by Vance Huxley
“Well that’s your spare time sorted out, now why did you actually come to interrupt us?” Harold smiled at Liz’s scowl.
“I’ve got an addition for the scavenge list.”
“Cripes, what else can there be in those houses? The wallpaper and plaster?” Bernie stared. “We actually took the floorboards last time.”
“Flower vases, coffee pots that don’t work, jugs that are cracked, the holders for bog brushes, anything like that. We’ll use boiling water to sterilise whatever you find but the food won’t touch them anyway.” Liz grinned. “As a bonus everyone can search the gardens as well wherever there used to be a washing line, because we need the pegs that held the washing. Even the spring middles if the plastic is knackered.” Liz looked at Harold. “Tell them about the jam.”
“I did.”
“We need the vases and holders to put the opened bags in, and the pegs to reseal them. Wade reckons he can make wooden pegs. I’m sure I can produce artwork to do the same but it’ll be slow.” Liz frowned. “We’d try to manage without, but the Coven want us to use mart jam while there is some. The lack of sugar isn’t helping with our jam making and the mart stuff seems to have more in it, the bastards.” She grinned and pushed with her hands. “So off you go, shoo.”
“I don’t think we’ll find many pegs. The gardens are going to be just a little bit overgrown, Liz.”
Harold smiled. “Don’t worry Matti. Clearing the bits we inspect will be an excellent chance to practice without hurting each other.” He swished a wooden machete sideways.
Matti glared at Patty. “At least if we get it wrong we won’t get a broken rib.” She rubbed her lower ribs. “This will take some serious kissing better.” Matti noticed the smiling faces looking at where she was rubbing. Unusually she blushed, though not as much as Jeremy, but then Matti shrugged. “Oh well, it’s official anyway.” She turned and wrapped her arms around Jeremy. “You can start now?”
A scarlet Jeremy nodded, speechless, and then he couldn’t speak anyway while Matti collected her first instalment of healing. The practice broke up in a round of teasing and everyone headed home to collect water and coats if they were scavenging. Harold walked with Patty and Liz. “Even a thick bloke like me has noticed there’s been no real broken hearts lately. Matti stopped winding other men up a long time ago but she didn’t really melt Jeremy’s brain either, not until they were a couple.” They both looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Cripes, don’t do that. Caddi does it when he’s asking a question without speaking.”
“There’s lots of heartbreak, but not serious, not after the arseholes took Matti.” Liz smirked. “We sneak up on the men now. Well not me because as a callous slut I tell them straight out its just sex.”
“Sneak up on them? That was sneaking?”
“Not now Matti has landed the sucker. All the new women refugees have a little chat with me because I have no morals and can’t be embarrassed. If they want a bit of casual fun that’s fine but no leading men on, not seriously, unless it is serious and she’s sure.” Liz winked and chuckled. “Then lots of leading on but don’t tell him he’s already pulled, and no two-timing or stealing someone else’s target. If one of us gets serious, the rest back off until she lands him or bounces.”
Harold looked from Liz to Patty and both of them were dead serious. “Cripes, that works?”
“It had better.” Patty really wasn’t joking now. “There’ll be no more Lemmys, Jons, Liams and Willtoos, and no breaking up someone’s family. The professionals know they’re not to accept a married or gartered bloke. We’re too small a community for any of that nonsense to stay secret and we rely on each other too much to start any feuds. The animals out there only need one tiny chance, Harold.”
“Too true.” Liz scowled. “Any arse who gets a bit too frisky after a no will be sent home without a last dance until he learns manners, and all the women will know why. He’ll even get a no if he offers to pay.” She grinned. “Though if the girl wants him to get frisky and he’s nice about it?”
“I might be ready for some frisky now if I can catch the right one at a weak moment.” Patty laughed at the looks. “Maybe? If the moonlight is right? Cripes, that sounds as if I’m after a werewolf.”
Harold laughed at her. “I’ll warn Sooty. How come I’m suddenly in on this grand conspiracy?”
“Because you noticed, and because if someone really needs backing down it’ll be your job. You’re off the serious hunting list at the moment, though if you ever go back on you’ll never know until it’s too late anyway.” Liz grinned and nudged him. “Until then you just keep up the grim bit and keep an eye open for werewolves, lumberjacks and blacksmiths.”
* * *
Werewolves, lumberjacks and blacksmiths seemed less important when the evening news came on the TV. Though if they’d got silver for bullets the news meant dealing with werewolves might be easier. The first pictures on the TV showed a group of men shooting unarmed men and women, then taking their packs and stripping the bodies.
“Despite the laws against bearing firearms, the criminals and revolutionaries are using such weapons to terrorise the law-abiding citizens.”
“This isn’t going to be good. What have they come up with now?”
“Shush Harold, there’s no squirrels.” Harold subsided because Sharyn did have a point. He’d been a bit paranoid about news items since those squirrels.
“To help the law-abiding citizens, the ban on handguns has been lifted. All hand weapons, either air pistols or firearms, can now be carried openly without attracting any reaction from the Army. This permission does not extend to long-range weapons that can threaten the Army posts, and anyone pointing a handgun at Army personnel will be shot. The allowed hand weapons will not be permitted inside marts.”
Onscreen an Army post opened fire on a group of people carrying rifles. The group scattered into nearby houses, which were subjected to a brief artillery bombardment. The view switched to a small group carrying handguns, and the soldier watching from behind sandbags waved to them.
Sharyn giggled. “Subtle as usual.”
“Bloody worrying. I’ve always planned on the assumption that any attackers wouldn’t be able to fire at us, or that the Army would shoot at them if they did.” Harold looked sombre as Sharyn glanced over. “What do you think would have happened in the first attack if the Army hadn’t fired on those with handguns?”
Sharyn paled, but rallied. “But any attacker has to come further this time, across those fields. You can shoot lots of them before they get close.”
“Not now. Any attacker will be firing as they come so there’ll be a storm of incoming. We’ll be ducking some of the time instead of shooting.” Harold frowned. “This will encourage any attacker to come at night when they can hide rifles among the pistols. Worse, we can’t pick out those with rifles because we haven’t any night scopes. The glare from all the other muzzle blasts will probably mean the Army can’t either.”
“What can we do?”
“I’ll think about it, with Finn and Barry for starters because lights out there or remote detonated bombs spring to mind. Then I’ll ask a few more and we’ll work something out.” Harold blew out a long breath. “Enough for tonight. The rest of the news is just the usual about how many nasty people have been locked up, innocents rescued, and how lucky we are. I’m going to walk the boundary while I have a think.” Harold held up his hands as Sharyn opened her mouth. “Just once to let this settle, then I’ll go to bed like a good little Soldier Boy.”
One thing became clear before Harold came home to bed, Orchard Close should still keep handguns hidden as much as possible. Then if the ruling ever reverted the people here wouldn’t be in the habit of flaunting firearms. Curing a habit like that might be fatal this close to the Army, and even glowering might not remind people in time.
* * *
Two days later Harold glowered at the banging on his door, then had to smile when he opened it to find a grinning B
ethany. “Come quickly, and bring your stick. Official Soldier Boy things but not shooting things.” She looked past him, giggling. “Ooh, your secret den. Cripes, there’s stuff laid everywhere. Do you want some help finding it?” She giggled again. “Your stick I mean?” Harold looked at her hat, reading Sweet Gnome again, and just shook his head. A few minutes later an unusually reticent Bethany led Harold to where Daisy and a gnome were arguing furiously.
“Uncle-Harold, this one is mine.” Daisy pointed proudly at a pumpkin.
“Maybe, but remember everyone helped to grow pumpkins this year. You might not get first pick.” Christopher, Gnome on the Range, looked up. “Cripes, Harold, explain will you?”
“Daisy understands don’t you Daisy?” Harold grinned at her. “That pout won’t work on me, nor will hands on hips or stamping a foot. Your mum has been doing those to me for years.”
“I’ll cry?” Daisy’s tone seemed more hopeful than convinced.
“I’ve been cried on as well.”
Daisy scowled. “You don’t care because you’re a nasty soldier, er, person.”
Harold laughed. “Whoever said that is right as well. Why did you get first pick last year?”
“Because I grew one.” The muttered, sullen answer turned into a big smile. “I don’t want to choose. I want mine. That one.” She pointed.
“Last time you chose which one you wanted. This year whoever gets to choose first does the same.” Harold looked at the pumpkin. This year’s attempt definitely outclassed and out-massed last year’s attempt.
“How do we decide who goes first?” Daisy looked up as appealingly as possible. “You could just say the first person you think of?”
“Angel and Amber don’t want one.” Harold laughed at the magnificent pout. “All the numbers go into a hat.”
Daisy opened her eyes wide. “Ooh, Doll’s last dance hat.” She turned and ran up the street. “Joey, Joey, we’ve got to pick out numbers for the pumpkin dance.”
“Maybe we could do that at the dance, pick a number then choose the bloke we want?” Bethany’s attempt at innocent didn’t work any better than Daisy’s.
“I thought that’s what the women did anyway.” Christopher smirked at Bethany’s attempt at looking offended.
* * *
A half-hour later all the children wanting a pumpkin had been rounded up. A line formed but although Daisy picked a number first, she drew seven rather than the magical number one and retired to sulk on the sidelines. The ninth attempt, by Millie, a five-year old who came with those running from the General, produced number one. After the cheering finished the rest drew as well.
“Come on Millie, pick your pumpkin.” Millie looked down, scuffing her toe a little before showing number seven.
Daisy smiled brightly, waving number one. “I traded, just like at the dances.”
Harold glared at the adults present. “Who let that little gem slip?” Nobody apparently. He turned back to Daisy. “What did you trade?”
“Two walks with Angel and Millie can play with Grim four times.” Everyone called Sharyn’s black cat Grim, because she’d refused to say Grimalkin.
“Not a fair deal, and you’ve had practice.” Harold beckoned to Millie, trying to look as non-threatening as possible since she already looked nervous. “Why did you trade? Don’t you want the biggest?”
“I don’t mind because they’re all big, and I didn’t have one at all last year. Mom said we must be grateful we’ve got a roof.” The last came out as a whisper.
Harold sighed because this had seemed so simple to start with, and now he’d opened a can of worms. “Who is your mum?” A woman came forward, smiling nervously. “We’ll just go over here a minute for a chat. I want to explain something.” After explaining that this really was like their last place, and Soldier Boy might sound like a gang boss but didn’t get privileges, Millie still insisted she didn’t mind which pumpkin. Harold still wasn’t happy, but more about the return the lass had got than the actual trading. Any of the children could come on a walk with Amber or Angel any time they wanted, and Grim didn’t mind who played with him so Daisy really had stitched Millie. Inspiration struck. “Do you like colouring books, Millie? Have you got any?”
“Not now. They were all filled up. Then I lost my crayons when we moved. I liked drawing as well but slates aren’t the same.”
“This is when you learn to trade, or a first lesson.” Harold straightened up, raising his voice. “Since Millie hasn’t been taught to trade and Daisy has, by Patty, Millie needs an assistant.” Harold smiled at Daisy. “Me.”
Daisy scowled, then smiled. “I want Patty, please?”
After a spirited discussion Patty conceded defeat, claiming that someone must have been training Harold to negotiate but she’d done her best. After some sulking a grumpy Daisy finally agreed the new trade. Millie gained one colouring book, only half finished, three A4 sheets of plain, unused paper, two unused pencils and eight assorted crayons only half used up. In return Daisy had first pick of the pumpkins. Harold knew roughly how many books and crayons Daisy still had from his scavenging in the early days, which didn’t help the youngster in her negotiations. By then several pairs of young heads were in spirited discussions and other tickets were changing hands.
As Daisy went for her prize and a delighted Millie took her seventh place in line, Patty elbowed Harold in the ribs. “You’ve just ruined my reputation.”
“Not really, the next sucker will be lulled into a false sense of security.” Harold nudged back. “Anyway, you took it easy on me.”
“Of course. Though only because I fell for your boyish charm and innocence.” She looked at Daisy. “That madam needed slowing up.”
“Yup, because I think she’s using being my niece to get preferential treatment.” Harold nodded towards Millie. “With the new residents.”
“Really?” Patty chuckled. “I’ll pass that little gem to the teachers, Coven and girl club.” Harold winced slightly. He winced several times over the next few days as Daisy stormed in because she hadn’t got her way over one thing or another, and then the storm seemed to subside. Sharyn did confide that yes, some of the new refugees did expect to take second bite at any cherries. Though now the problem had been highlighted, fixing it didn’t take long and included two of them joining the Coven.
Most of the possible reasons for friction disappeared anyway as the residents spread out a bit. All but three rooms in the terrace houses finally had electricity and running water, and a full set of heaters and furniture. The last residents moved over to take possession of habitable rooms, and heaters worked at drying the repaired walls of the remainder. There would still be some shuffling about, people moving back and forth, because sometimes folk just didn’t get along. Until then the new and old residents celebrated being warm and dry, even if more cramped than before the General made his move.
Everyone turned to Halloween, with enthusiasm as the original residents explained girl club trick and treat, though some of the newer ones asked about a preteen version. This year Harold did answer the door to trick or treat, but the more traditional version being herded by mothers. He even proffered a dish of dried fruit slices dusted in a bit of chocolate powder or finely ground sugar, tiny coloured buns with a bit of jam inside, and pine sap drops that allegedly tasted like boiled sweets. The sounds of laughter as the Orchard Close girl club version of trick and treat spread the happiness later didn’t sting too badly this year.
* * *
The bonfire five nights later certainly seemed more like Guy Fawkes this year. All the younger residents and quite a few of the adults oohed and aahed at the fireworks. These fireworks hissed rather than banged, but burned with pretty colours. Some spat out small sparks, while others dripped coloured fire from the piles of bricks supporting them. Despite being asked time and again, Harold refused to say where they came from. Barry remained bashful about his pyrotechnic leanings, as he called his chemical experiments, though he closely supervised
the safety precautions.
Harold had warned the Army, receiving assurances nobody would get trigger-happy with the children present. This sergeant and his squaddies had been manning the post long enough to soften their attitudes a little. As a thank you several men and some of the girl club took them soup and beer though before putting on their costumes or, as a few residents pointed out, taking off their clothes. Not strictly true in many cases but the original Orchard Close or girl club tradition still persisted, the one about teasing the lads at Halloween and Guy Fawkes.
Harold didn’t dance because a Wills-Womble and a Firework Fairy took a lot more wrangling this year, especially with more youngsters racing about. That seemed even worse because hissing fireworks didn’t bother dogs so Amber, Angel, Mischief and Sooty joined in. Mischief seemed to be trying to live up to her name, stealing at least two of Elizabeth’s attempts at hot dogs. Veronica, allegedly in charge of the fluffy Staffy cross, blamed Rascal’s example rather than any fault in her training. Angel, Amber and Sooty all managed to beg their share. Eventually Harold carried a Wills-Womble back home. By the time he had been tucked up, Firework Fairy had gone to sleep still in her costume.
Harold intended turning up the volume on the TV again this year to drown out the party. He hoped there’d be no bloody squirrels on the news. There really were more about this year and the little gits had to be chased off the Hazel bushes and young trees. Squirrels were smarter than the birds and wriggled under the nets to get the nuts, while the mesh tubes to stop rabbits killing young trees were no barrier to the little grey acrobats. Sharyn interrupted his musing. “You are coming to the Guy Fawkes dance this year.”
“I am not cavorting around a bonfire.” After Valentine Sharyn had backed off about dances, but now Harold realised she’d just been biding her time.
“It’s in the dance house because the rain is heavier now.” Sharyn put her hands on her hips. “I’ll send for another dozen women and the cauldron if you act up. I only got a pass for one year and so did you. This year you’re coming to the dance for the same reason I had to, the state you get into left on your own. You looked bloody awful last Guy Fawkes and were in a hell of a state about squirrels.” Sharyn held out a yellow homemade bow tie. “Now put on your bee costume.”
