The Price of Butcher's Meat

by Reginald Hill

Thats when it struck me with a shock—this was who Esther Denham meant when she said the legless wonder. What a cow!

  —cant have a private life in Sandytown—said Franny—quite right Tom—but not for another ten minutes or so—& I much prefer the presence of new beauty to the prospect of old pork—

  Gave me a big grin as he spoke—big attractive grin—so—telling myself Id better check if his kind of therapy fitted into my research area—I plumped myself down next to him—& we got talking—while Tom got deep into some consortium matter with a couple of the others.

  Interesting guy—this Roote—something about him thats different—& I dont just mean the wheelchair—something about the way he looks at you—& the way he talks. I found myself telling him all about me & my plans—not just me either—but you & George & Adam & Rod & the twins & mum & dad & the farm—OK—might be a line—but made me feel he was really interested—gives off a real sense of power—like theres nothing he cant do—sexy too—though maybe being paralyzed from the waist down means there is something he cant do?—need a bit of professional guidance here sis!

  Youll be thinking I must be really frustrated—going on about Teddy the hunky bart—& now Fran the dishy paraplegic! Could be Toms right—& theres something in the Sandytown sea breezes that gets the red corpuscles bubbling—but I know that really my interest is purely professional—Ive given men up—remember!

  Finally I got him talking about himself—fascinating—though as far as my research is concerned I soon realized Franny doesnt fit in at all. His thing is 3rd Thought—have you heard of it? I recall in my 1st year at uni going to a talk given by a guy called Frère Jacques—in dads terms very much a daft bugger!—who founded the movement. Lots in it about modern living making us lose touch with death—the need to establish a hospice of the mind—& a lot of similar gobbledygook which us smart 1st year psych students all rubbished like mad—but the guy himself was gorgeous—had an aura—& a lovely ass. Frannys the same—except his aura aint pure white like Frère Js—more shot silk—changing & mysterious—& I didnt get the chance to check out his ass! Anyway—thing is—with 3rd Thought theres no physical therapy involved—no taking up your bed & walking—not surprising really—guy in a wheelchair isnt likely to get far promising miracle cures. So—nothing here for me—except—I really enjoyed talking to him—& including him in my research gives me a good excuse for doing it again! So we ended by exchanging mobile nos & email addresses before he went off to Big Bums.

  Anyway thats it for now. Spent the afternoon—after a sandwich in the pub—meeting the rest of the inhabitants of Sandytown—every single one of them it felt like!—then back here to Kyoto. Quiet night in—reading—& hammering the kids at snap! Make sure you answer this one sis. Dont see why you should get the details of my wild life in Sandytown while all I get from you is a pregnant (?) silence. So—no prevarications—I want dirt—I want dimensions!

  Love

  Charley xxx

  12

  FROM: charley@whiffle.com

  TO: cassie@natterjack.com

  SUBJECT: camomile tea!

  Hi! Still no word. Working on the Headbanger principle that the only thing that travels faster than bad news is crap through a goose—Ive not started worrying—yet!

  Here excitement piles on excitement—not sure if Ill be able to bear much more!

  Thats called irony by the way—just in case youve completely forgotten everything Mr big-Dickenson at the comp taught you in English—though I dont suppose you heard much of what he said—above the roar of your randy hormones!

  First—Toms sister Diana turned up! None of the strong hints Id had about her oddness prepared me for the reality. Not bad looking—small & trim—full of words & fuller of energy—or so it seemed to me—though by her own—& Toms—account—she spends so much time lying at deaths door—she must be a real hindrance to his milkman!

  Death must be on hold today—way she came bursting in at Kyoto like a small tornado.

  —I am just arrived—she proclaimed—let me sit down (which she did)—your raw sea air—a tonic I know for some—is too savage for my weak constitution. Where are the dear children ( jumping out of her chair)—I must see them at once—& this is Miss Heywood—I know you from Toms letters—my dear—its true Tom—a fine complexion—no trouble with your circulation—Tom—how is your ankle?—let me see (here she knelt & pulled up her brothers trouser leg and folded down his sock)—looks fine to me—very little swelling (not surprising as she was looking at the wrong ankle)—you say the Willingdene healer played a part?—an interesting acquisition—too late for me of course—years of misdiagnosis by incompetent MDs have put me beyond hope of healing—but I work tirelessly for others—

  As I listened to Diana rattling on—I began to understand Toms preoccupation with alternative medicine. In his beloved sisters eyes—alternative was mainstream—she was into alternatives to the alternatives!

  Finally Tom got a word in—asking where her luggage was—assuming she would be staying at Kyoto—causing Mary to wince before the polite smile formed—but relief was on its way.

  —such was of course my intention—said Di—but as you know I have been ever industrious in singing the praises of Sandytown—Tom—& as you may have noticed—I have been instrumental in persuading a freind of mine—seeking a holiday destination for herself & her teenage neices—to choose Sandytown rather than one of the less salubrious resorts—so I thought I would drop in on her at Seaview Terrace to check that all was as perfect as I had promised—

  —& was it?—asked Tom.

  —alas no—she said—Unfortunately one of her neices had slipped while scrambling over some rocks on the shore—damaging her leg—not too seriously—but sufficient for her to wish to recuperate at home—& naturally her sibling went with her. I found Sandy—that is my freind—Mrs Griffiths—undecided whether to follow their example—or stay on by herself. Seeing the danger that her early return might start a rumor that Sandytown beach was unsafe—whereas the truth is—as you know Tom—we have some of the least slippery rocks on the east coast—I immediately offered my services—both as cotenant—& as a conduit into the best circles of the district—both of which offers Mrs Griffiths—that is—Sandy—was delighted to accept. Beleive me—only my sense of responsibility for the good name of Sandytown—& by implication of yourself—Tom—would make me inflict this disappointment on you & Mary—

  She looked for applause—which Tom gave her—while Mary managed to murmur something about typical kindness—& all I could think was—unaccountable officiousness!

  Tom—full of brotherly concern for her frail constitution—insisted on driving her back down to the Terrace—with me invited along too—I suspect in my capacity of St J Ambulance trained physician—in case the shock of the sea air brought on a seizure!

  Sandy Griffiths—even though introduced as a “vegan warrior”!—had no onward signs of the kind of dottiness I suspect must be a precondition of chumming up with Deaths Door Di. 40 something—strong handsome face—with a peculiarly disturbing stare—I thought she looked pretty good for someone who presumably existed on sprout fricassees & nut cutlets. She made us v welcome. Tea was produced—camomile for Diana—of course!—Typhoo for the rest of us—plus some v nice cream cakes—which Di thrust aside with a shudder—declaring that one bite would be the death of her. All the more for me! I noticed that Sandy G had a nibble too—so not a total vegan! Nor—it seemed to me—a particularly close buddy of Dianas—which made me wonder how shed let herself be maneuvered into having Di as her live-in guide. Tried some subtle probing—but Sandy G fixed me with her stare—so I backed off. Maybe being called Sandy makes her feel as proprietorial about Sandytown as Diana clearly does!

  Tom clearly sees nothing but his sisters good points. He really is a sweetie. I find Im becoming as anxious as Mary that some people might be tempted to take advantage of his good nature.

  2 more excitements—then Im done. I dont want to risk overstimulat
ing you!

  After we left the Terrace—driving back through the town—we saw Franny Roote hauling himself into his car. The ease with which he did it—reaching out to fold up his wheelchair & swing it into the back—suggested long practice—& my heart ached for him. OK—I know what youd say—all that stuff about handicapped people finding expressions of sympathy & offers of assistance patronizing—but I cant help it. Hes a young guy—& hes missing out on so much young guy stuff it breaks me up—so there!

  Tom pulled alongside—& called—hello there Franny!—hows things—

  —great—he said—giving me a big smile—& how are you—Charlotte?

  —fine—I said—nice wheels.

  Idiot thing to say—as it was a small boxy MPV—chosen—I guess—because the sliding doors made things easier.

  —yes—he said—I dithered between this & the Porsche for a long time—

  But he gave me a big grin—to show I hadnt really offended him.

  Tom said—you wont forget the planning committee meeting at the Avalon on Friday—

  —such excitements—said Fran—the committee on Friday—Lady Ds hog roast on Sunday—then less than a week to recover before the festival—be still my foolish heart!—

  Tom—who doesnt do irony—said with concern—Fran—is there a problem?—

  —no no—grinned Franny—of course Ill be there—Charlotte—will you be staying on for the Bank Holiday weekend & the great Festival of Health?—

  —no—Im heading home this Saturday—I said.

  Tom looked devastated—tho Id made it clear this was my plan—& Franny winked at me & said—then why not let Tom bring you along on Friday—not to the meeting—wouldnt wish that on my worst enemy—but Lester will be laying on some booze & snacks afterward. Its the festival action committee—so all us therapists will be there—great chance to pick their brains for your thesis—& Ill be first in the queue!—

  Tom thought this was an excellent idea—& I was rather flattered by Frans keenness to see me again. (OK—I know—Im anybodys for a kind word!) Also I wouldnt mind seeing the inside of the Avalon—so I said—why not?—giving Franny my best smile.

  —great—he said—look forward to seeing you then—

  —me too—I said—meaning it.

  Dont know whats happening to me! Maybe Sandytowns one of those magic places—like Brigadoon or Oz—that you stray into—then get taken over by.

  Yes—thats it—definitely a magic place. But what color magic Im not yet sure!

  Write soon before I forget the real world out there!

  Lots of love

  Charley xxxx

  13

  How do, Mildred!

  Don’t recall when I’ve slept for so long if you don’t count being in a coma! Must have needed it ’cos when I woke up this morning I felt more like my old self than any time since I’ve been here. Went for my physio session with Tony. Said he were pleased and suggested I finish with a massage. I said no thanks, thinking it were one thing doing knee bends with Tony on hand to steady me if I keeled over, quite another to be lying on my face with my bum in the air while he took a running jump at me!

  Then this strapping blonde appeared, lovely smile, said her name was Stiggi and she was sure she could help me, wouldn’t I change my mind? So I did.

  It were grand, nice and relaxing. Too relaxing. Suddenly, lying there facedown with her straddling me back, I realized I were close to embarrassing myself, so when she tried to turn me over, I let on I’d dozed off. She wandered off to do something and I scrambled into my jimjams and dressing gown. Hadn’t got dressed so fast since that time thirty-odd years back when I were banging Sergeant Pocklington’s missus and I heard his size fifteens coming up the stairs! All I need now is a bit more red meat on my plate and I’ll soon be ready to make Cap eat her

  Hang about. I’m coming…oh, its you.

  Hi there, Mr. Dalziel! How’re you doing? Hearing good things about you so I thought I’d drop by to check you out for myself…

  Oh aye? Well, take a look, lad. What you see is what you get, isn’t that what them ET anoraks say?

  IT I think you mean. Yes, they do, but it doesn’t really apply in my line of business any more than I expect it does in yours. We both know there’s no art to read the mind’s construction in the face, right?

  If you’re trying to say you need to be a trick cyclist to be a good cop, you’ve come to the wrong shop. I’m not saying it never comes in useful, but I’ve got clever buggers working under me to do the fancy stuff. Me, its collars I’m interested in fingering, not souls.

  Souls? Interesting choice of word, Mr. Dalziel.

  Sorry. Limited vocabulary. Don’t have the Latin so I’ve got to make what I do have go a long way.

  I believe it. And it’s a journey I’d like to make with you if you let me. To lay it on the line, Mr. Dalziel, physically you seem to be back on track after your little glitch. You’re looking good…

  I’d look a lot better if they stopped feeding me like a prize greyhound.

  I’ll talk to them. But as I was saying, how fast you’re recovering from the mental trauma of your experience only you can say. I hope pretty soon you’ll trust me enough to feel able to say it, but that’s entirely up to you. How’re you doing with the audio diary, by the way?

  Eh? Oh that recorder thing. Sorry, went right out of my mind. Can’t even recollect where I put the bloody thing.

  That’s okay. I’m sure it will turn up. So, before I go, anything I can do for you other than seeing you get more red meat on your plate?

  One thing, there’s a guy lives locally, name of Parker. Says he comes up here sometimes.

  Tom Parker? Oh yes, I know Tom well. Important man around here. He’s got big plans for Sandytown, he and his partner, Lady Denham.

  Her in the pub? You’re not saying he’s shacked up with her? Nay, I met his missus, at least I assumed she were his missus…

  No, sorry, I was using partner in its old prepermissive sense. Their union has much to do with Mammon and nothing at all with Hymen.

  No need to talk dirty. Any road, I owe him twenty quid. Mebbe if I gave it to you, you could pass it on?

  Happily. But better still, I’m having a little get-together tomorrow at lunchtime. Tom Parker has persuaded me that the Avalon ought to play a major role in this Festival of Health he’s organizing to launch the hotel. We’re meeting, some of my staff and his alternative therapists, to make sure we all understand our roles. Afterward there’ll be drinks and snacks and there’ll be a few other people there to help things along. I’d be delighted if you could join us, and if you did, then you could repay your own debt, couldn’t you? I’m a great believer in a man repaying his own debts; that, in some ways, is what my work is all about. So, won’t you come?

  I’ll think about it.

  Excellent. Nice to talk with you, Mr. Dalziel. About one o’clock.

  Petula will show you the way.

  Handy little gadget this. Didn’t realize I’d left it running when I shoved it in my pocket after Festerwhanger tapped at the door. It’s picked up every word him and me said.

  Dead sensitive, like me!

  Not that hiding it fooled old weasel eyes. I reckon he’d been listening at the door for a couple of minutes afore he knocked. Played it back to be sure and there it was, red meat on my plate. Coincidence? Mebbe. But I’ll take more care from now on. Simplest would be to toss the bloody thing into the sea. But, fair do’s, it could be the bugger’s on to something with this talking to myself thing. Admit it, Dalziel, your bollocks might be back to twitch mode, but you’re still not right in your head, not while you keep having these funny dreams about talking to God!

  Mebbe its that postmenstrual traumatic sin thing they go on about these days. Likely there’s a lot of it about in a place like this, so no wonder if I’ve caught a dose.

  Any road, if yakking about it helps, nowt wrong with yakking. But I’m definitely not going to spill my guts to yon Yankee wanker!<
br />
  Jesus, there it goes again. Knock knock knock. Who’s there, in the name of Beelzebub? All right, I’m coming. There’d be less traffic living on Scotch Corner roundabout.

  Oh, hello, matron.

  Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Dalziel, but Dr. Feldenhammer said you were having some problem with your diet.

  Only problem is seeing it, luv. I’m a growing lad. I need fettling.

  I won’t argue with you there. Can I be frank with you, Mr. Dalziel?

  Long as it don’t involve dressing up in leather.

  You have a large frame, and I can understand your desire to fill it again. But this might be a good time to take stock and ask yourself if you really want to put back on all the weight you lost during your recent unfortunate experience.

  How do you know how much I weighed before?

  We have your medical records. No one comes to the Avalon without a complete legend.

  So I’m a legend, am I? I’ll tell you what, luv. You fatten me up till I reach what you think is my legendary shape, then we’ll see how we get on from there, okay?

  That sounds reasonable. Now I gather I’m to escort you to Dr. Feldenhammer’s lunch meeting tomorrow.

  If you’re Petula, that’s right, matron.

  Yes, that is my name. My title, incidentally, isn’t matron. I am Head of Nursing Care and usually I’m addressed as Mrs. Sheldon.

  But I bet you’re undressed as Pet, right? Nay, don’t look offended, not when you’ve got such a bonny smile. That’s better. Let’s start again. If we’re going out together, I’m going to call you Pet. And if you’re going to get me back to my proper shape, you can call me Adonis. But Andy will do if you’re worried about folk talking.