by David Moody
At some ridiculously early hour (I think it was somewhere between half-seven and half-eight that morning) I found myself sitting in the passenger seat of James' beaten-up and rattling old car, being driven at speed along the rough dirt track which connected Porter Farm to the main Portland Road and, therefore, to the rest of the world. Porter Farm was a little secluded family business nestled deep within the hills just a few miles outside Thatcham. Once or twice a week I would spend some time there helping out Joe Porter who had been a close friend of Dad's for many years. I was relying on a lift because today, for some inexplicable reason, I had allowed Robert to borrow my car. Christ alone knows why I let him get away with it. I could never understand why he hadn't bought his own car and why he stayed at my house when we'd both inherited exactly the same from Mum and Dad's estate. I suppose it was easier (and cheaper) for him to sponge off me when he needed too rather than dip into his own pocket unnecessarily. Today - for reasons best known to himself - he had decided to travel halfway across the country to see a couple of his friends from college. I didn't understand the need. Rob and his friends drank, studied, socialised and partied with each other almost all the year round, and yet they always seemed to want to meet up in the holidays too. More drinking, socialising and parties perhaps? Still, looking on the bright side Rob had only been back with me for just over a month and I was already sick of the sight of him. It did us both good to be away from each other for a while. The loss of my car for a day was a fair price to pay for a little peace and space.
'Why the bloody hell do you do this?' James asked suddenly, waking me from my early morning daydreams.
'Do what?' I mumbled, confused.
'You know,' he said, shouting to make himself heard over the throaty roar of his car's exhausted engine, 'work on a farm for nothing? Christ, if I had the chance to stop at home and do nothing like you could then I'd do just that. You wouldn't catch me doing anything I didn't have to. And that tight bugger Porter doesn't even pay you!'
From the outside I guessed that his feelings were pretty understandable. My decision to give up my time voluntarily to work at the farm did seem out of character for someone who had recently jumped ship from the rat race. But there were reasons why I did it. Reasons that I usually chose not to share.
'I get bored sitting at home all day,' I said, hoping to throw James off the scent. It seemed to do the trick. He nodded thoughtfully and returned his full attention to the dusty road which stretched out in front of us.
That answer was partly true, but it wasn't the only reason why I helped Joe out. He had been a close friend of Mum and Dad, and he'd been the one who had broken the news of their accident to me. He'd been the one who had driven me to the hospital and he'd been the one who had picked up Rob from university and brought him home when it happened. I owed Joe Porter a lot. I had a debt of gratitude to him which I wanted to repay. On another level I knew that my dad would have been appalled if he'd known I'd left my job. It was something of a consolation to be doing something with my time that I thought he might approve of.
There was another reason for working at the farm. It was much more simple and obvious. The fact of the matter was that I couldn't stand spending all that time on my own. Siobhan worked long hours and Rob was usually away at university. I had other friends, but they worked too and were not often about during the day time. It wasn't so much the boredom that bothered me, instead it was the danger of having too much time to think. I had pretty much come to terms with losing Mum and Dad (well, as much as anyone ever can come to terms with such a loss) but there were moments when the strong facade I put up crumbled and fell. It was often when I was doing the most ridiculously mundane and uninteresting thing - mowing the lawn or washing up or cooking for example. Sometimes just hearing their names or seeing their faces in photographs on the walls would do it. A crack would appear that would quickly become wider and wider until it was more like a gaping chasm. Then it was only a matter of time before the floodgates opened and a tidal wave of grief washed over me. I always felt better again eventually. But whenever the pain begins it feels like it will never go away.
'The atmosphere's bad at work at the moment,' James sighed.
'When isn't it bad?' I replied, not in the slightest bit interested. I had hoped that we might get through the journey without having to hear about the office but no such luck. If I'd turned to my right and smacked James in the face he wouldn't have stopped. He was on autopilot - a pre-programmed routine of moaning and whining. I'd sat through this far too many times before, and I guessed that before long I'd have to sit through it again.
'I tell you,' he continued, 'it's pretty desperate right now. I know things were bad when you were there but Christ, I've never known it like it is at the moment.'
'So what's happened now?' I heard myself ask. I hadn't really wanted to know, but some stupid subconscious reaction inside me made me speak. What a bloody idiot. When would I learn to shut up?
'Remember Simon?'
'The bloke with the red Jaguar?'
'No, that's Marcus Phillips. Simon's got an old Rover.'
I thought carefully for less than half a second. I couldn't remember ever working with anyone called Simon but I knew that would be inconsequential. James would continue with his tales of woe whatever.
'Oh yes,' I lied, trying to speed things up, 'I remember.'
James paused for a second to concentrate as he steered the car around a deep pothole in the track.
'Middle of last week, one of the new juniors we've got asked him to check over an order he'd put up. Now Simon's just like the rest of us, his desk's piled high with crap and he didn't check the order properly. Turned out it was an urgent order for E S Carters and they only got half of what they wanted. They'd had problems before apparently. Upshot of this one was that they closed their account. And they were worth a fucking fortune...'
'But if you don't give the customer what they want then...'
James ignored me.
'Worst of it was though, because Simon's signature was on the dispatch note, he's the one who's taking the rap for us losing the business. He's up on disciplinary for it.'
'Really?'
'Really.'
'And was it his fault?' I asked.
James thought for a moment.
'Suppose it was. I mean, the junior should have...'
'Tough shit then, isn't it?' I said, successfully and abruptly ending the conversation for a couple of seconds.
Less than a minute later it started again.
'They've downgraded him,' James said.
'Who?'
'Simon. They've downgraded him. And they've transferred someone in from another department to do his job. Then they had the nerve to turn around and ask him to train the new bloke up!'
'So has he done it?'
'No, he told them to piss off.'
'And what did they do?'
'They suspended him. Now we've got some bloody graduate in there until Simon's back or he's given the boot. It's all wrong, you know. There are four of us sitting there who could do the job with our eyes closed but instead of paying one of us a little deputising they bring in this fucking high-flyer who doesn't know his arse from his elbow.'
I smiled to myself. As James became angrier so his language became worse.
'Just grin and bear it like you always do,' I sighed. James nodded. I sympathised with him to an extent, but James was one of those people who were happy enough to moan but never willing to do anything about the problem. He'd quickly enough point out what was wrong, but never look for a solution. At that precise moment in time the only emotion I felt was sweet relief that I had managed to leave behind the desperate and dirty world of back-stabbing and seedy office politics. No matter how bad things got I could never imagine going back there.
'How's the baby?' I asked with my voice full of blatantly false enthusiasm. The parents of young children had, in my experience, a devastating ability to bore. But these were desperate times
, and desperate times called for desperate measures. I knew that if I wanted to avoid more soul-destroying stories about overtime, shipping orders and in-trays then I would have to suffer a string of humourless anecdotes about the varied colours of the contents of James' baby's nappy instead.
'Fine,' he smiled, suitably distracted. 'She's fine. Doing really well.'
'Glad to hear it.'
'I just wish I could spend more time at home.'
Here we go again, I thought.
'I'm sure you do,' I sympathised.
'If I could resign tomorrow then I'd do it.'
'Why don't you?'
As James struggled to answer me we finally arrived (thankfully) at the entrance to Porter Farm. I had my seat belt off and the door half-open before he'd even stopped the car.
'You okay for a lift back tonight?' he asked.
'Don't know,' I replied. 'But don't worry about it. I can walk or get a lift back from Joe.'
'You've got my mobile number in case you get stuck?'
'I've got it.'
James looked up at me and then slowly shook his head from side to side.
'What's the problem?' I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders.
'Nothing,' he sighed. 'I just can't get my head round the fact that you'd rather be here than sitting at home with your feet up. You could be there in front of the telly with a cool can of beer in your hand...'
'It's not even nine o'clock yet...'
'You know what I mean,' he scowled.
I nodded.
'I know what you mean. You'd understand if you were in my shoes,' I assured him.
'I doubt it,' he grumbled. 'I'd like to have the chance, mind you. Hey, if you ever feel like swapping places for a few days then give me a shout and...'
'No.'
'Just think about it for a minute...' he joked.
'No,' I said again.
'I don't know, when I look at those bloody aliens...'
'What about them?'
'Well, they're bloody stupid, aren't they?'
Stupid was the last thing the aliens seemed to be.
'What makes you say that?'
'Just look at them. They've come half way across the galaxy to get here and now they can't get back.'
'So?'
'So, they're working. Imagine leaving your home for months on end to go to work? It's bad enough just being out for the day. And I wouldn't even go to the end of our street for my lot!'
I laughed and shut the door. James turned the car around in the dusty farm yard and stopped when he was level with me.
'Thanks for the lift. I'll give you a call.'
'See you at the pub on Friday?'
I knew that I had to make an effort to try and stay away from the pub but he'd put me on the spot.
'Probably,' I said, being deliberately noncommittal.
'See you there,' he smiled, knowing full well that I wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of a pre-weekend drink.
James drove away and I watched him disappear before turning and walking towards the farm house.
10
In spite of the huge and sudden increase in the population levels of Thatcham, no-one in the village went to The Badger's Sett that Friday evening. Ray Mercer wasn't even there. In fact, for the first time in living memory (apart from when the cellar had flooded two winters back) the pub was closed.
Exactly one week had passed since the arrival of the alien visitors and preparations were well in hand for the jettison of their useless, crippled transport away from our planet and out towards the sun. Although no exact time scales were available, we were assured that it would happen tonight. Across the world the media reported that, within the next two or three hours, the massive machine's silent engines would be fired for the final time.
A vast crowd had gathered on the sprawling hills and cliff tops overlooking the ocean to watch the monumental event. During the last few days the flow of bodies into Thatcham and the surrounding villages and towns had been relentless and had increased still further once the launch date of the ship had been revealed. Even now with only hours to go and with the entire area heaving with people I could still see apparently endless columns of cars snaking along country roads towards the coast. They were so tightly packed that the headlamps of one car did little more than illuminate the back bumper of the one in front. Many had simply stopped and parked up on grass verges. Everyone wanted to be as close as possible to the alien ship when it finally left our atmosphere. People clamoured for a chance to see an alien or, at the very least, some distant alien activity. Everyone wanted to be there to witness history being made. Although I hadn't seemed to match the excited fervour of most people, I too didn't want to miss anything. This was a chance to be a part of something that would be permanently etched into our history books and, in all probability, into the alien's history books too.
Robert and I sat amongst the excited masses on the cliff-top not far from where I'd stood and watched the ship first arrive. We crouched down together on a small patch of dry, brittle grass and waited impatiently for something to happen.
'Bloody hell, did you see that one?' Rob gasped as a jet of brilliant white light suddenly shot across the distant horizon from left to right.
'I saw it,' I replied, finding it increasingly difficult not to sound bored. I had seen the last flash of light, and I had also seen the last twenty or thirty identical flashes before it. The aliens were stripping their ship - removing anything of value and using their small, silver shuttles to transport it back to the shore.
'There can't be much more left for them to do now,' Rob said, babbling like an excited child. 'Christ, they've had all week to empty the bloody thing.'
'Think they'll keep those shuttles here?' I asked as I lay back on the grass and looked up into the clear, dark sky. My head was suddenly filled with images of the incredible, sleek ships struggling to fit in with the flow of our own clumsy, ground-based traffic.
'They can't,' a loud and cocksure voice said from the darkness just behind and to the right of me. I sat up and turned around to try and locate the owner of the disembodied voice.
'Why not?' I asked, aiming my question in the general direction from which the last answer had come.
'Because the shuttles are powered by the mothership,' the voice replied. 'They would be able to function for a couple of days, but after that they'd be useless.'
'Did you know that?' I asked Rob.
He nodded his head with some surprise.
'Course I did. Everybody knows that. Christ, haven't you been paying attention?'
A middle-aged man wearing a flat cap and a shirt (with the sleeves neatly rolled up to just above the elbow) and brown tie shuffled awkwardly down the gentle slope towards us and squeezed himself in between Robert and myself. He had a pair of thick, heavily framed glasses perched on the bridge of his proud, pronounced nose, and had a dark little moustache nestling above the middle of his top lip. In the low light he looked bizarre - the bastard son of Adolf Hitler and a pigeon-fancier.
'The shuttles were only designed to be used for short distances,' he continued, uninvited. 'They're nowhere near as well shielded as the main ship.'
'They're stronger than anything we could ever make, of course,' Rob said, picking up where our visitor had left off, 'but compared to the mother ship they're nowhere near as robust.'
'Bloody hell,' I sighed, 'have you done anything this week except sit and watch the TV?'
The other man interrupted again.
'I don't think I've missed a single piece of news yet,' he said with some pride. 'I've travelled almost two hundred miles to get here today. I was on the train before seven this morning.'
'Were you really?' I sighed, neither impressed or interested.
'I was. What about you two? Have you come far?'
I shook my head nonchalantly.
'No. If you stand up and walk to the top of the hill you can see my house.'
'Really?' he gasped, s
uddenly appearing to be both rabidly interested and insanely jealous at the same time. 'Did you see the ship when it first arrived?' he asked excitedly. 'Where were you when it first appeared?'
'I was just over there,' I replied, pointing over to my right in the general direction of the twisting path I had been running along when the storm had broken and I'd watched the ship fly out over the ocean.
'Could you see much?'
'I saw everything,' I answered, taking some sadistic pleasure in taunting our new friend.
'What was it like?' he demanded impatiently. 'I've watched the footage again and again on the television, but to have actually been here when it happened...'
'It was okay,' I mumbled, deliberately trying to wind him up. 'You know, big and black and...'
I was interrupted as a helicopter suddenly reared up from behind us and screeched through the air above our heads, causing a shock wave of noisy, slightly nervous excitement to quickly spread through the tightly-packed crowds like a massive Mexican wave. The unexpected deluge of sound and light was confusing. For a second or two just about everyone gathered on the hillsides thought that something had started to happen.
'Damn,' said the man sitting between Rob and I, 'just a helicopter.'
I turned and noticed that he had a pair of battered binoculars hanging around his scrawny neck.
'Could I borrow those for a second?' I asked.
He thought carefully before reluctantly taking off the glasses and handing them to me.
'Here,' he mumbled. 'Watch what you're doing with them won't you. I've had them for years...'
Staring out over the ocean and out towards the horizon I was just able to make out the shadowy shape of the alien mothership. Its smooth, black fuselage still hung steady and motionless over the calm sea. As my eyes became accustomed to the low light where the purple-black sky met the sea I could see hundreds of tiny lights which pinpricked the bulkhead of the ship and shone out into the night like the countless stars above me. A steady stream of busy shuttles poured out from deep within the bowels of the ship. Each one of them swooped down towards the surface of the water, unloaded their cargo onto the decks of a fleet of waiting boats, and then quickly disappeared back up into the dark safety of the cavernous ship again. Then, after I had been watching for a minute or two, they suddenly stopped.
