Read Online Two Cows and a Vanful of Smoke by Peter Benson - Free Book Online Page B

tell him. They knew. They had all the knowledge he needed, and he would listen to them.
    “When’s the weather going to break?”
    I shook my head.
    “It must be bad for you farmers.”
    I nodded.
    “How’s the hosepipe ban affect you?”
    I shrugged. “It’s difficult.”
    “I bet it is.”
    When we got to Stawley I asked her to drop me at the bottom of the track and I walked the rest of the way to the farm. I walked slowly, picking my way carefully over the stones and ruts, and when I got back I found Mr Evans in the hay barn. He climbed down from the bales, slapped his hands together and said, “Sorry I didn’t believe you lad. That must have been a shock.”
    “It’s OK,” I said.
    “What did the police say?”
    “They asked me questions. Too many questions. They didn’t stop. Gave me a headache.”
    “They know who it was?”
    “I think so.”
    “Or who did it?”
    I shrugged. “You been down there?” I nodded towards the woods and the river valley.
    “They told me to keep away for a couple of days. I think they’ve got more investigating to do.”
    “I suppose they have.”
    “You look like you need some sleep.”
    “I do.”
    “Get all you need. I’ll do the milking later.”
    “Thanks.”
    “You need anything? Tea bags? A sandwich?”
    I shook my head. “I think I’ve got everything,” I said, and I went to the caravan. I stood in the doorway and felt the heat, poured myself a glass of water, drank, lay down, closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I don’t know how long I waited for it to come, but when it did I think I slept long and hard, and when I woke up I’d been out for six hours. When I opened my eyes I had one of those moments when you’re disconnected from life, surroundings, feelings, memories and thought. Everything came back in a flash, and I sat up with a jolt. And the first thing I thought of was the bald man with the pale eyes, the policeman who’d come to look at the hoop house and the smoke. The policeman who knew the hanged man and looked straight ahead, neither left nor right. The one with the twitchy mouth and the slow way of talking.
    This was getting too mad. Too mad by about a million times. Steal a plant from a hippy’s window sill and you might get a spanking, steal hundreds of plants from a bent policeman and a bent policeman’s friends who’ll hang someone they think has fucked them over and you’ll get a spanking, a kicking, a hammering and then you’ll be executed. It was simple.
    I washed. I changed my clothes. I went to see Mr Evans. He was letting the last of the cows out of the parlour. “Did you sleep?”
    “Yes thanks.”
    “Feel better?”
    “A bit.” I grabbed a broom and started to wash the floor.
    “Don’t worry about that,” he said.
    “It’s OK. I need to do something,” and as I brushed, the work lifted my mood. I felt the dread and panic drift away for a few moments and park itself away from my mind. The relief was sweet, like someone had put cool towels on me. But the moments passed and I was back. The world seemed closer to me than it had ever been, tighter and black. I finished sweeping, walked with Mr Evans and the herd down to the pasture, and after we’d seen them safe, I got on the bike and rode out to look for Spike.
    I stopped at The Globe, but no one had seen him. I tried to make a quick exit, but the word was out and people wanted to hear about the hanging man. They wanted me to tell them what I’d seen, how his face had looked, was his neck broken, was he blindfolded, were his hands tied? The rumours were wild; someone said he’d been a heroin smuggler from Bristol, someone else had heard he was a London gangster who owed his boss a million pounds. The landlady said it didn’t matter who he was, the world was well rid of people like him, and it was a shame that people like me got caught up in things like that. “Here,” she said, and she poured me a glass of cider. “On the house, Elliot. You get that down