Lenny says, 'Jesus, what now?'
Vie don't say a thing, like it's all down to him, it's him who's given Vince the idea in the first place. Find yourself a hill.
I say, 'Search me.'
It's Lenny who gets out first, then me, then Vie. The breeze hits us sharpish. It's muddy underfoot. We ought to get our coats from the boot but Lenny's already moved to the gate, struggling with the bolt, like he's twigged quicker than us what's going on.
'Toe-rag,' he says, 'toe-rag. He aint got no prior claim.'
Vince is walking across the field to where it starts to slope steeply, his red tie flicking like a tongue over his shoulder. It's not so much a field as an open hillside. We can see the full sweep of the view, like we're standing on the rim of a big, crooked bowl. Down in the valley it's all green and brown and patchy, woods marked off with neat edges and corners, hedges like stitching. There's a splodge of red brick in the middle with a spire sticking up. It looks like England, that's what it looks like.
The field slopes up to the left, to a crest, where there's a clump of trees and, peeping up from the other side, a tar-brown stump of a building, a windmill, with its sails missing. In front of us the field slopes down gently, maybe for eighty yards, then drops away. There must be a whole chunk of the view you can't see till you get to the brow.
Near the gate the grass is trodden bare and sprinkled with sheep shit. There's a water trough tucked in by the hedge, galvanized metal. We can hear sheep and smell sheep and we can see them, off to the left, dotted across the slope. They're all staring at Vince as he walks across the field, except for the little 'uns, the lambs. They seem keener on running this way and that or tucking in under their mothers. Now and then one of them starts jumping about like it's stepped on something electric.
Lenny wrestles with the bolt.
'He aint got no special rights,' he says, 'he aint kin.' He frees the bolt. 'Never was, was he?'
He pushes open the gate and before Vie and me have slipped through behind him he darts off along the track after Vince. It's like the climb up to that memorial has got him in shape, it was just a warm-up.
Vince is getting near the brow, he hasn't looked back once. One elbow's stuck out where he's holding the jar and his shirt's billowing and flapping. If it wasn't that everything seems to have gone crazy, you'd say he looked a complete berk, out there in the middle of a field, holding a plastic pot, with his white shirt and his flash tie and a flock of sheep baa-ing at him.
Lenny's moving so fast me and Vie are struggling to keep up with him. He's about twenty yards away from Vince when Vince stops on the brow and stands there, steady, pausing but like he's already made up his mind about something. For a moment he looks like a man perched on the edge of a cliff but as we get closer, we can see the hillside dipping sharply away and we can see the hidden part of the valley below: a wood, a road, a farmhouse. Orchards, oasthouses.
Then we see Vince start to unscrew the cap from the jar.
Lenny says 'Toe-rag,' as if he'd known in advance what Vince was going to do.
The cap looks hard to shift, like the lid on a new jar of jam. We're just a few yards from Vince now and he can see us coming at him. It's like he's prepared for that, like he even wants us as witnesses. But he aint prepared for what Lenny does next.
Lenny snatches at his arm, the arm that's working on the cap, and Vince pulls away and lifts the jar up high so Lenny can't reach it. The cap's still on but it looks like it's hanging on loose, just by the thread. Vince dodges to one side but Lenny goes at him again. This time he grabs him by the tie and with his other hand takes hold of his shirt front. I see a wodge of Vince's stomach and a button flying. Then Vince goes down, sudden, caught off balance, arm held up high. He tries to hang on to the jar but as he tumbles, it pops out of his grasp and Vince and me watch it falling. We watch it falling keener than we watch Vince falling because when it hits the ground one of two things could happen, or both. The loose cap could fly off and what's inside spill out, or the jar could bounce bad and start rolling all the way down the steep slope of the hill.
But it comes to rest against a clump of thistles and the cap stays on.
Lenny scoots over and picks it up, twisting the cap on tighter. Then Vince lurches to his feet and goes for him. Vince's shirt's come untucked. There's a muddy green streak down his left sleeve to match the rusty brown one on his right. He tries wrenching the jar from Lenny's hands and slips again and puts a hand out to break his fall and Lenny pulls the jar clear.
Vince gets up, all fired up now, all hunched and snorting and puffing, and Lenny holds out the jar in front of him in both hands, teasing and sort of skipping on the spot. I've never seen Lenny so neat on his pins. Vince moves forward and Lenny moves back, dodging, like he could chuck the jar to Vie or me if that was the idea and we were ready to catch it, but he does a sort of rugby flip with it, low and quick to one side, so it lands on the grass away from any of us,,then he steps round so he's between it and Vince, and puts out his fists and starts ducking and weaving.
'Come on, Big Boy. Come on, tosser.'
Vince holds off for a moment, thinking, like he's not so choked up as to take on a man Lenny's age. But he can see the jar on the grass behind Lenny, and Lenny don't look so past it, all of a sudden, he looks like a man with a purpose. He looks like it might be all over for him in just a while but right now he's planning on having his moment. Vie makes a little sighing, clucking sound beside me. Either of us could sneak round and grab the jar but we don't. I reckon Vic's not going to step in and be the referee, not this time.
Lenny says, 'Wasn't no love lost, was there? Was there?'
Vince goes forward, not putting his fists up, elbows out, hands splayed, like he's just daring Lenny, and Lenny goes forward and puts in a punch straight away, no messing, a good quick jab to the middle of the chest. It makes Vince stop and stagger, like he hadn't really bargained on it.
'That's for Sally,' Lenny says, gasping, then he puts in another punch.
'And that's for Jack.'
This time Vince don't stand and take it. He recovers, then comes in, grabbing Lenny's leading arm before Lenny can get his puff back. He holds Lenny's wrist and he shoves him twice under the throat with the flat of his other hand, like he could use more force if he wanted but he aint being so soft either. He moves his hand up on to Lenny's face, clawing and squeezing, and jerks Lenny's head back, once, twice, with Lenny's eyes sort of popping out between his fingers, then he takes the hand away so Lenny can breathe and Lenny says, 'Fists, pillock,' and wops Vince on the mouth. It looks like it hurts Lenny more. Then Vince takes hold of Lenny's arm with both hands and pulls him and swings him round, snarling, so they're twirling like a pair of ice skaters. He lets go and Lenny goes flying and tumbling. Then Vince goes and stands over him like you can't tell if it's to kick him or to see if he's all right. He puts out a hand and Lenny takes it, pulling himself up, then he socks Vince hard in the ribs and Vince shoves him back down again.
Me and Vie don't move an inch.
Lenny's sort of sprawled, half sitting, half lying, leaning on his hands, breathing and dribbling. Vince is standing over him, bent, breathing too. All you can hear is their breathing and the sheep bleating and baa-ing like spectators. Vince could get the jar now but it's like he's not sure of Lenny. He moves round slowly, so he's between the jar and Lenny, as Lenny pushes himself up.
Lenny's face looks like it's roasting and he's hee-hawing like a donkey, swaying on his feet. Vince steps back, gasping too, and picks up the jar. Then he comes forward with it slowly like it's him who's teasing Lenny now. You can see the look in Lenny's eyes, for all he's trying to hide it. It says, Tm beat, I'm done for. It's all I can do to breathe,' and all your feeling would be for Lenny standing there, breathing, except that Vince is swaying and staggering and gasping too and looking unsure at Lenny. And there's another thing about Vince. His face is all wet, his eyes are wet. He's clutching the jar like a kid holding a toy.