Chapter 5

*****

In my hotel, I order a meal from room service then settle back on the bed to watch tv.

I flick through cheap American sitcoms, repeats from the 80s, 70s even the 60s. But you can only watch ‘I Love Lucy’ for so long before your brain curdles.

Trying pay-tv, I flick through a couple of porn channels....

Amateurs...

Might as well do some work….

So, I draft a letter of authority for Conners ready to fax to him the following morning, then set myself up on the narrow desk to mark up the area plan with notes and my thoughts on how to use the site….

The site is perfect….

This is going to make me a fucking fortune.

….

….

And I can’t concentrate….

What is wrong with me?

Everything’s going my way. I’m going to make a mint out of what’s coming and yet….

And yet….

Air. I need air.

The streets are cool and welcoming. Quiet too, save for the raucous laughter of late-night bars and the bass thumping vibrating out from a club.

An all-night liquor store sells me a half-bottle of whiskey from behind a grid, the attendant eyeing me with the kind of bloodshot expression that suggests he’s tried too much of his own product.

A couple of gulps sitting on a bench over-looking a park warms me as I watch revellers tumbling out from a party; the men shouting and the women squealing.

Feeling better for the alcohol, I walk, seeing no-one except a couple of hobos on cardboard or newspaper. One of them has a black eye and is swollen around the face….

A fist….

Da, no…. Please….

The tramp holds up a hand, squinting into the gloom with his one good eye. Even that is rheumy and yellow. “Spare some change, Guv?” His clothes are tattered rags. His body much the same.

Way beyond useful work….

On an impulse, I glug another mouthful of the whiskey, then pass him the bottle. His face lights up. “Hey, thanks.”

I just nod an acknowledgement and walk on.

*****

Michael

I push the last barrow of briars onto the bonfire just in time to see Sally appear bearing beer and a plate of rolls. “Perfect timing, Sal. Thanks.” She nods and goes back indoors. I call across the garden. “Time to take a break.”

Ben draws an arm across his forehead. “Sounds good to me.” Then he tilts his head back, sniffing. “And it smells better.” Scruffy, lead contender for ‘World’s Ugliest Dog’, yaps agreement.

Placing the plate of sandwiches up out of Scruffy’s reach, I pass Ben a can then crack open my own, taking a seat on an old tree-stump.

He joins me, sitting on a rusted oil-can that emerged from under the brambles. Scruffy skips around my feet, first trying to communicate his interest in the sandwiches then, when I don’t take the hint, settles by me wearing a disgusted expression.

The rolls come from the ‘Sally School of Giant Eating’; vast edifices that take two hands to hold and careful concentration to eat. Ben chews appreciatively. “Hmmm… what is it about bacon in the fresh air?”

Scruffy whines agreement and absently, I scratch an ear, releasing one hand from my lunch. The roll falls half open and a rasher drops out. Scruffy moves like a shark for the kill, grabbing the fallen rasher before I can do anything about it.

Ben grins then nods towards the woodshed. “It’s getting blowy. We’d better get those tarps pinned down.”

He’s right. The weather’s moving in, clouds lowering and darkening. “Yeah, after this….” I gulp at my beer…. “…. I was hoping we might start on that fencing today, but it doesn’t look as though we’ll get that far.”

Ben nods then eyes me with Scruffy. “You should keep dogs you know….” he says, “... if security is worrying you. No one will guard you like a dog.”

I mull that idea. “You're right. I’d not thought of that.”

“What's the Champ like with animals?”

“Um, good, I think. She lived on a farm when she was younger, so I suppose she rubbed shoulders with all sorts.”

Ben leans back, slapping his head theatrically. “Wow, a snippet of your wife's mysterious past.”

I ignore the comment. I’m not keen to discuss Charlotte’s background with Ben. It would take too much explaining and his own ideas are too set-in-stone for comfort.

“I like your dog idea,” I say. “Do you know anyone with puppies looking for a home?”

He rips off a chunk of his sandwich and tosses it to Scruffy. “Just go to the nearest shelter. There's always loads of the big protective breeds there. And most of them are perfectly good animals. Just owned by some bastard that couldn’t be bothered to keep them.” He smiles fondly down at Scruffy, just in time to catch me feeding him the end of my own roll.

“You think that’s a good idea?” I ask. “I mean, you don’t know what you’re getting with someone else’s dog.”

Ben flattens his lips. “The abandoned ones are always loyal. They know that life can be different. No one will ever love you like a dog that was abandoned.”

I digest this. “So, you think….”

I’m interrupted by the return of Sally. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Summerford, but we're out of a few things for the restaurant. I was wondering if you’re likely to be going to the Cash and Carry? Or if I should make a trip there myself?”

“It's okay, Sal. You have your hands full in the kitchens. I'll go myself. We’re about done here for today. Got a list?”

“I have, yes.” She offers me a used envelope, ripped but with notes jotted on the back.

“Want to come with me for the ride?” I ask Ben.

“No, I’ll get those covers fixed for you before the wind comes up, then I’ll be off. I’ll let Charlotte know when I’m going.”

“That’s great. Thanks, Ben.” I slap him on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yup, at least if you make sure you have plenty of bacon in.”

“It’s on the list,” says Sally.