Fallow Page 11

  I leaned forward and mouthed for him to fuck off and he laughed again, shaking his head. The night before we’d parked against a wall down a country lane. Trees hung over the top of us and I had nowhere to go.

  You couldn’t run a man down like that in cold blood. It wouldn’t be right.

  I tried honking the horn to scare him off and Mikey shouted. I heard him say ‘Eh?’ from behind me.

  ‘Look at this clown,’ I said, feeling him stumble across towards me.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Fucked if I know.’

  The pale man was waving at Mikey, his other hand firm on the van’s bonnet.

  ‘What does he want?’ Mikey asked.

  ‘He wants in.’

  Mikey reached over my shoulder and chapped on the driver’s window, motioning for the man to come round. I cracked the window an inch. The pale man worked his way around the corner of the van, keeping his palms against the bonnet and then door. He pressed his mouth against the opening.

  ‘All right?’ he said.

  ‘All right?’ said Mikey.

  ‘What do you want?’ I asked.

  He had his lips inside the van. His pupils were flying between me and Mikey and his wild grin was still wide. ‘Where yous going?’

  ‘Never you mind,’ I said. ‘What d’you want?’

  ‘I’m looking for a lift.’

  I shook my head. ‘Nah. It’s not happening mate.’

  He held up a finger but kept his mouth close to the opening. ‘Ah ah ah,’ he said. ‘I can pay. I can pay for the lift.’

  ‘We’re not interested.’

  I released the handbrake and let the van roll forward down the embankment.

  ‘Woah, woah, woah,’ he said, rushing around to the front again so that I had to brake. He pushed against the bonnet, laughing and shaking his head. ‘What’s it going to take lads? You wouldn’t leave a fellow pilgrim out in the sticks, would you?’

  We looked at each other, Mikey and I. I sighed. ‘Get in then,’ I said and Mikey ducked into the back to unlock the door.

  The pale man whooped and jumped and sprang to the side door, rubbing his hands. He pulled himself up into the back of the van and vigorously shook both our hands.

  ‘You’ve no idea how much this means to a weary traveller,’ he said. ‘An absolute belter of a favour lads.’

  He gave his name as Isaac and proceeded to collapse onto our recently vacated sofa bed. After a minute I realised he was asleep, lying on his front, his face bundled up in our sleeping bags.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Mikey. ‘He’s just gone to our bed. Is he allowed to do that?’

  ‘I suppose he must be,’ I said.

  Mikey came up front to sit with me, scandalised by the man’s rudeness. I’d given him a fresh hair and beard trim after we’d pulled up the night before, even shorter than the first time. As I looked at him I realised I’d gone a bit too bald in places – the bony bits of his skull and jaw where the skin shone through. The pale man garbled in his sleep and I revved the engine.

  We drove on.

  It was a bright morning but I had something like a hangover from the excitement of the evening before. My head was slow and my vision was slow. Still, I drove down the country lane and back onto the road with no trouble.

  ‘I’m starving,’ said Mikey. ‘I could eat two horses.’

  ‘I am too actually. Let’s find someplace for breakfast.’

  Mikey eyed Duncan’s envelope. ‘Do you think we could go for fry ups?’

  I nodded. ‘Aye, why not?’

  He pumped his fists and flipped on his sunglasses. We played the only tape Duncan had, which was an old American singing low and sad. He sang to us and I drove into the morning sun and the nutter in the back muttered.

  We found a gigantic Tesco at the edge of someplace that had a banner saying HOT FOOD SEVEN TO SEVEN. I parked and shook Isaac awake. His lids shot open, revealing his eyes, as light and as blue as glaciers.

  He scrambled for the sleeping bag, pulling it to his breast. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ he shouted, his pupils swivelling.

  ‘Here,’ I said. ‘Calm yourself down. You asked us for a lift, remember? You crashed out on our sofa bed.’

  He sat up and looked about himself. ‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Course I did. Aye.’

  ‘We’re going for breakfast. You wanting to come?’

  ‘Breakfast? Oh, aye. Breakfast. Aye, please.’

  They worked out the price of your Tesco breakfast by how many breakfast items you ordered. All three of us choose as many items as you were allowed. We found ourselves a table and Mikey brought over the cutlery, napkins and sauce sachets. The breakfasts steamed.

  Isaac attacked his plate. ‘So,’ he said, chewing a rasher. ‘What’s your guys’ story then?’

  ‘What’s our story?’ I said. ‘What’s your story?’

  Isaac chortled. ‘It’s a fucken epic not a story mate,’ he said, waggling his knife as me. ‘It involves intrigue.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘It is right. I just realised, I don’t know your names.’

  We gave our names and he nodded. ‘Fine names. Michael and Paul. Good Bible names there. Have you had your conversion yet Paul?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Your own personal road to Damascus moment?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’

  ‘Never mind,’ he said, scooping up half a fried egg with his fork. It bled a string of daisy yolk. ‘You’re brothers.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Just mates.’

  ‘You are brothers, I can tell. There’s a strong family resemblance. Although it would be stronger if you,’ he said, pointing the knife at Mikey, ‘had your hair long, like his. Or vice versa.’

  ‘I used to have it longer,’ said Mikey.

  ‘Oh aye?’

  ‘I cut it off though.’

  ‘I can see that,’ nodded Isaac. ‘Look at mine. See that? See how bright that is?’

  ‘Aye,’ I said, sawing a sausage. ‘That’s bleached isn’t it?’

  Isaac shook his head and smiled as he shovelled beans around his plate. ‘Oh ho ho,’ he said. ‘A very reasonable mistake to make, Saint Paul. Very understandable.’ He leant over his breakfast, displaying his crown, his manic grin returning. ‘All natural that.’

  He was bullshitting. His hair was dyed. It was dried out at the ends, white as snow, and darker and greasy at the roots. I’d seen a hundred lassies with hair just like it.

  ‘Au natural,’ he said, smirking, desperate for us to ask more.

  ‘It doesn’t look natural,’ said Mikey, who’d already finished his massive plate of food. ‘It looks like you’ve dyed it.’

  Isaac laughed. ‘See, it wasn’t always this colour. Not when I was a bairn. Oh no. Brown or something back then.’

  ‘What happened?’ Mikey asked.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ he said. ‘It’s a good one. But no. I asked, didn’t I? What your guys’ story was?’

  I scraped up the scraps on my plate. ‘We’re just on holiday. Just enjoying ourselves.’

  He ignored me and leant towards Mikey instead. ‘Did we go to the school together? I’m sure I know you. Absolutely positive.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Mikey. ‘I think I’d remember.’

  ‘Where do I know your face from then?’

  ‘He’s just got one of those faces,’ I said, bristling. ‘One of those familiar faces.’

  Isaac collected in the plates and stacked them up, ignoring me. ‘Would anyone else like a pastry? My treat.’

  When Isaac’s back was turned I leaned into Mikey. ‘After breakfast we need to lose him. We’ll distract him in the shop and once he’s lost we’ll drive off.’

  Mikey nodded. ‘He’s weird, eh? What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘One of them religious folk,’ I said. ‘Too many pills as well by the look of him.’

  Isaac slid a plateful of dry croissants and Danishes i
n front of us.

  ‘There we are,’ he said. ‘Something a wee bit more cultured for pudding.’

  ‘Cheers,’ we said, diving in. He was maybe mental but you don’t say no to a free pastry. We ate those in silence, enjoying the luxury of it.

  I brushed the stray flakes from my beard. ‘Well,’ I said. ‘That was good.’

  ‘Wasn’t it just?’ said Isaac. ‘Shall we get a move on then?’

  ‘Aye,’ I said. ‘Where is it you’re needing a lift to anyway?’

  ‘Just as far as you’re going. Any direction.’

  ‘All right.’ I brought the van keys out my pocket and bounced them off my palm. ‘Let’s go.’

  We wandered back through the Tesco, dodging trolleys and squeezing by packs of manky bairns. I asked Isaac if he wouldn’t mind picking up a couple of cans of juice for the journey. He nodded and said it would be his pleasure. We loitered in the foyer until he was out of sight and then we bolted.

  We raced through the car park, towards the van, right at the back. I looked over my shoulder and saw a white haired head through the foyer’s glass.

  ‘C’mon,’ I said, pulling Mikey along. ‘Hurry.’

  I tried to start the van but all the engine did was cough. I jerked the key in the ignition again and all I got back was a dull burr.

  ‘Start it,’ moaned Mikey. ‘Get it going.’

  ‘I’m trying, amen’t I?’

  A chap on the glass. ‘I got us all Tango, that all right?’ asked Isaac, holding up three cans. His face fell when he heard the engine’s dry wheeze. ‘That doesn’t sound good,’ he shouted through the glass. ‘Open her up, let me have a look.’

  I pulled the handle by my knee and released the van’s bonnet.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ I asked Mikey as I tried to peer round the upturned bonnet. ‘Can you see?’

  ‘Nope. Well, not properly. He’s fiddling with something in the engine.’

  ‘Do you think… do you reckon it was him that broke it?’ I whispered.

  ‘Nah,’ breathed Mikey. ‘Couldn’t be. Didn’t have the time.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  The bonnet slammed down and Isaac dusted off his oily fingers. ‘Try it now,’ he said and I turned the key. The engine choked into life.

  ‘It’s working,’ I admitted.

  We set off, each of us sipping from a Tango can. I decided, without telling anyone, that we would make our way to the city. I’d had enough of fields and mountains. I’d had enough of endless sky. You could hide in nature but conversely you could make yourself anonymous in a crowd. I was driving towards the motorway, the same one Duncan drove on the way to the club.

  Isaac and Mikey were sat together in the back, enjoying their drinks. We’d be able to lose him soon enough now that the van was running. Maybe stop off at a services and gun it away when he was using the bogs. Maybe even open the sliding door and have Mikey shove him out as we raced along. I didn’t want it to come to that but I was prepared for it.

  I checked the clock. Still only ten in the morning. The whole day was ahead of us. What day though? I realised then that I had no idea what the date was. I didn’t even know what day of the week we were on. I’d been keeping up by checking the newspaper each morning but it had been a while since I’d bought one. I didn’t even know if Mikey was still featured. What did it matter though? The decision of when we went home was my call. It wasn’t based solely on the paper. My word was final and I had to listen to my intuition.

  I zoned out from my thoughts and let my ear wander around the rattling, shuddering van until it fell upon my brother and our new companion, chatting in the back.

  ‘Aye,’ Mikey was saying. ‘It was all right. We were digging these like long holes. Like open tunnels.’

  ‘Ditches?’ asked Isaac. ‘Were you laying pipes or something?’

  ‘I don’t think so. We were working with these people. They were… somethings. One of them jobs you’re not sure if they’re real or not.’

  ‘Like a wizard?’ said Isaac.

  ‘Aye,’ said Mikey, excited. ‘Like wizards.’

  ‘You should stay well away from that sort. The Bible says not to go messing about with mediums and necromancers.’

  ‘No,’ said Mikey. ‘It wasn’t anything like that. It was science. Science of the ground.’

  ‘Sounds well dodgy mate. It was a good idea getting shot of that lot, I’d say. All these scientists. It’s just theories they come out with. Nothing concrete. Did you know that?’

  Mikey said that no, he didn’t. Isaac started to drone on about how evolution was only a theory and that there were some scientists, scientists who didn’t get the approval of the mainstream media, who said that it was very likely that life on earth had been seeded by aliens. That there were various clues, dotted around the globe, that the discerning mind could connect to illuminate a more rewarding theory of how life began.

  ‘And those aliens. Do you know what the Egyptians called the glowing lights in the skies above Cairo?’

  ‘No,’ said Mikey.

  ‘Ahmon-Ras. God flashes. Can you believe that?’

  ‘No,’ said Mikey.

  Isaac started laughing then and Mikey asked him what was funny.

  ‘I’ve just realised,’ he said. ‘I do recognise you. I fucken knew it.’ I heard him clap his hands. ‘You’re Mikey Buchanan. You’re the one that’s been all over the news. I said I recognised you. Didn’t I? Did I or did I not?’

  8

  There was a lay-by a few miles up the road. I kept calm and kept driving and trained an eye on the pair of them in the rear view mirror.

  ‘It is you, isn’t it?’ Isaac was saying. ‘Off of the telly?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ Mikey said.

  ‘Aw, come on mate. Just tell me if I’m right or not.’

  I pulled into the lay-by and parked the van. Duncan’s beads rattled from the force of the manoeuvre. In one fluid swerve I jerked the handbrake up and used it to swivel myself around and into the back of the van.

  ‘Close the curtains,’ I told Mikey, nodding to the sleeping area’s windows.

  Isaac was on the sofa. His eyes followed mine as I moved towards him and grabbed his jacket and moved him over the sofa’s back and onto the floor of the kitchenette.

  ‘Christ almighty,’ he said as he hit the floor.

  I was on top of him. I got his shoulders beneath my knees to control his arms, but he wasn’t resisting. His gob was open with wonder and he was gazing at Mikey and me. There was nothing heavy to hand. I leant over and checked in the wee cupboard beneath the sink.

  ‘You’re looking after your brother,’ said Isaac. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  I put my hand on our gas burner, stuck between a plastic basin and a pack of toilet rolls. Isaac’s face changed when he saw me swing the canister up.

  ‘Woah,’ he said. ‘Hold your horses, hold your horses. You don’t need to do this.’

  I weighed up the canister in my hand. I could bring the bottom down, hard. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I told Isaac.

  ‘It does matter. It does. You don’t have to do this. I’m not going to fucken tell anybody, am I?’ Isaac nodded at Mikey, stood behind me. ‘He’s done his time. He’s reborn as far as I’m concerned.’

  I held the edge of the canister against Isaac’s forehead, causing him to wince. He began to pray, under his breath. It was too fast and too quiet to make it out but as far as I could tell it was gibberish.

  The canister pinged as it rolled across the floor of the van and connected with the sink unit. I got myself up and squeezed past Mikey, back into the front.

  ‘You deal with him,’ I said, restarting the engine. I let my foot rest against the accelerator for a minute, listening to Mikey heaving Isaac up and onto the sofa bed.

  ‘All set?’ I asked, checking them in the mirror.

  ‘Aye,’ said Mikey, hopping into the front. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Mind and put your seatbelt on,
’ I said.

  We came to the city deep in the afternoon. The motorway curved around its northwest quarter and it all seemed mechanical to me, having spent so long in the wild. I wasn’t used to the stone and the brick and the metal crash barrier. People too. So many people.

  Isaac woke up with a sneeze, falling from the sofa bed. He moaned. ‘My fucken head!’

  ‘Just be glad you still have it.’

  ‘I’m trying. Christ. Where are we?’

  ‘Glasgow.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘We just arrived.’

  ‘Sweet fuck. I can’t believe you knocked me fucken out. I said I wasn’t going to say anything.’

  I said, ‘Well,’ and kept driving. He wasn’t a threat, this lunatic, and I had no appetite to clean bloodstains from the van’s carpeted floor.

  I was looking for a place to stay. We had the van but I didn’t fancy the prospect of kipping inside it in the middle of town. That was sure to raise a few eyebrows. I pulled up outside a likely looking establishment called the Groveview.

  ‘You two stay here,’ I said. ‘I’m going inside for a scope around.’

  The hotel was done up like an old wifey’s front room. Chintz and doilies covered the reception, which was staffed by a broad woman. She gave me a sickly sweet smile as I entered.

  ‘Welcome to the Groveview,’ she simpered. ‘Do you have a booking?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I was wondering if you had any rooms.’

  ‘I’ll see,’ she said gravely. ‘It’s a busy weekend.’

  She heaved open the massive ledger before her on the desk and began to scan through the miniscule entries with the nib of her biro. I put my palms out on the desk and leaned. There was a ceramic frog playing the banjo an inch from my pinkie nail. I picked it up and inspected it.

  Her biro paused. ‘Don’t touch that,’ she told me. ‘It’s a collectable.’

  She went back to scanning the ledger once I’d replaced the frog. I paced around reception, glancing into the lounge. There was no TV, no computer, no sign of the daily papers. These were all goods signs.

  ‘As I was saying,’ she told the ledger, ‘it’s a very busy weekend. We’ve got a convention in. Some of our most loyal customers.’