The Price of Butcher's Meat Read online

  If hed been a footie player—hed have set off running round the meadow—whirling his shirt over his head! He just loves winning—no matter who gets beaten. Remember those games of snap we used to play?

  Mr Parker seemed more cast down by this news than by his sprained ankle.

  —Im sorry my dear—he said to his wife—I should have taken more notice—

  Taking all the blame on himself again—even though she was the one with the mag article. Nice—I thought. His reward was her continued terrierlike support.

  —it makes no difference—she said—this is marked on the map as a public right of way & someone ought to keep it in a proper condition—

  —Charley—said dad quickly—whats the verdict on that ankle?—

  I couldnt see any point in disagreeing with the patient.

  —I think Mr Parkers right & its just a sprain—I said—a cold compress will help & he certainly shouldnt put any wieght on it—

  How was that Nurse Heywood?

  —right—said dad—Charley bring the quad—lets get Mr & Mrs Parker down to the house—make them a bit more comfortable. George—you stop here & get the car pulled out of that mud. Clean it up & check for damage. Ill get on my mobile—tell your mother to put the kettle on—Im sure these good people are ready for a nice cup of tea—

  I caught his eye & let my jaw drop in mock astonishment at this transformation from dedicated xenophobe to Good Samaritan.

  He actually blushed! Then he gave me a sheepish grin that invited my complicity.

  I grinned back & headed off toward the quad.

  Hes not such a bad old sod really—is he? As long as he gets his own way. Bit like you! All right—& like me too. The fruit doesnt fall far from the tree. But you led the way. If you hadnt stood up to him & gone off to nurse—I doubt Id have had the nerve to hold out to go to uni & do psychology—& now after 3 years—whenever he gets close to driving me mad—I try to think of him as a case study!

  But Ive still not told you how the Parkers came to be houseguests.

  Thing was—when G pulled their car out of the tank trap—he found it wouldnt steer properly. Winstons garage said they could fix it—but theyd have to send away for a part. Tomorrow—they said—but knowing Winstons Im not holding my breath.

  When Parker heard this he said—thats fine. No problem whatsoever. Perhaps—Mr. Heywood—you could give me the number of the inn I saw in the village?—It looked a comfortable sort of place for us to rest in till the cars ready—

  I could see the thoughts running through dads head like hed got a display screen on his brow. Being the most litigious man in the county—in Parkers place hed have been thinking compensation soon as his car hit the tank trap. Locally his views on daft buggers are well known—& he even boasts about his various stratagems for discouraging them. But these days—with tourism rated higher than farming in the rural economy—not everyone approves of him—& the enthusiastic gossips of the Nags Head bar would leave the Parkers in no doubt who to blame for their “accident”!

  So I wasnt too surprised when I heard him say—Nags Head?—aye—its well enough. But the floors are uneven—stairs narrow—not at all what a man in your state needs. No—youd best stay here. Ill get George to bring your bags up from the car—

  The Parkers were overcome by dads generosity. So was mum—with amazement!—but she quickly recovered—& I gave dad a big wink—& got one back!

  So there you are. We have houseguests—& its time to go down & have supper with them. Ill keep you posted on how the HB bears up under the strain.

  Take care—dont catch anything I wouldnt catch—& if you fall in love with a big handsome black man—e me a pic of you & him—& Ill stick it in dads prayer book so hell see it for the first time at church on Sunday morning!

  Lots & lots of love

  Charley X

  2

  FROM: [email protected]

  TO: [email protected]

  SUBJECT: sex—Sandytown—& psychology

  Omigod Cass! I must be psychic! OK—you say hes not black—but teaky bronze. Same difference—& is that all over? I mean all all over? & hes a doc too—just like in mums Mills & Boon stories! Means youll probably have trouble with some slinkily gorgeous lady medic—wholl manage to get you blamed when she accidentally offs a patient—but dont worry—itll all come right in the end!

  I definitely want a pic. Cross my heart I wont stick it in dads prayer book—not till you give the word! But can I tell mum? Shes desperate for grandkids. Adam & Kylie show no sign of producing—even if they did Oz is a hell of a long way off—can you imagine getting the HB on a plane to fly twelve thousand miles? Rod spends most of his time at sea—& we know what sailors are! She was desolate when I got back early from my camping trip with Liam & Sam & Dot—& told her it was all off—irreconcilable differences—which is what us psychs say to our mums when we catch ex-partner Liam banging ex-best-mate Dot up against a pine tree. So—unless you settle down & start calving—I think she may strap me to my bed—& get to work with an AI straw!

  Your news makes my stuff about the Parkers seem v dull—but you say youre interested so here goes with the next installment.

  As houseguests go—they havent! Winstons—as forecast—got let down by their suppliers—again! So 1 nights turned into 3. But its been OK. I like Mary Parker a lot. Doesnt say much around her husband—except in agreement with him—or defense of him! But—get her to herself & shes great.

  Tom Parkers v different—thinks silence is for the grave & the living have a duty to resist!

  His favorite topic—unless checked his only topic—is Sandytown—as advertised on the side of his car!

  Remember Sandytown? I think that was the last Heywood family outing. Me 9 or 10—you 13—sea cold & gray—sand gritty—wind so strong it blew our windbreaks away—& Sandytown itself seemed to be shut! To cap it all—on the way back—George was sick—& that set me off—& soon we were all at it! Dad sang all the way home! After 3 years doing psychology I reckon I know why. He clearly saw the whole trip as a successful experiment in aversion therapy!

  So when Tom Parker started rattling on about Sandytown at supper that first night—I didnt dare catch Georges eye.

  Ill give it you verbatim again—really—this is how he talks!

  —Sandytown!—he said—Beautiful Sandytown—the most lustrous pearl in the long necklace of the Yorkshire coast! You see Charlotte (fixing his eye on me—I think hes decided Im the intellectual epicenter of the Heywood family—or maybe he just likes my boobs!)—a new age of the English holiday is dawning. Compared with it—the old age—which died with the onset of cheap Mediterranean packages—will seem but a trial run. Two practical reasons for the change—global warming & global terrorism! We travel in fear & we travel in discomfort. We have our personal belongings—& indeed our persons—searched by hard-faced—& hard-fingered—strangers. We are prodded into line by armed police. We are forced to eat with implements which—lacking the rigidity necessary to be a threat to soft human flesh—cannot begin to cope with airline food. Nor can we feel safe on arrival. Tourists are everywhere regarded as a soft terrorist target—while global warming—exacerbated by the soaring emission levels of flight—has led to a dramatic increase in the incidence of natural disasters—floods—droughts—hurricanes—earthquakes—tsunamis—etc—

  By now dad was regarding him with gobsmacked amazement—mum with polite interest—his wife with fond admiration—& the twins were choking back their giggles.

  To me it was clear that Parker was reciting some kind of sales pitch—one made so often the record would run to its end unless interrupted.

  So when he paused for breath I got in quick with—Why were you looking for a healer Tom?—

  —a very perceptive question Charlotte—he replied smiling at me—to which my answer is—health! Let me explain. We live in a sick world—a world suffering from some deep-rooted wasting disease—of which terrorism & warming are but symptoms. To cure the w
hole we must start with the smallest part—the individual! The English seaside holiday originated in a search for recreation in the strictest sense. Pure ozone-enriched air to cleanse the lungs—surging salty water to refresh the skin & stimulate the circulation—peace & quiet to restore the troubled spirit—

  Seeing he was getting back into his groove—I cut in again—Sounds to me like a healers the last thing you need!—

  —A good point!—he cried with delight. (Its a great technique this—being delighted with everything anyone says!)—To understand the healer it is of course necessary to understand the history. Some 2 years ago—when Mid-Yorkshire Council began discussion of their Eastern Region Development Plan—naturally Lady Denham & myself took a keen interest in their proposals for the Sandytown area…

  —whos Lady Denham?—I asked—reducing him to amazed silence—& dad—always glad to know something I dont—chipped in—This the Denhams of Denham Park?

  —you know the family?—said Tom—delighted.

  —know of them—grunted dad—& little good—bad landowners—worse landlords—thought theyd gone to the wall long since—

  —in a sense they have—agreed Parker—but Lady Denham—now alas a widow for a second time—only bears the name through marriage. Her 2nd incidentally. Before that she was Mrs Hollis—& before that Miss Daphne Brereton—only daughter of the Breretons of Brereton Manor—Sandytowns premier family—well to do—highly respected. Money calls to money—place to place—that is my experience—though I do not suggest that love was absent when she caught the eye of Howard Hollis—

  —Hollis?—Dad interrupted—Hog Hollis?—him as got et by his own pigs?—

  I saw the twins perk up. Anything grisly really turns them on!

  —indeed—there was a tragic accident—said Tom—You knew Mr Hollis?—

  —met him a couple of times—said dad unenthusiastically—folk reckoned he kept his pigs in the sea his meat were so salty & watery! Made a fortune but he were a right miserable sod—only time he ever smiled was for yon photo on them Hollis’s Ham freezer packs you see all over the supermarkets—& that were probably wind!—

  I caught mums eye & we shared a moment of speculation about when dad had last been inside a supermarket!

  Tom said—he was certainly a man who—despite his great success—remained true to his roots. Perhaps it was the contrast offered by the more refined manners of Sir Henry Denham that made the widow look favorably upon his advances. Alas—fate is not sentimental—& within all too short a time Sir Henry was also brought low—

  —et by the pigs too?—chimed in David hopefully.

  Dad gave him a glower. He can say what he wants but he expects his kids to observe the conventions.

  —a riding accident—said Tom—& while Daphne Breretons first marriage certainly left her with even more wealth than she brought to it—from her second—it is general knowledge—she derived little more than the respect due to an ancient name—

  Pause for applause. Instead—Mary P gave a little gasp—maybe a repressed sneeze—echoed by dads openly incredulous snort.

  Parker—unperturbed—went on—She & I—as principal landowners in the area—had already been planning to put Sandytown on the map long before the MYC proposals. She had led the way by being instrumental in bringing the Avalon Foundation to Sandytown. You have heard of Avalon—of course?—

  This time me & dad both nodded. Hardly need to tell you what dad said!

  —oh aye—we know all about the Avalon. When I read in the papers—a few years back—the Yanks were building a fancy clinic out on the coast—I said to our Cass—that ud be a grand place for you to work—them Yanks know how to pay nurses & you could get home in an hour—but it were like—

  —banging my head against a brick wall!—chorused the twins—then collapsed in giggles.

  Dad gave them a glower—& Tom Parker went rattling on.

  —Lady Denham & I—in our private discussions—had preempted the councils conclusion that Sandytown was perfectly placed to take advantage of the changes in recreational climate—both meteorologically & intellectually speaking—& formed a loose alliance—& put 1 or 2 projects in train. But now we approached the councils development officer—who was rapidly persuaded by our projections of the increase in local employment—& of tourism—plus our plans for a measure of affordable housing—to join with us in the formation of the Sandytown Development Consortium—a true partnership between the public & private sectors—underpinned—through the good offices of my brother Sidney—by significant investment institutions in the City—

  He paused—momentarily lost in the forests of his own verbosity—& his wife came in with a prompt—The Avalon dear—& the healer—

  Indeed!—he resumed—the Avalon. The siting of such a famous center of medical care & recuperation on our doorstep seemed to me a hint almost divine. At the center of our development plan is the conversion of Brereton Manor—Lady Ds childhood home—into a 5 star luxury hotel & recreational health center. All the conventional attractions—golf—tennis—horse riding—swimming—beauty treatments—saunas—gymnasia—& so on—will be on offer here—& available to all visitors to our town—not just those who can afford the manors necessarily high prices. However—to place us firmly in the new niche market where Sandytown—I forecast—will rapidly dominate—we are offering a range of complementary therapies for those who find that conventional medicine does not answer their needs—

  He paused—for breath not applause—then pressed on—alternative medicine is—you will agree—another great 21st century growth area. We already have several practitioners in residence—an acupuncturist—a reflexologist—a homeopath—a Third Thought counselor—but spiritual healers are harder to come by. I was hoping to talk to Mr Godley—the gentleman at Willingdene—with a veiw to persuading him to be—as it were—a visiting consultant—

  By now dad had heard enough—indeed too much!

  —healers!—he snorted—Load of mumbo jumbo. Me—Id rather be treated by my vet—even though the bugger charges a fortune—

  —then perhaps you should read this article—suggested Parker who seems quite unoffendable—it claims that Mr Godley has had some astonishing results with animals—

  A sharp glance from mum made dad choke back his suggestion of what Tom could do with the article—but David burst out—Charley thinks its all a load of bollocks too!—

  —David!—said mum sternly—Language!—

  —but its true—the little gobshite defended himself—You do think its all rubbish—dont you Charley? You were telling us you were going to write a composition about it—

  Parker looked at me quizzically—& I said—Ignore him. His ears are bigger than his brain. What he misheard is that Im proposing to do a thesis on the psychology of alternative therapy. The medical establishment says its mostly nonsense—the practitioners point to what they claim are well documented successes. Im not interested in joining in the debate—but in looking at a variety of these therapies—& seeing if I can find any common psychological elements in their practice & their results—

  Good—eh? Should be. Parkers not the only one who has a selling line off pat!

  Across the table I could see the Headbangers eyes starting to roll & Id hardly finished before he broke out—There you have it Mr Parker. My clever daughters already spent three years with her nose in a pile of musty books—learning a lot of nowt about a lot of nowt just to get some letters after her name—& now she wants to spend another God knows how long doing much the same just to get some more. She can go on till shes got the whole damn alphabet—but wheres it going to lead? thats what Id like to know. Ive tried talking sense into her but its like—

  Here he glared at the twins—daring them to finish his sentence again. I think David would have—but Freddie kicked him under the table. Bet she wants to wheedle some more spending money out of him for her school trip this autumn! Since G & me went skiing—she thinks shes owed a month in a 5 star in Miami!<
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  Tom Parker endeared himself to me by saying—But that is marvelous Charlotte—understanding the mind is the first step to restoring the body—we need more young people like you to put this sick world of ours to rights!—

  See—you dont have to go shogging off to Africa to be a saint!

  Later—as Mary helped Tom limp from the room—he said to mum—A delicious meal Amy—best Ive had—outside of Sandytown—& Mary added—Yes—thank you both for your kindness. Youve got a lovely family Amy—

  Well you know how much dad loves to hear mum being praised—so he hardly moaned at all about our guests when theyd gone upstairs—though I thought hed explode when we heard next morning the car wouldnt be ready for at least 3 days!

  I did my bit—keeping them from getting under his feet. No problem—like I say—I really got to like them—& they seemed to like me too. Tom showed real interest in my thesis proposal—& today he said—Charlotte (they both call me Charlotte—which is nice)—you know we intend calling on Mr Godley the healer on our way home—why dont you come with us? You could talk to him about his patients—for your thesis—

  I said—but youd be well on your way home by the time you got to Willingdene & you wouldnt want to turn round & come all the way back here—

  & Mary said—actually we did wonder if youd like to come all the way to Sandytown & spend a few days with us at Kyoto House—

  I said—Kyoto?—thinking Id misheard.

  Tom said—yes—perhaps I was hasty—the Kyoto Protocol has proved pretty toothless hasnt it? If Id waited I think Al Gore House might have been more appropriate—

  Mary didnt look as if she agreed—but she nodded vigorously as Tom went on—please come—you could meet our other therapists—give us the benefit of your take on our great experiment—& most important—wed get more of your company!—

  Well its always nice to be wanted—even so Id probably have said thanks but no thanks—only dad had come into the room at some point—& suddenly he spoke in that Wiz of Oz voice he uses when hes really laying down the law.