The Restraint of Beasts

by Magnus Mills

  The evenings, meanwhile, were spent deciding what time we would go to the pub. If we went too early, all our money would be spent on beer. While this was alright in itself, I for one wanted to have something left when we’d finished the job. Otherwise there was little point in going through all this hardship. Besides, Tam was deep in debt to Richie again, and couldn’t really afford to go anywhere. On the other hand, there was no question of not going to the pub in the evening. If we didn’t, we would go crazy with boredom. Things were quiet in the Queen’s Head on weekdays, but it beat the caravan hands down for entertainment value.

  On Tuesday night, by way of diversion, we went off to see if the post hammer was ready. In darkness we pulled up at the end of the converted bakery and Richie went over to the dustbin. In the glare of the headlights I witnessed a smile appear on his face as he raised a newly repaired hammer triumphantly above his head. Miracles can and do happen. We looked in the dustbin and felt inside the letterbox for an invoice, but there wasn’t one.

  And so another day passed and the long fence slowly grew around the foot of that hill. The next light at the end of the tunnel was Wednesday night at Carmens. I didn’t mention it at all to Tam and Richie, but I could tell during Wednesday afternoon that expectations were beginning to rise again. Now that the post hammer was back in action, guarded closely by Tam, we were able to work in a tight three-man squad, section by section, along the fence. About four o’clock, as an incentive, I told Tam and Richie that we would finish the bit we were on and pack up for the night. I never saw them work so fast. Half an hour later they were back in the caravan with the pan boiling and the shampoo at the ready. Somehow it had been ‘agreed’ that I would drive tonight, so I resigned myself to an evening of Cokes. I wanted to shave first though, and was forced to go through the ritual under scrutiny from Tam and Richie, impatiently watching in the mirror.

  At last I could delay no more, so we headed into town. As usual, we arrived far too early. There were no droves of people herding from pub to pub tonight. Like most other towns in England, the place had gone back to sleep for the week. We spent a long slow evening waiting for something to happen. It was only as closing time approached that people began to appear who were obviously going on somewhere else afterwards. That somewhere was Carmens Nightspot, to give it its full title. It turned out to be not as glamorous as it sounded. But it would do. At the top of some stairs we paid our money and they let us in. There was a bar at one side and a dance floor at the other. I was still getting my bearings in the gloom when a girl poked my arm and said, “Got a light?”

  “Er, no, sorry,” I replied. “He has,” I added, pointing to Richie. I got his attention and he obliged by fishing his lighter out of his jeans. Apart from drinking bottled, instead of draught, beer, Tam and Richie did what they always did when I was out with them. They found somewhere to sit and watch what was going on, and stayed there. They probably thought they’d chosen a good place because it was near the bar and in sight of the dance floor. However, I got the feeling that if the club got any busier people would soon be tripping over their legs, which were sticking out from under a tiny table. There was already no room for me, so I positioned myself by a railing above the dance floor. During the next couple of hours I occasionally glanced over to where they sat. Except for taking turns to go to the bar and the gents, they never moved at all. Meanwhile, a small forest of club people grew around them, so that they slowly became lost from view, apart from the tops of their heads. The music was loud and the dance floor full. I watched for a while and then went to get myself another Coca-Cola. The bar was crowded, and as I stood there I felt the unmistakable shape of a female breast being pushed into my back. I half turned and saw the lighter girl standing behind me.

  “Oh hello,” she said. “Didn’t see you there.”

  Her name was Marina. She was a dentist’s receptionist.

  “You were in the Six Bells on Saturday, weren’t you?” she said. “With your two mates. Where are they?”

  I nodded towards where I last saw Tam and Richie. “Over there.”

  “They look quite sweet,” she said.

  This was the longest conversation we had. It was far too loud for much talking. When the music slowed down a bit we went onto the dance floor, and she let her feelings be known. This was one of those clubs where things came to an end pretty quickly. We were still on the dance floor when the music stopped and all the lights came on.

  Something that had been lurking at the back of my mind now surged to the front. If I was going to go home with this girl, then I was going to have to drop Tam and Richie off first. Which meant she would have to sit on one of them in the truck. I put it off as long as possible, but finally, as the place began to empty, I casually strolled with Marina over to Tam and Richie’s table.

  “This is Tam and Richie,” I said. “And this is Marina.”

  They looked at us with glazed expressions. Tam stood up and swayed towards me.

  “We going now then?” he said.

  “Er…yes. See you outside in a minute,” I replied.

  “C’mon, Rich.” Tam pulled Richie by his jacket and the two of them lurched out through the door.

  “We’ll have to drop them off at Upper Bowland,” I explained to Marina.

  “OK then,” she said. I must admit she handled it all very well. She had to go to the ladies’ room first, so I waited at the top of the stairs.

  When she came out we walked up the road to where I’d parked the truck, but there was no sign of Tam and Richie. We spent a pleasant fifteen minutes sitting in the cab, waiting for them to show up. I wondered where they’d gone. Tam and Richie had been drinking since eight o’clock and it was getting late. A public clock chimed twice. We waited a bit longer.

  And then, from somewhere in the middle of this now silent town, we heard a faint roar in the night. “C’mon, English bastards!”

  I started the engine and took the girl home.

  ∨ The Restraint of Beasts ∧

  Eight

  Marina lived in a small flat above a shoe shop.

  “Very nice,” I said, as we went in.

  “It’s only temporary,” she replied.

  She was supposed to be making coffee, but somehow we never got round to it. Not long afterwards we entered the bedroom, where I noticed there were two single beds, each with a cabinet covered in women’s things.

  “Whose is that?” I asked, pointing to the extra bed.

  “My flatmate’s,” said Marina. “She’s staying at a friend’s tonight.”

  “That’s handy,” I remarked.

  “Yes,” she said, “I suppose it is.”

  I looked at her and realized that underneath her clothes she was completely naked. A few minutes later we lay quietly on the bed, and it felt as if I was alone with this girl on a remote and distant planet.

  Then I remembered Tam and Richie.

  “Not quite alone,” I heard myself say.

  “Pardon?” she said.

  “Sorry, nothing,” I answered, but the spell was broken. There wasn’t much room in the bed and I hardly got any sleep.

  ♦

  In the morning Marina had to go to work and there was no breakfast. As we parted she said, “I’m not a fence post, you know.”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant by that.

  I went and bought some doughnuts in a cake shop. I had no idea where Tam and Richie could have got to, and wasn’t sure what to do. I was reluctant to phone up Donald and tell him I’d lost them. Somehow I expected to see them at any minute, still wandering around the streets, possibly looking for me, but more likely waiting for the pubs to open again. I patrolled the town for a while, but they were nowhere to be seen. In deep thought I drove back to Upper Bowland. I dismissed the idea that Tam and Richie might have found their own way there. They had shown no interest in local geography since their arrival in England, and as far as I knew had hardly any money left. I was therefore surprised to find them both asleep in
the caravan, fully clothed, Richie on his bed and Tam on mine. They stirred as I went inside, but I didn’t wake them. For some reason I felt slightly indebted to them, and as soon as I saw them lying there asleep I decided to give them the day off.

  I made myself some eggs for breakfast and after a while they woke.

  “Morning,” I said.

  “Do you have to say that every day?” replied Tam.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Mor-ning,” he said, in a sing-song sort of voice.

  “It’s fucking sarcastic, isn’t it,” added Richie.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  They didn’t seem very grateful when I said they could have the day off. I thought they would appreciate the gesture. I also hoped that they might get bored after a while and get round to cleaning up the mess in the caravan, or even decide to come and do some work on the fence after all. In the event they did none of these things. They just stayed in the caravan all day long, smoking, and waiting for me to come back so we could go out again.

  In the meantime I spent the day working on my own, putting a couple of straining posts in the ground, and doing a bit of joinery. Around mid-afternoon I decided to walk over the hill, checking the two cross-fences, measuring them, and making sure we hadn’t forgotten to do anything.

  It was then that I found we had a visitor. I was just testing the wire tension near the top of the hill when I saw a man coming along the fence from the other end. For a moment I thought Mr Perkins had come to have a look, but I soon realized that this was someone altogether different. I’d only seen Mr Perkins in the darkness, but I knew this wasn’t him. The visitor was a very big man in a rustic suit, and reminded me of a large pig. He appeared to be giving the fence a thorough examination as he walked along, tugging on the occasional wire and pushing the posts to see if they moved. When he got to the point where the two fences crossed he stopped. There were no gates up here because there was no need for any. All the gates were to be positioned at points around the foot of the hill, so his way was effectively barred. I registered the exact moment he noticed me as he looked left and then right, but he failed to give any acknowledgement. It was as if I was a mere fixture or fitting. He just carried on studying the details of the fence.

  However, my presence was enough to prevent him from attempting to climb over, which I think he would have done if I hadn’t been there. Instead, he stayed where he was, and ignored me as I approached. At last I stood directly opposite him at the other side of the fence. Only then did he look at me.

  “Keeping busy?” he said.

  “Just about,” I replied.

  “That’s good.” He turned sideways and suited out across the hillside. I waited. Then he looked at the sky.

  “Met Perkins?” he asked.

  “Only once,” I said.

  “Don’t talk to me about Perkins.”

  In the awkward silence that followed he again began to examine the fence, frowning with preoccupation and glancing at me from time to time. Finally, he cast his eye along the line of posts.

  “Exemplary,” he remarked, and began stalking off down the hill.

  “And you’re Mr…?” I called after him.

  “Hall,” he said over his shoulder. “John Hall.”

  I stood by the fence absorbing this information. At last I had come face to face with one of the Hall Brothers, but I still had no idea why he was so interested in our fence. It struck me that he didn’t really look like a fencer at all. He was certainly a heavily built man, but a lot of it was fat. Somehow I just couldn’t picture him digging post holes or swinging the post hammer. I wondered what the other brothers were like. Maybe it was them who built the fences and he was the brains behind the organization. Perhaps his brothers were big too, but more solid. Like barn doors. I realized that I was beginning to speculate like Tam, so I put Mr Hall out of my mind and carried on with my work. The weather had dried up, but was beginning to turn cool, and as dusk came a chilly breeze started to blow across the hillside. Finally I made my way back to the caravan.

  When I’d gone down for my lunch Tam and Richie had been lolling about on their beds, passing the time doing nothing. Now, however, they sat looking out of the window, evidently awaiting my return. They’d even gone to the trouble of putting the kettle on.

  As soon as I went into the caravan Richie said, “There was a guy snooping round here this afternoon.”

  “Was there?” I said, pretending not to be very interested.

  “Big, fat fucker,” added Tam.

  When I showed no reaction, Richie stood up and pulled a note out of his back pocket. “He left this for you.”

  The note was folded into four. I opened it and read ‘See you here at eight o’clock.’ It was signed J. Hall.

  I glanced at Tam and Richie. They were both staring hard at me. It was obvious they must have read the note, but I said nothing and folded it up again. At last Tam could contain himself no longer. He leapt to his feet and shouted at the top of his voice, “They’re coming to get us!”

  In doing so he somehow managed to smash the gas lamp at his end of the caravan, so that bits of glass flew everywhere, including into the waiting teapot.

  “Alright, alright,” I said. “We don’t know what they want, do we?”

  “Don’t be a cunt,” said Richie. “You know why they’re coming.”

  Tam stuck his face in mine, “YAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!” he cried. “YAAAAAAAAH!” After he’d calmed down a bit I got him to clear up the glass and I had my tea. Then we began to wait for eight o’clock. I had been planning to go down to the phone box this evening to give Donald a progress report, but decided under the circumstances that it was better to defer the call for the time being. At half past seven I put some water on to have a shave. I didn’t see why I should change my arrangements just because someone said they were coming at eight o’clock. As usual Tam and Richie watched the whole process. At ten to eight there was nothing left to do but sit and wait. Eight o’clock finally came and nothing happened. At ten past, however, some headlights swung up the track from the road. All three of us had our boots on, so we stepped out of the caravan into the yard. A moment later a large car appeared and drove up to where we stood.

  Mr Hall was already speaking as he opened the door and got out.

  “Right,” he announced. “I want you to do some fencing for me. When can you start?”

  In the dim light cast from the caravan I noticed that the rustic suit had gone and he was now wearing a white coat. The sort worn by butchers. It took me a second to register what he had said.

  “We can’t,” I replied. “We’re already working for a company.”

  Mr Hall then did what he had done on the hill in the afternoon, and completely ignored me.

  “There’s eight hundred yards to do by Monday, so the sooner you start the better,” he said. “How much gold will you want for doing that?”

  He thrust his hands in his coat pocket, looked at the ground and waited. I found myself looking at the ground as well.

  “So?” he said.

  I glanced up at him, thinking he would still be looking at the ground. Instead his eyes were fixed on me.

  “We’re working for somebody else,” I said.

  At this moment I sensed that Tam wanted to say something, but he and Richie had both slipped into their usual silent routine, so it was all left to me.

  “You’ll have to do it as a foreigner,” said Mr Hall. “Come on, we’ll go for a drink.” He opened the back door of his car and indicated that the three of us should get in. Then he drove us to the Queen’s Head. On the way out we rolled slowly past the new HALL BROS. fence, which he silently scrutinized from behind the wheel, post by post.

  As we walked into the pub, the landlord was slouching over the bar reading a newspaper. The moment he saw Mr Hall he practically stood to attention. “Evening, John,” he boomed. Likewise, several drinkers around the bar greeted Mr Hall by his first name, but in the same subservient way, as if
doing so conferred some sort of honour on them. Meanwhile, Tam, Richie and myself were treated as if we were new disciples. One of the locals winked at us and tapped his nose significantly, after first glancing at Mr Hall to make sure he wasn’t looking.

  “Give these lads a pint apiece and rustle them up some grubbage,” ordered Mr Hall.

  He turned to us. “You haven’t eaten, have you?”

  We had, but we all shook our heads.

  He led us over to our usual table in the corner and we sat down. The landlord bustled over with a tray bearing our drinks. Mr Hall, I noticed, was drinking orange squash.

  “Everything alright, John?” said the landlord. I was surprised he didn’t say Sir, or even King, John.

  John Hall ignored him and sipped his squash. “Bloody stuff,” he said.

  The landlord retreated, and then there was an expectant silence, which I finally broke. “Is that a butcher’s coat?” I said.

  “Yes it is,” he replied. “We’re butchers. Should have stayed that way as well.”

  We nodded but said nothing, and he went on.

  “Started as butchers and then we bought some land and raised our own beasts. Then we had too many beasts and had to buy more land and replace the fences. That’s how we got into fencing, but we’ve taken on too much work.”

  “Who does the fencing?” I asked.

  “My brother,” he replied.

  “What, on his own?”

  Tam and Richie, who had been silently studying their pints, both looked up at Mr Hall.

  “Course not,” he said. “Got some lads in to do it, but they’ve gone off.”

  The landlord came back, this time carrying three plates of steak and kidney pie.

  “I’ve given them some of your specials, John,” he said.

  “Yes, yes, alright,” snapped Mr Hall, and again the landlord retreated.

  As we ate John Hall produced a large folded plan from his coat pocket and opened it on the table. I could see that it was a map of Mr Perkins’s farm and the hill we were working on.

  He chose a point on the hill and put his finger on it.