'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.
He says, 'I wasn't going to chuck the lot, I wasn't going to chuck the lot.' He's started to unscrew the cap again.
Lenny looks at him, not speaking, swaying, breathing.
'Just a bit,' Vince says, 'only a bit.'
Lenny looks at him then he speaks, all hoarse and croaky. 'So what's the idea? You going to stop off every ten minutes and chuck some more? A handful here, a handful there?'
Vince carries on unscrewing the cap. He wipes his face. It's like a temptation. It's like when you take a box of chocolates to someone who's ill, to someone in hospital, and you start tucking into them yourself, first one, then another. It's like when you're looking after what belongs to someone else and you go and take it for yourself.
Vince says, 'What's the meaning of "scatter"?' He wipes his hand across his face. 'What's the meaning of the word "scatter"?'
Lenny says, 'You ought to be ashamed of yourself, pillock.'
But it's like Lenny's ashamed of himself too, standing there, ready to drop. It looks like he's thinking he's hashed up the day.
Vince has got the cap off now. He looks quickly into the jar. The sheep are still staring at us. I reckon we must look as daft to them as they do to us, and I reckon anyone looking up from down below at the four of us on the top of this hill must think we're stranger-looking than the sheep.
Vince puts the cap into his pocket, then he hugs the jar closer to him and dips his free hand into it. His eyes are all gooey. He moves away from Lenny, turning his back towards him. It seems Lenny hasn't got the heart or strength to stop him. Vie and me don't stop him either. He moves to the edge of the slope, to face the view, his back to us all. In the distance there's a sort of trough of sunshine, a parting in the sky, but nearer to us a big, soft, sooty cloud is moving in. The breeze gets up. It's cold but I don't suppose Vince or Lenny can feel it. The ground smells of spring, the air smells of winter. Then there's a dash of rain.
Vince stands, feeing the view, with his back straight and his feet planted. I'd say that shirt of his is pretty well wrecked and those trousers are going to need a good clean. Mandy'll need an explanation. He splutters like he's trying to announce something but he can't get it out or he don't know what it is. He delves in the jar and he throws quickly, spluttering, once, twice. It looks like white dust, like pepper, but the wind blows it into nothing. Then he screws the cap back on and turns, coming towards us.
'This is where,' he says, wiping his face. 'This is where.'
Ray
He said, 'So now I know, Raysy,'
It was a full day and a half after the operation that wasn't no operation, so he wasn't groggy and slow and confused any more. Sharp and clear as I've ever seen him, sitting up there in that little white smock thing, with the extra tubes going in, some round the back now. It seemed like every day they rigged up another tube. But there were others in there that were all tubes, tubes and wires and bottles and apparatus, complete chemistry sets. So you had to look close to see if there was really a human life, a human component still there somewhere.
But he was sitting up, straight and steady. I thought, It's like he's having his portrait done, his last portrait, no flattering, no prettying, and no one knows how long it will take. Two weeks, three. Nothing, to do but sit still and be who you are, I don't know what you say to someone when they say that they know. I reckon the imagination's a million miles from the fact. So I looked down at the bedclothes and up at him again and he was still looking at me, straight and steady, straight into my eyes, like if he could get a grip then I should, like he aint stopped being himself, just because. On the contrary.
He says, 'No telling, is there?' Then he says, 'Lambs to the slaughter, eh Lucky.'
Mandy
The road went on, black and curving and cat's-eyed, like the one sure thing in the wet and the dark and the spray, the one sure thing in the world. Not the place from or the place to but the road.
I said, 'So what've you got in the back?' For something to say. He said, looking at me, 'Carcasses,' and I thought, Trust my luck. After only six hours.