Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom Read Online Free PDF Page B

of
Go.’
    ‘After today
lad, you can call me Dave. And thank you for not behaving like a
pillock. You stood still and shut up, when most people would have
run screaming for the nearest hole in the ground. Moreover, you had
the hubris to play rugby with that lot, which points to stupidity
or bravery verging on the suicidal; probably the former in your
case. So well done lad, good job.
    ‘Which brings
me to a few thing I need to say,’ continued Dave, ‘I’m sure you’re
thinking that after all that went on this afternoon, after all you
have seen, I could not possibly refuse a polite request for an
allotment. You may consider that the slightest insinuation of a
phone call to the papers, the BBC, or even the local police would
force my hand. In this you would be wrong. Any such feeble attempt
at coercion would be firmly rebuffed for two reasons. First, no one
would believe you; second, you wouldn’t get far before Enoch ripped
your liver out through your arsehole.
    I give these
allotments to people who need them; really need them. Not some
lazy, failed student planning on growing marijuana and flogging it
rather than getting a proper job. However, being as you are now
initiated into our happy family, you could earn yourself a bob or
two running errands. As you might imagine, there are allotment
residents who don’t like being seen in public and getting
deliveries down here is a bugger. It would save me trouble if you
would run errands, sign for deliveries, and the like. What do you
think?’
    Fergus paused
and took a sip of whiskey.
    ‘To be honest
Dave. I never really planned on a career as an errand boy. I don’t
mind helping out, but I can’t see me spending all my time fetching
Meaty Dog Chunks from Asda.’
    ‘You’d be
surprised at the wealth concentrated in these here allotments lad.
But any road, you think on it and tomorrow I’ll show you round; let
you meet some of the holders. You’re not going anywhere until Enoch
decants you out of that cast. I’ll get you a few more blankets and
you can kip here on veranda. I’ll sleep in the pavilion tonight,
just in case.’
     
     
    Later that
night, long after Dave extinguished the primus lamp and went to
bed, dark shapes crept silently onto the veranda and gathered
around the sleeping Fergus. Strange lights flickered, fingers
pointed and quiet bickering punctuated by sniggering filled the
night. The dark shapes melted away, stifled laughter drifting on
the night air, until all was quiet once more.
     
     
    The perfect
light of morning washed away the dawn. The day smelt freshly washed
in a way never captured by fabric conditioner, despite
manufacturer’s promises. The dog’s night patrol trotted over the
bridge of St Catherine’s Allotments, all four in perfect step with
two by two parade cadence, the challenge bark met with an ‘all’s
well’ yowl and they passed into the shadows of the barbican.
    The sun peeked
over the allotments wall and pierced the pavilion’s gloom, shining
in through the south facing windows, onto the south facing
gentleman’s four-poster bed and directly into Dave’s south facing
face.
    Dave threw back
the heavy cotton sheet, parted the carbon fibre re-enforced
mosquito net, and strode naked across the polished floorboards. He
opened the large mahogany wardrobe and stepped inside. The door
closed there was a mechanical whine followed by a muffled thump. A
little later Dave singing ‘King of the Road’ was heard in the
distance bringing joy to the singer if not the audience.
    By the time the
sun’s rays had reached the bottom of the bed, Dave re-appeared,
freshly showered, shaved and wearing full ceremonial shop coat,
muffler and flat cap; two steaming brews clutched in one hand.
     
    ‘Tea’s up lad,’
said Dave.
    Fergus jolted
awake. The concerned face of Dave Trellis peered at him over the
card table.
    ‘How you
feeling? Took a bit of a knock last night. Remember?’
    ‘Morning Dave,
I feel fine, chipper, full of the