The Buried Circle - Jenni Mills [82]
The caravan would smell sweeter if the lager mountain in the sink was levelled. There’s a Waitrose carrier bag on the floor so I scoop into it as many empty cans as will fit, and drop it into the overflowing dustbin outside the door. From the other end, creaks and the sound of trickling water announce that Ed’s ablutions are under way. I don’t mean to pry into the pile of papers on the table, really, but I can’t help noticing–
Oh, my sweet lesus. How much?
…would point out that you also already have an unsecured loan for seventy thousand pounds, the repayments on which are in default, and therefore on this occasion we are unable to advance any further monies…
Seventy thousand pounds? No wonder the poor bastard’s in a caravan. And it’s not the only letter with a bank logo.
‘Don’t rub my nose in the shit I’m in, will you?’
I spin round, guilty. ‘Sorry, I–’
‘Kinda leaps out at you, doesn’t it? It’s been leaping out and twisting my balls for the last three months.’ Ed towels his hair, in damp black ringlets from the shower, releasing the clean scent of coal-tar soap. His shirt’s hanging open, revealing low-slung jeans, a flat stomach, a sparse fuzz of dark chest hair. Another cloudburst starts to hammer on the caravan roof.
‘How–’
‘–did I get into this mess? Nothing too dreadful, honest, guv, no gambling habit, no cocaine addiction, no drink problem, despite the evidence to the contrary in the dustbin. Costs roughly fifty thou to train as a helicopter pilot, more if you get a commercial licence for fixed wing as well, as I did. The idea is to pay off the loan with the fabulous wages we earn from our difficult and dangerous trade, and eventually take out another to buy our own chopper. Reality is that most of us lurch from financial crisis to financial crisis, and in my case to ultimate disaster.’
‘So the crash was the last straw?’
‘Give the lady a coconut. I was keeping up repayments until Luke sacked–sorry, let me go, as he so politely put it. The euphemisms people use. Lost the Bell, couldn’t afford to have it repaired, insurance people wouldn’t pay out until after the accident report, etc., etc. Only way I’m earning anything is because the guy who runs the show here took pity. Not that’s he’s doing so well himself at the moment.’
‘You’re an instructor? Teaching people to fly helicopters?’
It sounds more like a spit than a laugh. ‘Oh, I could. I’m qualified. But he thinks it’s better I don’t for the moment. I’m the fucking night security guard.’
Light dawns. ‘I saw the notice on the fence. Where’s the dog?’
‘It’s the Jack Russell at the cottages along the road.’
Can’t help it, I burst out laughing. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Ed, it’s just–’
‘I know, I know. It is bloody funny, when you think about it. I’m being paid for doing nothing–there’s never been a security guard here before, not much need. I suppose somebody might come along and steal a chopper, but good luck to them–they’d have to know how to fly it, and there’s an alarm system in the hangar that’d wake the bloody dead, let alone old Alan at the cottages. He’s up half the night anyway, killing small inoffensive creatures.’
‘I met him.’
‘Yeah, well. Man of few words, but generally to the point.’
‘Don’t you fly at all?’
‘Occasionally. My boss had great plans to run an executive air-taxi operation, as well as the flying lessons, but he hasn’t really pulled it together. There are a few charters flying rich gamblers to and from race meetings, and a couple of dodgy businessmen and the odd pop group have used his services, but there’s hardly enough work for him, let alone me. If it’s a weekend or a night-flight and he can’t be bothered, then it’s mine.’
A silence falls. The rain has stopped as suddenly as it started. Ed puts down the damp towel–on top of the letters, to block my prying eyes–and starts to button his shirt. In the corner, a fat droplet of water oozes through the metal roof-seam.
‘I hesitate to offer you a drink,’ he says, ‘but would a cuppa do?’
‘Lovely.’
While he’s putting on the kettle, I look round at Ed’s private world. There isn