Fallow Page 9

  ‘What do you think Mum’s doing now?’ he said.

  I thought about it. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t know either. She used to visit all the time at Polmont, but I never knew what she was like.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Like, I don’t know what she’s interested in. Does she have any hobbies?’

  I thought about that too. ‘Not sure. Maybe. Maybe bingo?’

  He nodded. ‘Maybe bingo.’

  ‘She’s probably just glad that someone’s here, keeping you safe. That’s probably her main concern. Other than bingo.’

  ‘Hm,’ he said.

  ‘I think she’s probably sat in her chair, looking out the window, and thanking her lucky stars that you’re safe and that we’ll be home soon.’

  ‘Will we though? Be home soon?’

  ‘Aye,’ I nodded. ‘Soon.’

  ‘When’s soon?’

  I told him to go to sleep and then I turned away from him.

  Duncan was in better spirits the next day but I was not. I’d woken with a head full of hot wool and my tongue was coated in filth. I’d showered for nearly half an hour to try and wash away the hangover but it hadn’t done much good. I sat in the front of the van, slumped against the window.

  ‘Sorry about my performance the other night lads,’ Duncan said. ‘It was that awful Hungarian pish. It knackered me, that.’

  ‘Never mind,’ I wheezed.

  ‘You enjoy yourselves?’

  Mikey called through from the back. ‘Aye, it was grand.’

  ‘Mikey,’ said Duncan. ‘What happened with you and that lassie? She was nice.’

  I didn’t turn to look at Mikey but I could feel his discomfort. ‘Nothing,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, that’s a shame,’ said Duncan. ‘Can’t win them all.’

  When we were at the site he remembered our pay. He took that fat envelope out from the glove box and counted the notes for the day before.

  ‘Can we have today’s as well?’ I asked.

  ‘Aye, don’t see why not,’ he said, shuffling the cash. ‘And a little something extra for being so agreeable.’

  I said, ‘Thanks,’ and stuck the envelope in the pocket of my jeans.

  The morning that followed was much like the others. Mikey and I dug together and the archaeologists were either holed up in their cabins, doing whatever it was they did in there, or moping at the far end of the field. On lunch break I wandered over to fill up our water bottles. I found Sam and Jose inside the cabin with the tank. They stopped talking when I entered.

  ‘Everything all right?’ I said.

  Jose stood up and left, leaving me alone with Sam. She said, ‘Everything’s fine Paul.’

  ‘Good,’ I said and I bent to fill my bottle. Bubbles of air gurgled up the tank as I used it. I knew that Sam was watching me.

  ‘Paul,’ she said. ‘What sort of person are you?’

  I turned round to face her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean what are you like? It’s hard to get a handle on you.’

  The cabin was small. It was dirty and cluttered. I screwed the lid back on my water bottle. ‘Just normal. Just a normal guy.’

  ‘Hm,’ she said. ‘I look at you and… nothing. Most people there’s something.’

  ‘What are you trying to suggest?’ I said, then, added for emphasis, ‘Sam.’

  She laughed, enjoying the challenge. ‘I’m not suggesting anything. I find you interesting, if anything. What I do disapprove of is how you treat your brother.’

  There were no windows in the cabins. Whatever happened in there was between you and the metal walls. I held onto my bottle. ‘My brother?’ I asked.

  ‘That whole thing the other night, not letting him back in the club because he went off with some girl. He’s, what, twenty-four or twenty-five?’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’m just saying.’

  I put my water bottle down on the floor and I approached Sam. She was sat right back in an office chair, a bundle of papers on her lap. I leant over her and she started to protest. I leant over her and put my hands on the wall behind her head. Our faces were inches apart.

  ‘Get off me,’ she said.

  I smiled. ‘I’m not on you.’

  I loomed over her like that and she cringed and looked away. There was a smell of rubber in there from the pile of boots in the corner. A single bulb hung from the ceiling. Up close I noticed that Sam had a tiny stud in her nose. It was like the sparkle of ice.

  ‘Can I ask you to do something for me?’ I breathed.

  She screwed her face up. ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t want you to talk to me about my brother ever again. I don’t want you to think about my brother. I don’t want to see you look at him or talk to him or seem as though you’re thinking about him.’

  Sam sniffed.

  ‘How does that sound?’

  She nodded and I stood up. Her legs were tucked up beneath her and she had her arms crossed over her tits. I turned away to fill up Mikey’s water bottle. The tank spluttered as it dispensed.

  ‘See you,’ I said and I hopped through the cabin door. I marched up the field and I was powerful. The hangover was gone and I was free.

  I had won. I had won and these fucken so-called geniuses and experts didn’t even know.

  It was late in the afternoon when the cars came.

  The pair of us were out in the field, adding the finishing touches to yet another ditch. We stood with our backs to the trees to admire our work. Row after row of ditches ran along in front of us, leading towards the cabins half a mile away.

  ‘Not bad,’ I said.

  ‘Aye,’ said Mikey. ‘Not bad. We should ask for a bonus.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Mikey looked at the ditches for a while and then he squinted over to me. ‘What are they for?’ he asked.

  I shook my head. ‘Who knows?’

  Mikey scratched his head. He said, ‘Still though, absolutely top notch ditches.’

  I was nodding and appraising them when I noticed the red dust clouds rising from the direction of the track. I blocked my eyes from the sun and saw a small hive of nice, expensive motors rumbling across the dirt in the direction of the cabins, Mr Raymond’s motor at the lead.

  ‘Here,’ I said, gesturing to Mikey. ‘See that?’

  Mikey mirrored me, holding his hand above his brow. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Looks as though the game’s up,’ I said. ‘Looks as though their chickens are coming home to roost.’

  Mikey flashed excitement. ‘Eh? Chickens?’

  ‘It’s just an expression.’

  We watched the cars pulled up outside the cabins and all at once a squad of men the same size and shape as the Toad lowered themselves from their nice motors. They scurried around and banged on the doors of the cabins. They were like a pack of terrier dogs, circling the cabins, knocking on the doors, approaching and moving away from each other.

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Mikey.

  I laughed. ‘Wait and see.’

  One by one the four archaeologists emerged from the cabins. It was too far off to see the expression on anyone’s face, but I knew they would be delicious. I had a notion of walking by them as their bosses laid into them and smiling at Duncan’s sombre face.

  Cheer up misery guts, I would say.

  And then there was a final car, bringing up the rear. It was white and had fluorescent marking on its side.

  My mouth opened up.

  It was a fucken police car! That bastard Toad had called in the fucken police. What was he doing calling the police over a fucken misdemeanour?

  All at once I saw how it would play out. Regardless of whether or not they took the complaint seriously, the police would want to speak to us all. They’d want to know our names, see our IDs. If Mikey gave another name that Sam bitch wouldn’t let it slide. If he used his real name, there would be a flicker of recognition on the officer’s face. We’d been s
afe among these people who were from other countries or had been abroad so long that they had forgotten Mikey’s story. But, oh no. This officer would know. He’d roll the name round on his gums, testing its familiarity.

  Mikey, he’d say. Mikey… Buchanan, was it?

  I saw how it would happen. I saw the officer’s eyes moving across all of us in turn. I saw him reaching for something on his belt. I saw Mikey’s sternum crashing into the bonnet of the car, hands behind his back, the officer calling it in. The Buchanan Beast, he’d say. The one who’s been missing every single one of the pre-arranged meetings with his social worker? The one who absconded? Sit down Young Michael, you fucking nonce. Tell us Young Michael, what really happened all those years ago? What’s the real story?

  Fuck.

  The police car pulled up beside the other motors and the officer climbed out, putting on his hat. He joined the scrum of people over by the cabins.

  ‘Come with me,’ I said, walking backwards, towards the trees. ‘Come on.’

  Well, well, well. If it isn’t Michael Buchanan. The Buchanan Beast. Why don’t you get into the car Mr Buchanan? We want to speak to you. Find out your side of the story.

  Mikey followed me, hunched himself over slightly.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, reaching the tree line and slipping between two trunks. ‘Keep going.’

  He did as he was told, ducking into the woods after me, where we kneeled down and watched as the action played out at the far side of the field. The figures were moving against each other, possibly squaring up, possibly pushing, it was hard to say. I saw one of them leave the group and move towards us. I saw them scan the field and then call back to the rest.

  A muscle moved in my eyelid.

  ‘Get up,’ I hissed, pulling Mikey to his feet with me.

  We sprinted through the trees, away from the ditches, tumbling between trunks and branches. Mikey was following close behind me. I looked over my shoulder but already our field was out of sight. We were deep in the woods and running, running, running.

  Until.

  Until the ground was gone.

  I fell forwards, my legs still running and my arms helicoptering. I landed in the soft soil of another field, freshly ploughed. Mikey was in the dirt beside me. The woods behind had come to an abrupt stop, the trees giving way to a sudden steep slope. We got ourselves up and kept on going. The sun was low over the land we were chasing, the field was golden and the sky was cream. We ran and ran and when we reached the far end we met a dry stone wall. I leaned against it, coughing from the exertion.

  ‘What happened there?’ said Mikey.

  ‘Didn’t you see?’

  ‘See what?’

  ‘They called the fucken police Mikey.’

  ‘Did they?’

  ‘Aye. Did you not see the police motor?’

  ‘I didn’t notice. I just saw Mr Raymond and that.’

  ‘Well they were there. I’m sure they were there.’

  We jumped the wall and sat down on the dirt behind, leaning against it. Even if they had followed us through the woods and into the field, they wouldn’t be able to see us here. We were facing into the sun as it bloated and bled down near the horizon, spilling out over the new, identical field we’d come to.

  ‘Were they there...’ began Mikey, stopping and rubbing his legs. ‘Were they there for me?’

  ‘Probably. That Sam or that Duncan probably worked it all out and made the call. That’ll be why Mr Raymond showed up. He wouldn’t want one of your lot associated with his firm.’

  Mikey nodded, swallowing the lie. ‘OK,’ he said.

  After a short rest we set off again, following my vague memory of the way home. I knew that the road was somewhere far on our right and that if we kept going we would meet the long loch and once we were there we could risk walking the road back to the house. We kept running. We jumped dikes and hedges and we kept running. My lungs ached and my spit burned metallic.

  The running made me remember the afternoon all those years ago. Me fifteen, Mikey thirteen. We were meant to be at school. We were ticking it. Went in for registration and first period and had arranged to slip out between first and second, meet under the railway bridge. No firm plans. We killed time hanging around beneath the bridge, having a fag, throwing rocks against bottles. Then Mr Pin, the jannie, showed up and found us. That was why we were running, why I remembered then.

  It was Mikey who gave up first. He came to a gradual stop as we were crossing a field of fiery yellow rape. He leaned forward, pressing his hands against his thighs, shaking his head. ‘Can’t,’ he said.

  I walked back towards him. ‘It’s not much further,’ I said. ‘If I can manage it so can you.’

  He shook his head again. ‘It’s my legs,’ he said.

  ‘What about your legs?’

  ‘They’re fucken agony,’ he told me, pointing at his gusset, still breathing deep from the run.

  ‘Show me.’

  ‘I’m not going to show you that.’

  ‘Show me,’ I said, ‘or else how can I help?’

  He faced the sky and sighed and proceeded to unzip and pull down his jeans. His thighs were a mess. The area where they met was rubbed lobster raw, tiny droplets of blood poking through where the skin had broken.

  ‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘Why’d you keep going if it was so bad?’

  He shrugged, wincing from the pain. ‘Don’t know.’

  I looked around the field of rippling yellow flowers. I was fucked if I knew how to treat chafed thighs. ‘Take your jeans off,’ I said. ‘Just keep going.’

  ‘Just run through the field in my pants and boots?’

  ‘What else?’ I said.

  Mikey swore at the top of his lungs and threw himself back into the crop behind him. He pulled his boots off and slid the jeans down his legs. He forced his feet into the still-tied boots and stood up. His pants were white.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said.

  ‘Honestly Paul,’ said Mikey, testing his legs. ‘I can’t. It’s too sore.’

  ‘Yes you can,’ I told him and I gripped his arm tight and pulled him along.

  The land we were running across began to change. It sloped upwards beneath our pounding feet and the neat, well-tended fields gave way to harsher terrain. The ploughed earth and tall crops turned to rocky bluffs and heathery embankment. We were coming up into the hills and mountains and the long loch couldn’t be far off.

  Mikey was struggling. He was running ahead of me and I could see tiny trickles of blood wiped back and forth between his scissoring legs. The crest of a large mound rose above us and we jogged to the summit and looked over.

  The land released itself beneath us and there was the loch, snaking along beside the road. The sun was lower still and richer bluer clouds were moving in. Wrinkles of dark reflection interrupted the swathes of orangeness that were the loch’s surface.

  ‘Here you are,’ I said. ‘Not long now.’

  We trundled down the hill and followed the natural pathways of grit that wormed through the heather and the gorse. We crossed the tiny burn that fed the loch at its tip and worked our way along the beach with the road coming ever closer on our right.

  ‘I need to stop,’ said Mikey. ‘I’m needing a break.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said, watching the sky, thinking that we had some time.

  He sat himself down on a big white boulder with his legs akimbo, fanning air onto his swollen thighs.

  There were rowan trees hanging over the loch from the embankment behind him. I stood on the beach, facing out. The water made sound. A constant swelling and gargling and birdsong from somewhere. Layers of chittering and tiny fast wheezes. I remembered about the eel, out there somewhere. It was a nice thought.

  ‘Right,’ I said, after I felt he’d rested enough. ‘How’re you doing?’

  He stood up and attempted to walk, screwing up his face. ‘It’s bad Paul. It stings.’

  I checked the sky. Still some time left. ‘Why not get into the w
ater for a bit? Maybe that’ll cool them down. Or something.’

  Before I could stop him or tell him to take his boots off he’d lunged across the beach and was splashing into the loch. He sent out massive ripples of sunset as he went. When he was up to his waist he turned back.

  ‘Good?’

  He nodded. ‘Aye. Much better.’

  I took his place on the boulder and thought about our plans. We’d have to collect the man’s car from town – it was still parked outside the pub from the other night. And what then? We wouldn’t be able to stick around. Duncan would put two and two together and come looking for us. Might even do a bit of research for himself – that was the last thing I needed. We’d have to hit the road again, find a new place to hide out. Maybe head further north, someplace really remote. Maybe even the islands they had up there, islands with strange short names.

  I watched Mikey move around in the water. Already his jacket was sodden, a dark line of moisture rising to his oxters. He seemed happy though, glad to have his thighs soothed.

  ‘Had enough yet?’ I shouted.

  ‘Just a wee minute more,’ he shouted back. ‘Here Paul, there’s a load of fish in here.’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Aye. We should come fishing or something. Save some money.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  A light breeze rustled the rowan tree and shook one of the branches over the water. When I looked closely I could see minnows and their shadows darting in the loch’s shallows, coming up to worry the fallen leaves. A car passed along the road behind me.

  I was thinking about that afternoon. About running away from Mr Pin. He’d shouted after us by name, so we knew we were caught. Might as well take the whole day off. Be as well getting hung for a sheep as a lamb. We’d run from the jannie until we were in the huge park a mile or so from the school. I remembered it was a good park. A big duck pond in the middle you could take pedalos onto in the summer, a community centre and a swing park too. That was the first thing we’d done, was have a shot on the swings. It was full of bairns but we pushed our way onto the swings and swung them too hard so that the mums came over and told us to piss off.