Dave Trellis and the Allotments of Doom (3 page)

The dog dropped
something from its mouth into Enoch’s outstretched hand.

Fergus only
caught a glimpse; it looked like a small silver cylinder with one
end glowing bright red. Enoch handed it to Dave, who stared at it,
sighed, and shook his head.

‘No. Not again.
It’s almost the same day for pity’s sake,’ said Dave.

Enoch looked at
Dave; there was a determined grin on his face. ‘What else is there
Dave? And who else decides?’

Dave glanced at
Enoch, who nodded slightly. For a moment Dave hesitated then he
shouted, ‘Right. To the pavilion, parade order.’

Everybody
moved, except Fergus. Dave grabbed his arm.

‘Run, up
there.’

Dave pointed
and pushed Fergus, who lurched into a jog, but soon sped up as Dave
shot past him.

Fergus was
amazed. The top terrace was an Edwardian garden with a huge lawn
and wide herbaceous borders at the rear. A big green pavilion stood
at the back. Dave ran straight to the front door of the pavilion
and disappeared inside. Fergus arrived at the veranda out of breath
and sat in one of the high backed wicker chairs stood either side
of the door.

The Palavers,
their uniforms now dark blue, stood at attention in two neat ranks
at each end of the pavilion. All the dogs disappeared, except one
that sat staring at the courtyard below.

Dave
re-appeared, dressed in a clean, pressed brown shop coat, grey
muffler, and flat cap. There were pens and a small slide rule in
the breast pocket, on the other side was a small row of miniature
dress medals.

The beautiful
voice started singing ‘Rule Britannia’ again. Dave dropped into the
other chair, which creaked.

‘Now lad, we
are going to do a ‘Queen Victoria’. Sit with your hands in your
lap, smile, and say nowt.’

The courtyard
glowed green and the light brightened through the spectrum. The
strange floating sensation came and Fergus watched the courtyard
below. Something appeared.

‘Holy shit!’
said Fergus and started to stand.

Dave reached
over, grabbed him, and stared into his face.

‘Sit down and
shut up or I’ll get Enoch to cut your balls off.’

Dave pushed
Fergus back into the chair.

Standing in the
courtyard was a vast, demonic creature with two horns ending six
feet above its head and green eyes like old glass. It towered over
the well and made the courtyard look like a paddling pool. The
creature’s skin had a smooth metallic sheen. Heat waves danced
above it and there was a smell of burnt wood.

The huge head
turned one way, then the other and back to the group on the top
terrace. It carried a box as big as a steamer trunk in one hand. In
the other hand was a flag. A white flag.

Nobody
moved…

The creature
bowed slightly, held up the white flag for a moment, and then
planted it in the courtyard. There was a sharp crack as a flagstone
broke and the flag stood upright, moving slightly in the
breeze.

The creature
bowed again and looked at Dave.

Dave lifted his
hand and beckoned. The creature stepped onto the lower terrace,
avoiding the ramshackle sheds. Footprints burned into the earth and
the air shimmered around it.

The creature
stopped in front of the top terrace, set the box down on the lawn
and stepped back. The box opened and the sound of a full orchestra
and choir singing ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ rang out across the
allotments.

Dave shot up,
stood to attention, and dragged Fergus to his feet. Dave started
singing and nudged Fergus until he joined in. The Palaver sang too;
word perfect and with emotion.

When the anthem
finished, Dave sat down and pulled Fergus with him. There was an
embarrassing pause while Dave tried to signal Enoch with eyebrows
and small nods of the head.

‘Oi Enoch!’
shouted Dave.

Enoch looked
over, leaned forward a little, and pointed at himself.

‘Yes you, you
clod. Perhaps you might want and go and look what’s in the box,
being that you are in charge of the ceremonial guard and all.’

Enoch gave a
little nod and marched smartly to the centre, turned and marched
right up to the box. He looked in, turned his head round, and with
a surprised expression, nodded back towards the box.

‘Get on with
it,’ said Dave and made little shooing gestures. He muttered under
his breath, ‘Couldn’t organise a blow job in a brothel.’

Enoch took some
things out of the box, performed a smart about turn, and marched
back. Enoch presented the first item, a case of Irish whiskey. Dave
nodded and Enoch placed it next to Dave’s seat. The next item was a
box of cigars. Dave placed them on top of the whiskey and took the
last item.

‘Bloody hell,’
said Dave.

Fergus peered
at a plain looking book in Dave’s hand, its title ‘One Life, One
Woman, One Shed’ by Dave Trellis.

Dave looked up
at the huge creature, still smouldering on the terrace below and
mimed writing with his hand. The vast head dipped in a small
bow.

Dave reached
into his top pocket drew out a battered biro, turned to the fly
leaf and wrote the legend, ‘Best wishes’. He signed it with a
flourish and handed the book and the pen to Enoch, who marched back
and placed them in the box.

Enoch stepped
clear and the box closed. The creature reached down with one vast
hand and picked up the box. It raised its other hand, gave a small
wave, and stepped back down into the central courtyard.

There was a
sharp crack, Fergus felt like someone patted him on the back of
head, and the creature disappeared. The bright spring day returned
and the allotments seemed larger without the vast creature standing
there. Fergus noticed the birds singing, smelt the grass and
compost perfume, and enjoyed the quiet. He had little choice; he
was completely unable to move.

‘Well that was
a turnout,’ said Dave, breaking the silence.

‘What?’ said
Fergus, ‘That we all survived?’ His voice cracked a bit.

‘No lad, my
first book signing. So nice to meet a fan, in its case a huge fan,’
Dave chuckled and lifted up a bottle. ‘Bloody good Irish Whiskey
and some top class cigars to match. Good job big fella.’

‘Was… Was that
real? I mean, did that actually happen right here in Huddersfield?
Everything seems like I’m watching a play. I feel like a cow on a
motorway.’

‘No lad, it’s
not real, you’re dreaming. Soon you’ll wake up back in your cosy,
warm pit.’

‘No need to be
sarcastic,’ said Fergus. His face was white.

‘You’re in
shock,’ said Dave, ‘Hang on a minute.’

Dave
disappeared into the pavilion and returned with two heavy crystal
tumblers. He opened a bottle of whiskey, poured two large measures
and handed one to Fergus.

‘Sláinte, young
man, welcome to the allotments.’ Dave beamed at Fergus and took a
moderate sip of the whiskey.

‘Cheers,’ said
Fergus and downed the lot.

‘Hold hard
there, that’s 40 year old Irish whisky, give it a little respect.’
Dave opened the cigar box and offered it to Fergus, ‘Here, have a
cigar.’

Fergus giggled,
‘Heh, ‘which one’s Pink’.’

‘The use of
song lyrics as part of civilised conversation is considered jejune
in this here neck of the woods. So as I was saying, would you care
for a cigar? It just so happens that they are my favourite brand
and offering you one is by way of thanking you for not bollixing it
all up back there… Actually, this is my favourite whiskey an all…
How the hell did it know...? Bugger me.’

Fergus took a
cigar and Dave poured him another, less generous whiskey. A dog
trotted over, sat in front of Dave, and yowled.

‘Too bloody
right,’ said Dave, ‘But luck had nowt to do with it. The pen is
mightier than the sword.’

The dog gave
short, low bark, almost a growl.

‘Oh aye? Like
the ones you spend all morning licking?’

The dog grinned
then barked and yapped for a while.

‘Of course,’
said Dave and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the small
silver cylinder. One end still glowed red. He passed it to the dog,
which took it in its mouth and trotted off.

‘Now lad, are
you ok?’ asked Dave.

‘Not really,’
said Fergus, ‘All this… It’s real… It’s actually happening. I’m
awake and I’ve seen a 40 foot alien monster in Huddersfield.’

‘Off world
visitor,’ said Dave, ‘We don’t say alien – too emotive.’

‘Oh sorry,’
said Fergus, ‘how can you just sit there? We should call the police
or the army. The government needs to know about this. We need to
call someone. There are aliens, sorry, off world visitors, standing
on your lawn.’

Dave
sighed.

‘Look lad, this
has been going on for a long time and it doesn’t hurt anyone. It
works. It may be amateur and disorganised, anarchy even, but it
works. So leave it alone, just stay calm, and carry on.’

‘How come
nobody knows?’ asked Fergus, ‘This is the biggest, most incredible
secret in the entire world. Surely some investigative journalist or
government department would find out.’

‘Firstly, the
government couldn’t find its own arsehole with both hands and a
hunting dog. Secondly, people do know, just like you. But as I said
lad, it works. We can’t come up with anything better, so we leave
it alone.’

Fergus
nodded.

‘But why here,
why Huddersfield?’

‘Buggered if I
know,’ said Dave.

Fergus smiled,
took a sip of whiskey, and gazed at the courtyard below. The
peaceful scenery, warm sunshine, and alcohol worked its magic. His
heart rate dropped, calm returned and the warm blanket of
acceptance wrapped its self around his troubled mind.

‘Here, can I
smell curry?’ asked Dave.

‘Possibly,’
said Fergus.

‘That’s how you
got past the dogs.’ Dave glowered at Fergus. ‘Who put you on to
that? Never mind, I just hope you didn’t give them too many. It’s
bad enough when they get take-away, but those blasted pastilles
cause havoc with the atmosphere round here. Mind you, it clears out
the sinuses and keeps the greenfly down.’

But Fergus
wasn’t paying attention; he was watching the Palaver on the
lawn.

They were
bouncing around and slapping each other on the back. Then Enoch
shouted something and the whole troop joined arm in arm. They
started high kicking like a chorus line and burst into song.

‘One hundred
and one tonnes of fun, that’s my little Honey Bun’.

‘Bollocks,’
said Dave, ‘bloody show tunes again. Forgive them lad, they are a
little giddy right now, what with bragging rights and all.’

‘What?’ said
Fergus, struggling to get a grip on the moment.

‘They just saw
an X9 or thereabouts and we’ll never hear the last of it.

‘X9, sorry I
don’t follow,’ said Fergus.

‘Ah, let me
explain. The letter designates how alien the life form, the number
how dangerous. X is rare, as you would never frequent such an alien
environment and 9 the realistic maximum, as being in visual range
of anything that dangerous is usually fatal.’

‘Erm… Ok’ Said
Fergus and rubbed his forehead with his fingers.

‘Put it this
way,’ continued Dave, ‘If they were Train-spotters, they couldn’t
be happier if the Flying Scotsman pulled up outside thei r bed-sit,
signed their spotting books and took them on a time-travel journey
of landmark trains throughout history. They’ll be giddy as a maiden
aunt on her second bottle of Gin. And if it’s a new species, they
get to name it.’

Enoch pulled
away from the chorus line and lurched towards Dave.

‘Bonkah, Davey
boy. We name this creature – Honey Bun.’ Enoch had a huge grin on
his face.

‘Duly noted,’
said Dave.

‘Grand,’ said
Enoch.

‘Bugger off and
don’t take the piss. You’ve a ways to go before you get a Yorkshire
passport,’ said Dave.

‘Where are
doggies? Enoch looked around and shouted. ‘Doggy, dog, dog, come
play little doggies.’

Twelve dogs
trotted across the lawn in perfect formation; they stopped halfway
and sat. Enoch saw them and laughed. The lead dog carried what
looked like a rugby ball with handles. It dropped the ball on the
ground and fixed Enoch with a stare, barked once and grinned.

‘Ready to play
little doggies? Want a re-match?’

‘Oi!’ shouted
Dave, ‘No rugby, not after last time.’

‘What gonna do
Davey boy?’ said Enoch grinning.

‘Oh alright
then,’ said Dave, ‘But allotment rules and no gravity belts. I
don’t want the bloody RSPCA round again.’

Enoch nodded,
turned around, and yelled ‘Rugby’. The Palaver exploded in joy like
a bunch of girl guides at a pop concert.

‘Allotment
rules?’ asked Fergus

‘No biting of
testicles,’ said Dave.

‘Well in that
case I’m joining in. I really feel like jumping, running around and
shouting like a madman; I feel as giddy as that lot,’ said Fergus
pointing at the Palaver.

‘No bloody way,
you stay put.’

‘What you gonna
do Davey boy?’ said Fergus

Dave looked at
Fergus and hunched his shoulders.

‘If you can
talk the talk boy, off you go. I am going to sit here and drink
superb Irish whiskey, smoke a cigar and enjoy the fact that someone
out there likes my book. I shall await your return, assuming of
course, that it only requires a stretcher and not a full-blown trip
to A&E. Good luck lad, you are going to need it.’

Fergus trotted
over to the Palaver, who started sniggering and pointing at him.
When they started laughing out loud, Fergus trotted over to the
dogs with his head down, muttering obscenities. They seemed
under-whelmed, but one of them took Fergus’s hand in its mouth and
led him over to the left wing.