by James Rhodes
“Marvell?”
“He was on to something. Don't put off your happiness for someone who already left you.”
“What is it like?” Gary asked.
“What?”
“Being so right about everything?”
“It's a mess of regret and disappointment, avoid it at all costs.”
Mrs Fuller smiled sweetly, bought a few rolls of paper towels and some chocolate and went on her way.
13.
The sheets of the double bed were cool and smooth. Shelley lay naked against the covers, staring at the ceiling. It was impossible not to smell Gary on the sheets, he had left a musk on his pillow. Shelley liked it, it was comforting. She rubbed the slight round of her belly tenderly.
Nudged by the dull of the quiet house, Shelley imagined Gary next to her, she reached her hand under the sheets and closed her eyes.
Episode Six: The Mad Monk
1.
Gary was used to Shelley still being awake when he got in from work, what took him off guard was the sound of talking. Alison’s voice wafted through the door and into the kitchen. Gary shuddered at the sound. It was first thing in the bloody morning, if Alison was going to spring a surprise visit then she could at least come at a sociable hour. Then it occurred to him how loud Alison was voice was, Alison only ever talked loudly when she had been drinking heavily which, was almost never.
Gary considered going straight up to bed; just tip-toeing upstairs and pretending to be asleep. Whatever Alison was talking to about Shelley, it couldn’t be good. He closed the front door as quietly as he could, making sure to turn the handle before closing it to dampen the sound of the lock. Taking a deep breath, he stepped towards the stairs.
“Gary, Gary is that you?”
Alison’s New Zealand lilt had not lost its effect on Gary, his shoulders dropped in defeat.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What are you doing out there?”
Gary thought about the question for longer than it required, he scrunched up his face in preparation for the most honest answer he could come up with without actually telling the truth. This, co-incidentally, was also the weakest response he could come up with.
“I’m just coming in to the house.”
“Well, get in here.”
Shelley and Alison were both sat at the kitchen table. The kitchen was not tidy, a delivery pizza box sat open on the sideboard with two pieces of pizza inside it. Next to the pizza box was a mass grave of expensive foreign beer bottles, all lagers, all empty. A cafetiére of coffee and a bottle of inexpensive Scotch sat in the centre of the table. A carton of cream, its contents dripping to a gloop on to the table, sat beside a bowl of sugar that had been stained brown with coffee. Both Shelley and Alison looked exhausted and intoxicated.
“We’ve made you a coffee,” said Shelley, “it might be cold now.”
The two cousins burst into fits of laughter.
“Have some pizza,” suggested Alison.
The two cousins burst in to fits of laughter again. Gary waited for them to level off.
“It’s alright,” said Shelley, “we haven’t done anything to it.”
“All though we could have,” added Alison.
By the time that Gary had picked up the pizza box, walked to the table, sat down and taken a swig of lukewarm coffee that he was sure was around 40% Scotch, 30% cream, 55% sugar and 5% coffee, the third fit of laughter had died down.
“Oh God, I’m gonna wet meself,” said Shelley, “one minute.”
She stood up and took a step towards the door. Stumbling, she put her hand on Gary’s shoulder for support.
“I’m OK,” she told the room.
Gary waited for Shelley to leave the room.
“So, what are you doing here?” Gary asked.
Alison leaned forward, he eyes struggled for a second and then found a clarity of focus that was equal parts flirty and reproachful.
“Never mind that,” she told him, “what’s all this I hear about you sleeping with my cousin?”
“What?”
Alison’s focus didn’t shift.
“You know what, you and Shelley…”
“I have slept in the same bed as her but we haven’t slept together.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, how can you sleep in the same bed with someone without sleeping with them?”
“We’ve slept together in the sense that we were both asleep at the same time but not in the carnal sense.”
“So you did go to bed with my cousin?”
“Technically, yes but we didn’t have sex.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think I would have noticed, I’m not very observant but I think I might have spotted that one.”
“I knew it wouldn’t take you long before you moved on; but with my own cousin, really?”
“I haven’t had sex with her, you’re drunk.”
It was the first time Gary had ever been able to pull the alcohol card on Alison and it actually felt quite good.
“But you want to, don’t you?”
“I never said that.”
“You’re not denying it though.”
Gary pulled out his ace, a card that had been in his deck for years but that it had never been quite the right time to pull:
“Are you jealous?”
“Of you?” Alison scoffed.
“Of me and Shelley.”
“You’re not doing anything so how could I be?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just admit that you want to have sex with her.”
Gary wasn’t about to admit it.
“Admit that you're jealous.”
“You fancy her, don’t you?”
Alison’s eyes were losing focus again.
“Who do you fancy?”
The voice behind Gary signified Shelley’s re-entry into the kitchen.
“No-one,” said Gary, “Alison’s drunk.”
“Someone,” said Alison, “but not no-one…”
“Is it Julie?” Shelley asked.
“No!”
“If you didn’t fancy her, why did you shag her?” Alison asked.
“Yeah, why did you shag her?” Shelley asked.
“Because I was drunk.”
“I’m drunk and I wouldn’t shag her,” Shelley observed.
“I might,” said Alison, “under my current circumstances.”
The two cousins erupted in to fits of laughter again. Gary poured some neat Scotch into his empty mug, quite a lot of neat Scotch.
2.
Reginald the farmer was very concerned about his sows. Mucking them out had gone from being an unpleasant chore to being an unpleasant and dangerous chore. They were all tetchy; he had been bitten on the legs four times in one week, the same leg. He took some consolation in the fact that all of the sows that had bitten him would end up as a variety of supermarket products.
Reg knew what the problem was, they were all in season; it only took a glance at their rear end to know that. It was a condition that normally cleared up within a few days and happened in batches. So, he thought it was just a few of them at a time. He did a survey, it was all of them; every last sow.
Reg had considered calling a vet but none of the animals seemed sick, apart from their mood they were all in perfect health: he had checked temperatures at great risk to his own safety. Furthermore, he had shined lights in the animal’s eyes to see if their pupils responded; just like the police do on telly. And, slapped one or two of them on the arse to check their reactions were in order. He had given them the all clear.
Reg’s entire stock had once been culled for foot and mouth disease. Thanks to a poor choice of insurer, it had nearly cost him his farm and burned up every penny of capital he had saved. The stress of the cull and its subsequent consequences had ended his already rocky marriage; it was around that point in his life that he started carrying a hipflask. It was an experience he was k
een to avoid happening ever again.
He had checked for known porcine diseases both online and in his encyclopaedia and had made a telephone call to a university specialist in America just to be on the safe side. Whatever was wrong with them was not a known illness and so he would still be able to sell them in good conscience. They didn’t seem sick, they didn’t seem in danger of dying they were all just in season. The supermarket Lorries would be there in a few days to pick them all up and, given that the other option was bankruptcy and a life of poverty, Reginald had decided that he would just get blind drunk for a few weeks and pray that nobody died.
He thrust his shovel into a mound of pig flop and glanced over his shoulder as he threw the stuff into the wheelbarrow. Seven of the sows had formed into a little group and kept glancing over at him. It was quite unnerving; if they weren’t pigs he’d have been sure they were slagging him off behind his back.
3.
Shelley had fallen asleep on the couch with her feet on Alison’s lap. Gary was sat with his hands on his lap. Alison had refused to let him turn the TV on suggesting that they “catch up.” Despite having drunk more than the recommend weekly allowance for a man in a very short period of time, Gary still felt uncomfortably sober.
“So witch-hunter, what’s with the mad monk?”
Gary sighed and took another slug of whiskey.
“I’m not following you.”
“The guy in the robes, running around Hettford. I’ve heard you’re back in the witch-hunting game. You seem to have Shelley sold on your delusions.”
“You need to lay off the stuff with Shelley, she’s been really nice to me.”
“I’m not being mean. How was that mean?”
“He’s a nut job, no witchcraft involved, just a man wearing a monk costume. “
“You don’t think that’s out of the ordinary.”
“Maybe he’s actually a monk.”
“Monks don’t walk around with their hoods pulled up.”
“Have you seen him?”
“He was stood by the side of the road as I drove in to town. He waved at me.”
“How did he wave? Did he wave like: I’m going to kill you? Or did he wave like: I’m saying hello.”
“It was kind of sheepish, like he’d done it involuntarily and then got a bit embarrassed.”
“Nut job,” said Gary.
“Have you been seeing much of Julie?”
“No, have you been seeing much of Neville?”
“Enough,” said Alison.
“Break up, eh?”
“No.”
“Well what then?”
Alison took a deep breath.
“I don’t really want to get into it. Let’s just say he has a medical problem that’s affecting our sex life.”
“Is it impotence? I bet its impotence.”
“It’s not impotence.”
“Premature ejaculation?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“I don’t want to get into it.”
Shelley began to mutter in her sleep. She rolled over on the couch.
“It’s no wonder you two get along,” said Alison.
“What do you mean?”
“You both talk in your sleep.”
“Oh yeah,” said Gary, “we get hours of conversation out of that. That’s why we sleep in the same bed so we can chat away in a state of somnambulistic rapture.”
Alison sniffed.
“Why do you sleep in the same bed?” She asked.
“Because the floor is really, really uncomfortable and because Shelley is really, really nice.”
“I told you that you fancy her.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re not denying it either.”
Gary shook his head.
“What are you doing here Alison?”
Alison shrugged and pointed at him.
“Getting drunk with my best friend.”
Gary took another glug from the mug. “This stinks,” he thought.
4.
Milton was sitting quietly at the counter of Occultivated. It was too early for any customers to come in but he liked to be there anyway. Running the shop was more than just a profit making exercise; it provided a valuable educational service. There was no library in Hettford and the mobile library that visited once a week had been decommissioned following government cuts. So, in many ways, Milton’s shop was the only place in the village where anyone could go to get something to read. He had been thinking about Gary’s new found resolve to defeat the witches. The plan Gary had proposed at the last meeting was excellent and Shelley’s involvement in the pub quiz had got them a second place prize. The first prize they had ever won. With an extra member like her it might just work.
The idea that he might not have to be a witch-hunter was more terrifying than the thought of dying in a battle with the two crones. If that happened, he would have to be normal. He would have to find new interests in common with Carrie; he would have to find something else to talk to Dan about. Then there was Dan, if they could get through the ordeal then he would never have to tell Dan the truth about his family.
Dan was bored; he was sat quietly on the other side of the counter waiting for Milton to make his move.
“The thing about battleships,” said Dan “is that without you making a move, I can’t go.”
“I’m pursuing a strategy to minimize casualties.”
“That wouldn’t work, in a real battle I’d just take my turn whilst you were sat there picking your bum.”
“Not if you didn’t know where my battleships were.”
“Of course I’d know, I’d have spy satellites, aerial surveillance, and unmanned drones. Etc.”
“Not if you were a third world country.”
“What third world countries have battleships?”
Milton shrugged.
“Latveria?” He suggested.
“Isn’t the idea of the game that we’re in a war prior to the invention of surveillance technology?”
“No,” said Dan, “the idea of the game is that I take a turn and then you take a bloody turn.”
“So isn’t the message of the game that the best way to win a war is not to take part in it?”
Dan’s face prickled, he knew Milton was riling him on purpose and he wasn’t going to rise to it.
“I think the message of the game is that naval superiority is the key to victory in any international war.”
“It’s not though, is it? It’s all aeroplanes these days and bombs.”
“No,” said Dan, “there are aircraft carriers to consider and…”
“Aircraft carriers, that’s like saying a school bus is the most important class room activity.”
“Nuclear subs then. You can’t beat a nuclear sub.”
“You could with a depth charge,” said Milton flatly.
Dan crossed his arms in triumph.
“And for that, you would need a battleship.”
Milton opened his mouth but Dan beat him to the punch.
“Or Thunderbird 2 and Thunderbird 4 respectively. Make your move, see if you can redeem some of the face you lost during this debate.”
Milton was saved from having to concede defeat at the debate by the sound of the shop door opening. A girl wearing tight black leggings and a green t-shirt with a picture of a dragon on it walked through the doorway. She wore a black shawl with skulls on it around her head.
“Hi Julie,” said Dan.
Milton stood up, Julie was his best customer but she hadn’t been in much since she started working night shifts.
“Are you OK?” Milton asked, “Gary said you were sick.”
Julie nodded there were tears in her eyes.
“I was wondering if you knew any cures for this. You know, like, herbs or chants or whatever. I'll try anything.”
Julie unwound her shawl. Her neck was covered in thick dark knot
s of skin as if a fungus were growing inside her. Milton and Dan’s eyes widened in shock.
“Have you been to a doctor?”
Julie nodded.
“They said it looks like TB but I test negative for it. They don’t know what it is. I looked it up online and it seems to be scrofula but people just call that TB now and I don’t have it.”
Milton frowned.
“It was traditionally called King’s Evil from the idea that the spit or touch of a monarch could cure it. Depending on whom you read.”
“You can’t tell Gary about this,” said Julie, “please.”
“I wouldn’t,” said Milton, “and Dan won’t”
Dan nodded.
“I think he’s a bit of a dickhead anyway,” Dan added.
Milton shook his head as if to disagree and chastise Dan simultaneously.
“Spit of a seventh son of a seventh son, is the only cure I know of in magic,” Milton told her, “but I imagine antibiotics is probably a better bet.”
“No,” said Julie, “I’m pretty sure it’s a curse. There’s something else.”
“What?”
“My period.”
Julie forced the words out. It was obvious that a sense of desperation was overriding any sense of embarrassment that she felt.
“My period just won’t stop. My mum too and she’s had the change. I shouldn’t be telling you that.”
Julie’s words ran over the top of each other.
“Don’t worry, we won’t share.”
Milton stood up and walked to one of the shelves. He took out a book on English folk medicine.
“There might be something in this,” said Milton, “it’s not really my field.”
“How much?”
“It’s on me,” Milton told her, “just don't tell anyone else.”
5.
Shelley’s eyes opened to the sound of the television turning on. Alison’s eyes were obviously struggling to stay open.
“You still awake?” Shelley muttered.
“Just about?”
“Where’s Gary?”
“He went up to the loo about an hour ago.”
“Probably asleep, we should join him.”
“I can sleep on the couch,” said Alison, “I don’t want to make it weird.”
“It’s not weird, it’s fine.”
“Do you like Gary?”
Shelley yawned.
“I mostly just worry about him.”
“That’s the main source of his charm.”
“Does he not have any family? He looked like a stray dog when I got here. You could see his ribs through his t-shirt.”
