River Tofu
By Ian Lockerbie
Congleton rare, Congleton rare. Sold the Bible to buy the bear – Unknown
Cement
Three coughs wake me up. I won’t want to get out of bed if I fall asleep again. Maybe Gaz will be at the yard. He’s usually late on a Monday. What day is it? My eyes squint. The light is still on. I stare at the brick wall, the pie-foil ashtrays in the fireplace, and the vinyls toppling onto the dead rosemary bush in a pot. Tina Turner plays from my phone. I turn the alarm off. Do I need a shower? Dirt is buried beneath the calluses in the centre of my palms. I try to rub it off with my thumb. There's no strength in my forearms. I set a timer for fifteen minutes. My eyes close, and it goes off. It's like someone just stole sleep from me. I must’ve been in bed for thirteen hours. Why can’t I feel any of it?
My work trousers are balled up below my feet; dust falls off as I unfold them. There are no fresh T-shirts. What about the laundry basket? This grey one doesn’t smell too bad. Two empty bottles of vodka look at me from the coffee table. As I put the bottles under my desk, I hear glass hit glass. Pairs of them are pushed to the back of the wall. My steel-toecapped boots are by the front door with gloves in one boot and a baseball cap in the other. I smack cement off the cap on my knee and stuff the gloves in my back pocket. The lack of light coming from outside makes me think it's still night.
I sit on the trunk by the door looking at my shoes. Tipping the right foot, I see a tiny white cube lodged in the heel. It will be chewing gum. I pick up a stick from beside the front door and dig it out. It pulls apart like feta. My nose blocks. Three beeps of a horn come from outside the front. A white van pulls up, and I get in. Gaz leans over in his seat. Hey buddy, we have a new job; bit of an odd one. It's for the military. I’ll tell you on the way. He throws a cigarette end down the drain and winds up the window. I look out the windscreen. But Gaz, you would think they would have enough guys for that. Gaz laughs. Yeah, that's what I can’t work out. Anyway, we’ll see when we get there.
We head to the outskirts of town through the woods. I turn to Gaz. I should see my grandmother after work. She’s got a caravan around here. Gaz tilts his head. I can drop you off if you like. You look tired. Did you have a late one too? My lips press together. No, I slept for ages. I don't know what’s up with me. What did you do? Gaz smiles. I watched the game at the pub. The missus was trying to bell me the whole time. I got in about three and just stayed up watching nature documentaries on my phone. Do you know how anglerfish breed? The male bites onto the female, and he slowly becomes absorbed until he’s just a bit of fin hanging off her. That's what she wants; she’s the only woman who hasn’t asked me what I’m thinking about at random parts of the day when I’m minding my own business. I laugh.
Mossy stone walls on both sides of the road fall into the grass. Sandbags. I point at circles of them in the woods. Are they doing war games, you reckon? Fuck knows, but probably best not to ask. If we see anything we don’t like, we’ll ditch it. The van goes over a hill. We see a row of white vans going down the valley into the woods on the other side. I shift in my seat. They’ve got a fair few people. Gaz waves his hand. It was bound to be a big job if they’re getting us in. It’ll clear fast enough.
Gaz hits the brakes. A drone walks in front of the van. It stomps four feet into the woods and hunkers down like a chicken laying an egg. I look at Gaz. I hope they don’t attach a gun to that thing. Gaz smirks. If they could find a way to turn us into that and attach a gun, I promise you they would. I point at the drone. That barrel looks like it could be one. Gaz dips his head under the visor. Nah, it's too short; that’ll be a camera. We drive further into the woods and are waved over to a spot by a guy in an orange jacket with white stripes across the chest and arms.
A woman in a camo uniform with a clipboard walks up to the van. Gaz lowers the window. Morning! The woman hands over the clipboard. Sign this, please. Gaz scans the paper. He signs and hands it to me. An NDA? I’ve never had to do this before. He sighs. Yeah, it's normal for these things. He pats the clipboard on my lap. It's easy to remember; just don’t say shit about today. I read it again. My throat closes, and I sign. The woman gestures behind her. Start digging past those two trees; mark on the map on the other side if you find anything you can’t move. She unclips the back page from the board and hands it to Gaz. He stares through the piece of paper. The woman nods and heads towards a van further in the woods.
Late Dinner
Redness starts to catch the leaves on the oaks. We drive off from the site. I wipe my forehead. Should I be worried about this? Gaz winces. No, there’s always stuff the army is doing that we don’t understand; somewhere in the arse end of Scotland there’s a fucking nuke. The trowel on the dashboard looks like the one I bought for my grandma. Oh shit, I forgot to see my grandmother! Gaz waves his hand. It’s no bother; we’re only a couple of minutes away.
We pull up to the entrance of the caravan park. Pensioners and children hold placards. A line of five soldiers stands between the van and the crowd. We get out. Grandma is in the front row with her index finger pointing at the men like she is trying to stab them with it. I walk up to them. What’s going on? No, Callum. I’ll handle this. She leans towards the officer to whisper something. The officer freezes, pats the soldier beside him and walks to the gate. He turns. You have twelve days; then we will be back to help pack up. Grandma turns to us. Gaz, you look thin; you’re staying for dinner. Gaz shudders into an upright posture. Uh, yes. We walk towards her caravan around the bonfire in the middle of the street. She opens the caravan door and looks at Gaz. Nobody wants a picture of themselves running over a grandmother following them for the rest of their lives… Come on in; the bolognese must be done by now.
Grandma sits down and looks at me. Is the front of your driveway still clear? Yes. Then I'll be staying there for the foreseeable. I nod. She gets up from the table and flicks the kettle on. She puts a packet of dried spaghetti into a pot with a tablespoon of Maldon salt and waits for it to boil, watching the stove in silence with one arm on her hip. Her head bends down like the fire would escape if she looked away. She wags her finger, takes out the olive oil and adds two dashes to the pasta water. She presses on the ends of the spaghetti with her palm. They spring back up to almost where she pushed them from, leaving a tiny bend. The pasta softens. Grandma picks up a wooden spoon and stirs the pot three times. She turns to us. Do you cook, Gaz? He nods with his shoulders drawn in. Grandma's eyebrows raise. Could you teach Callum? I never managed to get it into him. Grandma serves out the spaghetti and sauce from the pans. She gets out the parmesan and grater, puts them on a serving plate in the centre of the table. She turns her hands over like a croupier. Dig in.
We finish up dinner without a word. I wash the dishes, and Gaz dries. I wave away Gaz, standing at the door of the caravan. The dinner table squeaks as I fold it up. I unscrew the table leg, fix the top to the floor and pull down the bed. The bedroom door clicks. Night night. Night Grandma! Through the curtains, the bonfire burns with the moon above it.
Day One
There’s knocking on the caravan door. Callum, it’s Gaz. I’m sorry, we’re late. Bye Grandma! There’s no answer. I get in the van. The smell of cigarettes is knocking me sick. Gaz looks at me. You alright? I rub my stomach. I’ll survive. Gaz laughs. That’s the spirit.
We park up at the site. Gaz, where are the other vans? He looks around. That doesn’t matter; what matters is that we’re the first ones here, so if any of the supervisors see, we’ll be ahead of the game. He taps the peak of his cap. That's why I’ve never needed a job interview; it's all word of mouth. My eyes start to hurt. I stop walking. Gaz, I can’t hear any birds. He stops. Callum, don’t let it get to you. He puts his hand on my shoulder. All of this kind of stuff goes on everywhere else; we just don’t hear about it. It’ll be fine, I promise.
Gaz looks at the clipboard, grabs three rocks from the ground and lays them out. That's our first border. He walks fifty paces and lays out a branch and another rock. That's our second. I’ll start digging from here, and you start from where you are now. If you hit a rock you can’t move, tell me. I jab the spade into the soil and feel a root bouncing back. The gloves in my back pocket fall out; I pick them up and put them on. The next stab rings the blade. My hand vibrates. I grip the handle and feel the shaking go up my arm. I twist the spade and take it from a different angle. No ring. I turn the spade the other way, dig again and lift a pile of clay with a smooth grey rock sticking out the side. I throw the rock over the border, keep shovelling and lose track of time.
The back of my left thumb goes bloody. I roll up a cig. Gaz pats his jacket. Do you mind making me one? I left mine back at home. I nod. Gaz dips his head, looking at me. Is something up? My nose starts to twitch. I just don't feel right. My face gets hot. I tense my jaw, throw my cig away and sit down. Hey, hey, Callum, it's going to be fine. I’d be more worried about the army getting in shit with your nan than the other way round. There’s nothing we can do about it; we just have to work. My stomach is empty. I’m not asking him when lunch is. Wait, if I keep going at him like this, I’m not going to be asked back, then I’ll really be fucked. It’s alright, I’ll just see it off. Gaz picks up the rolling papers, tobacco and filter tips off the floor. I roll him a cig, light it and hand it to him. Thank you, bro. The cigarette I threw is on a pile of moss. The side of the cig has mud and a bit of damp. I light the end, and it fizzles out.
My spade jams in the ground. Maybe a knee-kick will do. I run up and boot it, and nothing budges. I look at Gaz. Ah, for fuck sake, Gaz, can I get some help? He bounds up towards me, smiling without creasing his eyes. What's up? The spade is stuck in something. He tries to kick the side, but it doesn't move. We grip the handle. One, two, three, heave! Nothing. Gaz runs over to the van and drives over. He throws me the ropes. I tie the handle to the tow ball, slapping the back of the van twice. The spade bends and pops out of the ground. Shards of light green and brown flake off the blade. Gaz turns the spade over. It must be a tree root. I’ll mark that down on the map. We’ll need to dig around it for now; come on, I’ll help you find it.
Gaz goes back to his line. He takes two stabs and stops. Now mine’s stuck. We hold onto the handle. One, two, three, heave! The spade comes out. It's got to be larger than a root; I’m five feet away. It has to be something else. Gaz bends over. But look at the white fibres; that's living tree root, surely. We dig around where we can break into the soil and mark the rest on the map. Gaz wipes his hands on his thighs. I’m getting hungry; let's take a break. You can pick today. Do you want the southern-fried chicken barm or hoisin duck wrap? The duck, please. He hands me the wrap in a box with a brown sauce-covered window and a bottle of water. Thank you.
The woman in camo comes up to us. We are moving you to another site. It's a mile north. You will find some of the work started; finish that off. She walks back into the woods. Gaz chuckles. Looks like someone didn’t make the cut. I get into the van. Hold this for a sec. Gaz hands me his phone with the compass app open. Point to where north is with your arm outstretched. We weave through the trees. Gaz squints. This must be it. We park up, and I get out. There are power tools left everywhere. Why wouldn’t they have taken these? At least locked them up; there must be a few grand’s worth of equipment out here. We dig in the spot already laid out. My hearing sharpens. The strength goes from under my arms. I can’t shake the feeling someone is going to come back and tell us off. Gaz chuckles. We are the replacement. It’s hardly going to be our fault that they’re not working on it now. Someone might come back for all this stuff, but they won’t kick off. Most of the workmen get on with each other around here; we’re just trying to get the job done, get a pint and be home before a divorce is filed.
The sun sets. I throw the shovels into the back of the van and look at the power tools left out. The muscles on the tops of my shoulders ache. Gaz thumps the side of the cab. Close the door! I shut it, but it pops straight back out. I slam the fucker. The door clicks.
The roads are quiet today. We pull into my estate and see Grandma’s caravan on the driveway. Dinner is ready! I didn't see the curtain twitch. I walk around the caravan. Grandma, how did you know that was me? She shouts from inside. I heard Gaz’s engine. I turn around. Bye Gaz! He beeps and drives off.
I walk into the caravan. Grandma is wearing an apron that reads Kiss Me Quick. It’s shepherd’s pie; I’ve mixed in some Stilton. The white and blue bubbles off the golden cheddar and spring onion topping. My mouth starts to fill. Do you think the work I’m doing has anything to do with you getting kicked off the site? Grandma purses her lips. I’d be surprised if it isn’t, but if you are worried that you are contributing to it, then no… for what you are doing, they will just use someone else anyway.
Day Two
Gaz pulls up. I put on my baseball cap and lock the front door. Or did I? I run back. No. I lock, undo, relock the door and try the handle. It’s done. I get in the van, and we set off. The sunshine is blinding me; how can Gaz drive in this? He has the sun visor down but doesn't move his head enough to cover his eyes. I scrunch my face every time the light breaks through the hedgerows.
We arrive at the site. The tools are all gone. Gaz looks around. Like mine would be if we left them here all night, the amount of vans that must have come past. Someone got the bags in last night. Gaz looks at me grinning, and his smile falls. Let’s get off early and go for a game of pool tonight, my treat. I nod. Sweet Caroline plays from Gaz’s pocket. Hello?...Yeah, I can come down… Okidoki, I’ll head to you now. He puts his phone in his pocket. I’ve got a quote. You keep digging, and I should be back in an hour or so. Gaz drives off in the van.
I follow the trench line, shovelling over the borders marked out. Grandma talking to the army runs through my head. One officer pats the other, and they walk away. The sun coming through the trees stings the skin on the back of my arms. Cool patches draw out the leaves on my back. The wind blows, moving the patches from the top left to the bottom right. This is like getting branded by a pissed-up farmer. I put down my spade and sit in the trench. The breeze stops. The ground shakes in pulses. Are they exploding something? I put my hand on the soil. A vibration starts at my hand, travels over my skin and back into the ground.
Gaz comes back, breaking into a jog, seeing me on the ground. What’s happened? I get up. Gaz! Did you feel it? He looks around. Feel what? That earthquake. It made a sound! He takes one step back. I, ah, well, I’ve been in the van. The ones in the UK tend to be too weak to be felt by humans. No, Gaz, this wasn’t weak; it made this noise. Gaz’s brows pinch. Like what? You know those things people have on their lawns to make a noise that only cats can hear to stop them from shitting on it? It's the sound of those but on the low end instead of the high. We start shovelling.
The sun doesn’t hurt as much anymore. I look over at Gaz wheezing. Are you alright? He straightens his back. Yeah, I’m just knackered; I feel like I've been on the back foot all day. You’ve done more than I have. I look at the hole he’s made. I don't think so. He shakes his head. Remember what you were like at the start? I was doing twice as many barrows as you last year. You’re stronger. There’s still nothing of you, but your attitude can’t be faulted. Fuck being in the rain with someone moaning at you all day, dragging you down. Anyway, are you still up for pool later? Yes, I’m up for a quick one, but I have to get back for dinner. Oh, don’t worry about that! Your nan is the last person I want to piss off. I take a swig of water. Has someone put MSG in this? It tastes of water and tobacco, but it’s better. I down the rest of the bottle. Gaz laughs. Maybe I should drink more; you are going through these like a machine.
We shovel side by side. I look at the edge of the trench. Do you think it’s getting deep enough to get the ramp? Yeah, let’s get it off the van. We untie the bungee cords from the ramp and lift it off the back. We lift it to the ledge and let it slide into place. It goes into the ground too close to us. We jump down and pull the ramp back, then turn it diagonally to give us a run-up. We shove it one last time for luck. Gaz drags the other barrow out the back of the van. He stops with his hand on his back. I think the bastard has gone again. I’ll load them with you, and you take them up. I nod.
We shift around five tonnes. I stare at the piles. The soil shines like a layer of epoxy has been poured over it. Gaz looks at his phone. Right, time for the pub. I’ll get the first round. We carry the ramp and shovels to the van. Can I get a shower first? Sure, I’ll drive you round. I get in. There's an itch in the middle of my palm. It won't scratch off. It’s under the skin just above the bone. I rub the spot with my thumb. The pink skin of the blisters is smoother than the rest. Gaz opens the glove compartment and hands me a hipflask. I twist the cap and smell it. It’s whisky. I take a gulp.
Day Three
The fuck? I’m in my bedroom. The smell of my mouth burns my nostrils. The alarm is going off. How long has that been on? A knock comes from the front door. I go downstairs and open the door. Hey Gaz. My eyes burn in the light. Oh, I knew you wouldn't be up today. We made it through the night just fine. I’m not sure what you did after you just fucked off, though. I wipe the sleep from my eyes. I don’t remember going out. Gaz’s head falls back. Wow, get some water in you. I go into the living room and pick my trousers off the floor. There’s a pair of vodka bottles sitting beside the sofa next to a glass. Sweet Caroline plays. Hello... As in at all? Right, and do we still get paid? Good. Thank you. Gaz puts his phone in his pocket. They just called the job off; I don’t know why. You could do with a break; get some rest, I’ll make you a bacon barm. I look at the fridge. We haven’t got any in. Gaz wipes his brow. You need to eat something, man; I’ll get us both a hot breakfast. Just leave me a key in case you fall asleep. I pull out the spare from behind the kettle and give it to him. Gaz leaves, and I go to bed.
Callum! I’ve got your sandwich here. I make my way downstairs and sit at the table. Thank you. You know, I had a period when my mum died, and I drank every day. Bits of me started to not come back. I’m not saying that to be a dick. I sigh. No, I understand. I just don't think it's the drinking that’s the main problem; it turns up when there is a problem, yes, and that's a problem but different. Gaz exhales. You would know best about your life; I’m just saying I’ve been a bit worried. He leaves.
Fuck it. I walk to the shops in the clothes I slept in. I take two bottles of vodka from the shelf. The cashier won’t look me in the eyes. That will be thirty pounds, please. What? These are small bottles. He tuts. There is a shortage at the moment, sir. I shake my head. This is robbery. I’ll just take one. I walk back to the house and pour a double into a whisky tumbler. White fingerprints cover the glass. I put on Linkin Park, Hybrid Theory and turn the speakers up as high as they will go.
Day Nine
Knocking comes from the front door. Maybe they’ll go away. Callum! Oh shit, that's Grandma. I jump down the stairs and open the door. Wash immediately; you smell. This place already looks like a shooting gallery. Up! I get in the shower. Callum, you’ve been in there an hour at least! I look at my palms and see wrinkles. She knocks on the door. Callum, that water must be freezing by now. Get out! A jolt goes down my spine. Yes, Grandma. I leap out of the shower. My foot slips; I tense to steady myself and crack open the door. Can you hand me the towel over on the landing? She gives me the towel. Downstairs in three minutes, fully clothed. Yes Grandma. I put on some jeans and a T-shirt from the floor, go downstairs and sit at the dinner table. Pint pots with cigarette butts stack in the sink. Stacks of ready meal trays sit on the counter. A fly buzzes around the jam stain on the bin.
Grandma paces around the room, looking at every facet with her arms around her back. She glares at me. Callum, do you know how I could tell your uncle’s first wife wasn't going to last? I shake my head. She called him up on the house phone to get him to drive out in the worst snowstorm I’ve ever seen in this country just because she wanted some company. I grabbed the phone off him, told her that wouldn't be happening and hung up.
You are doing everything one way. I love you, but at this very moment, I don’t have time to fix you. I lower my head. Grandma leaves through the front door. Something is pinching the sides of my stomach. I put on my jacket and lock up. Two women lean on the fence chatting; they stop talking as I pass. It's too hot for this jacket. I take it off and tie it around my waist.
The corner shop door isn’t usually open. I step in. The room is greyer than I remember it… It's the back of the shelves. There is hardly anything on them. I take the last packet of meat left in the freezer, out-of-date chicken. A man in the queue turns to the woman behind him. Around the whole town! How will anything get through? The woman shakes the can of tinned custard pushing it into her chest. The man’s face falls. He puts his arm around her. The cashier serves them both. The woman sobs as they leave.
I hand the chicken to the cashier. He lowers it to the till. Beep. The cashier looks at it like it's going to jump on him. That will be five pounds, please. I dig around in my pocket and find ten fifty-pence pieces I withdrew for pool. He counts the money, pushes the chicken towards me and writes on a pad next to him.
Day Ten
My elbows are stuck to the table. A creak comes from the chair. Someone’s shadow shows through the curtains. Knocks come from the kitchen window. Callum! It’s Gaz. Mate, I’m not angry about the missed shifts, but can we talk? I open the door. What missed shifts? Gaz puts his hands on his head. You don’t even remember me telling you. This has to stop. What’s been going on, Callum? My eyes strain. I don’t know. He watches me. My body is heavy. I leap over the table and land on the patch of floor without any litter. Gaz throws his hands up... Come on, let's go out for the day. Tittesworth. You need to get out of here for a bit. I nod. My body moves at a third of the speed I expect. I get in the van and slump into the chair.
We drive out of town to an army cordon. A woman in a green uniform knocks on the window. The roads are closed. Gaz’s neck pulls back. All of them? She nods. All of the ones leaving Congleton. I’m sorry that I can't explain further. Her cheeks twitch. Any further information will be distributed when it’s been made. Please head back to your homes and wait for further instruction. The woman walks off. Gaz swivels his head. Right, there’s a park we can get to near the bridge to Siemens. I splutter. Don’t you think we should work out what's going on with the town being surrounded? Gaz throws his hands into his lap. Callum, what are you expecting us to do, fight them? We need to get out and about for a bit. Out and about? You sound like my grandmother.
Gaz readjusts the mirror. We talked earlier, and she said it would be a good time to go to Tittesworth. Let's go back. Houses turn from stone to brick. We pull onto my drive. I knock on the caravan door. Grandma opens the door. So they have set a roadblock up at the edge of town, okay. Gaz looks at me. I shake my head. Grandma stands back from the door. Come in. So you knew we wouldn’t go to the reservoir? I didn’t know, but you two needed to keep a straight face. I couldn't tell you. My head wobbles. What’s going on, Grandma? They’ve penned us in and are currently refusing to say why. Nobody is coming to me with anything useful. The phones, internet and post aren’t running. Everyone I have sent for information is coming here. Callum, you need to be in the house so you can write what they say.
Day Eleven
I take out a black bag from under the sink. I bin the plastic trays, wrappers from the floor and sandwich boxes off the shelf. The bin lid sticks to the bag. I take the sticky handles and shimmy it out. I tie both bags and take them out to the wheelie bin. As I close the door and turn, I hear knocking. There’s a man in a suit jacket with sunken eyes. He leans over me to whisper. There are a few unguarded spots in the perimeter on the other side of Astbury Mere. Nothing on why. I go to the notebook beside the fridge and write it down. He watches me. As I turn back around, he nods and walks away. We can get out. Where is the closest place we could stay? Camping, maybe. Grandma will know.
I wait, sitting at the table. Grandma comes back. A man came! What did he say? Uh, one sec. I go over to the notebook. It's blank. How could it be blank? Blinking twice, I lean close to the pad. There are no lines from the pen. Did he even come? Uh, he said he’d been by Astbury Mere and didn’t know why they’re doing it yet. Grandma scowls. That’s hardly a report. Who was it? Umm, I didn’t ask. She clenches her fist. Get the name next time. I dip my head. She exhales. I’m sorry. I know I ask a lot of you, but sometimes I can’t even ask a little. I’m going for about an hour. She walks out. My stomach stings.
A mother and her baby walk up the driveway. She takes a package from underneath the swaddle and hands it to me. It’s almost round with duct tape on the sides. She doesn’t say anything and heads towards town. I leave the taped bundle on the table in the caravan and sit down. Am I meant to open this? There will be no difference whether I open it now or when she gets here. I’ll just wait.
The Last Day
Grandma is standing at the foot of my bed holding the package. It’s going to be a big day. You need to keep yourself together. Get ready; we are going to the caravan site. We’ll most likely not be able to keep it, but we’re not leaving until I find out why they’re here. I get a headache behind the top of my nose. The cows start mooing from a few roads away. You usually can’t hear them from here.
Air-raid sirens call from outside. Attention! Attention! Stay in your homes; any attempt to leave the town will be met with lethal force. This is for your safety. Grandma moves silently out of the room. I jump out of bed and run out to the driveway. Grandma is standing in the middle of the road with her fist balled like yarn. Tofu-shaped mushrooms are growing over almost every surface. The black stems hold the blocks off the ground. What can I do? She turns to me. Write a list of every kind of food in the house and how much of it, fill any container you can with water and join me in the caravan. I run back inside and grab the notebook. There’s nearly nothing except herbs and spices. I get out all the cooking pots and fill them under the sink. My hands shake. Sweat clumps on the side of my nose.
Cries come from outside. I rush out. Grandma is lying on the road, grabbing her knees; her legs fuse straight. She screams. I pull up her trouser leg. Thick, short, white fur covers her skin. She looks down and passes out. Her breathing stops. Her pulse stops. Her eyes stay open. I press on her chest and breathe into her mouth, pinching her nostrils until her body goes completely cold. I lift her upstairs. Slow and low. I lay her in my bath, shut the door, and go downstairs to the dining table. Nobody is coming… She needs to be buried. I walk upstairs and carry her into the back garden. I take a spade from the shed, break through the turf in squares, dig a metre down and pile the soil by the back door.
Blood comes from the centre of the calluses of my palms. The spade handle and neck become slimy. I lock eyes with the black stone bear, watching from the corner of the garden as I lower her into the hole. I brush down the creases on her top. I fill the space beside her arms first. My breathing stops for a few seconds. The first spade of soil falls onto her chest and I look away to cover her legs. A weight blocks the back of my throat. Soil covers everything but her face. I move two piles of soil over her mouth with my hands. The second after I’m finished digging, I cry. Snot runs from my nose into my mouth. I wipe it but just smear it across my cheek. The back of my throat dries out. Tripping as I walk into the kitchen, I grab the cup off the side, turn the tap, and nothing comes out. I kneel, take one of the cooking pots with two hands and sip. An energy builds under my thighs. I get up off the floor. The notebook has writing in it. Tell Grandma the cashier knows what's going on. It’s my handwriting. I don't think that came from a person. My head feels light. I see the package on the counter and tear off the side. It looks like a block of tofu, but it's black.
I lock up and see mushrooms growing from the cracks in the driveway. Nobody is out in the streets. I can’t hear any cars or sirens. On the horizon, there is a wall that looks like a dam. How long has that been there? I turn. It's on the other side of town too. My eyes strain. It must be something else. I follow the roads back to the dig site. Where I was digging, now stands a wall arching over me.
Breaking Through
I press my hand to the concrete. This is what I got paid to do. I look down the curve of the wall and see cranes adding higher layers. My heart rate races. Sweat covers my skin within a second. I walk down the hill towards the brook. I throw up on my shoes. My head lolls back. Fuck sake… The lapping of a cow drinking comes from the other side. She looks up at me, chewing on grass. We watch each other for a while. Where do you think the sun has gone?
A bear in a torn apron walks out of the treeline. I hold my arms up. My shoulders clench. It stands on its hind legs and puts its paw on my chest. I can feel the warmth of the pad and the claws on my throat. The weight almost pushes me over. My eyes flicker. It’s gone.
I lie on the grass. A drip falls on my chest from the top of the wall and spreads across my torso. My chest aches. I curl up into a ball next to a cowpat and shudder. I have to get up. She wouldn't have liked me staying here.
I hear shuffling from the bushes. A small man comes out. Have you seen my boy? He shows me a picture on his phone. No, uh, I haven’t seen anybody. The man shakes his head. He can’t have gone far. Several barks come from down the valley. Over here, Dennis! A ginger staffy cross comes bounding up the hill. The old boy is gorgeous, but I think he knows it. Look at those eyes; it’s like he’s never been fed. I found him by the canal. His name’s on his collar. Dennis comes up to me, sniffs my shoes and looks up. We smile at each other. I hold out my palm, and he licks it, nuzzling up to my hand. My palm tingles. Will you help me find my son? I get up off the floor. Yes. Where did he like to go? We used to play pool at a pub near the train station. He loved the park by the bandstand and the old sweet shop; the lady who works there would always make a fuss of him. The pub is closest. Dennis lowers his head to a patch of flat mushrooms, sneezes and runs up the path to the canal. We make our way up the side of the valley, reaching the water’s edge. The man points to the floor. Have you seen these mushrooms? They have been growing in Congleton. It looks just like tofu. My lad always stares at them when we’re out. He said they glowed in the dark, but I could never see it. Mind you, he always liked things with lights on, trains, tractors, lorries, that kinda thing. He always begged us to see them at night, right at the darkest point. I used to get up with him an hour before sunrise and watch the trains on the railway arches. They used to come out of the trees on the cliff, past our shoulders and out behind us.
Human and animal bodies fill the canal, spilling onto the path and over the bridge. The man looks down at the water. It really makes you want to take a swim. I’ve felt the need to dip my toes for a while. Dennis starts to sniff the bodies. Flies buzz in my ear. The man claps twice. Get! That's not for you, Dennis. He’ll throw up if he keeps eating grass. The canal gets slightly brighter as the tofu grows over the bodies.
The brightest light along the canal is the train station; the man points to it. The pub is just over there; we’re close. We walk up the stairs and knock on the pub’s front door. There's no answer. Dennis trots towards the centre of Congleton, and we follow. A woman in a ragged suit runs up the hill towards us. I step aside from the path and watch her head towards the station. She must be late for work. The view opens; the water tower is covered in white blocks on the far hill. The man points to the tower. I know someone who lives up there.
Grandma used to say she’d never have a circular house. A flash of making miniature gardens in plant pots with her comes to mind. She gives me a Lego bench, and I place it next to the pond made from an upturned bottle cap. I stop walking. Are you alright, son? My body waves about. Yeah, I’m fine. I stumble into a walk. We pass the leisure centre and the park cafe. A bear holding an ice cream sits outside the front. The trees over the bandstand have lost their leaves. A boy sits on the steps. The man starts to run. Harry! He sits still. He looks about eight or nine by his height, but looks like a forty-year-old miner. His eyes stare through all of us. The man hugs him. What’s wrong, Harry? It's me! Can you walk? The boy says nothing, his head lifting with strain. Come on, let's get you home.
The man looks at me. We’ll be fine from here. I live up in Tinner, but I can’t take Dennis; the missus will kill me. I nod and take Dennis up the hill. People start to come out of their homes. Someone kicks a bin over in the next street. Flies buzz between the chatter and shouting. We walk by Siemens and reach the house.
I open the front door, and Dennis runs up to my room. We lie on the bed together. My hand starts to throb.
What is that light through the curtains? I look out of the window and see the mushrooms pulsing red and green. Lights across the blocks wash over the valley as a single lapping wave. Blood drains from my face, and I taste bile at the back of my throat.
I get back in bed. The cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling glow red and green. I get up and head downstairs to the fridge. I look inside; nothing. The caravan must have something. I go outside with Dennis following. Nothing there either. Have we been robbed? I see bubbles of skin start to swell on my hand. They’ll just be warts.
The Chain
Dennis and I leave the house. The caravan has mushrooms growing over the side. Smaller versions of the caravan sprout from its roof. It's just like my rosemary plant. I hear shouting from around the corner and walk towards it. People cluster around the cash machine. A woman in a green cap is pressing the keypad at the front. Her eyes look vacant. She keeps switching cards every time it beeps. We walk inside the supermarket. There’s nothing on the shelves.
We head back home. The house across the road looks like it has frozen mid-explosion, held up by thousands of stems. I open the front door, curl into bed and watch my hand under the covers. My stomach feels like lemon juice against an open wound. Out in the dark, Dennis whimpers and scratches the other side of the door. My hands warm as the rest of my body goes cold.
I’m standing on the backs of countless people, and more are on mine. I’m holding hands with chains of people. Those above, below, left, and right are talking through me, with the message slightly changing as it passes. The chatter turns into a hum. A hand lies on my shoulder. A chain of people all the way down. A fluid comes through our skin and digests everything around us.
Gaz is with us. His voice is louder in my head now, like he’s next to me. Wait, where are Grandma and Dennis? I can’t feel them in the chain. They’re not coming. I struggle to hold their image in my head; the memories from the man above push through. His hands are coarser than mine.
I’ve got to get this bear out of the stone, but it's six thirty; I’ll wake up the house, the whole street, if I get Grandad’s hammer out. I was rounding that corner for hours on the finer parts of the fur, just because I daren't wake Milo’s baby. They only just got her to stop crying. The roads seem different. There are no cars out except for that white van that never seems to stop. It's been going for so long it’s become part of the stillness now. I bet the moon looks down at that van with envy; we’d have symmetrical waves the world over if the moon ran with the constancy of that van.
I hold my hand to my chest and feel an empty cobbled well open inside of it. The top of the well is on the surface and extends down through my back. The cobbles at the top are the size of bricks and get smaller with each layer down until they disappear. I press my finger into the centre of the well and feel a wind rising from the bottom. The wind whistles out of my ears; it reaches the pitch of a boiling kettle and pops.
My eyes open. I see a photo in my room of my brother as a baby; my two hands are on his head, and we are sitting in Mum's lap. Mum is in her pyjamas, with a haircut like a young rock star from the sixties. I move my head, and something is dangling in front of my eyes. I try to pull it. It’s like trying to pull off one of my balls. I walk over to the mirror and see it's a block of river tofu with black stems. How can I go out like this? I wrap a towel over the tofu and run downstairs. At the entrance of the hotel, a hand reaches out to me, and I shake it. He’s wearing work trousers and steel-toecapped boots.
Hi there. I’m Callum. Just here to do the flags out the back. I lean back. Oh, sorry, I don’t work here.
Someone new joins the chain.
The foreman watches the labourer shovel the last mix of cement. Turn off the extractor! Fan blades clunk to a stop. The labourer leans his ear to the concrete. The foreman puts his hand on the labourer's shoulder. Try not to think about it. You can't hear anyone. I keep imagining it too… Come on, let's go.
The voices merge into an unwavering tone. We can’t hear anything.