The Meifod Claw

Three

Three

At a little after nine that evening, Derek looked at the clock on the wall and began to pile the evening’s dishes from the table onto his lap. The boys must have been in the barn for over half an hour, he thought – more than enough time to gather the disarray of things. Perhaps he ought to go and check on them. Perhaps not.

What charms there might possibly have been in wheeling outside to the sodden greys in daylight were thoroughly quenched by the time of night. If he was going to be sport enough to wash up, he certainly wasn’t about to stick his head out on deck and get weather-beaten. Carefully, he wheeled himself over to the sink and one by one took the five plates from his lap and stacked them in the washbowl. His arms had meant to push himself up from the wheelchair so he could lean against the sink and steady himself upright for washing the dishes, but they did not do this and instead went back to the wheels – and, in turn, towards the kettle. He wasn’t going to wash up, which somehow meant that he was most definitely not going outside either. He took to making three cups of tea instead and had returned to the table when Herbert and Benjamin came through the kitchen door. Herbert was holding two knitting needles in his left hand, bent at ninety degrees from a third of their length.

‘Had fun out there?’ Derek asked as he watched them take off their shoes.

‘Yup,’ replied Herbert as he came across to the table. ‘We’ve been rutting. With these . . .’ He held up his knitting needles and leaned onto the top of the chair nearest Derek.

Derek peered down his nose at the needles and back up. ‘Ah. So you’re dowsing these days are you?’

‘Indeed. Been showing off some moves to Ben in the barn, taking measurements and that sort of thing. She’s just as she was when my sister and I came to view this place last summer. I had to dowse in front of the estate agent that day and he wasn’t exactly impressed. Nor was my sister, come to think of it . . .’

‘Who is just as she was?’ asked Derek. ‘There’s tea for you both as well.’

The boys sat themselves down at the news, but Herbert moved his cup to the side and placed his hands together edge-down onto the table. He looked at Derek and smiled, slowly moving his hands apart until his arms made an arc in front of him. ‘There’s an energy line running through the barn this big! Bigger, in fact. I can’t show you like this because I’d have to knock my tea off the table. Even then . . .’

He placed his hands back down onto the table. ‘If we didn’t have other plans for that barn, it would house the perfect vibration for a rave . . . but we’re not planning a rave.’

Herbert looked to Benjamin for a sign of approval, but his friend did nothing more than take his first and final sip of that particular cup of tea. Putting it down, Benjamin went to lead the topic of conversation. He even coughed before he spoke.

‘The energy lines appear to have genuine density to them. I thought if Herb’s readings of the line were right when he came for the house viewing, there might be bleeding of its density throughout the house. There might just be a lot more than we thought, which is encouraging.’

Derek scratched at his beard and watched Benjamin from across the table.

‘Ignoring what you just said, Ben, just for a moment . . . what of the barn itself, what did you think of that?’

‘Proper s**t hole.’ Herbert leapt in to answer as he took his tea.

‘That might play to our advantage a little if we let it,’ said Benjamin over him. ‘If I built a scale model saucer first, then we could have a reasonable grasp on our theorem and its application. See if it works without having to clear the whole barn out and start again. Maybe it’ll need only a few weeks’ work to find out . . .’

‘That quickly?’ Derek asked as he flashed a box of trucker papers to Herbert’s attention and settled himself back down for the answer.

Benjamin indulged him with some truth. ‘These techniques, this approach, Derek . . . it’s hardly even little-known, and I’ll have to make up a lot of the map along the way.’

‘You mean it might not work?’

‘Perhaps not, but even then that might not be the worst thing. I’m thinking more along the lines of massive electromagnetic over-unity – blowing up the barn. And the house . . . possibly frightening amounts of energy. So I think initially that we should concentrate on doing the necessary to the barn and make a small flying craft, a metre wide . . . two, maximum. Then if that doesn’t blow up the house or cause an electromagnetic apocalypse throughout North Wales, we’ll clean it all up in there and make space for the real saucer, what I came here for.’

Derek sat back into his wheelchair, his eyes glazed with everything he was taking in. For a long moment he thought of the myriad schemes and plans of the men and women that he had known. That which they had sought to do; that which must be done. Where were they now?

Feeling some discomfort, he twisted himself and his great beard around, and looked over to his bed in the corner of the kitchen. When he turned back, he saw Herbert’s hand close to his face, twirling a large joint around between his thumb and forefinger. He saw more then . . . the innocence in the young man’s eyes and a quiet promise that if their scheme went askew, it would not be because the boys knew it secretly to be beyond them. He took the joint with a smile of courtesy.

‘Splendid,’ he said as he lit it up. ‘You’re good boys, both of you. That being said . . . here’s to madness.’

Derek inhaled, then blew out not only smoke but something altogether more surprising. ‘You know . . .’ he started, ‘all this conversation has me feeling social all of a sudden . . .’

‘Suddenly,’ Benjamin corrected while he looked down at the table. When he looked up again, he saw two pairs of eyes looking back at him. ‘Sorry,’ he told them. ‘Pedant for life . . . carry on, Derek.’

‘Thank you, Ben,’ Derek said. ‘Now that’s settled, and even if you are correct, as I was saying . . . I think we should go to the pub.’

He paused to take a final puff and examined the size of the joint as if to make sure it was his final pull. Satisfied, he blew out smoke and passed it along to Herbert while waiting for a reply. When it did not come, he went to cement the deal.

‘I’ve been in dry dock for a long time as you both know. But there’s fresh water about me now and wind in the sails . . . let’s go upstream a little. It’s not too late yet is it?’

‘No, no . . . it’s not,’ answered Herbert, less than enthused at the idea. ‘And we could,’ he continued, looking over at Benjamin before his eyes rolled away over the whitewashed wall to Derek. ‘Or we could . . . not. Honestly, Derek, I’d rather have to talk about the situation with my sister. Plus, I’ve already eaten some crisps today.’

Derek relented. ‘Well, I suppose you two have had a long day,’ he told them, his tone translucent with disappointment. ‘And given that I haven’t seen or heard anything of your sister in weeks and weeks, I could entertain that subject.’

Herbert finished off his tea and took a thoughtful breath. ‘She was seeing a local mechanic called Andrew,’ he said. ‘Uncompromising individual he is, probably a deviant . . . that’s speculation. And she seems to have stopped seeing him for the last time, last I heard.’

Herbert nudged at Benjamin with his elbow and winked before looking back at Derek, who shuffled about in his chair.

‘So you don’t really want to talk about your sister or go to the pub either, Herb. Interesting, but you’re going to have to talk yourself better out of this.’

‘Cocaine,’ his nephew said back, as if ready to play his trump card.

‘Cocaine?’ repeated Derek.

Herbert nodded. ‘Was going to save it for when we catch up with my sister but you may have forced my hand. And enthusiasm.’

‘I see . . . where did you find that then, boys?’

‘Llewellyn.’ Herbert jumped to tell him.

‘Who?’

‘Llewellyn’

‘A local?’

‘Yup. He runs the pub that you want to go to, The Dragon. My sister said he was a trouper, and he is. He swapped an ounce of weed for a couple of grams. Good beers too. I like the people around here; more than some people do . . .’ Herbert cast a finger of accusation towards Benjamin.

‘Him stayed in the van when we pulled up at the pub. Him thought it was coming on a bit strong to offer a straight swap of narcotics to a man neither of us had ever met before. Him was wrong. Hang on . . .’

With that, Herbert was up and out of his chair and heading into the sitting room. Derek and Benjamin met each other’s attention in a quiet moment.

‘It did seem a bit forward,’ reasoned Benjamin across the table.

Derek nodded a fraction. ‘Not a lot of stopping once that train gets running though,’ he said of his nephew while taking the joint that Herbert had left in an ashtray and blowing life into it. It glowed orange, and he took a long pull and passed it across the table to Benjamin as best he could. Benjamin took it, reclined and began to take generous pulls. The distance between the words of their conversation stretched out and a sense of quiet began to well into the room, the long day beginning to gather around Benjamin. His face wore the shadows of travel and make-do cuisine. The pressure of the tasks ahead, the very reason he had moved to Wales, began to swell in his mind, and he blew smoke up to the far reaches of the kitchen. Derek watched him as the keen watcher he had become since taking a back seat in life.

‘So you two have been to the pub already then?’ he asked quietly.

Herbert strode back into the kitchen, keen to answer before Benjamin did so. ‘I’m afraid so, old sport!’ he told his uncle and placed a small but plump foil wrap of cocaine onto the table. ‘Llewellyn Baiter is his name, the bloke who runs The Dragon. They call him Badger, The Badger Baiter . . . he’s got more going through his pumps than just pale ale.’

They all looked down to the foil.

‘Shall we . . .?’ Herbert went on.

Derek sat back in his chair, resigned to the likelihood that little of the evening would be under his influence. He abstained from answering the question but seemed willing to follow the course.

‘Squire?’ Herbert then asked Benjamin, with no small amount of social pressure. ‘Shall we?’

‘I think we should stick with the plan,’ Benjamin told him as he stubbed out the remains of his smoke. ‘Have it when your sister arrives.’

The room took a breath – sudden but not entirely surprised.

‘But you’ve already had some,’ Benjamin perceived correctly, looking at Herbert.

‘Before I came back in here, yes.’

‘Is it any good?’

‘Feeling some aggravation to my vex gland so it must be, yes. Hats off to The Badger. f**k it, I’m just going to have some more regardless of either of you. Have we got a china plate, Derek?’

Like a sprat, Herbert went about his greed. If Derek had answered his question, then Herbert had already forgotten as he opened the stove door of the Aga with the cuff of his sleeve.

‘Good good, that’s calmed down in there,’ he said, peering inside before he closed the door again.

‘You mean you’ve let the fire go out,’ Derek told him and lurched around to get a better view.

‘She’s just settled for our needs, Uncle. You got a china plate?’

‘I do indeed but only if you listen this time.’

Herbert picked himself up and leaned back against the Aga, putting on his best face of concentration.

‘It’s outside . . .’ Derek began. ‘In a box . . . choose your piece. I’m afraid that china doesn’t agree with my old hands. Or the floor for that matter.’

Herbert looked to the back door and back again. ‘Thank heavens we only need your nose for the next part, Uncle. We’ll forget about trying to heat the china and just enjoy it.’

With that, Herbert took a large white plate from a pile of dirty dishes and turned it upside down, considering. Satisfied, he returned to the table and placed the plate down towards its centre, the foil wrap dumped on top before the contents were unwrapped, poured, chopped, divided and presented in six mighty white lines.

It was now 10.15 p.m., Sunday, 21st March, 1992.