by Heide Goody
"They forgot to cook this, let's take it back."
Jayne peered mournfully across.
"No, I think it's what we're supposed to eat. It's called a Raw Food Power Lunch."
"You're kidding?"
"No," Jayne shook her head, "and it looks as though we've got another hydrating smoothie to go with it."
They both leaned back in their chairs, as far away from their plates as possible and glared at the food.
The dining room was small, and they were currently the only people in it. Nerys glanced around to see if there was any other viable food or drink that they could swap or steal. Nothing.
"I can't face another one of these smoothies," she hissed at Jayne. "You create some kind of diversion, I'll nip to the ladies, and tip them away. I can get us each a glass of tap water while I'm there."
"God, that sounds great. Never thought I'd say that about tap water."
Jayne wandered across to the door that led to the kitchen.
"Excuse me," she called through the door. "I'm looking for a leaflet about the leeches, do you have any?"
Nerys grabbed the glasses of the hateful smoothie and made for the other door, back toward the treatment rooms. She elbowed the handle open and backed out, so that she didn't spill the drinks. She backed straight into Opal who was standing with her hands on her hips.
"Going somewhere?" she asked.
~ooOOOoo~
Out on the field of battle, Ben shepherded everyone into position.
"Everyone knows what they’re doing? Right. Darren, roll in the mud. Yeah, that's looking good. Jeremy, you know you don't have to be naked, right?"
Clovenhoof shrugged.
"When they're confronted by my enormous manhood, they'll be awestruck for long enough for us to gain an edge," he said.
"Right. That might happen I suppose," said Ben, doubtfully. He didn't like to point out that another possibility was an incredibly painful injury to Clovenhoof's genitalia. "Into position and quiet now. Very quiet."
Michael was at the head of the blue group, while Manpreet scouted slightly around to the side, watching out for an ambush. Michael saw the flag, their target. It was unguarded in the centre of a clearing, next to a large round bush.
"Idiots," he said triumphantly. "They’ve left it unguarded."
He stepped forward. His foot snagged on something, and, as he looked down to see that it was a rope stretched across the path, he felt a torrent of viscous liquid on his neck.
He stumbled and wriggled, the paint dripping onto his forearms. He was out of the game.
"I know this is your doing, Jeremy!" he shouted out. "Don't think you've heard the end of this!"
And then the iron bucket fell loose from the rope above him and dropped onto his head with a loud clang.
~ooOOOoo~
The fish spa wasn't so bad if you didn't think about it, Nerys decided.
She tried hard not to think about small carnivorous fish eating the dead skin from her feet. The harder she tried not to think of small, cold-skinned creatures, sloughing the skin off her body with fangs that had been sharpened on previous clients, the more queasy she felt.
"Nice, isn't it?" said Jayne, reclining dreamily with her legs swinging gently in the water.
Nerys didn't answer. She sat tense and uncomfortable, trying to empty her mind or distract herself somehow. She reached for the leaflet at Jayne's side, wondering what other treatments lay ahead.
"Oh, no!"
She realised that she'd knocked Jayne's ankle bracelet into the water. They both sat and watched it settle on the bottom of the pool, attracting the attention of a number of fish.
"I suppose I'd better get it out," said Nerys, peering into the water. "What is it, four, five feet deep?"
Jayne nodded.
"About that."
Nerys tipped her weight forward and considered the prospect. She was wearing a bikini, so she didn't need to worry about clothes. She'd slip over the edge, quickly bob under the water, and climb back out after no more than ten seconds. Ten seconds where fish would nudge and probe her entire body. Ten seconds where fish might nibble her ears and eyeballs.
"Maybe we could find a pole or something to fish it out?" she said finally.
"Oh, for goodness sake!" Jayne said, and slid into the water. Her head bobbed beneath the surface and Nerys could see her hands groping the bottom of the pool.
Opal came rushing in to investigate the splash.
"Oh, I wouldn't do that," she said. "You know that those fish have been known to swim up a person's urethra?"
"What?" said Nerys.
"Surgery's the only way to get them out."
"Jayne, get out!" Nerys squealed. "The fish are gonna swim up your fanny!"
"What?" said Jayne, surfacing.
"Get out! Grab her arm, for crying out loud you silly bint!" Nerys yelled at Opal.
Nerys sobbed with relief as Jayne climbed out, surprised but apparently unviolated.
~ooOOOoo~
Clovenhoof crouched in the bracken, listening to Manpreet approaching. They were to wait for Ben's signal.
He'd decided that Manpreet moved with surprising stealth for a man of his bulk. He'd also decided that he would be quite happy to pay Manpreet back for some of his bossier moments in the working environment.
Ben's signal came. It consisted of Ben popping up from his hiding place, shouting "Eep!" and dropping back down into his hiding place. He let off a rattle of aimless gunfire on the way, which sailed over the treetops. Manpreet returned fire but Ben was back under cover.
In turn, Clovenhoof and Argyll copied Ben’s performance. Up, fire, down. Clovenhoof added some embellishments of his own, like a pelvic thrust and a raspberry.
Manpreet fired his gun, trying to keep up with the baffling display, but lagged behind, his shots way off target.
Up and down they bobbed, each to their own count. On his third appearance, Clovenhoof took a more careful aim and splattered Manpreet with paint.
"Yes!" yelled Argyll, leaping up from his hiding place. "They used similar tactics at Rorke’s Drift, you know."
Ben shook his head.
"That was pure Whack-a-Mole. The most impossible game ever invented."
~ooOOOoo~
Jayne sat in the more comfortable chair of the manicure lounge and glanced across at Nerys. She'd persuaded her sister to stay for the manicure, although she could see her glaring at Opal with open hostility.
She submitted to the filing, picturing how nice her nails would look when they were shaped and painted. There followed a painful session of cuticle pushing.
"I'm not sure they're supposed to bleed," Jayne mentioned tentatively.
Opal snorted.
"You ladies have terribly thick cuticles. What can I say? It's hard to know how best to advise people with such coarse features. You probably need to have your natural nails removed. We can give you some acrylic ones that will look much better. Last for years, which is more than enough for older women like you."
Nerys slammed her fist down onto the table, making Opal and her assistant jump.
"I've had enough of you people! You have no idea how dreadful you are."
"Us?" said Opal, genuinely surprised.
"Yes. You. Your beauty treatments have left us looking as though we've been in a street brawl. We've probably got cholera from the bird crap, we've certainly got bruises from the cupping and Jayne's lucky she hasn't got a fish stuck up her fannyhole and it’s laid its eggs inside her."
"I didn’t say anything about them laying eggs," Opal began.
"Course you bloody haven’t. You've been too busy traumatising us with bird shit, humiliating us with snide comments and torturing us with water cannons. I know we signed a disclaimer, but I reckon you're contravening the Geneva Convention in this place."
She paused for a breath as Opal and her assistant backed up against the wall.
"Jayne and I will be leaving now. You will bring our clothes back to us and you
will not attempt to stop us, or make us drink any more of your foul smoothies."
"Yeah!" declared Jayne to add her own little emphasis to Nerys’s act of rebellion.
~ooOOOoo~
Despite the loss of Michael, Andy realised that he and Zack actually had a chance at taking the flag while Manpreet was off distracting the red team.
They started across the clearing, skirting the large bush.
"Look out for traps," said Andy.
"The Lord is my shepherd," said Zack, as though that actually meant something.
Andy reached out and was about to snatch their prize when the bush swivelled to meet them. It was Darren, covered in mud and twigs, gun already raised.
It seemed to Andy that time, right then, slowed down to a crawl, everything in uninterruptable high-definition like a BBC natural history documentary. Darren’s gun fired. Once. Twice. Andy swore he could even see the pellets coming straight at him.
And then he saw Zack dive across in front of him, taking the paint rounds in the chest, a cry of "Get thee behind me, Satan," on his lips. Andy caught Zack and they went crashing down together. Andy raised his gun and shot at the bush which then, despite not actually getting hit, staggered back, fell over and rolled around on the floor unable to right itself.
"You gave your life to save me," Andy said to Zack.
"Greater love hath no man," said the reverend, "than he who lays down his life for his friend."
Andy, despite the machismo moment and the over-riding stupidity of grown men running around the countryside with toy guns, felt a tear prick the corner of his eye.
"I’m getting that flag for you, brother," he said and got up.
At that moment, Clovenhoof erupted from the bushes, wielding a weed sprayer. He saw the spray turn towards him, so slowly that it was almost painful to watch. A fat stripe of pink paint coated his torso.
"What’s that?" said Andy.
"It’s my paint ‘flamethrower,’" said Clovenhoof.
"Cool," said Andy and then ran around like a man on fire, rolled on the ground to put out the unquenchable flames and then died hideously next to Reverend Zack.
Ben ran into the clearing holding the blue flag, whooping loudly. Everyone, dead or alive applauded Ben as he ran a victory lap. Even Darren whose suit prevented him from getting himself to his feet and had to be levered upright by Andy and Zack.
"That was fun," said Andy.
"The best," said Zack.
Two hours later, with the eight of them ensconced in a corner of the Boldmere Oak, Michael smiled at the camaraderie that surrounded him. The minibus ride home had been filled with blow-by-blow accounts of the day's action. Manpreet congratulated the wargamers on their inventive tactics, and they all laughed at Clovenhoof's butt-waggling performance in the undergrowth.
What surprised Michael most of all was the newfound warmth between Andy and Zack, after the final moments of the battle. Andy had been profoundly moved by Zack's actions, and now chatted to him, re-living the events.
"The power of the paint," said Clovenhoof, seemingly reading his thoughts.
"I guess," said Michael. "Do you think those two are being a bit too… pally?"
Clovenhoof stared at him blankly.
"Sorry? Am I hearing you right? You think the minister’s getting a bit too friendly with your boyfriend? You think they’re about to elope together?"
"No, of course not," said Michael but kept an eye on them all the same.
Clovenhoof steered him to the bar to buy a round. Michael was in such a buoyant mood he didn’t mind, not even when Clovenhoof insisted on having a Lambrini and a Lambrini chaser.
"What's that you've got there, Jeremy?" Michael asked, gesturing at the carrier bag in Clovenhoof’s hand.
"Just a little keepsake," said Clovenhoof casually. "It might come in handy."
Michael peered inside. Of course, it was a paintball gun and maybe a hundred pellets.
"I’m not cleaning up after you," said Michael.
"I promised Ben I wouldn’t fire it in here."
"You know, I think Ben enjoyed his stag do," said Michael. "I can't remember ever seeing him looking so animated."
Clovenhoof glanced across at the group, who were recreating the paintball battle on the top of a table with beer glasses.
"You’ve done well today," said Michael. "There’s some good in you, you know."
"Hey, don’t ruin my evening with insults," said Clovenhoof. "Yes, well at least it's stopped Ben moping around about getting caught out stark-bollock naked in Wales."
"I've been thinking a lot about Wales," said Michael.
"You still going on about that?" Clovenhoof said.
"Yes, I am," said Michael and nudged Clovenhoof to an empty and secluded booth.
"You know, I think you might have hit the nail on the head about what's going on," he said.
"In Wales?"
"In Wales. Specifically, at St Cadfan’s monastery."
"What? You're the one with the wild theories about a saint that isn't in Heaven -"
"That's what I mean!" said Michael. "You said before that if St Cadfan isn't in Heaven then he must still be on earth. What if you're right?"
"So there's a saint somewhere around on earth still?"
"No, not somewhere around," said Michael. "He must be on Bardsey Island. One of the people over there must be St Cadfan."
"A fourteen hundred year old monk? I mean, I know life expectancy is getting longer and they say that if you take cod liver oil and eat blueberries you can live into your nineties but, please!"
"Come on, Jeremy. You remember back in the old days when God gave out immortality all over the place like sweets?"
"Not immortality, Michael. Longevity, never immortality. Methuselah clocked up nine hundred and sixty-nine years."
"Adam lived for nine hundred and thirty years. His surviving son, Seth, lived for nine hundred and twelve."
"But all of them died. Hang on, what about Elijah? He didn’t."
Michael shook his head.
"The Almighty took him up into Heaven, body and soul, once he reached three hundred and sixty-five years. Tells anyone who’ll listen to him all about it. But maybe there’s someone, someone that no one would kill, that not even death would touch."
Clovenhoof considered this for a moment, but didn't get very far because Nerys appeared in front of him.
"Where did you spring from?" he said.
"I’ve had enough of this crap!" she snapped.
"What?"
Hands on her hips, she glared from Clovenhoof to Michael and back again.
"You two are talking some seriously freaky stuff."
"Just pub chat," said Clovenhoof and concentrated on looking innocent. It was not a look that came readily to him.
"God. Immortality. Heaven. Hell."
"I thought you were at a spa for the day," said Michael.
"It was shit. Don’t change the subject."
"I really don’t know what you’re on about," said Clovenhoof.
"You!" she said, pointing a finger at him. "You're Satan, aren't you? You are!"
"You’ve been drinking, Nerys," said Michael smoothly.
"Shut it, Michael. I’ve been going mad thinking about it but I remember. You killed me, didn’t you?"
"Me?" said Clovenhoof.
"You electrocuted me. I can almost remember. It was in this grotty, horrible place. The smell…"
"I don’t think Darren would like to hear you describe his bedroom like that."
"Sodding hell! It is true! I knew it! You killed me."
"It was the only way to get you into Heaven to stop St Peter’s mad plan."
"I wouldn’t go so far as to call it mad," said Michael.
"And you were there too!" said Nerys to the former archangel. "So if Jeremy's Satan, who on earth are you? Too smart and uppity to be another devil. You must be an angel or something, I think. Are you the Angel Gabriel?"
"Unbelievable! Absolutely unbeli
evable," spat Michael. "Will there ever be an end to it? Gabriel does that one little gig with the infant Jesus and after that he's the only angel that ever leaps to anyone's mind."
She frowned at him furiously.
"Well, I don’t know! Who are you? The Christmas Angel? Tinkerbell?"
"Nerys, the clue is in the name! I am Archangel Michael."
"Who?"
"The warrior angel."
"Can’t say I’ve ever heard of you."
"The local church is named after me. That huge tapestry on the church wall is of me!"
"Oh. I thought that was Jesus."
Michael sighed theatrically into his drink.
"I've had it up to here with it. I hate Gabriel. The git."
Nerys stumbled backwards. She'd expected some denial from Jeremy. If not to protect himself, to protect her at least. She wasn't sure that she was equipped to deal with this.
She turned to the bar.
"Lennox, can I have something a bit stronger, please? I've just had a bit of a shock."
"No problem, Nerys. Coming right up."
Her mind was whirling out of control. If they were devil and angel then that meant the whole religious deal was true. Heaven, Hell, God. So there was a God and He was everywhere. Oh, the things He had seen her do!
Lennox put a drink down on the bar.
"You found out they're the devil and an angel, didn't you?" he said.
Nerys straightened up and stared at Lennox with wide eyes.
"How could you possibly know that?" she asked.
"I've always known," he said. "The horns and the halo give it away, don’t they?"
She looked back at the men in the booth and nearly wept. How had she missed it? Yes, there was a nimbus of golden light around Michael’s head which even now seemed to be a certain trick of the light but how the hell had she missed the fact that the man from downstairs was a red-skinned devil with goat-like horns and…
"He’s got hooves!" she gasped.
"I keep my eye on them," said Lennox. "They seem pretty harmless, don’t you think?"
