The Horse at the Gates (27 page)

A while ago Danny had been mending a fence on the far boundary, when he spotted Joe watching him from a firebreak in the woods. He just stood there, motionless, staring. Danny had waved but Joe just kept on watching. Embarrassed and faintly unnerved, he’d concentrated on looping the roll of wire around the fence post. Next time he looked, Joe was gone. Three days in a row he’d seen him standing in that firebreak, gawping at him. Intimidating him.

So, one day Danny asked Joe about Afghanistan. He mentioned that he too had spent time out there, but Joe had merely laughed, the first and last time Danny had ever seen him do that. He’d also called him a
‘fucking blanket stacker’
because Danny had served in the Royal Logistics Corps, a unit not exactly famed for their battle honours. Joe was infantry, the Rifles, a different breed, he’d explained, as the laughter died and his fists bunched. He’d stood right in front of Danny, toe to toe, three inches taller and much wider, a big brute of a bloke who drove his finger into Danny’s chest and told him to mind his own business. Danny had backed away from the encounter, frightened, apologetic, and they’d barely spoken since. Now Danny avoided him like the plague, the cold eyes, the blunt manner, the lurking threat of violence.

Maybe he was jealous. After all, Ray had taken Danny under his wing, had spent many hours discussing the future of the country, politics, the threat that Europe faced. Joe never did anything like that, just lurked around shitting people up. So, he was jealous. Yeah, that was it, Danny realised triumphantly. He was jealous. A big, jealous, miserable twat.
And
he never took that combat jacket off. Chill out bruv, the war’s over.

Still, Danny remained hidden behind the tailgate until Joe had trudged out of sight. Then a thought occurred to him. Down through the trees, at the bottom of the valley, was the firebreak. Danny had never been down there, had no cause to yet. So, maybe he’d take a quick look, see what Joe was so interested in.

Danny checked his watch then set off through the woods, his boots kicking up piles of dry leaves. The ground began to fall away, sloping gently down towards the valley and presently the deciduous mix of oaks and birch gave way to a wide firebreak. Danny stepped out into the firebreak and froze, watching, listening. To his right the break led out into the meadow, the exact spot where Danny had seen Joe standing. To his left, the break continued, following the valley and curving out of sight.

The wood stood before him, tightly-packed ranks of mature fir trees that climbed up the opposite slope towards the distant southern boundary of the estate. Danny scratched his head. Maybe Joe had just been walking the firebreak, checking for fires or something like that. In November? Unlikely. Something else then. Suddenly a rabbit broke cover and hopped out into the open, close by. It sat on its haunches, oblivious to Danny, its tiny nose twitching as it inspected the air. That was it. Joe was hunting rabbits. Danny made a clicking sound with his tongue and the rabbit darted back across the break. He watched it scoot between the trunks of the firs, losing sight of its bobbing white tail as it passed the wooden handle sticking out of the ground.

Danny frowned. He stepped across the firebreak and into the trees on the other side, the ground beneath his feet carpeted with layers of dead needles that muffled his passage. He ducked low, swatting the branches away from his face until he found himself in a small clearing. Here the air was dead, the earth cold and wet, a place where the overhead cover filtered out the daylight, creating pools of deep shadow.

The shovel was standing upright, its exact symmetry conspicuous against nature’s random background, its blade buried in a pile of damp brown earth. Lying beside it on the ground was a pick, its metal head rusted, the wooden shaft dotted with spots of green mildew. Danny took a step forward, then stopped. The ground in the clearing didn’t look right, the earth dipping inwards and forming a shallow depression. Danny knelt down and looked closer. Small metal pegs ringed the clearing, pinning a dark green tarpaulin to the ground. He loosened a few of the pegs and threw back the sheet in a cloud of pine needles.

Danny stood up. The hole had been cut into a rough rectangle, about six feet long and three feet wide. It was deep too, and dank water had collected at the bottom, its oily surface reflecting Danny’s looming shadow. It was a trench. He stroked his beard, wondering why someone, Joe probably, would dig a trench in such a remote spot. He looked again. No, not a trench, it was more like a–

He gulped hard and took a hasty step backward. A grave. There was no other explanation. The clearing was isolated, the ground soft, the tools left behind to finish the job. Joe had been digging a grave. Why?

A bird shrilled close by, startling Danny. He threw the tarpaulin back over the hole and pegged it, making sure he covered the mottled sheet with as much woodland detritus as possible. He headed back through the trees at speed, twigs and dry leaves snapping and crunching underfoot. He reached the dirt track where the pickup waited and slid behind the wheel, panting hard. Firing the engine into life, he steered the vehicle along the rutted woodland track and out onto a small access road that wound its way around the woods toward the main house. As the Nissan glided along the asphalt drive, Ray stood on the portico, waving him over. There were two unfamiliar cars parked beneath the car port and Danny steered the pickup alongside them. He headed towards the house, noticing the dark clouds that loomed overhead.

‘What kept you?’ Ray demanded, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms. He wore a matching grey turtleneck sweater, a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses perched on his bald dome.

‘Nothing,’ Danny shrugged, his reddening cheeks hidden by the beard. He cocked a thumb towards the pickup. ‘I brought some firewood.’

Ray’s eyes flicked to the car port and back. ‘Never mind that. Go and freshen up, then come and join us in the main reception room.’

‘Us?’

‘That’s right. Couple of friends I’d like you to meet.’

Danny’s heart skipped a beat. ‘What friends?’

Ray chuckled. ‘Don’t panic, son. All will become clear. Chop, chop.’

Ten minutes later, showered and changed, Danny hesitated at the door of the main reception room, a comfortable space with deep sofas and a log fire that hissed and spat in the grate. Ray, sprawled on a sofa, his arms spread across the back, waved him inside. On the opposite couch sat two men, their eyes tracking Danny as he shuffled self-consciously across the carpet. One wore an oversized rugby shirt with the collar turned up, the material straining across his pot belly and falling over designer jeans. On his feet he wore a pair of expensive trainers, not normally found on men in their forties.
Arsehole,
was Danny’s immediate impression.

The other man was older, mid-fifties, his long sandy hair receding heavily and exposing a high forehead spotted with freckles. The straggly hair was tied back into a pony tail and he, too, wore jeans and a black t-shirt with ‘Cannes Film Festival 2028’ in silver lettering on the left breast. Neither of the men stood.

Ray nodded towards his guests. ‘Danny, I’d like you to meet two very good friends of mine, Marcus and Tom.’

Danny stepped forward and took each man’s hand in turn. The fat one, Marcus, had a strong grip, almost challenging. With Tom it was like shaking hands with a corpse.

‘The famous Danny Whelan,’ Marcus beamed. ‘A real pleasure.’ He waved a hand around the room. ‘How are you finding life at Chez Carver? Not too uncomfortable, I hope?’ He roared with laughter at his own joke.

‘Ray’s been very kind,’ Danny responded.

His host waved a hand in the air. ‘Nonsense. Giving shelter to a patriot in need, that’s all.’

All eyes turned towards the door as a rhythmic jingle announced the arrival of Tess. She sashayed between the sofas in a capacious mint-coloured frock, the thin material struggling to contain her ample, bra-less bosom. Danny looked away, embarrassed. He’d seem some lumpy birds in his time, but this one had no shame.

‘Refreshments,’ she announced brightly, placing a tray of tea, coffee and biscuits on the table between them. She glanced at Ray. ‘Got everything you need?’

‘Yes, my love.’

She straightened up, apparently noticing Danny for the first time. She pinched a tuft of hair between her fingers at the back of his neck. ‘Mmm, that’ll need a little trim. Can’t have you getting all scruffy again, can we? Someone might recognise you.’

‘Course not,’ Danny replied, rubbing his neck. He noticed Marcus smiling as he stared at Tess’s breasts. ‘You can do it tomorrow if you like.’

Tess studied him for a moment longer. ‘No, today. Before your picture.’

‘My what?’

Tess ignored him and jangled out of the room, closing the door behind her. Ray poured three cups, passing one each to Marcus and Tom. He didn’t offer Danny one, instead waving him into a chair as he settled back onto the sofa. ‘I wanted you to meet these two gentlemen, Danny, not only because they’re good friends of mine but also because they can help you.’

‘Really?’ Danny sat forward, elbows resting on his thighs, his fingers knitted together. Marcus and Tom stared at him from one sofa, Ray from the other. He felt uncomfortable, like he was on trial. His mouth was suddenly dry. Where was all this going?

Ray took a sip of coffee. ‘Marc and Tom are men of influence and skill respectively. Highly valuable commodities in these troubled times.’

Danny stayed quiet, his eyes flicking between Ray and the other two. Marcus dunked a biscuit in his drink, a chocolate finger, waving the soggy end in the air. ‘Think of us as magicians, Danny. Now you see him, now you don’t.’ His shoulders jiggled with amusement as he popped the biscuit into his mouth.

‘We’re artists.’ Tom spoke for the first time, a Midlands accent, flat, monotone. His eyes roamed Danny’s face in a way that made him feel distinctly awkward. What were these two, a couple of fags? Another time, another place, they’d have got a slap, especially the fat one, but he was in a different world now, Ray’s world, so he forced a smile.

‘You boys are starting to freak me out.’

Ray chuckled, placing his cup back on the saucer with a scrape of china. ‘Take it easy, Danny. What they’re telling you is true, they’re both artists and magicians. And here’s the good part.’ Ray leaned towards him, his voice low. ‘They’re going to help give you a new life.’

‘That’s right,’ Marcus beamed, ‘we’re here to work our magic.’ Tom simply nodded in agreement.

‘Let me explain,’ Ray began, nodding across the coffee table. ‘Marcus here works for the government–’

The fat man squirmed on the couch. ‘Ray, I thought we agreed not to–’

‘Relax, Marcus. Danny has to understand that he has our trust, as we have his. Right, Danny?’

Danny smirked at fat boy. ‘That’s right, Ray.’

‘Good. Now, as I was saying, Marcus works in government, has access to the issue of new National Identity Cards.’

Marcus arched an eyebrow. ‘Stuffed yours down a rabbit hole, is that right Danny? Very wise under the circumstances, but you’ll need a new one. That means a new identity.’

‘Hence the beard,’ Ray added, ‘and it suits you, too.’ Danny found himself stroking his bristly face. ‘The beard is just part of it,’ Ray continued. ‘Marcus will record all the necessary details today, then start the process of getting you issued with a new ID card when he gets back to London. Before that happens, Tom here is going to do a little prep work. Tom?’

‘That’s right, Danny.’ The older man tapped a large silver flight case clamped between his calves. It was the first time Danny had noticed it. ‘What we’re going to do today is change your appearance so Marcus can record your ID card image. Ray’s right, the beard suits you, and I can see that the lifestyle here has improved your complexion and added a little volume to your facial bone structure.’

Danny frowned. ‘Huh?’

‘Tom works in the movie business,’ Ray explained. ‘Special effects. He’s the man who made old Daniel Radcliffe look like a thirty-year-old in that
House of Windsor
series.’

Danny was impressed. ‘Really? He looked proper young in that.’

Tom smiled for the first time, his fingers dancing on the air. ‘The magic of the movies, Danny. Now I’m going to do the same for you.’ Tom hefted the flight case onto the coffee table in front of him and snapped the locks open. ‘I’ve got a range of coloured contacts, pigmentation and hair dyes, all the usual tricks of the trade. And then I have this.’ From inside the case, Tom produced what looked like a loose flap of skin the size and shape of a sock.

Danny’s face wrinkled. ‘Shit. What’s that?’

‘That, my friend, is pure magic,’ smiled Tom. ‘Selfmoulding latex membrane, imbedded with a tiny microchip. Apply it once, mould it to suit, program the chip, and voila. You can wear it again and again without hours in the make-up chair. It simply reshapes itself to your original design. It’ll even match your skin tone.’ Tom jiggled the rubbery material between his thumb and forefinger. ‘This particular sample will be used to subtly change the shape of your face. I’ve undertaken some preliminary computer modelling, based on the shots Ray took when you first arrived here. This little baby will build out your forehead and subtly reshape the bridge of your nose.’

Danny ran his hand across his face. ‘I’m going to look like some sort of caveman, right?’

‘Caveman,’ laughed Marcus, polishing off the last of the biscuits, ‘that’s a good one.’

Tom looked pained. ‘This is cutting edge technology, extremely expensive. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get this.’

‘A lot of trouble,’ Ray echoed, his eyes boring into Danny’s. Then his face softened. ‘Think about it, son – new face, new ID. You’ll be able to come and go as you please, travel, even leave the country. Not bad, eh?’

Danny stared at Tom’s case, at the neatly labelled boxes sitting snugly in their foam compartments. ‘Yeah. I suppose.’ He felt Ray’s eyes on him again, then heard him say to the others: ‘Gents, why don’t you get set up in the study while I have a quick chat with Danny? I’ll get Tess to wheel in some more refreshments.’