I was mystified by this response. ‘Doug will probably want us to call them,’ I said. ‘That Chinese devil destroyed Doug’s greenhouse before he assaulted me.’
Saleem expressed no surprise at this. Nancy didn’t either. ‘In that case,’ Saleem said, ‘we should really let Doug decide whether he wants to get the police involved or not. They’re his vegetables, after all. And you . . .’ She stared at me for a moment with an almost fond indifference. ‘You’ll mend.’
After a short pause she turned to Nancy and said pointedly, ‘Aren’t you in a hurry to unload that privet or something?’
Nancy shuffled her feet. ‘I suppose so. I was just worried about Phil
‘Actually,’ Saleem said, ‘I think we should tell Phil about where you’re supposed to be going today.’ Saleem turned towards me again. ‘Guess where Nancy’s going?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Tell him, Nancy.’
Nancy walked over to the sink and washed her hands. She spoke with her back to me, over her shoulder. ‘Doug’s got me going to Southend again for some more privet.’
‘Privet? How much more?’
‘Loads. And on Friday, too.’
‘Did he give you any order forms?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Can I have a quick look at them?’
‘I’ll get them later. They’re in the truck.’
Saleem butted in, ‘D’you think you might be concussed?’ she asked, purely, it seemed, out of interest, as though she and Nancy had had a small wager on this possibility. I was about to answer and then I heard a movement upstairs, a creaking.
‘Doug’s up,’ I said, panicking, ‘What shall we do? Maybe I could get to the greenhouse and tidy things up a bit if you two could try and keep him here for a while.’
I tried to stand up. I nearly managed it, but something buckled. ‘I’ve got to start unloading,’ Nancy said, sounding blank somehow, avoiding my eyes. She went out. I gazed after her, confounded.
‘You can’t hide things from Doug, Phil,’ Saleem said calmly. ‘He smells trouble at fifty paces.’
Doug was on the landing now. I could hear him. Then he was on the stairs, descending.
‘Also,’ Saleem added, ‘I didn’t want to say anything before, but in case you were determined to call the police, I’m not entirely sure that it was Wu who destroyed the greenhouse.’
‘What?’
Doug was behind the door, right behind it. He was at the door. He was pressing some of his weight on to the door handle. I saw the handle move, down, up again, saw the door push inwards, towards me, and behind it . . . Doug. Doug. Square-chinned, resolute, hinged. Hanging on, like the door, but only just. I watched as Doug took his hand from the handle and I watched as the door closed behind him, smoothly, quietly, automatically.
Doug stood there and appraised me. He drank me in, slowly, and then he said, ‘Phil, there’s something hanging out of your nose. Looks like a big, raw, red caterpillar.’
He went and switched on the kettle. Saleem said, ‘There’s tea already in the pot.’
Doug grunted appreciatively, switched the kettle off again and took himself a mug off the mug-tree. ‘I’m only telling you, ‘ Doug added, lifting an eyebrow in my direction, ‘because I’d find it difficult to eat breakfast with that thing just hanging there out of your nostril.’
Saleem handed me a piece of kitchen towel. I did the best I could. I pulled at the clot, manually at first, and the jelly came out and kept on coming like I was unravelling a dark, dense, red jelly brain through my nostril. When the jelly finally dissolved into loose blood, I blew my nose vigorously, rolled what I’d gathered into the tissue, pinched the bridge of my nose and stared up at the ceiling.
Doug was pouring himself some tea. Saleem - who was staring at me with a kind of fascinated disgust, hypnotised by the mighty clot - tore her eyes away when it had finished coming and said, ‘Doug, Phil was just saying how someone broke into your greenhouse and totally wrecked everything.’
My mouth fell open. I think I stopped breathing, for a second. Doug stopped pouring.
‘What did you say?’
I continued staring at the ceiling. ‘Doug,’ I said, ‘I’m sure the damage isn’t terminal. Some of the plants will be fine. It was only stupid vandals.’
Doug said nothing. He put down the teapot and walked out. I heard him slipping on his shoes in the hallway, and then I heard the front door slamming. I tried to stand up.
Saleem walked over to the sink. ‘Doug’s not going to be wanting his tea now,’ she said, cheerfully. ‘Do you want it?’
I was hot on Doug’s heels, well, warm on his heels because I wasn’t finding it too easy to walk. My ankle kept rolling, like I was strolling on a ship in a high wind, up on deck, trying to keep my balance.
Outside, Nancy was standing by the rear flap of her truck, staring off into the distance, after Doug - his retreating back. She was cradling a small privet plant in her arms. As I staggered past her I said, ‘Nancy, whatever you do, don’t go to Southend for any more privet until I’ve had a word with Ray first.’
She put the tree down and trailed for a few paces behind me.
‘Phil, how did he take it?’
‘What?’
‘Doug. What did he say?’
‘He didn’t say anything. Not yet, anyway.’
‘He’ll be all right, though?’
‘This is probably the very worst thing that could’ve happened.’
‘The very worst thing,’ she parroted, speculatively, and then shouted, ‘Hang on,’ and sprinted off in the direction of the house. I carried on walking. After thirty seconds she was back again. She caught up with me just before the first lake.
‘Here,’ she panted, passing me one of Saleem’s walking sticks. Saleem kept a small umbrella stand full of them just inside the front door.
Nancy handed me a stick which had a handle carved into a hare’s head. It was a beautiful thing.
‘Don’t put too much weight on your bad leg, you’ll only make it worse.’
I took the stick.
‘I’m sorry,’ she added, sounding it, ‘about you getting hurt and Doug getting hurt.’
‘It’s nobody’s fault.’
I twisted my hand around the hare’s head.
‘And don’t put too much weight on your bad arm, either.’
‘Thanks.’ I took a few experimental steps forward. Nancy didn’t walk with me. She hung back, remaining stationary.
I walked on. It was easier with the stick, but still slow. And in all honesty, I was glad of the time it took me to get to the greenhouse. I was almost glad of the pain. It was a kind of empathy. If not with Doug - he was a complex creature and I was obliged to find my own level, emotionally - then at least with his spoiled and battered vegetables.
‘I’m sure the damage isn’t terminal.’
Doug looked up and over, towards me. ‘I think you said that earlier,’ he muttered, witheringly. He was standing in the centre of the debris, inhaling the chaos.
‘This shouldn’t have happened,’ he said, finally, ‘It’s all wrong.’
‘You know, it might be possible to replant a couple of the tomatoes. Some of the radishes look all right too.’
‘The tomatoes?’
Doug bent down and picked up one of the tomatoes which had detached itself from its plant. He held it in his hand like it was a cricket ball, a large cricket ball.
‘You’d better get out of here,’ he said, dispassionately, ‘before I lose my temper.’
I was deciding whether to take his advice and leave when Doug clenched the tomato he was holding in his fist, took a couple of quick steps to build up momentum and then hurled it at me. I ducked. It flew past me, just to my left and struck glass, the pane closest to the door, striking it, splitting, shattering the glass.
Doug bent over and picked up an onion. He weighed it in his hand. ‘D’you know what the worst part is?’ Doug asked, still sounding as calm as an
ything.
I felt something warm on my top lip.
‘You’re bleeding,’ Doug said. ‘I don’t want blood all over the floor in here.’
I mopped at my nose with my sleeve. The sight of blood seemed to pacify Doug again, even if he wasn’t actually directly responsible for it.
‘The worst part is that I must’ve left the door unlocked. But I know in my gut that I would never have done that. In my gut.’
Doug dropped the onion and walked over to the door. ‘See that? No sign of a forced entry. Nothing broken.’
‘Maybe they picked the lock.’
Doug bent down and stared at the lock intently, as though waiting for it to tell him something. Eventually he straightened up again and said, ‘I don’t think so.’
He turned his back to the door and appraised the devastation before him. ‘I could swear to you that I locked that door,’ he said, ‘but I can’t have. D’you know what that means, Phil? How it feels?’
I shook my head.
‘It feels like I can’t trust my own instincts on this one. I can’t trust my own instincts. And if I can’t trust my instincts, what can I trust? Who can I trust? Nothing. Nobody.’
Doug spent a moment considering his words. They seemed to please him. He crossed his arms. My nose was still bleeding.
‘Red blood,’ Doug said, ‘Red, red, red blood.’ He cleared his throat. ‘There’s only one way to get around this.’
I looked up, hoping Doug was about to respond rationally, hoping. Unfortunately his eyes were dark and clear. He uncrossed his arms. ‘My instincts tell me this,’ he said, ‘and I shouldn’t trust them because they’ve already lead me astray . . .’He inhaled deeply. ‘You can only match this kind of gesture,’ he indicated towards the mess and the mud with a grand sweep of his arm, ‘you clan only match this kind of gesture with an even bigger gesture of your own.’
I weighed up this notion in my mind. An even bigger gesture. I didn’t really get it but I knew it wouldn’t necessarily be a good thing. I said, ‘We could call that kind of response an escalation, Doug, and I don’t know if things that go up, things that get bigger, are always . . . uh . . . good.’
Doug appreciated my insight but would have none of it. ‘Nope,’ he said, determinedly, ‘getting bigger. That’s the natural order of things . . . Clarity,’ he added, ‘cleanness. Big and neat. That’s what I’m after.’
My nose was still bleeding and my shirt sleeves were about as soaked as they could get. I yanked up my shirt-front and put it to use.
‘Shall we start cleaning this stuff up?’ I asked, through the blood and fabric.
‘I don’t think so,’ Doug said, ‘I think you should go back to the house and change your shirt. That much blood doesn’t look respectable. Consider the feelings of the park users. Clean up.’
I didn’t want to leave him. Something in my stomach told me not to. I said, ‘I don’t like to leave you alone in the middle of this mess.’
Doug opened the door for me. ‘Give me a minute,’ he said,’ ‘to be privet. I need to be privet for a moment or two. Get washed up.’
I walked past him, shuffled past him, out through the door.
Ray was in the kitchen, standing next to the oven and peering into a pan. In one hand he held the saucepan’s lid, with his other chubby paw he pulled at his bottom lip, yanking it halfway down his chin.
‘Ray, Did you see Saleem and Nancy yet?’
Ray - deep in his own thoughts - hadn’t heard me come in. He jumped like a scalded cat and dropped the saucepan’s lid when I spoke and then managed to frighten himself again with the clatter that it made. He bent down and picked it up.
‘Uh, I saw Saleem. She’s upstairs. She’s searching through Doug’s room for evidence.’
‘Evidence?’
‘Order forms and stuff. Receipts. I think that’s what she said.’ He stared at me. ‘Where did all that blood come from?’
‘My nose.’
‘Wu got you.’
‘Yes.‘
‘Again.’
‘Yes.‘
‘How’s Doug?’
‘Not good.’
Ray fitted the lid back onto the saucepan. He stared over towards the window. ‘I’ve got loads to do. I want to finish that gatepost this morning and I swore to Doug I’d weed the tennis courts.’
‘I think Doug’s got bigger things on his mind at present than the tennis courts.’
Ray scratched his beard. I added, ‘I also think we should consider telling Nancy not to go to Southend today for any more privet. We both know the park can’t afford it.’
Ray leaned his weight against the oven and shifted it, unintentionally, an inch closer to the wall.
‘But the problem is,’ I said, hoping for some kind of response, ‘I don’t know if we can really risk antagonising Doug any further. He’s already slightly . . . overwrought.’ Ray carried on scratching his beard. ‘What do you think?’
Ray picked up the roll of kitchen towel and tossed it over to me. ‘Have you tried pinching the top of your nose? That might stop it bleeding.’
Saleem came in clutching a folder and a bundle of papers. She threw them on to the table. ‘There,’ she said, ‘I knew he’d started keeping some of this stuff upstairs. He’s getting paranoid. Being secretive’s a real symptom of it. Right, let’s split this lot up between us and see what we can find.’
I looked over towards the door. ‘Doug might come back here at any time.’
Saleem smiled, ‘We’re OK. Nancy’s on lookout.’
Ray stayed over by the oven, like he didn’t want any part of looking through the papers. Saleem pulled out a chair and placed herself squarely on to it. She began leafing through. ‘Pull up a pew, Phil. Take the weight off your bad foot.’ I remained standing, breathing into a clump of tissue.
‘OK . . . OK . . .’ Saleem rifled through the top few sheets. She pulled something out. ‘Privet!’ she announced, excitedly, ‘Bingo!’ She passed it over to me. I looked at it. An advance order requesting privet amounting to the sum of fifteen hundred pounds.
Saleem carried on rifling. She said, ‘I don’t know how the hell he’s intending to explain away this little lot tomorrow at the meeting.’
I looked over at Ray. ‘Fifteen hundred pounds,’ I said, miserably.
Ray shifted his weight. ‘Maybe you should ring them,’ he volunteered, ‘and tell them we can’t actually afford to pay for it.’
‘Maybe.’
My head felt weightless. My head felt like the bright-faced bulb of yellow sunflower. All colour, display, no substance. I pulled out a chair and sat down.
‘Saleem,’ I said, gently, ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. About Wu not destroying Doug’s greenhouse. Because if Wu didn’t destroy it, then who did?’
‘Vandals.’
‘They didn’t break in. They had a key.’
‘Clever vandals. You’re dripping blood on the floor.’
I looked down. Cog had appeared at my feet and was nosing at the drops of blood. His little pink tongue protruded and he started to lap it up. I bent over to push him away and as I bent, my head started rolling and roaring like it was full of buzzing, like it was a fluffy bumble just about to detach itself, to fly off.
It would have flown, I’m sure it would have flown, except for the fact that at that exact moment Nancy burst into the kitchen and yanked me up. She stared into my face. ‘Listen,’ she said, breathless, ‘that’s Doug.’
Slowly, I blinked. ‘Doug?’ I tried to focus on her face but her eyes were everywhere. I tried to focus.
‘He’s taken the tractor. That’s him, outside. Listen.’
Saleem stuffed the papers into the folder, threw the folder into the cutlery drawer, grabbed hold of my arm. ‘Outside,’ she said, ‘come on.’
Actually, we must’ve looked quite funny, the four of us, standing there in a line, like we were preparing to be presented to the Queen in a formal ceremony. Just outside the gate, n
ear the Ladies toilets, we had a full view of Doug, the tractor, the lakes, the greenhouses, the hill opposite, the whole damn vista.
‘Where’s he going?’ Ray asked. ‘Any ideas?’
‘Maybe he’s thinking about mowing the grass patch just beyond the bandstand,’ I suggested. Saleem snorted. Nancy said, ‘He doesn’t have the mower attachment on the back.’
‘Did he say anything?’ Ray asked, ‘to you?’
Nancy shook her head. ‘Nope. Just picked up the heavy-headed axe and climbed into the tractor.’
Ray looked at me. I shrugged.
‘This is it.’ Saleem said. ‘This is the big one.’
‘How? ‘ I asked, losing patience, almost.
‘I’ll bet you any amount he’s going to drive that tractor straight into the greenhouse.’
The tractor trundled and grumbled, between the lakes, beyond the lakes.
‘He wouldn’t do that.’
‘Wanna bet?’ Saleem put out her hand, palm skywards.
‘He wouldn’t do that.’
Beyond the lakes, up the hill. I saw the tractor’s rear indicator flashing right. Saleem chortled at this. ‘My God,’ she said, ‘he’s a one-off. He’s fucking crazy.’
A sharp, right turn, a questionable gear-change. ‘Ouch,’ Nancy muttered. And then, a revving, a roaring, a speeding up.
‘He’s bending down,’ Ray said, perturbed, ‘not even looking where he’s going.’
‘I know what he’s up to,’ Saleem said. ‘He’s weighing down the accelerator with the axe-head.’
Fifteen foot to go. Ten foot, five. Doug bounced out of the tractor and landed, cat-careful, on all fours, stayed hunched for a moment, stood up. The tractor - ‘I told you! I told you’ Saleem cackled - slowed down for a moment, choked, stuttered, lurched, kept lurching, until CRUNCH . It hit the main glasshouse, shattering and clattering, bending metal, running, roaring, covering, collapsing. And shards fell from above, the engine cut. More collapsing, more shards, a tiny, silly tinkling, a rumble, a small, metallic burp.
Doug didn’t pause to look at or appraise his handiwork. He didn’t turn, he kept on walking. ‘He’s so cool,’ Nancy whispered, ‘like John Wayne or that other guy with black hair and funny eyes who’s in The Gunfighter.’
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