The Peas and Carrots Series Boxset 1, page 12
part #1 of Peas and Carrots Series
Eric’s fingers flexed then clenched. His nostrils flared. Chairman, the page read. Norman Kettlewell.
‘That miserable old —’
‘Eric …’
‘You know why he’s doing this don’t you? Bitterness. That’s why. Spiteful, old-man bitterness. Well if they think they can bully me out, they’ve got another think coming.’
‘Perhaps if you just talk to him.’
‘You can’t talk to people like that, Suzy, you can’t. They don’t listen. No, these people need action. And so much for not being a legal case. I’ve got a legal case. He said he didn’t want me having the car. The second time I spoke to him he said that. Probably thinks he’s next in line or some stupid crap like that.’
‘You need to calm down.’
‘And his wife. What a conniving old wench.’
‘Eric —’
‘No, I mean it. You know what she asked me this morning? She asked me if I would take him out in Sally some time. She actually had the audacity to ask me, when all the time she’s plotting this behind my back.’
‘Perhaps she didn’t know.’
‘Of course she knew. And she gave us cake.’ Eric stopped. ‘Where is it? Where’s the cake? You’re not eating it. It’s probably poisoned. They probably thought they could get rid of me that way.’
Suzy placed her hands firmly on her hips.
‘You’re being irrational. You know what you sound like, don’t you? You sound like an absolute loon.’
‘Where’s the cake?’
‘Abi and I already ate it in the car.’
‘When?’
‘When you were busy screaming down the phone at the poor solicitor. And look, we’re not dead. Not even a little.’
Eric harrumphed.
‘Look,’ Suzy said. ‘Look at yourself.’ She took hold of his hands. ‘Think of it this way. If what your father really wanted was to drive you mad, like you keep insisting, then it’s working. And I thought you said you weren’t going to let him win?’
Eric pouted, sucked on his bottom lip, and tried to wriggle out of her grip like a chided toddler.
‘As far as I can see, you have two options,’ Suzy said. ‘You can take a week’s holiday, go down to Burlam, and get the place sorted. You said yourself you’ve got weeks and weeks stacked up. That’s option one. Otherwise, you can ring Mr Eaves and tell him that you no longer want to keep the car. I don’t care either way. But this,’ she moved her hand indicating Eric as a whole. ‘These outbursts. They’ve got to stop. Poor Abi thinks you’re having a nervous breakdown. And I’m not entirely sure she’s wrong.’
Eric dug his toes into the carpet.
‘Fine,’ he muttered to his feet.
‘Pardon?’
‘I said fine. I’ll do it. I’ll take the holiday. I’ll go down to Burlam.’
‘Good,’ said Suzy. She reached up on tiptoes and kissed the top of his head. From the bathroom, Abi yelled, and Suzy went to her aid.
‘If Norman Kettlewell wants my plot acceptably cultivated, he can have it acceptably cultivated,’ Eric said. Then he sat at the computer and got to work.
Chapter 16
ARRANGEMENTS COULD ONLY be made for the following Thursday. It wasn’t ideal, but it was manageable and in turn, meant that Eric could get a lot more real work done than he’d envisioned. He felt slightly bad, lying to Suzy when he left dressed in his jeans and Barbour jacket, his polished black brogues squashed inside his briefcase each morning, but he was doing it for her too. This method meant Eric wouldn’t get stressed about missing work, nor would he have to miss out on seeing Abi over the weekend. It was ideal for everyone, really.
He kept a spare suit and a couple of shirts at work, which he changed into in the men’s toilets. Although they were from last year and a little snug around the midriff, they looked perfectly suitable for the morning team meetings and staff briefings he had to run. Greg made one or two digs about the tensile strength of buttons, but then Eric refused to take clothing remarks from a man who still wore Velcro fastening shoes. Being at work also meant Eric was able to cover for Jack and take one of the head honcho clients out for lunch, earning him some serious brownie points in the process.
As an excuse for not taking the car each day, Eric concocted a reason about weekday parking charges in Burlam. He also downloaded a birdsong clip to his computer, which he played quietly in the background whenever Suzy rang, and arrived home rubbing his calves and whinging about how much his back ached and knees throbbed. On Tuesday when he had to stay late for an emergency meeting on the restructuring of the Southeast clinics he rang Suzy and told her the trains were delayed – debris on the tracks – which she bought without hesitation. That was the advantage of being a husband that never usually lied; Suzy always assumed he was telling the truth.
On Thursday morning, the alarm buzzed its way into his dream. Eric yawned, stretched a little, then remembering what day it was, bounded from the bed in a similar manner to that which Abi had done on Christmas Day. By the time Suzy had showered and dressed, Eric was on his second cup of coffee and neither his hands nor his feet could make contact with the same surface for more than a nanosecond before finding somewhere else to be.
‘What’s wrong with you today?’
‘Nothing,’ Eric said as he bounced from one side of the kitchen to the other. ‘Just excited that’s all. The allotment’s coming on really well. Really, really well.’
‘That’s brilliant.’ She took the cup of coffee from between his shaking hands and kissed him on the lips. ‘I’d love to see some photos. Can you remember to take some today please?’
‘Definitely.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better get going, actually. I was going to take the car down today.’
‘Sally?’
‘No, the Audi. Sally needs a proper check over before I take her out in this weather. Maybe next weekend though we could all go for a drive? If it’s not too cold.’
‘That sounds like a wonderful idea. You know, if someone had told me six months ago that you’d be taking a week out of the office to go down and work on your dad’s old allotment, I would have thought they’d lost the plot. I’m so proud of you, you know.’
Eric’s stomach squirmed as he avoided his wife’s gaze.
‘Well have a nice day,’ he said. ‘And tell Abi I love her lots.’
‘Will do.’
It was a perfect day for driving, and a few miles onto the A12 Eric regretted his decision not to take Sally after all. It was windy enough that the leaves danced around on the tarmac daring you to chase them, but not windy enough to affect the drive. The sky was cerulean, with white clouds dappling the skyscape. It was only the seventh of January, but it could have been May the air was so mild. If all the year goes this well, Eric thought, I’ll be laughing.
He had rung the company before leaving home. One of their representatives would be at the allotment at ten with a few bits of paper for Eric to sign. Then he’d be good to go. Unfortunately, their representative needed to do several more drop-offs that morning so wouldn’t be able to stay and help.
‘Would that be a problem?’ the man down the phone line asked.
‘Not at all,’ Eric replied. Everything was going to plan.
He drove into Burlam, down the High Street, and was heading to park in what he now considered his spot, when he encountered a snag in the form of a three axle, semi-articulated, thirty-tonne truck – although none of those features he knew until the ginger-haired, freckle-faced pubescent told him this.
‘I thought you worked at Tools ‘R’ Us?’ Eric said.
‘Tools4U, and I do,’ the boy said in response to Eric’s question. ‘You ordered from one of our third parties. It’s all our gear. Just means it costs you more, that’s all.’
‘Brilliant,’ Eric said.
‘Actually, you’re lucky. We wouldn’t have been able to loan you it. Not after the mess you caused with that chainsaw. Have you never heard of bar oil?’
Ignoring his remark, Eric wandered over towards the cab and surveyed the lorry. There was absolutely no way it was going to get any closer to the allotment. Eric was amazed he’d got it that far.
‘And you drove this thing? On your own?’ Eric said, still searching for the sign of some other member of staff.
‘Got my HGV licence four days after my eighteenth birthday.’
‘Which was when exactly?’
The boy didn’t reply.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’ve backed it up this far. I’ll get it down the ramp for you and I’ll talk you through the controls, which you may or may not listen to. After that, I’ve got to go.’
‘That’s fine.’
The boy frowned. ‘I know there’s no point in me asking you this. But have you ever used one of these before?’
Eric laughed. It was a deep manly laugh that was meant to give the impression of maturity and knowledge, but on reflection realised it made him sound like one of the villains from a Scooby Doo cartoon.
‘Of course,’ he said.
The boy rolled his eyes. ‘Well, let’s get this stuff signed and we’ll get her unloaded.’
It was a two-and-a-half tonne, zero-tail-swing, mini digger with two tracking speeds, glass-enclosed cab, and a smell of petrol that got the testosterone flowing faster than a Game of Thrones mini-marathon. Its miniature caterpillar tracks and pygmy sized bucket reminded Eric of the type of toy you’d have at the seaside as a child, assuming you had the coolest and most irresponsible parents in history.
The boy, whose name Eric had now learnt to be Lewis, gave a brief demonstration, showing Eric where each of the controls were and how small an increment of movement was required.
‘It’s the opposite of cooking,’ Lewis said. ‘You can always take more out, but you can’t put it back in. Same thing with speed. Just take it slow. Really, really slow.’
‘Trust me, I will be going very, very slowly. Snail’s pace. Arthritic snail’s pace,’ Eric said. ‘As long as I’m done by nightfall, I’ll be happy.’
‘Well, I’ll be picking it up at four, so you’ll need to be done by then.’
‘Fine, by four then. Either way. I will be fine.’
The boy pulled out his phone and checked the time. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, this flat bit here’ll be easy, it’s once you get onto those little paths, it gets harder. You’ve got a full tank of fuel, there’s no way you’ll use all that. I’d hang on a bit, see you down the lane, only I’ve got to get this next one delivered for eleven.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘I can drive it down to the entrance if you want?’
‘Lewis.’ Eric stretched out his hand. ‘Thank you for all your help. I will see you at four o’clock, and I have your number should any extreme emergencies pop up.’
‘I’d rather they didn’t.’ He gave one more sceptical sigh towards the digger. Eric slapped him on the back.
‘Fine,’ Lewis said. ‘I’ll be off. Enjoy.’
Eric had to admit he was more than a little impressed watching Lewis maneuverer the thirty-tonne truck back onto the road and out through the estate.
‘And this is where the fun begins,’ he said.
Eric had, understandably, watched several YouTube videos on how to control a mini excavator since concocting his plan, and was reassured by the number of hillbillies that managed to manipulate the machinery with careless ease. If they, with their obvious lack of education and limited grasp of grammar, could do it, he most certainly could. Hopping up into the cab and squeezing himself around the controls, a horde of butterflies swarmed behind his belly button. As a stroke of luck, the allotment appeared empty for once, although he suspected it wouldn’t stay that way for long. The last thing he wanted was for one particular naysayer to turn up and start interrogating him before he even started.
The engine was quieter than he’d expected, nothing like the high-octane thrum of the chainsaw. More a low, underworld growl. Eric snuggled into his seat, checked behind for any oncoming traffic, then pushed the lever forwards. Slowly and smoothly the excavator followed the route.
With his cheeks aching from grinning, he pushed the lever further forwards and trundled down the track towards the allotments. Of course it was easy; it was driving. Eric was good at driving. He was great in fact. Eric continued to bolster his own ego as he rolled on before glancing at the bare hedges beside him. His stomach fell. Despite his enthusiastic outlook, he was inching forwards slower than a sloth with muscular dystrophy. Still, better to take things slow and steady, he reminded himself. Slow and steady wins the race.
‘Sod this,’ he said two seconds later, changing his mind.
His thumb twitched towards the two-speed yellow button. How fast was fast, really? After all, if he carried on at this pace he wouldn’t even reach the gate by four, let alone do the allotment. And it wasn’t like he found it hard. He had perfect control. Eric hit the second speed.
Eric lurched backwards as the tracks clicked into the higher pace. A millisecond later he was back in control. The breeze whipped around the back of his neck as the trees moved past him. His boyish grin returned. This was better. Now he could get some real work done. He angled himself to make the entry to the allotment and glided between the gates like a pro. He would see if he could get a video of this on the way back; maybe Lewis could take one if he had the time. He probably wouldn’t show it to Suzy though. No, he wouldn’t show it to Suzy, but he may let Abi have a quick peek before bed tonight if she promised not to tell her mother.
Eric was past the entrance and squeezing himself between the first two plots. He had planned his route already, following an in-depth examination of Google Earth along with a few mental calculations. He knew which right and left turns would get him there with the least possible hassle and which paths were too narrow for him to try. The final route he’d decided on may not have been the shortest, but it avoided any nasty turns or bulbous polytunnels. Mentally he recalled his next action.
The excavator was sinking slightly. It was no more than expected, but still enough to churn up what little grass there was beneath the tracks. Eric had studied the allotment’s terms and agreements where it was clearly written that this size and type of machinery was allowed. Still, he wanted to do as little damage as possible. Momentarily forgetting about the sinking, he started preparing for his next turn. Turning was always going to be the hardest part. No matter how many YouTube videos he watched, he knew there was no replacement for the real thing. Eric fixated on the T junction and in less than a minute was upon it.
The pulsing in his pressure points deepened and an unfamiliar tension built around his neck as he switched down the speed, held his breath, and turned. Beneath him, the tracks switched course.
It was a perfect turn. Flawless in every manner. Eric fist punched the air. He was the master of all things mini and excavatorous. With a small whoop of delight, he hit back up on the two-speed and continued down the path. That was when he saw it.
It hadn’t been on Google Earth, of that he was positive. By the whiteness of the metal and the transparency of the glass, it could have even gone up since Christmas. A generous present, or sale splurge perhaps? Where it had come from didn’t matter, what mattered was that it was there. A beautiful, shiny greenhouse jutted out into the path straight in front of him. Eric glanced over his shoulder.
There was no way back. The greenhouse sat parallel to an old blue shed and turning around might cause the arm to hit one of the structures. Reversing wasn’t an option either. He had already churned up the ground so much he could end up getting stuck.
Eric stopped the engine and got out. Using his arms and eyes he assessed the size of the gap. Several times he paced back and forth, arms open at the width of the digger. After his third check, he sighed with relief. He could make it. The excavator could make it. Slow, calm, precise movements, and he’d be completely fine. Eric climbed back into the cab, took a few steadying breaths, then, when he sensed he was as calm as he was going to get given the situation, restarted the engine.
Low speed, that was for sure. The front of the tracks slid between the gap and sandwiched perfectly between the shed and the greenhouse. A second later and the whole digger was enclosed. Sweat trickled down behind his ears. One slight movement of the pedal, or the arm, or the bucket, was all it would take for the greenhouse to come tumbling down. He pushed forwards a millimetre at a time. Every second, a second closer to the end. Soon there was barely a foot to go, before his whole body flooded with relief as the bucket emerged out the other side, then the arm, then the tracks. Eric wiped the sweat from the back of his neck and took a moment. It was only two more turns now to his allotment, this right one, then another left. Only two turns to go.
As he angled the tracks to finish the turn, something beneath him jolted. It was a small jolt, like a piece of earth shifting or a track clicking into place. Eric ignored it and moved forwards. The next jolt was substantially more significant. He glanced over his shoulder. The soil beneath the back of the track was waterlogged and causing the digger to slip. Eric pushed the lever forwards and urged the machine on. It refused to budge. He tried again, thrusting his own weight forwards too in the hope that that would help. It didn’t. He could feel his pulse rising, the moisture evaporating from the back of his throat. He needed more power behind him. That was his only option. Closing his eyes and muttering a quick non-denominational prayer, he flicked the two-speed switch up and pushed on the pedal.
