Opal," said the petite Australian over her shoulder as she marched them down a corridor. Her posture was as uncompr
omising as her pace. Jayne tried to stand a little straighter, but couldn't help feeling like a geriatric ox lumbering after Tinkerbell.
In a small ante-room, Opal turned to face them.
"We’ll start in here. You get changed into these robes and drink these hydrating smoothies."
Jayne picked up the robe and looked around for a cubicle or curtained area.
"Oh no," said Opal. "No secrets today. I need to assess your body shape so that I can tailor the programme for you. You can get your kit off right here."
Jayne exchanged a glance with Nerys and they started to shrug off their layers, not wanting to look uptight and British, even though uptight and British was exactly how Jayne felt.
"Oh look, a couple of wobbly jellies!" said Opal, pointing at their exposed stomachs. "I once saw something like that wash up on Bondai Beach."
Jayne stared at her in mortified horror.
"It’s fine, ladies," laughed Opal. "You’ll soon get used to my sense of humour."
"Is that what it is?" muttered Nerys.
"I like to make these little jokes as we work on your well-being. I only do it with people I really like."
"So that makes it okay?"
"Exactly. We can soon sort those bellies out with some electric pulse therapy and you’ll look back and laugh at this, I promise."
Jayne and Nerys wrapped their robes around them, saying nothing. They sat down, grateful to be covered once again and picked up the hydrating smoothies.
"Looks nice," murmured Jayne and took a long swig. Nerys was a moment behind, but their reactions were perfectly synchronised. Retching and mewling they both put down the glasses and physically backed away from them, clawing at their throats in an attempt to eradicate the disgusting taste.
"Come on now ladies, don’t act like babies. I don’t know if you realise how good this is for you. Pinch your noses and think of something nice. It’ll all be worth it, don’t you worry. Down in one. Now."
Opal stood and stared firmly at both of them.
Reluctantly Jayne raised the glass and looked across at Nerys.
"Mine’s a margarita," said Jayne.
"Screw that, mine’s Sex on the Beach at the very least," said Nerys. They glugged the foul mixture down and both set their glasses on the table with a clink of triumph, screwing their whole faces closed until they could trust themselves not to vomit.
"Tastes of fish," said Jayne.
"No, sour milk," said Nerys.
"Probably both," said Opal brightly. "There’s the ground krill, the blue-green algae and the fermented goats milk."
~ooOOOoo~
Chad, the paintball instructor, had an interesting habit of punctuating his words with karate moves and grunts. Michael wasn’t sure if he was trying to be Chuck Norris or Vegas-era Elvis Presley.
"Welcome everyone to the toughest day out the Midlands has to offer. Hoo-ha! You’ve all got overalls and safety masks now, yeah?"
"Er, I can’t do mine up," said Darren struggling with a zip that strained impossibly at the base of his stomach.
"Okay, go back and find a larger size," said Chad.
"This is the largest size you've got," said Darren.
"Right. Everybody do some star jumps to warm up while I see to this," said Chad.
He walked over to Darren, braced him up against the side of the storage hut and used his meaty forearm to hold back Darren’s stomach while he yanked the zip up. Somehow, it closed.
"Good, right! Ha! How are those star jumps coming?"
Michael looked around as he jumped. Manpreet and Andy were star jumping enthusiastically, while Zack and the wargamers made half-hearted efforts. Clovenhoof was practising a quick draw with a stick.
"All right, you can rest now," said Chad. "I need to talk to you about safety. Hy-ah!"
Everyone relaxed. Everyone except Darren whose arms remained stuck out to the sides.
"No more star jumps now," Chad said to him.
"I can’t get my arms down," said Darren. "Suit’s too tight."
"Right. Safety," said Chad as he wrestled Darren’s arms across his chest. There was a brief ripping sound, and Chad resumed his pose in the centre of the group.
"Face masks. Hoo!" He punched the air, holding his mask aloft. "They’re the difference between you staying in the game and coming out. It’s that serious," he stared at them all for emphasis. "If you take them off in a game our insurance won’t cover you - Hnh! - and we have to take you out of play immediately. But seriously. Who wants to go home with their eyeballs in their pockets? Anyone? Show of hands?"
There were no takers.
"Thought so. Ha!"
"Next thing. The paintball." He pulled one from his pocket and held it up between his thumb and forefinger. "Looks pretty harmless, doesn’t it? Just you wait until it’s coming at you at three hundred feet per second. Hoo-ha! You’re going to get bruises today. Anyone who can’t face that possibility might want to drop out now."
Andy shuffled slightly and eyed Michael sideways. Michael pictured Andy’s perfect physique sullied by ugly bruises and had a brief urge to grab his arm and leave. He pushed the urge away and reminded himself that he was a warrior angel and could not be seen to back away from conflict. Besides which, Clovenhoof would never let him live it down.
"Right, we'll split you into teams. You four over here, you're team Red, and the rest of you over there, you're team Blue. Hoozah!"
The two teams lined up. Ben, Darren, Argyll and Clovenhoof faced Andy, Zack, Manpreet and Michael.
"Go team Red!" shouted Clovenhoof and pulled a moonie at Michael. Michael rolled his eyes, but was distracted by an elbow in the ribs from Andy.
"Why do we have to be on a team with him?" Andy hissed.
"What?"
Andy nodded discreetly at Zack.
"I don't know why he's even here."
Chad thrust colour-coded arm bands into their hands, and they all pulled them on. Darren tugged his up his arm as far as he could, so he ended up with something like a narrow tourniquet that was probably already cutting off the blood supply to his hand.
"I think we might have had a big misunderstanding with Zack," Michael said, taking Andy aside. "I was upset and confused when I suddenly got all that money. I think he was just trying to help."
"Oh yeah? Well I bet he still believes all that stuff about it being an abomination to lie with another man."
"I think the church’s position on such things is not straightforward."
"Really? Remember Sodom and Gomorrah? A city destroyed because some of the men were gay!"
"Now, you weren’t there, Andy."
"And you were?"
"No," Michael lied, "but it really wasn’t about sexuality."
"Point is, I don't trust the man."
With masks in place, Chad handed out the guns and lectured them at length about the best way to operate them safely. Michael was surprised to see that Clovenhoof was listening carefully. He thought this was most uncharacteristic, until he realised that Clovenhoof was considering the reverse of every instruction, in an effort to make things more violent and interesting. Michael examined the mechanism of the gun. It seemed straightforward, although he'd have felt a lot more comfortable with a flaming sword. He caught Clovenhoof's eye. He smiled and nodded towards his weapon.
Oh, yes, Michael remembered Sodom and Gomorrah. He remembered Jericho. He remembered the Canaanites, the Amalekites and the Midianites. He remembered the War in Heaven.
"Let's re-live old times," he mouthed, as they all trotted off towards the battlefield. "Boom!"
~ooOOOoo~
Nerys reclined on the treatment bed and smiled across at Jayne. This was more like it. They would soak up relaxing therapies and emerge looking dewy and revitalised.
"Right ladies," said Opal. "We’re going to prepare your skin for the treatments we’ve got lined up. These mineral-rich wraps will draw out toxins and open up the pores. We'll paint the guano onto your body and then wrap you with the he
at retaining membrane."
Nerys mused for a moment on what Opal had just said.
"Guano," she said slowly, "is that a trade name?"
"No," said Opal.
"So guano…?"
"Yes?"
"That wouldn't be the guano that's like poo, obviously. What is it exactly?"
Opal looked up from slathering the sticky brown substance over Nerys's thighs. Jayne was being coated by a small woman with powerful forearms who muttered occasional words in Spanish.
"This contains the droppings of the Japanese Bush Warbler. Japanese women have prized its cosmetic properties for centuries."
"Bird poo?" said Jayne, propping herself up, to the clear annoyance of the Spanish woman. "Did you just say it's bird poo?"
Opal continued to apply the paste, and replied with a rigid smile.
"It's perfectly hygienic. It's been treated with ultra violet light. As long as you don't have any open sores, you'll be fine. You've signed the disclaimer anyway, haven't you?"
Nerys lay back with a small groan. Why on earth had she asked?
As their bodies were coated with liberal quantities of brown goo, Opal and the Spanish woman wrapped them with the heat-retaining membrane, which looked a lot like cling-film.
"We need to leave you for forty minutes," said Opal when they were completely wrapped. "You'll find it completely relaxing as the toxins leach from your skin, so you won't look as huge and bloated as beached whales."
She flashed them an enormous but rather brief smile and left them alone.
"Has she gone?" Jayne asked, propping herself up.
"Yes, I think so," Nerys replied. "I wonder where they do their customer service training? That woman couldn't be more offensive if she was," she waved a hand as she cast around for inspiration, "I dunno - Jeremy."
"She's awful," said Jayne, "and these treatments are bizarre. I just really hope they work."
"I’m just glad that Aussie despot has left us in peace," said Nerys, settling onto her elbows. "So, assuming these miracle treatments work, will I get to try on the bridesmaid’s dress tomorrow?"
"If it's come in to the shop," Jayne said. "I'm sure you'll love it."
