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Tom doesn’t want to escalate things, but he does want the man to acknowledge that he’s in the wrong and the little headache he felt earlier is intensifying. It’s not helping his temper. The man turns his back on Tom and begins to gather his stuff up, slowly, as if he’s in no rush. He mutters something. To Tom it sounds like ‘fuck you’.
‘What did you say?’ he asks.
‘Nothing, mate. Think you’re imagining things.’
‘You’ve got a nerve,’ Tom says. ‘I could call the police, have you arrested.’
‘Go on, then,’ the man says but he doesn’t look bothered and he doesn’t move. Tom’s fists clench with frustration. All he wants is for his authority as landowner to be recognised, and it would be nice if the guy could also acknowledge that Tom is being reasonableandtrying to be nice.
He briefly wonders if he could physically intimidate the man, if necessary, and force him to leave. Tom is bigger, but the man has a wiry sort of fitness that worries him. He fears that if the man struck him, it would be with accuracy. And Tom hasn’t had a physical altercation for decades. He might go down quickly.
‘Well, if you go now, I won’t,’ Tom says. ‘If you hurry up.’
He’s relieved when the man starts to pack up, but he does it with frustratingly slow movements as if to provoke Tom. Occasionally, he makes eye contact with Tom, but it’s more disconcerting than reassuring. He has a dead look in his eyes. Tom doesn’t want him anywhere near Nicole, ever.
‘Hurry up.’ He tries to sound authoritative, but he finds himself swallowing nervously. To speed things along, he begins to pick up the trash himself, gathering it in a plastic bag. As he does, the ground briefly lurches towards him, but he finds his balance and picks up the rest of the rubbish, hoping the guy didn’t notice. He can’t lose face. By the time he’s done, the man is finishing stuffing everything into his pack and looks like he’s ready to leave.
Tom holds out the bag of rubbish. The man ignores it.
‘Here,’ Tom says. ‘This is yours. Take it away and dispose of it properly.’
‘You take it.’
Tom’s temper snaps and he tosses the bag at the man, not hard, but the man makes no attempt to catch it. It hits his arm and falls to the ground and some of the rubbish spills out. Tom picks it up, and the bag, as the man turns and walks away. Tom runs to get in front of him and shoves the bag into the man’s chest. ‘Take it,’ he says. ‘Take. It.’
There must be something in his face, finally, that convinces the man he’s serious. He accepts the bag from Tom. ‘Alright,’ he says. ‘Keep your hair on, cunt.’
The word shocks Tom. ‘Fuck off,’ he says as the man walks away, but his heart skips a beat as the man stops in his tracks and turns to stare hard at Tom.
‘Feels good, does it, to step all over the little people?’ he asks. ‘Does it make you feel like a big man? Because here’s the thing: I’ve been here for weeks. I’ve been all over your property. I’ve looked in your windows at night and seen you and your fat wife living your smug life. And I’ll be back. You won’t know when. But I’ll remember how you spoke to me today.’
‘And I’ll remember you!’ Tom shouts.
‘You won’t see me, mate. Not until it’s too late.’ The man climbs the fence, his pack lurching on his back. Tom feels tempted to shove him so he falls – he wants to see this man humiliate himself the way Tom feels humiliated – but the man drops easily onto the other side of the fence. He laughs at Tom. ‘See ya,’ he says. He points two fingers at his own eyes then one at Tom before melting away into the woods.
Tom stares at the spot in the woodland where the man disappeared until his adrenalin ebbs. He feels completely drained. He walks back to the fire and checks it again. It’s fine.Completely waterlogged and dead. There’s one stray piece of litter left on the ground, a card with a name and number on it. He stoops to pick it up and shoves it into his pocket then kicks some leaves and sticks over the area where the tent was pitched. He wants to erase all trace of the man.
The walk home is uphill, and he suffers in the heat. His mind churns with all the things he wishes he’d said to the man. Should he have been more of an asshole? Is that what you have to do when you’re rich? He doesn’t want to be like that.
As he approaches the Barn, he can hear the Three Tenors again. Beside the pool, he pulls one of the sunbeds into the shade and lies down on it, shutting his eyes for a moment. This morning sucks. But he’s managed to get rid of Patrick and this other guy and now he can’t wait for Nicole to come home so they can hang out and not be bothered by any of that. He smiles as he remembers that he also managed to hide the sheep. At least one good thing has happened.
55
FRIDAY
Olly
Olly scrubs his hands. His skin is sore, the soap stinging around his fingernails and over his knuckles which are rubbed red and raw.
The dawn chorus has begun, and light is creeping across the peninsula from the east.
‘Stop,’ Sasha says. ‘They were clean when you went to bed. They’re clean now.’ In the mirror, he sees her standing behind him. She puts her arms around him, gently takes his hands in hers. Their eyes meet. Water drips from his fingers, through hers, and hits the bathroom floor with a soft spatter.
‘It didn’t bother me when she died,’ he says. ‘I’ve never given it much thought since then because it was the right thing to do. Kitty was souseless. Anidiotcould do what she did. There was no art to her, no beauty; she injected ugliness into our lives. She held us back. It felt so right when it happened, and it was so clean.’
‘This will pass,’ she says. ‘You did a good job last night. You’re having a reaction, that’s all. A reaction to last night and a delayed reaction to when she died. I mean, it’s understandable. She was family.’
It’s true that he didn’t cope well with moving the body, though Olly hates to admit it. He was prepared for bones, even for hair, but the body was partly mummified. Olly likes to consider himself a detached observer of life, aflâneur, but the body got to him. The stretched skin and open mouth. Her teeth. It was a horrible shock. He didn’t love Sasha seeing him double over and retch, but she said nothing, just got on with the job until he was over it.
