Collecting Conkers
Eric and his son Michael were characters I deleted from Grey Death when I redrafted the plot. I’m looking forward to them turning up in a sequel.
Soon after breakfast Eric finds his son Michael back at the kitchen table inspecting some old conkers that used to live in a jar in his bedroom, along with a few coins and a guitar plectrum. Elbows on the table, chin resting on his knuckles, lost in his own world.
Eric waits a few seconds before he breaks the silence. ‘Let’s get some fresh conkers.’
‘Wow. You mean now?’ Michael jumps down from his stool.
‘Sure. Why not?’
As they walk to the park, they talk about school and Michael’s eighth birthday party in a couple of weeks. Michael lets go of Eric’s hand, skips ahead and spins around to face him. ‘Can we make some invitations?’
‘Of course. Great idea.’
Hugs first before they fool about trying to walk in step until they get to the park.
Eric points out the autumn colours. Michael runs around making aeroplane noises, arms outstretched to catch the falling leaves. When he catches his breath, he says, ‘Dead leaves have to fall down to make room for new leaves next year.’
They kick up piles of leaves as they walk towards the chestnut trees, releasing that musty smell of leaf mould and damp earth.
Michael slows, then stands stock still.
A robin sings, marching across a pile of logs in defence of his territory. A squirrel runs over Michael’s feet and startles him. ‘That’s so lucky, Daddy. So lucky. Now I know I’ll find the biggest conker.’
Perhaps half an hour passes before Michael shouts, ‘Daddy quick! Look what I’ve found.’
He gazes at a conker in his right hand that’s still cushioned in half a shell. It’s big and beautiful with an even brown that shines like a boot on parade. Michael’s overjoyed but Eric’s head is bowed for a moment, under the weight of a memory from last year, when they stood in this very same spot with Sally.
‘Are you alright, Daddy?’
‘I’m fine.’ Eric smiles. ‘Wow. That must be the conker of the year.’
Eric scruffs Michael’s hair and congratulates him.
‘I asked Mummy to show me where the biggest conker was.’
Eric doesn’t know whether it’s a good thing that he still talks to his Mum. Perhaps he should talk to her if it helps Michael so much.
Back home they put the conkers on the kitchen table to check who has collected the most and the biggest. Of course, Michael wins. Eric tells him how he used to soak his conkers in vinegar to harden them for fighting, but Michael doesn’t seem interested. Instead, he fetches the glass jar from his bedroom, fills it with his conkers and takes it away.
Eric sets out lunch before he calls Michael, but he doesn’t appear. He finds him in the back garden, digging a hole with a small spade he’s taken from the garage. The hole is in front of the urn containing Sally’s ashes, in the flowerbed she created when they first moved here. After he finishes digging, he takes his conkers from the jar one by one and drops them in the hole, the biggest one last, then covers them with soil.
Back in the kitchen, Michael tips the plectrum from the jar.
‘Can I play Mummy’s guitar?’
Eric smiles. ‘Mummy would love that. I’ll teach you a song later.’
As they eat Eric tells him again about the band that Sally was in when she was a student. Michael loves all those old stories. ‘Mummy still sings to me at bedtime.’
The doorbell rings, breaking a few moments of silence.
Michael spits out a few crumbs of bread. ‘That might be grandma.’
The front door opens and closes.
‘Yoo-Hoo.’
Michael swallows his last bit of sandwich and launches himself from his stool. Framed by the kitchen doorway, Sally’s Mum wraps her arms around him, shopping bag still in hand. ‘Steady on. You’ll knock me over.’
Michael hugs her even tighter.
‘How’s my brave boy today?’
Michael lets go and stands back. ‘Grandma, I collected some special conkers for Mummy. She helped me.’
‘Wow! Can I see them?’
‘I buried them for Mummy to find.’
‘Oh!’ She pauses. ‘That’s great.’
Eric puts the kettle on. ‘Real tea or green stuff, Grace?’
‘Oh, I think a strong cup of real tea today.’
She perches on a stool and reaches into her bag. ‘I’ve got a new dinosaur book for you.’ She looks at Eric for approval. ‘An early birthday present.’
Eric nods and smiles. ‘What a lucky boy.’
Grace hands the book to Michael who’s standing next to her. He gasps and opens it up. ‘Thank you, thank you.’
She offers her cheek, which Michael kisses without taking his eyes off a Tyrannosaurus.
‘Michael,’ Eric says.
‘Uh huh.’
‘Can you read your book in the living room while Grandma and I have a chat. Then we’ll do the invites for your party.’
‘Is Grandma coming?’
‘Of course. I’ll make a cake.’
Michael mimicks one of his favourite TV characters, ‘Okely-dokely,’ giggles and runs out of the kitchen.
Grace grips her mug. ‘What did the counsellor say?’
‘Not a lot. It’s normal.’
Grace frowns. ‘Surely that’s not right.’
‘It’s how he copes.’
‘Oh.’
‘Look. He’s doing fine.’
Grace sighs. ‘So, how’s work going?’
‘Good. I’m in the office. Less stressful.’
‘How long before they chuck you out on the streets again.’
‘I can’t really discuss this. You know that. Work is good for me, takes my mind off.’
‘What about your grief. I know how hard it’s been for me.’
‘I’m sorry Grace. I know. But honest, I’m OK.’
Grace drinks some tea while Eric stares out of the window. Michael runs back into the kitchen and drops his new book onto the table.
‘Look at this one Daddy. It’s hard to read. What’s it called?’
‘A Pterodactyl.’
‘Terrydactill?’
‘Nearly.’
After lunch Eric and Michael design dinosaur party invitations on the computer. Michael presents Grace with a pterodactyl shaped invite, which she accepts at the same time as pulling a hankie from the cuff of her sweater to dab at her eyes. She fills in the reply slip straightaway and hands it back to Michael with a kiss.
The rest of the party invitations are put back in envelopes for Michael to take to school, then they watch some TV. Eric’s evening shift starts at six and they all eat an early dinner together before Grace heads back home to feed Grandad.
Eric’s shift work can be a bit erratic and depends on demand. Grace believes that he works for a branch of law enforcement. Eric is happy to go along with that, but it would be nearer the truth to say that Eric has more than one employer.
This evening he’ll be recording and keeping an eye on a meeting between two people-trafficking brothers and their cousin, who owns a Care Home called St Clements, affectionately known as Clems to locals.
The brothers are hoping to persuade their cousin to allow them to take over a few of the Care Home rooms to use as drop off and collection points. An undercover police officer has obtained this information, but Eric understands that she won’t be intervening in any violent disagreements. Which is when Eric will step in to “significantly disable without fatality” before clearing off to allow Detective Undercover and her colleagues to take over.
Eric packs Michael’s overnight bag and walks him round to Claire’s next door, where Michael stays for sleepovers when Eric works late evenings or nights. She’s an illustrator who worked with Sally, which was one of the reasons they became neighbours as Sally shared Claire’s studio. Michael clutches his dinosaur book to his chest, ready for Claire to read it with him at bedtime.
Eric kisses Michael goodbye and sets off for St Clements, where he’s been told to ask to see Robert, the cousin, who will explain the arrangements.
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The meeting starts well. The brothers accept Eric as Robert’s financial advisor, introduced as a local businessman called Tony White, who owns a nightclub.
Eric has made sure that he doesn’t look like trouble; average build, dressed smart in waistcoat and dark suit, no weapons found by the two goons accompanying the brothers when they pat him down.
It would look very odd if Robert’s so-called financial advisor checked the goons for weapons, so of course he doesn’t. But he does note the loose fit of their jackets.
Robert, Eric and the brothers sit round a table in the St Clements’ dining area. The goons remain standing.
Robert serves whisky and the brothers begin by recalling memories of their early twenties when they worked with Robert growing weed at a farm in the next county, selling it to local dealers. Unfortunately, the farmer was too ambitious and ran into trouble with the competition.
Robert doesn’t interrupt the brothers’ story as they explain that, after the weed farm closed, they moved to the city. But the brothers’ mood changes to hostile when they ask Robert how he managed to earn enough from the weed farm to stay in the area and go legit. Hostile becomes aggressive when they claim Robert cheated them. The older brother explains that they are here to take what’s owed, including the Care Home. They aren’t here to negotiate.
Decisions. Decisions. When should Eric step in?
A hidden microphone is recording the meeting and Eric knows he should first allow threats to be made and possibly acts of violent persuasion to take place to add to the evidence against the brothers.
Detective Undercover had assured Robert that his cooperation would not only mean that he would escape any conviction for his own involvement with the cannabis farm, but he could also keep the Care Home and any remaining profits. She also told him that the meeting wouldn’t go as far as physicality. Yet she hadn’t given Eric the same assurance when she briefed him. Eric decides that he’ll have to accept physical aggression from the goons, both to himself and Robert, if he’s going to get near enough to disarm and disable them.
Robert’s mistake is to pretend he’s a tough guy, telling the brothers to fuck off before he turns to look at Eric, no doubt expecting him to provide some kind of support.
The brothers notice this, and it will soon turn out to be a gift for Eric. But not before the taller goon strolls over and breaks Robert’s right middle finger, which he claims is for starters, then threatens to cut it off unless he does what he’s told. Eric’s gift arrives courtesy of the brother’s caution, when they order the other goon to stand next to Eric and point a gun at his head.
Despite his orders, the gun toting goon is more interested in watching his colleague’s next move with the knife than keeping an eye on Eric.
He’s holding the gun in his left hand, but has his head turned a little to the right, allowing Eric enough time to reach up, grasp the goon’s left wrist, point the gun towards the ceiling, then swing round to grab his groin and twist. The goon yelps, Eric stands, swaps from groin twist to a swift jab to the larynx and the goon’s gasping for breath. Eric catches the gun as it falls and swivels to face the tall goon, doesn’t bother with a warning, shoots the knife out of his hand, lifts the gun and fires a second shot through his shoulder.
The brothers have disappeared under the table. Robert has stepped away to nurse his broken finger. Eric steps forward, points the gun again but only needs the threat of another shot to take the tall goon’s gun from the holster under his jacket.
Eric produces a bunch of cable ties from inside his waistcoat and tells Robert to get a grip and bind the brothers and their goons to the chairs around the table.
Police sirens are already wailing nearby.
Eric dumps the guns in the river before he makes his way to The Owl pub where he will collect his fee, in cash. He buys himself a half of Guinness and sits at a table at the back of the bar, one side of the log fire, facing the door, to await the arrival of Detective Undercover. The only other customers in here are two old guys sitting at a table nearer the counter, sipping their pints and playing chess.
Detective Undercover turns up twenty minutes later. She buys a tomato juice with a dash of lime and sits opposite Eric.
‘An easy job,’ she says. ‘You OK?’
‘Fine. A bunch of idiots. You didn’t really need me.’
‘I didn’t know that.’ She sighs. ‘You took the guns.’
‘I dropped them in the river.’
‘Please stop doing that. They’re evidence.’
Eric drinks some Guinness and shrugs. ‘The gun that killed my wife escaped from an evidence locker.’
‘Why do you do this job?’
‘One day I’ll find the fucker who killed her.’
‘But you’ve no idea who.’
‘I’ll recognise his voice, and his accent.’
She knocks back half her tomato juice. ‘We might have something in a couple of weeks. Old favourites trying to move back in. More likely to be someone you’d have come across before.’
‘Can’t do two weeks. A birthday and half term. We’re having a party, then going away on holiday.’
Detective Undercover gets up first. Eric follows her out of the bar, as far as the back door to the car park where she hands over the packet of cash he is due, before she steps outside, under the watchful lens of the CCTV.
Eric waits for her to get into her Prius and drive off before he walks past his own car and out of the car park, a little way down the road towards a horse chestnut tree that’s been dropping conkers around here since he was a boy.
The streetlights are bright, and he finds 10 good conkers in the verge and on the footpath, stuffs them into his jacket pockets and heads back to his car.
He smiles to himself all the way home.
The End
Paul Birch is a retired General Practitioner who began writing short stories about the medical world when he worked in South Derbyshire, where all his fiction is set.