Magnificent Joe

by James Wheatley

  I go into a neighbouring field, and once relieved, I walk back along the line of the hedge to where I climbed over. Although it’s only just after noon, the sun is weak and low among the hazy cloud. I can look right into it without hurting my eyes; it appears as a perfect disc, stamped out of some impossibly smooth material. I stop and watch it. Without seeming to grow bigger, it floats up until it’s all I can see. Then it doubles and the two discs move round each other like the effect of a coin on a tabletop set to spin off kilter.

  ‘Now then.’

  I turn round, suddenly dizzy, and a human figure shimmers on the other side of the fence. Jethro. I blink. Black spots dance over him.

  ‘All right,’ I say.

  ‘Where’ve you come from, then?’

  It takes me a moment to work out the intent of this question and then I explain where I live while trying to look at him sideways so I can at least see the shape of him.

  He makes a gravelly, descending hum from the back of his throat and pauses. If he was smoking a pipe, he would be thoughtfully chewing on the stem right now. ‘Aye, I know that area.’

  ‘Oh. Then I’m sorry for you.’

  He grunts. ‘My brother-in-law lives around there. Do you know him?’

  ‘Uh…’ I squeeze my eyes hard shut and then throw them wide open, but it just makes the black spots move faster. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘John Smith.’

  ‘Um. No. I don’t know him.’

  ‘Ah well, nice talking to you, then.’

  As my vision returns, I see him ambling away, woolly hat still pulled down firmly over his head. ‘Fucking hell,’ I mutter to myself, then climb the fence and walk back towards the barns and the rest of the day’s work.

  ‌29

  On the way home, my stomach rumbles. I’m looking forward to dinner. A couple of rounds of fish-finger sandwiches and a four-pack will sort me right out – now I’m working again, I can afford to treat myself – and I stop at the shop to buy the necessary ingredients. I’m just leaving with my purchases when I almost bump into Barry.

  It’s an underwater moment, slow and without thought. He sees me, twists his body away, drops his head, and slips past. I step out into the cold air and just keep walking. It’s not until I sit in the car that the world spins back up to speed. He didn’t say a thing. He didn’t even try to gloat. Fear? God knows, and anyway, there is nothing I could or should do about it now. I turn on the radio and drive home.

  There is something on my doorstep. At first, I think it’s a black refuse sack, but when I get out of the car, I see that it’s a person huddled up, back against the door. I walk over.

  His chin is buried in his chest, and his hood is pulled right up so only the peak of his cap sticks out, but I know it’s him; I recognize his coat and his ropey old Hi-Tec trainers. Why does the world keep chucking shit at me when all I want to do is have some scran and go to sleep?

  ‘Joe, what are you doing?’

  No response. I squat down next to him and shove him in the shoulder with the heel of my hand. He looks at me.

  ‘All right, mate?’

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ he asks.

  ‘At work.’

  ‘With big, fat Geoff?’

  ‘No. I’ve got a new job now. Why are you here?’

  ‘Dunno. Can I come in?’

  ‘Aye.’ I stand and put the key in the lock. ‘Get up, then.’

  He does as he’s told and I let us in and turn on the light. He walks past me and flops down in my armchair. ‘I’m hungry,’ he says.

  ‘Did you just come over so I’d cook your tea?’

  He shrugs.

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Joe.’

  ‘What’s on telly?’

  I toss him the remote control. ‘Help yourself. Fish fingers all right?’

  ‘Yuck. They’re just the scrapings off the floor of the boat.’

  ‘Did your mother tell you that?’

  No answer.

  I take the box out of the carrier bag and hold it up to him. ‘It’s Captain fucking Birdseye. Prime minced cod in golden breadcrumbs.’

  ‘Don’t care. It’s kids’ food.’

  ‘Is it now? Jesus.’ There is a packet of bacon in the fridge. I was saving it for the hangover I intend to have in the morning. ‘Bacon butties, then?’

  ‘Aye. That’s magnificent, that.’

  I go into the kitchen, put away the beer and fish fingers, and start making our tea. As I heat the oil in the frying pan, I hear Joe turn on the telly; it’s one of those bloody quiz shows. He turns it up far too loud, but I can’t be bothered to complain. Once the bacon is sizzling, I look in on him. He is hunched over with his chin in his hands and he stares in the general direction of the screen, but gives no sign of being involved in the programme. If I didn’t know he had switched it on himself, I’d wonder if he was even aware of it.

  I carry through the sandwiches. He accepts his wordlessly and takes a huge bite, tearing the bacon with a twist of his head. I pick up the remote and turn down the volume. He ignores me.

  ‘Are you lonely at home?’ I finally ask him.

  ‘I don’t like it there.’ Flecks of semi-chewed bread spray off his lips.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s all…empty. And I don’t like the noises.’

  ‘Every house makes noises, Joe.’

  ‘Ours didn’t used to.’

  ‘Yes, it did – you just never noticed.’

  ‘Well, they’re different now.’

  ‘A lot’s different now; it’s going to take a bit of getting used to, mate.’ As I say this, I realize that I’ve assumed he will stay where he is and live alone in that house. Looking at him now – in the same clothes he’s worn for days and clearly starving again – I can see just how unlikely that is.

  ‘I hear her say things to us. She’s not even there, man.’

  I feel cold. He doesn’t look at me, but gazes into the space above the TV. Then he blinks and bites his sandwich again. I get up, open the vent on the night storage heater, and turn my hands in the hot air. The wall in front of me is looking tired. I need to repaint in here. In fact, I need to repaint the whole house, but I just can’t see myself getting down to it. Not that it matters – there’s nobody else I need to please.

  Joe must have finished his sandwich, because he asks, ‘Is there any ice cream?’

  ‘Ice cream? Do you think I’m made of money? I don’t even have a freezer.’

  ‘Then why have you got fish fingers? They’re frozen.’

  ‘Because I was going to eat them now!’

  ‘You should get a freezer. It’s nice to have ice cream.’

  ‘You need to overcome your fucking pudding obsession, mate. It’s bad for your teeth.’

  ‘You’re supposed to brush them.’

  ‘Look, shut up a minute, would you?’ I study my knuckles; a couple of them are split open. I sigh and turn to face him. ‘There’s only the one bed, so you’ll have to sleep on the couch.’

  ‘That’s magnificent, that.’

  ‘And I’m getting up early.’

  He folds his arms across his chest. ‘So am I.’

  ‘Fine.’

  I stuff the last of my sandwich into my mouth, take the plates into the kitchen, and return with a beer. Joe looks at me hopefully, but I don’t acknowledge it. If he wants anything else, he can fetch it himself. I drink and watch some fat idiot get all the answers wrong and go home with nothing.

  Eventually, Joe says to me, ‘Are you going to rehearsals tomorrow?’

  ‘What? Oh…for the pantomime. No. Why would I do that? I’m not even in it.’

  ‘You’re helping, though.’

  ‘I’m just screwing stuff together and painting things, mate. Anyway, if you’re going to be mixing with people, you need to have a wash and change your clothes.’

  He grunts.

  ‘I mean it. Go home tomorrow morning and sort yourself out, all right? They won’t want you around smel
ling like that.’

  ‘I don’t smell.’

  ‘You do, and you’ve still got food stains on your jumper from last night. There’s mud on your knees…Have you even changed your underpants this week?’

  ‘Shh! I’m trying to watch telly.’ He leans forward and squeezes his arms round his chest. I want to throw something at his head, but it won’t help, so I down the rest of the beer and go to get another one.

  From the kitchen, as I slurp the foam from the top of the can, I can just see the back of Joe’s head bobbing up and down as he rocks in the chair. If he carries on like this, he’ll turn into one of those maddos who sleeps rough and finally ends up getting their brains smashed out when they cross paths with some drunk on a Saturday night.

  —

  The following morning, I get up and swallow four painkillers, two glasses of water, and a mug of Nescafé. Then I wake Joe.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ he mumbles.

  ‘No, we’ve got to get going.’

  ‘I don’t want to get up.’ He rolls away from me, but I grab his wrist and start to haul him to his feet. He growls, but eventually co-operates and stands there rubbing his eyes. ‘Can I stay here?’

  ‘No. Come on, you’ll make me late.’

  I manage to get him into the car before he becomes fully alert, and then he says, ‘I don’t want to come to work with you.’

  ‘I’m not taking you to work, you dozy bugger. I’m taking you home.’

  ‘I don’t want to go there either.’

  It’s too late for him to do anything about it, though: I’m already driving. We go out of the estate, onto the main road, then down the lane, where I drive faster than I normally would and we bounce up and down in our seats. Joe reaches up and grabs the handle over his door.

  ‘When you go in, I want you to have a wash and put on clean clothes. First thing you do, right?’

  ‘Why can’t I do it at yours?’

  ‘Where’s your toothbrush?’

  ‘My house.’

  ‘Where are your clothes?’

  ‘My house.’

  ‘Well, then.’

  This exchange distracts me from the fact that we’ve reached our destination, and I brake sharply. The front wheels lock up and we slide for a few feet before a crunching halt. Joe tuts at me.

  ‘Never mind that,’ I tell him. ‘Just go and do as you’re told.’ I almost add ‘please’, but I suck it back; I don’t want to sound desperate.

  ‘Keep your hair on.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, and the rest. Get out.’

  ‘Rude.’

  ‘You start taking care of yourself like a civilized human being and I’ll start treating you like one. Deal?’

  He emits a heavy sigh, then opens the door and swings himself out of the car. I watch him in the wing mirror for a couple of seconds, then wind down the window and call him back. I rummage in my pocket; there’s some change and a battered fiver. I stuff the note into his hand. ‘When you get hungry, don’t try to make anything. Just go to the Spar and get yourself a couple of pasties and a bottle of Coke.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t blow it on cider.’

  ‘I don’t like cider.’

  ‘I was joking. See you later, alligator.’

  He just shuffles away. I see that his neighbours’ lights are on. I wait until I’m sure he’s gone inside, then I get out of the car, knock on their door, and ask them to keep an eye on him.

  ‌30

  Later that day, we finish our allotted jobs by about 4.15 p.m. It’s getting dark, so it seems a little late to start a new task and we troop back to the other barn and settle down with a cup of tea. Jethro was around for a while in the morning, but buggered off muttering darkly about cowsheds, bio-security, and vet visits. We haven’t seen him since. Lee sits there looking at our ‘list’ like he wants to wipe his arse on it.

  ‘Aye, there’s no point starting on any of this. We’ll barely get moving before we have to lock the tools up again.’

  ‘Suits me,’ I say, and shift in my deckchair, which creaks alarmingly but doesn’t collapse.

  ‘Pub, then?’ asks Rupert.

  ‘Better give it another twenty minutes or so in case he turns up again,’ says Lee. ‘Don’t want to look like we’re taking the piss.’

  ‘I don’t think I can come, anyway,’ I say.

  Lee and Rupert look at me in mock horror. ‘You don’t want beer?’ says Lee.

  ‘Aye, but something’s come up.’ In truth, I’m worried about Joe. The state he’s in at the moment, I feel like I should be at home so that if anything happens, I can intervene. Then again, his neighbours did say they’d keep an eye on him and he’s going to the village hall tonight anyway. I’m not that keen on him being around those people in his current mood, but at least they know who he is and, like Mr Green said, I can’t babysit him.

  ‘I’m sorry, mate, but if you’re going to keep working here, you need to have your initiation.’

  ‘Well, I’m driving anyway, so I can only have a couple.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter – it’s still compulsory.’

  ‘All right, all right, I’m persuaded.’

  ‘Cracking.’

  —

  About forty-five minutes later, we park our cars outside a village pub and it doesn’t look promising. In fact, it looks closed. We get out and gather at the front door. I try the handle; it’s locked.

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘Lights are on,’ says Lee.

  We walk over to a window and peer in. There’s a man behind the bar polishing glasses, with a stack of drip-trays in front of him. Lee raps on the glass. The man starts and looks round. Lee knocks again. The man sees us and frowns, then points at his watch and waves us away. Lee makes a beseeching gesture with the palms of his hands. The man shakes his head and goes back to polishing. Lee knocks again. The man gives us a long-suffering glare, then puts down the glass and cloth, and comes to the door. We walk round to meet him. The door opens a crack and his head pops out.

  ‘Not open till seven,’ he barks.

  ‘Aw, come on, it’s been a hard day. We only want a couple each,’ says Lee with his best smile on.

  ‘I’m closed.’

  ‘We’ll be good. You can’t turn away custom, can you?’

  The man grunts and looks at our trousers. ‘You can’t sit in the lounge like that.’

  ‘We’ll stay in the bar.’

  ‘Fine. But any monkey business and you’re out on your ear.’

  I’m not sure what monkey business he thinks we might get up to, but watching Lee butter him up makes me feel quite happy. It’s nice – for a change – to be around someone capable of genuine charm. We murmur our promises of good behaviour and the man lets us in. Lee buys three pints of bitter and we sit down round a table in the bar, next to the unlit fire.

  ‘Rule one,’ he says, ‘is always get on the right side of the local landlord.’

  ‘Good policy,’ I say.

  Lee holds up his glass. ‘To Mac.’

  ‘Aye. To Mac.’ We lift our glasses and toast, and then I add, ‘And to a brighter future.’

  Lee smiles at me across the table. ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Lee and Rupert look at each other.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  Lee laughs and tips his glass at me. ‘Nothing, mate. You’re sound. You’re in.’

  And despite all the other shit I’ve got to deal with, I’m grinning like an idiot.

  —

  I said more about things than I probably should have – enough to make their ears prick up – but at least I skirted round the part that concerns Laura. Now I’m driving home, having drunk more than I probably should have, and I’m wondering how she is. I haven’t heard from her for a couple of days. Having a drink with Lee and Rupert made me feel part of something again, and despite everything, I seem to be in quite a good mood. Maybe I should go over there and see if I can cheer her up. Not that I can remember
ever cheering up anybody in the past, but it’s worth a try.

  I swing by the offie on the way home and buy a bottle of wine. I never drink wine by choice, so I just get one that costs £4.99; it seems like a reasonable price point. Then I go home to change out of my work clothes, where – to my relief – there is no sign of Joe. Clean and dressed once more, I walk over to Geoff’s house.

  She answers the door. ‘Hello.’

  ‘I thought you might like something to take your mind off things.’ I hold up the wine.

  ‘Is alcohol your answer to everything?’

  ‘Ummm…’

  ‘No, it’s a nice idea. Come in.’

  I follow her in. ‘How’ve you been?’

  ‘I’m alright. Just getting on with things. I’m going back to work tomorrow. I mean, I have to. I can’t just sit here going crackers.’

  ‘Aye, I’m back at work too.’

  ‘I was going to say you seem in a better mood than last time I saw you. Let me have a look at your face.’ We stand under the main light of the living room while she tuts over my bruises. ‘Well, at least you’re healing.’

  ‘Course. It’d take more than that to sideline me.’

  ‘You silly bastard. Sit down. I’ll get some glasses.’

  I do as I’m told. A couple of framed photographs of Geoff and Laura together stand on the mantelpiece. Ordinary objects, but to see them under these circumstances has a sharpness to it. I suppose they’ve always been there, but I don’t remember noticing them the last time I was over here. I was probably too engrossed in other problems. I feel drawn to stand up and look at them more closely, but then Laura returns with two glasses.

  She must have clocked the direction of my gaze because she stops next to one of the photos and says, ‘That was in the Lake District, last year.’

  ‘Oh, aye, I remember you going there. When he came back, he complained you made him walk up hills.’

  ‘Yeah. He wasn’t convinced. It’s a screw-cap, isn’t it?’