Fresh Fields by Peter Kocan

hear Mr. Coles telling Mrs. Coles that she needn’t mop the bathroom. Mrs. Coles’s voice came back angry and sharp. Then Mr. Coles said he’d mop it himself if she wanted it mopped, and that she should sit down and relax. Again came the sharp and angry voice: “Scrubbing! That’s what it needs! Scrubbing from top to bottom! Will you do that? Will you? No! What do you care if the house is
filthy
?” Her voice had gone shrill and Mr. Coles’s voice became very soft and soothing. The youth thought he heard low sobbing. He finished eating and left the house.
    The drizzle ran down the window of his room and the dampness of mud and rain seemed to penetrate everything. The youth sat on the rickety camp bed with one of the blankets round his shoulders and his back against the wall. He thought of his room at the Miami and how nice it would feel to be there now, lying back cosy and warm on his bed with magazines to read. He had only brought one of his magazines with him. It had been hard leaving the others behind, but he’d had to pare his things down to what would fit in the little bag.
    He fished the magazine out. It was a copy of
Home Weekly
with a picture of Grace Kelly on the cover and a story inside called “Monaco’s Fashion Queen.” The article was all about the clothes Grace Kelly wore to balls and banquets. The youth wasn’t very interested in the clothes, but he really liked looking at Grace Kelly. He loved the cool, poised way she gazed out of a photo at you. She was sort of remote, and yet gave the impression of being friendly and sensible too.
    For a long time he examined the photos of Grace Kelly in her ball-gowns and diamond tiaras, and gazed into the blue eyes in the cover photo. Her poised self-containedness made him feel a bit more poised and self-contained himself. The youth had learnt that there were times when he needed a different kind of consolation from the sort Diestl gave. This other kind came from pictures of certain women, and from Grace Kelly more than anyone. He had a secret name for her. He thought of her as Sweetheart.
    The youth lay down with the blankets and his greatcoat over him. He tried to ignore the rat-like scufflings he could hear in the shed. He drifted to sleep thinking of a lovely blue-eyed woman it was utterly safe to be with and who understood all your yearnings. At some point in the night he imagined that he heard voices, and the dogs barking, and a car engine starting up.

3. HORSEMAN
    â€œHow ya goin’?” said a voice behind him.The youth had just stumbled out of his room, afraid that it was quite late in the morning and that he had overslept and was going to be in trouble. He looked around and saw a man sitting on a horse. The man had a battered leathery overcoat on and was leaning forward on the horse’s neck. He looked completely relaxed, as though the horse was as comfortable to him as a sofa.
    â€œClem Currey’s the name,” drawled the man, holding out his hand.
    The youth shook hands and said who he was.
    â€œYeah, Coles said ya came day before yesterdee.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow ya findin’ it?”
    â€œAlright,” said the youth. He wondered if Clem was from the neighbouring property. “Do you know what the time is, please?” he asked.
    â€œâ€™Bout half past eight,” Clem replied.
    Shit, thought the youth. “I’d better go,” he said, pointing across at the house.
    â€œNobody there,” said Clem. “They’re in town.”
    â€œSorry?”
    â€œColes’s missus went crackers durin’ the night. He had to take her in to get her seen to. Might not be back for a coupla days.”
    The youth looked blank.
    â€œIt ain’t the first time it’s happened. It’s just a matter of gettin’ her into town so the doctor can give her a needle or somethin’ to settle her down. Anyway, Coles rang me up and said to let ya know