She went back through the parcel her mother had sent. There were other props: a man’s shoe, a glove, a bag of wheat. There were very clear instructions as to what to do with this stuff and although Adeline was a sceptic, she followed them to the letter. She took hold of the worn leather glove; it was soiled and smelled of sour sweat. She opened up the wrist and poured in the wheat seed, shaking and bending the fingers so the tips filled right up. She held the wrist shut with her left hand, and as she took hold of it with her own right hand she had the peculiar sensation that she was meeting someone.
Her mother’s letter lay open on the kitchen table, a Carpathian postmark stamped onto the envelope. The instructions then asked that she put on the flat-soled shoe, just for one foot. She pushed her foot into the brown leather shoe and laced it up. On the other foot, she had to wear a high heel, a glossy, going-out shoe. Adeline flexed her toes and pushed her left foot into the blue stiletto, buckled the strap and stood up.
The door swung open and Tony walked in. He was carrying the lump of asteroid in one hand and an empty plate in the other; a ceramic plate with the glaze chipped and orange clay showing through. He looked at Adeline’s feet then up to her face; he thought about saying something smart but he couldn’t think of anything. He shuffled up to the bread-board, cut himself another slice of fruit-cake and crossed the kitchen, chewing on the first mouthful.
‘You hit him with that?’
Tony allowed plenty of cake crumbs splutter out of his mouth as he spoke.
‘Well, of course I did.’
‘He didn’t do anything, Tony.’
‘He didn’t?’
‘Well, no. He’s a sort of bloody gentleman type, if you can believe such a thing.’
‘No, I don’t believe it, and I don’t like him.’
‘Well, I do.’
Tony let go of his plate, which fell to the floor and smashed into hundreds of pieces. He said ‘Ooops’ and ‘I am sorry’ then he left the kitchen.
Adeline tried to walk in her odd shoes but it was very awkward, even with her right foot on tiptoe. Her mother had remarked that it would be easier once she was outside in the street. What she had to do was to stand in the kerb with the flat shoe on the pavement and the high heel on the road surface. This would level her up and enable her to walk the block, around the house. She would have to do this once a day now, until the man who would be the father of her child approached her and took her by the spellbound hand.
◊
The one-way system was quiet because there were only ten minutes left before curfew. The only other car on the road was the police car, which had been following Leonard for the last few miles. They were obviously hoping that he would not make it home in time, then they’d be able to make an arrest. Leonard drove as fast as he could; he hoped he was below the speed limit, but he couldn’t tell because the dashboard clocks were all out. He could see the police in the rear-view mirror, there were four silhouettes in the car; their heads were rocking back and forth like they were listening to music, and they were swapping their helmets, just for a giggle.
It was raining and the knackered windscreen-wipers just pushed dirt around the glass like a builder’s trowel. One deep scratch right across his sightline split the verticals, made lamp posts resemble x-rays of fractured tibias.
At the bottom of the hill he slowed, indicated and pulled in next to the Mirabelle. The police car slowed as it passed, they looked in then sped off, skidding round the first corner.
Leonard’s plan was to leave by first light; he had the Land Rover for three days but he didn’t know how far he’d be driving yet. He knew that he had to be cautious, what he was doing would certainly be classified as subversive behaviour. If he were caught he’d be deported, beaten up or worse.
He stepped down onto the pavement and started to climb the steps up to the Mirabelle. Someone was sitting outside, wearing a raincoat the colour of cardboard and slumped over, either dead or taking a nap. Leonard nudged the man, and as soon as his eyes lifted, Leonard could see that it was Ian.
‘Ah, there you are, been waiting for you.’
‘What d’you want?’
‘Now, now, don’t get all defensive. Can I come in?’
‘Not now, Ian, I’m off to bed. Plus the fact I’ve heard a nasty rumour that you are some sort of secret policeman.’
‘Tis so, tis so. But I’m a free agent, Leonard. I work for myself and have my own best interests at heart. Don’t get me wrong, I’m for hire, but my loyalty is to a certain Ian Marble and nobody else.’
Ian climbed down the steps and crossed to the Land Rover, he kicked the tyres and looked the vehicle over.
‘Where you off to, then?’
‘Nowhere in particular.’
‘Intriguing.’
Ian tugged at the lashings, which dangled from the bottom of the canvas roof. He studied the knots.
‘Half-hitch! Nicely done, Leo. Just as a matter of interest, let’s see your paperwork.’
‘That’s enough, Ian, I had to use the certificate.’
‘I know you did. You’re still tying the knot though, aren’t you!’
Leonard hadn’t tied the knots, they were Reggie’s farmyard half-hitches, but there was no point landing Reggie in it.
‘OK, what do you want?’
‘You’re going up-country, aren’t you? I‘d like to go along for the ride.’
‘I’m sorry, Ian, but I can’t do that.’
‘Really?’
‘No.’
‘You could get into quite a lot of bother, you know, going all on your own. We’d make a good team.’
‘The answer is still no.’
‘Look, I can help you, Leonard. I know you want to see the vessel, and I know roughly where it is.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes, it’s up in the north-east, but you won’t find it without my help. You’ll just get yourself arrested, that’s all.’
‘Look, Ian, the Land Rover is for getting to work, I’m not intending to go on some wild goose chase. So goodnight!’
‘OK, have it your way, but don’t come crying to me and don’t say that I didn’t warn you!’
◊
The Mirabelle was hot and dry again, the lounge was empty and the screen of the fat, coin-op television set was a mute, khaki green. The tops of Harry’s arms were visible behind the reception desk, his feet were crossed and resting on the blotting pad and the rest of his body was leaning back in the chair. As Leonard approached, Harry’s head came into plain sight; he was wearing headphones and mouthing something silently. Leonard whacked the bell hard and it rang out shrill and lasting. Harry didn’t budge until Leonard tapped on the soles of his feet.
‘Evening, Leonard.’
‘What are you listening to, Harry?’
‘Oh, it’s personal stuff, self-help.’
‘Can I have a go?’
‘Go on, then.’
Harry handed the headphones over; Leonard put them on and leant on the reception desk. It was chanting with bells, that’s why Harry hadn’t heard the reception bell. The voices were low and grave but solid and comforting.
‘Om ah hum vajra guru padma siddhi hum, Om ah hum vajra guru padma siddhi hum, Om ah hum vajra guru padma siddhi hum.’
Leonard uncovered his ears.
‘What’s all this, then?’
‘Put them back on.’
Leonard put the headphones back and listened carefully.
‘When we meditate, we are trying to calm the confusions of a chaotic age. It is therefore useful to compare the mind to a jar of muddy water; the more we leave the water without interference, without stirring it, the more the particles of dirt will sink to the bottom, letting the natural clarity of the water and the brightness of the mind shine through.’ 1
Leonard took the headphones off again and Harry asked, ‘Do you think it’ll help?’
Leonard shrugged.
‘Maybe.’
‘Good, good. And so, how are
you doing these days then, having any luck with things? Heard any whispers through the sulphurous old grape vine?’
‘There’s plenty of whispering going on out there. Everybody’s whispering something to someone. But I think you’re better off listening to the self help.’
‘You might be right there.’
‘Night.’
‘Night, then.’
Leonard stripped off his clothes as he climbed the stairs, his coat and his sweater, even his T-shirt. It was stuffy and airless in his room; he opened the windows as much as he could and kicked off his shoes. He splashed some water over his face and lay down on the bed; his head was too full to sleep. He lay there trying to fend off the nagging doubts, trying to remember Harry’s tape.
It took him a while to get comfortable. He yawned and his eyelids were heavy, but there was this persistent, metallic clanging. He realised that the noise was coming from the central heating pipe-work; it was Beryl tapping on the pipes, trying to get his attention, three floors below.
Leonard pulled his shoes and his T-shirt back on and went out into the hall.
◊
By the time he got to the basement, the clanging had stopped. He stood by the door into the boiler room and listened. Nothing, not a whisper, so he knocked against the frame.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s Leonard.’
‘Come in, boy.’
It was dark inside and even warmer than upstairs. There was a lack of oxygen in the air, and a distant humming of contained flames. A faint ticking of thermostatic control told Leonard that somewhere inside the machinery, a fire was roaring. He moved through flickering shadows, past the bed of the printing press and on towards yellow light shining from two standard lamps.
‘We’re through here.’
He followed the voice until he could see a pair of hands, a young girl’s hands frantically tying something up in her lap. Beryl looked up, then away again. She was doing the same thing, she was focused on her hands, nodding and raising her eyebrows as she tried to go faster.
‘We’re having a knitting race, bear with us a minute.’
Leonard leaned against the wall and watched the child: she was numb with concentration, all her energies were focused on her efforts, and she was going as fast as she could. But Beryl was working effortlessly, her hands moving with fluid, unfaltering speed.
The girl did not take her eyes off her needles, but Beryl was relaxed enough to look across at Leonard.
‘Haven’t got yourself beaten up or bumped off, then?’
‘I’m doing my best, watching my back.’
‘That’s good. This is my grand-daughter, Lena. She’s going to lose.’
Lena smiled but she was not happy; she didn’t like to be chided and she was annoyed that her grandmother was able to talk and knit at the same time. She tried to break Beryl’s concentration by asking a question.
‘Do you think that ducks have heart attacks?’
Beryl swept the question aside.
‘Probably, dear. Yes, I think that could be possible.’
Lena could see now that she couldn’t win; Beryl was unrolling more blue yarn and going even faster.
‘Oh, Nan!’
Lena stopped and stretched out her blue band of knitting. She ran over to Leonard and sized the wool up against his waist. Beryl stopped casting off.
‘Ha, is that a surrender, dear?’
‘Yes, alright, alright!’
Lena looked up at Leonard and asked, ‘Turtle or crew?’
‘What?’
‘Neck, you fool! I’m going to knit you a sweater.’
‘Don’t be impolite, Lena.’
‘Sit down in Lena’s chair, Leonard, she’s going to make us a nice cup of tea.’
Lena stuck both of her knitting needles back into her ball of wool with bullfighting force, then walked off further into the basement.
‘She is a terrible loser.’
‘Why don’t you let her win?’
‘What kind of a lesson is that?’
‘Well, yeah I…’
‘Somebody tells me you’ve got yourself some transport?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What are your plans, then?’
‘That’d be telling.’
‘So tell me.’
‘I’m leaving at first light. I’m going to look for the construction site. I want to see the vessel for myself!’
‘You’re a brave one. Do you know where it is, then?’
‘I’ve got a rough idea.’
‘That’s no good, is it? Sounds a bit half-arsed, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘Well, a man I know said I should head up into the north-east. I’m going to get hold of some aerial photographs from a woman I know.’
‘You’re such a fool Leonard: “a man I know, a woman I know”!’
‘Ian, Ian Marble!’
‘Are you mad? Marble’s a maniac!’
‘I know that, I know what I’m doing!’
Beryl smiled.
‘Be honest with me, you haven’t got a bloody clue, have you?’
‘Not really, no.’
‘What do you know about Marble?’
‘He’s alright, he let me stay one night to avoid curfew.’
‘Did you know, for example, that he has a pig’s heart in his chest?’
‘What?’
‘He had a transplant about a year ago. He’s got the heart of a pig.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘You see, Leonard, you don’t really know very much at all, do you? Haven’t you worked out that you can’t trust anyone here, including me? Nothing is done on trust and nothing should be taken at its face value. If you want to get anything done you’ve got to trade, make mutually beneficial deals, like the one I’m going to offer you.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘Before we move on, this “girl you know”, her name’s Adeline, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah. She’s got these photographs, they could be useful.’
‘She got any influence over you, Leonard? You lusting in her direction?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t lie to me! You are pathetically transparent. Do you know what a hard cock is, Leonard?’
‘Well, I…’
‘I mean, what it really is?’
Leonard shrugged his shoulders; she was going to tell him what she thought it was anyway.
‘It’s a handle, a bloody saucepan handle and once the lady in question has a hold of you, she can put you wherever she wants! She can heat you up over the hot plate see, or empty you out into the bin! Do you see what I’m saying?’
Leonard saw himself being picked up and put down in his mind; funny but not at all that funny, really.
‘I know what I’m doing, Beryl.’
‘Why doesn’t that reassure me?’
‘Look, the most pressing and most urgent thing is, this bloody comet is going to hit us in something like eight weeks time. Right?’
‘That’s what they reckon, boy. No mistake this time, they’ve given the rock a name. They’ve started calling it the Ice Moon.’
‘OK, what’s the deal then? What were you about to offer me?’
Beryl stood up and rested her hands on her hips.
‘Now, Leonard, I need you to trust me. No, in fact it’s more than that: I need you to indulge me.’
‘Right.’
‘Stand up and don’t think too much about what is going to happen next. I am not a lusty old cow with misplaced longings. I just know my horseflesh.’
Leonard stood and Beryl approached him. She reached for his genitals and Leonard flinched.
‘That’s alright, now just relax.’
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘What do you think I’m doing? I’m weighing you up, Leonard. I’m trying to find out if you’ve got the bloody balls for this.’
‘For what? Are you allowed to touch me like that?’
‘Yes I am. These
are unusual circumstances and this is absolutely necessary.’
Beryl looked onto Leonard’s eyes, then she removed her hands and took a step backward.
‘Are you quite satisfied?’
‘You could do with a little more fire in your belly. But I suppose you’ll have to do.’
‘Thanks a lot.’
‘I want you to look after Lena. I want you to get her onto the vessel. Now excuse me a minute, I am going to check on the tea.’
◊
The room behind the laundry chute was used as a kitchen; there was a microwave, a leaking fridge and an electric frying pan. There was a sort of worktop propped up on bricks, it bowed in the middle but that didn’t matter. The floor wasn’t level either, patches of repaired cement overlapped, forming ridges which the blue rug couldn’t really cover.
The kettle boiled but it didn’t switch off, so the steam just rolled off the ceiling and back down around Lena. She had a big knife in her hand and she was cutting open the green apple she’d taken from Warden’s office.
‘Be careful with that, Lena.’
Lena sucked in a sharp breath. Beryl kissed the top of her head.
‘Don’t creep up on me, Nan! You make me jump!’
‘Have you got it?’
‘Yes, I’ve got it.’
Lena picked a metal tag out of the apple and wiped it with surgical spirit.
‘You know how to do it?’
‘Yes!’
‘I’ll take the tea, you bring the biscuits.’
‘Yes alright, Nan, you go on back to him.’
Beryl knew how to handle a tray; it had been her life, this fetching and carrying. She set the tea down and poured, and Leonard helped himself to sugar.
‘Are you still printing the newsletter?’
‘Of course, not that it has much effect. It’s gone too far for that now.’
‘What has?’
‘The scramble. The gloves are off, haven’t you noticed? It’s going to get nasty now.’
‘What is?’
‘Just staying alive.’
Lena entered with biscuits piled up on a metal plate.
‘Would you like one?’
‘Yes please, I’d love one.’
Lena was pleased; she crossed the floor to Leonard.
‘Close your eyes and open your mouth.’
Leonard didn’t really want to, he didn’t want to start a long running weirdness with the girl, where Lena would think him willing to play the kid in her games. But then Beryl joined in.
Cloud Cuckoo Land Page 8
