We Float Upon a Painted Sea (6 page)

“Sorry. I’ve got a savage hangover. I’m not my usual charming self.”

“So what do you do Faerrleah? What’s your thing?”

“You found me out last night, remember? I’m the beast that pushes the wheel that lifts the gates on the Clyde barrier.” Bull laughed. He looked to the west and the Clyde Gateway where the last tidal surge engulfed the Barrier. “Poor bastards,” he said, “all their homes and possessions destroyed in one night.” He stubbed his cigarette out. Saffron kissed him gently on his cheek and as if being woken from a spell, the grave expression on his face faded.

“I can see now why this is a special place for you.” Bull contemplated her dark penetrating eyes like an infatuated schoolboy.

Later, they stopped outside St Enoch underground station. The Glasgow rain was now in full pelt so they put on their ponchos. Bull ranted about every subject that came to mind in an effort to delay the inevitable parting of company, but the moment came and their separation was ended by a kiss. Bull watched her disappear down the subway escalator, but before he turned to leave Saffron reappeared. She extended her hand and passed Bull a note with her details written on it. Saffron finally left him. Bull looked down at the note. He smiled and then a strange feeling churned in his stomach. 

The following week Bull took a taxi from his narrowboat at Maryhill Locks to George Square, stopping off for a drive-through breakfast en route. It wasn’t strictly in accordance with the specifications in Saffron’s letter, but lately there was something about uncompromising instructions that brought out a defiant streak in him. As he stepped out of the taxi he noticed a group of people standing close to the Cenotaph where Saffron had arranged to meet him. As he approached, one of them stood forward, a young woman, and said if he insisted on eating his mortified flesh, could he do it where they didn’t have to be subjected to the smell of it. He was determined not to allow anyone to spoil his first official date with Saffron. Bull stared her in the face and defiantly bit into his hamburger, sending a spout of ketchup towards her shoes.

He turned his back on the muttering group. One of them shouted, “lying arse-hole!” This made him smirk until he turned and realised they were shouting abuse at a news bulletin beaming from the City Chambers. “Shame on you,” shouted another at the image of the news presenter, “put your tits away!” Bull ignored the emergency announcement: reports on another terrorist attack, the continuing energy crisis and recession could wait; nothing would be allowed to spoil his day. He stood motionless, planning his day with Saffron – he imagined walking to the Botanic gardens or even over the Necropolis once more – it didn’t really matter where, as long as they were together. He envisaged them taking lunch at the Cathedral House Inn or visiting the Kelvingrove Art Gallery, going for dinner and waking up in each others arms back at his narrowboat. He couldn't wait to show her around the narrowboat.

When Saffron arrived in her camper van she jumped out and waved with a beaming smile. Bull waved back and turning to the group said,

“I'd love to stay and chat but I'm meeting a beautiful young woman, so laters.” To his astonishment the group approached Saffron and one by one they hugged her. Saffron walked up to Bull and kissed him on the cheek. She said,

“I hope you don’t mind that our second meeting is going to be attending an anti-vivisectionist rally outside an Ayrshire laboratory?” Bull’s face dropped.

“Well, our first day together was spent in a graveyard so you have form. What are we protesting about?”

“They’re testing a new synthetically engineered virus on apes. Are you sure you are alright. You don’t have to come, I could meet you later?” Bull watched the bodies file pass him and into the van. He whispered,

“It would have been nice to have prior warning.”

“I’m sorry, but you know how it is with state surveillance. That’s why I sent a mail drone with a letter and not an email.”

“That’s not what I mean Saffron.” Bull unzipped his jacket. He was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of an ape emblazoned on his chest. Below it were the words,
The Pixies
and
Monkey gone to Heaven
. .” Saffron offered him a bewildered look. “Pixies?” she asked.

“They were a rock band from long time ago, I have very old fashioned tastes in music. I didn’t have it specially designed, honestly. I didn’t even know I was going to an anti-vivisection rally,” pleaded Bull. Saffron shook her head whilst curling her top lip, pretending to be disappointed. Then she laughed before hugging him intensely. “You and your t-shirts Faerrleah.”  Saffron got back into the drivers seat and turning to her friends she said,

“This is Bull? He’s going to join us at the protest today. I’ve got a good feeling you’re all going to love him. He’s got a great sense of humour.” The group mumbled incoherently.

When they arrived at the laboratory, the anti-vivisection protest was already underway. Bull picked up a banner and watched in silence while Saffron and the crowd chanted slogans and hurled bananas at two scientists as they left their workplace. The police attempted to disband the protest – peacefully at first, then the batons were withdrawn and a sonic boom cannon was deployed. The crowd dispersed but not before a splinter group, wearing ear protectors and balaclavas, hurled petrol bombs at the police line. At that point they retreated to a nearby pub. Saffron's friends were discussing the possibility that the balaclava wearing anarchists were indeed the ELF. Saffron asked them to lower their voices and updated them on how her social media campaign was progressing. It was at that point, the landlord of the pub asked them to leave. As they walked out the door one protester called him a
fascist
and skilfully flicked a pickled onion at his head.

At the end of the day, they retired to Bull’s narrowboat at Maryhill Locks. Bull likened the week spent in bed to John Lennon and Yoko Ono's 1969
Bed-In
protest in at the Hilton Hotel, Amsterdam but without the cameras which he stated was a relief considering the amount weed they smoked and sex they had.
After a further week together, they took a train to Cheshire to visit Bull’s brother. Patrick was attempting to fix one of his children’s bikes in the workshop while Saffron wandered off to inspect the flowers in the garden. Patrick could hardly believe what he was hearing.

“So this girl Saffron, who is currently walking around my garden picking my flowers, is moving in with you?  Just like that? But even worse, to celebrate your impetuous decision, you visited a local pet shop and bought a cloned diamond backed terrapin?”

“His name is Boris. It’s brilliant isn’t it?” 

“No, it’s not brilliant. Can’t you see it’s just all a prelude to having children?” Patrick pointed out to the garden. “She’s testing you. Look at her, she’s at that, it’s now or never age. Check out those hips. They’re ripe for having babies. She wants to see if you’re a capable father, and when the baby arrives, the pets have to go. They’re no longer Boris the tortoise, it’s a disease ridden flea bag. Don’t do it man. Take the tortoise back to the shop and tell them they should be ashamed of themselves for trying to trick you into marriage and fatherhood, but I can see by the look on your big gormless face that I’m wasting my breath. Love has an amazing ability to , make the protagonist deaf. What’s happened to you recently? You don’t seem yourself. Are you in some sort of trouble? One day you up sticks and move to Cheltenham and now you’re in Scotland working on a flood prevention scheme.”

Patrick stared intensely into Bull’s face but his brother was peering over his shoulder towards Saffron, who was now sitting on the grass brushing the hair of Patrick’s eldest daughter. “Faerrleah,” hissed Patrick, “have you listened to a word I said?” Bull returned his brother’s stare. He examined Patrick’s eyes.

“Look, don’t mention Cheltenham to Saffron. Promise me?

“Ok, but soon enough she’ll find out what you really are.” A sombre expression flashed across Bull’s face. He said,

“And what is that good brother of mine?”

“A fuckwit.” Bull laughed and then said, “All in good time, but when you meet the right person it’s instinctive. Other opinions only reflect their own limitations and insecurities.”

“Do you actually believe this old bollocks, Faerrleah? Or are you just playing the fool again? You don’t know much about relationships do you?” Bull paced up and down his brother’s garage.

“She said we are two kindred spirits.”

“I think the only spirits you’re familiar with reside in a bottle.”

Patrick pointed to a spanner hanging on the wall behind Bull’s head. Bull took the spanner down and handed it to him. Patrick said,

“You hardly know her and to be honest, this is your first true relationship that I know about, if you don’t count Deirdre’s plastic mannequin doll which you used to practise French kissing with.”

“That relationship was destined never to work out. We were different star signs. I'm Taurus and she was Zylon. Anyway, what would you know of love Patrick? You’re an accountant for fuck’s sake and accountants know nothing about love.” Patrick sighed exasperatedly and said,

“We know about the price of love and love is for fools. So in that respect you’ll do just fine Faerrleah.” Bull took the spanner from his brother’s hands and proceeded to fix the bike in silence.

Later in the afternoon, Bull and Saffron took a train to Salford, to meet Bull’s sister, Deirdre at the family’s local pub, the Squealing Pig.  Saffron went to the bar to get a round of drinks. Bull waited, anxious to find out what his sister thought of Saffron.

“Well, what do you think of my new girlfriend sister of mine?”    

“Give over, Faerrleah? She’s been your only girlfriend as far as I know, but then again, are we counting my mannequin...”

“Why is everyone obsessed with this mannequin? Do you like her?”

“If you must know, on first impressions, I find her a bit jolly hockey sticks but I might be wrong, she’s probably just a bit of a twit.” Bull tried to disguise his displeasure at Deirdre’s frankness.

“You need to get over that chip on your shoulder. She’s just preoccupied with the more spiritual aspects of life. Did you ever stop to think that maybe your chat is a bit prosaic for her?” Deirdre grumbled disapprovingly, and then she said,

“Well, I can see what appeals to you, she's obviously a great beauty, but I can't, for the life of me, figure out what she sees in you?” Bull brushed his sister's cheek with the back of his hand and offering a playful smile, said,

“We communicate at a metaphysical level, free from the one-dimensional perspective apparent in modern society and evident in your last shallow comment. I pity your obvious myopia.”

“You’ve changed since you moved up to that Glasgow and you even talk differently. Patrick has also changed since he moved down south.” Bull grunted,

“South? Wilmslow is hardly down south.”

“Its south of Salford isn’t it? Anyway, I’ll tell you another thing, both of you are spineless and know nothing about women. Mark my words, just like what happened to Patrick, it won’t be long before she’ll have you wrapped around her finger and treating you like a troublesome puppy. Before you know it she’ll be making you take a piss sitting down.” Bull’s face contorted. He said,

“Patrick pisses sitting down?” Deirdre’s head nodded up and down and they burst out laughing.

Saffron returned from the bar with some drinks. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just a family joke,” replied Bull, smiling warmly. He got up to go to the lavatory, leaving his sister alone with Saffron. Deirdre’s laughter faded and she caught Saffron’s gaze. She looked back into her large dark brown eyes and shuffled uncomfortably, believing that Saffron was reading her thoughts. Saffron said,

“You have your brother’s eyes.” Deirdre mimicked a comical voice,

“I hope not, he’s blind without them.” She cringed with embarrassment on realising that her quipped reply sounded like something her brother would unwittingly say.

Chapter 4: The Elves of Anarchy

“Dear Professor Burke, if you are reading this correspondence I will presume that you have received the decryption code from our contact and have successfully downloaded the files to the Shackle we have provided you with. I would also presume that you are feeling very anxious and have many questions that need answering. I sincerely hope to address your concerns, but can I start by reassuring you that coming to the Environmental Liberation Front with the information you possess was a wise choice. We would be more than happy to convene a meeting at a time suitable to both parties, however much will depend on you agreeing to certain conditions which I will need to outline prior to our meeting. One proviso, which we require, is an assurance that you will be prepared to go on record stating exactly what you know regarding the MoDs activities in the North Atlantic, and disclose all relevant classified documents, files and plans. However, I feel it only right to highlight the consequences of this decision, if taken forward: the Government will view your actions as treasonous and if caught, a lengthy prison sentence or worse will await you. Nonetheless, if you need to leave the country and move to somewhere without an extradition treaty, the ELF will be happy to provide you with the required documents and safe passage.