The Country Life (21 page)

‘You'll be wanting your water,' it said, nodding. ‘Quite a thirst you've got on you.'

I remained silent until the water was safely on its way. When the creature turned around, its swollen belly protruded so distinctly that I wondered if it might be pregnant.

‘Thank you very much,' I said graciously, accepting the second glass. Things were less of a blur now that my emergency had been met, and my eyes surveyed the walls more calmly. There were several of the familiar leaflets pinned at intervals around the room, and many others of a similar type duplicated this pattern. Indeed, I soon saw that I had been slightly misled in my first impressions of the place, for the campaign's look of abundance was achieved more by repetition than diversity. The photographs, of which there were some dozen, were blurred Polaroids and I could make out little of what they were supposed to represent; except that all had been taken outdoors and that in each case the photographer appeared to be falling over. A large poster printed on a white background which hung directly in front of me read ‘MADDEN KILLS!'. Beneath it was an efficient drawing of a noose identical to those adorning the walls.

‘He hasn't really killed anybody, has he?' said I, alarmed.

The creature snapped its head round to look at me,
aggrieved. The cliff of its forehead creased into fleshy ridges and its lower lip protruded, like that of a child about to cry. I wondered then if Mr Madden really had, incredible as it seemed, murdered some close relative or associate of the creature; or at least was suspected of having done so.

‘Of course,' nodded the creature, as if to itself. ‘You're new around here. You wouldn't have heard, would you?'

‘No,' said I. ‘But even so, I find it frankly unbelievable that Mr Madden could have hurt anybody.'

The creature looked away sharply, as if in pain.

‘Tell that to Geoff!'

‘Who is Geoff?' I ventured.

‘Was. Was.' It looked down at its slippers and raised a weary hand to the great pale flank of its forehead. It heaved a sigh. ‘Geoff,' it said, ‘Geoff was my friend. My best friend. And now he's gone.'

‘What – what happened to him?'

‘Gone!' The creature buried its mouth in its palm. Its shoulders heaved up and down. ‘Three years ago this bank holiday Monday! And not a day goes by that I don't think about him!'

‘What do you mean, gone?' I cried urgently.

‘Dead,' said the creature, matter of factly. ‘Murdered.'

This seemed too fantastical to be true.

‘Are you sure? Mightn't he just have gone off somewhere without telling you?'

‘Ahhh!' The creature let out a long breath and rubbed its eyes with its hands. ‘Buried him myself on the Monday night. Just out there in the yard.' It jerked a thumb over its shoulder. ‘Shot clean through the head, he was. At least he didn't feel any pain. I found him up on the top field. He loved it up there, used to go chasing rabbits. He could have lain there for days. But I knew something was wrong. When he didn't come back I went out looking for him. Carried him in my arms all the way back to the village. Everyone came out and stood at their
doors. You never heard it so quiet.' It swiped a tear or two from its eyes. ‘I'll never find another dog like him. Wouldn't want to. He was only a mongrel, you know. But I loved him.'

‘How do you know that it was Mr Madden?' I sombrely enquired. ‘It could have been someone else. It could have been a mistake.'

‘It was no mistake!' said the creature fiercely. ‘Trimmer had warned me about Geoff before. Was dying to take a pot-shot at him, he said as much.'

‘Who is Trimmer?'

‘You not met him yet?' The creature looked at me quizzically. ‘No, I suppose you haven't. You've only been up at Franchise since Saturday. Trimmer's the manager. It's him puts those down.' It nodded towards the nooses. ‘Fast as I take them away, he replaces them.'

‘Well, it was probably Mr Trimmer who killed your dog!' I cried, frustrated at the creature's stupidity.

‘Maybe,' admitted the creature stubbornly. It folded its arms and looked at me. ‘But it's the institution that should take the blame. You ought to be going, dear. The cripple will be back from Buckley any minute.'

I looked at my watch and saw to my horror that it was a quarter to six.

‘Before you go,' said the creature, turning and waddling off, ‘I'll give you something to put on that skin of yours. You've had too much sun. You should be more careful. It ages you something terrible.'

‘But I've got to go!' I wailed, as it opened a cupboard camouflaged by a crust of leaflets on the far wall. ‘I'll get into trouble!'

‘Won't take a minute.' The creature took a jar from the top shelf and came back towards me, unscrewing the lid. ‘Hold still a jiffy and shut your eyes.'

I closed my eyes and seconds later felt the most astonishing caress upon my cheeks, as if the coolest silk were being gently
drawn across the skin. I immediately forgot about the necessity for hurrying back to the farm, and indeed about everything that I had seen and heard during the past hour, longing only for the sensation to continue. It descended to my neck and then beneath the collar of my shirt, and then out again and up my sleeves, up my arms and down again right to my fingertips.

‘That's better,' I heard the creature say. ‘You can open your eyes now.'

I opened them, feeling as if I had been asleep.

‘Thank you,' I said, miraculously cooled. ‘You've been very kind.'

‘Off you go, then.' The creature jerked its thumb again. ‘I'd keep quiet about our little meeting if I was you. I'll be seeing you again, I'm sure. You'll excuse me if I don't show you out.'

I turned and opened the door. As I did so a newspaper clipping pinned beside the frame caught my eye. It bore a grainy picture of Pamela. She was smiling and I could just make out a disembodied arm curled about her shoulders.
Lovers
'
tiff behind farm attack, say police
, read the headline.

‘What's your name?' I cried, turning back.

The creature was screwing the lid back on to the jar. It looked up, surprised amidst the mayhem of paper, and gave me its terrible grin.

‘You can call me Al,' it said.

I ran down the dark corridor without looking back, and, crossing the deserted shop floor, stumbled blinking into the glare of the High Street with the bell shrilling in my ears.

I came up the back passage as quietly as I could – having remembered to remove my tar-stained shoes at the door, my movements were virtually silent – hoping to be able to replace myself in the kitchen, where I had last been sighted by Pamela, unseen. Having no idea of how the Maddens would regard my tardiness – it was by now almost half-past six – my nerves responded to the most exaggerated scenarios imagination could devise. The sound of voices coming from the kitchen froze me outside the door with dread for some time, although eventually I realized that this was merely making my predicament worse.

I opened the door on an idyllic scene; one which filled me with pleasure but also, unexpectedly, with the bitterness of envy and regret. Pamela and Piers were standing side by side beside the ‘Aga', their bodies not actually touching but proximate in a way which suggested comfort and fondness. Both were looking with palpable affection at Martin, whose chair was positioned directly in front of them, and who was relating to them some incident which was making them laugh, his hand placed on the glossy head of Roy who sat contentedly beside him. In glimpsing this scene of familial love I also, inevitably, disturbed it. Pamela and Piers looked up in unison at the sound
of the door opening, and whatever narrative Martin was embarked on was lost for ever as he twisted round in his chair and gave me his strange, flapping smile.

‘Here's Stella!' Pamela cried, as if overjoyed.

‘Don't let me disturb you,' I said, filled suddenly with the sorrowful desire to be excluded. ‘You all looked so lovely over there,' I continued, unable to stop myself. ‘You looked like a proper family.'

‘Goodness!' said Pamela. ‘That
is
a compliment!'

‘Where have you been, Stel-la?' interjected Martin plaintively. ‘I've missed you.'

At this I was driven almost to weep, especially given the reasons for my absence, which now I profoundly regretted. Had my skin not still been luxuriating in whatever cream it was that the creature had applied to it, I would have been tempted to believe that the whole interlude at the post office had been a hallucination.

‘You look so well!' exclaimed Pamela, continuing in the friendly vein which seemed to have been established. ‘Doesn't she, Piers?'

‘Marvellous,' said Piers, to my surprise.

‘And your skin!' she rhapsodized, raising a hand to her own cheek. ‘Oh, to be young, what bliss! Look after it, Stella, please, while you've got the chance. I left it far too late!'

Glad as I was to have escaped a reprimand, I felt that a denial of this fact would push the happy scene over into excess and merely gave her an erubescent smile. It was some time before she removed her hand from her cheek; and seeing her like that, I remembered the newspaper clipping I had seen in the creature's room. What could it have meant? The words ‘lovers' tiff were clear in my mind. They evidently did not, unless I had misunderstood them, refer to the Maddens' own relationship. Could Pamela or Piers have had an affair? It seemed, looking at them now, impossible; and besides, who was there in the countryside with whom to have one? I had seen barely
anybody during my time here, except the creature, and the people who ran the ‘shop'; unless, of course, you counted Darren over at the Dog, or Mrs Lascelles, for whom I could not vouch. So far, the only people with whom I could consider either of them having an affair were each other.

‘Right!' said Mr Madden, brushing some invisible detritus from his trouser leg. ‘I'd better get on.'

‘OK, darling,' said Pamela radiantly. To my surprise, she even took his arm and walked with him over towards the door. I wondered what had happened in my absence to provoke this marked increase of affection between the Maddens. I soon realized, however, that Pamela had accompanied Piers to the door so that she could talk to him privately; although I am afraid that I could hear every word she said. What she said was: ‘You'll sort out that business in the top field, won't you? We don't want any trouble with the police.'

‘Yes, yes, all right. Just leave it to me,' Mr Madden mysteriously replied.

I glanced at Martin, but he was occupied ruffling Roy's velveteen ears and did not seem to have heard anything. Pamela, thinking herself unobserved, laid a hand on Mr Madden's cheek and looked at him with an expression I could not fathom.

‘Oh, darling,' she said. She withdrew her hand longingly. ‘Go on, off you go.'

‘What would you like to do now?' I said to Martin in a loud voice as soon as Mr Madden had gone.

‘Dunno,' he replied, still engrossed in Roy. ‘We could go up to my room and listen to some records if you like.'

‘That's a good idea!' said Pamela ingratiatingly, overhearing. She came back across the room and put her arm around me, placing her other hand on Martin's head. We now formed a sort of chain, starting with Roy and ending with me. ‘Why don't you two slope off upstairs and have your party, and I'll give you a shout when supper's ready!'

Tiring somewhat, I can admit, of Pamela's jollity, I was relieved when Martin and I had gained the cool sanctuary of the hall.

‘Did you have a good afternoon?' I enquired, as he slid from his chair at the bottom of the stairs.

‘No,' he panted, inching backwards up towards the first step and lodging his backside on it.

‘I thought you liked it there.'

‘What do you know?' he said, levering himself on to the second. ‘It's crap. How would you like to spend three afternoons a week with a bunch of spastics?'

‘That's not very nice,' I said, picking up his chair and plodding after him. ‘You don't have to go.'

‘Yes I do,' he puffed.

‘Why, if you hate it so much?'

‘Apparently' – he heaved again – ‘I learn things there.'

‘What sort of things?'

‘I dunno. How to get used to being there, I suppose.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well.' He stopped for a moment, his face red. ‘If something happens to them. Mater and Pater, that is. You know.'

He resumed his ascent, his black hair flopping up and down.

‘But!' I cried, dumbfounded. ‘But you wouldn't – I mean, if something
did
happen – you wouldn't go there!'

‘I bloody would. Or somewhere like it.'

‘But what about – what about Caroline?'

He stopped again and opened his mouth wide. ‘Ha! Ha!'

‘I mean,' I extemporized, ‘I mean, you might not get on all that well, but she's your sister. She'd be glad to—' I tried to think of a tactful way of putting it: ‘she'd be glad to have you Uve with her, I'm sure!'

‘No, she wouldn't.'

‘How do you know?'

‘Because,' he said firmly, ‘she's said so. They all did. Mummy and Daddy sat them all down and asked them. I mean' – he
dragged himself onto the landing – ‘they didn't say no just like that. But they all made excuses. Even Millie.'

‘Who's Millie?'

‘My other sister. You haven't met her yet. She's nice.'

I trailed up the stairs, the chair cumbersome in my arms, and deposited it beside him on the landing.

‘But why?' I said, or rather wailed.

‘Why what?'

‘Why won't they have you?'

‘Oh, I dunno.' He grasped the handles of the chair and levered himself up. ‘Millie was upset about it, I suppose. She just said that she couldn't promise. She didn't know what was going to happen and stuff. I dunno.'