Read Online Small Holdings by Nicola Barker - Free Book Online Page B

on,’ and sprinted off in the direction of the house. I carried on walking. After thirty seconds she was back again. She caught up with me just before the first lake.
    ‘Here,’ she panted, passing me one of Saleem’s walking sticks. Saleem kept a small umbrella stand full of them just inside the front door.
    Nancy handed me a stick which had a handle carved into a hare’s head. It was a beautiful thing.
    ‘Don’t put too much weight on your bad leg, you’ll only make it worse.’
    I took the stick.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she added, sounding it, ‘about you getting hurt and Doug getting hurt.’
    ‘It’s nobody’s fault.’
    I twisted my hand around the hare’s head.
    ‘And don’t put too much weight on your bad arm, either.’
    ‘Thanks.’ I took a few experimental steps forward. Nancy didn’t walk with me. She hung back, remaining stationary.
    I walked on. It was easier with the stick, but still slow. And in all honesty, I was glad of the time it took me to get to the greenhouse. I was almost glad of the pain. It was a kind of empathy. If not with Doug - he was a complex creature and I was obliged to find my own level, emotionally - then at least with his spoiled and battered vegetables.
    ‘I’m sure the damage isn’t terminal.’
    Doug looked up and over, towards me. ‘I think you said that earlier,’ he muttered, witheringly. He was standing in the centre of the debris, inhaling the chaos.
    ‘This shouldn’t have happened,’ he said, finally, ‘It’s all wrong.’
    ‘You know, it might be possible to replant a couple of the tomatoes. Some of the radishes look all right too.’
    ‘The tomatoes?’
    Doug bent down and picked up one of the tomatoes which had detached itself from its plant. He held it in his hand like it was a cricket ball, a large cricket ball.
    ‘You’d better get out of here,’ he said, dispassionately, ‘before I lose my temper.’
    I was deciding whether to take his advice and leave when Doug clenched the tomato he was holding in his fist, took a couple of quick steps to build up momentum and then hurled it at me. I ducked. It flew past me, just to my left and struck glass, the pane closest to the door, striking it, splitting, shattering the glass.
    Doug bent over and picked up an onion. He weighed it in his hand. ‘D’you know what the worst part is?’ Doug asked, still sounding as calm as anything.
    I felt something warm on my top lip.
    ‘You’re bleeding,’ Doug said. ‘I don’t want blood all over the floor in here.’
    I mopped at my nose with my sleeve. The sight of blood seemed to pacify Doug again, even if he wasn’t actually directly responsible for it.
    ‘The worst part is that I must’ve left the door unlocked. But I know in my gut that I would never have done that. In my gut.’
    Doug dropped the onion and walked over to the door. ‘See that? No sign of a forced entry. Nothing broken.’
    ‘Maybe they picked the lock.’
    Doug bent down and stared at the lock intently, as though waiting for it to tell him something. Eventually he straightened up again and said, ‘I don’t think so.’
    He turned his back to the door and appraised the devastation before him. ‘I could swear to you that I locked that door,’ he said, ‘but I can’t have. D’you know what that means, Phil? How it feels?’
    I shook my head.
    ‘It feels like I can’t trust my own instincts on this one. I can’t trust my own instincts. And if I can’t trust my instincts, what can I trust? Who can I trust? Nothing. Nobody.’
    Doug spent a moment considering his words. They seemed to please him. He crossed his arms. My nose was still bleeding.
    ‘Red blood,’ Doug said, ‘Red, red, red blood.’ He cleared his throat. ‘There’s only one way to get around this.’
    I looked up, hoping Doug was about to respond rationally, hoping. Unfortunately his eyes were dark and clear. He uncrossed his arms. ‘My instincts tell me this,’ he said, ‘and I shouldn’t trust them