Quid Pro Quo

Chapter Eighteen

We sat around the fire in the gathering dusk. The sky was smeared with pink and purple streaks where the sun had recently set, and the first stars were visible above us. I lay back in the long grass with my hands clasped behind my head, watching the heavens twinkle and feeling the first droplets of the evening dew settle over me.

I enjoyed the smell of the fish as it cooked. Ty had cleaned them, topped and tailed them both, spread them open and wedged them in split sticks. This apparatus was propped close to the flames, and he turned them regularly. Occasionally, he would baste them with a little squirt from an old and ostensibly rusty oilcan. I was unsure as to the contents of the can, but it smelled a lot better than WD40.

Ty and Martha were talking but I wasn't listening, all I heard was the crackle and spit of logs on the fire. I was feeling glum and ever-so-slightly sorry for myself. I knew that it was immature, but I felt jealous of him. I don't know why I was surprised; since Sarah had died, I had received no requited interest from any of the women I have met. Admittedly, I didn't look at another woman for a long time, but as the loss and depression had faded somewhat, I began to notice again.

Now I realized that the pattern was repeating with Martha, and that there didn't seem to be any hope of a relationship growing there.

Regardless, some part of me wanted to tell her something, anything really. I recognized that it was a vain hope; that telling her my feelings might somehow cause a change of heart, and she would recognize what a handsome, witty catch I was.

"... What do you think, Satchmo?" I was dimly aware of Martha's voice.

They were both looking at me expectantly. I rolled onto my side and propped myself up on an elbow.

"Um-Hmm? I'm sorry," I replied, by way of asking for a repeat of the question.

Ty poked some embers with a long stick. Martha watched him attentively, reflected firelight dancing in her eyes like playful sprites.

"The pieces of pottery that Martha found," Ty explained.

"Oh yes, very nice," I said, a lack of interest creeping into my voice.

"It's mostly junk." she held up several fragments of earthenware, red in the light of the flames.

"Except this," she mused, holding up a complete jug-like object about the size of a clenched fist. "This is unusual. I have never seen anything quite like it before. I need to check my books."

"Uh-huh," I grunted, rolling back to look at the stars, more visible now that the sun had slipped further.

"Are you OK, Satchmo?" Ty eyed me suspiciously.

"Is the food ready yet?" I asked, sidestepping neatly. Ty held my gaze a little longer and then turned the fish-on-a-stick over the fire once more.

*

When the fish was cooked, I nibbled slowly and glumly. I'm sure that it was excellent, but it just tasted like ashes to me. I remained quiet whilst we ate, thoughts running through my head like the fleeing tourists at Pamplona. Ty had produced two four-packs of Stella and a bottle of red wine from the Aladdin's cave of his Land Rover, and we had drunk the lot in a short space of time.

At last, and with the booze having made its way to my bladder, I rose and made my excuses.

Instead of going inside to use the toilet that Ty assured me was now functional, I made my way down into the darkness of the meadow. I gulped the sweet summer air deeply into my lungs, it was fresh and clean, and I hoped that it would clear away some of the gloom that had crept into my chest.

Upon reaching the bottom of the pasture I looked out at the shadows of the trees that dotted the hillside bordering Ty's land. The wood looked dark and forbidding and I thought again of the wisdom of allowing myself to become embroiled in something for which a man had been murdered. Perhaps more than one had been murdered, I thought. If that were the case, the culprit would have few qualms about adding to his tally with the likes of me.

With the long dewy grass wetting my ankles, I stood and peed. I thought I could still catch a whiff of burning wood on the breeze, which was odd because I was upwind of the cook fire. I looked around and saw that the sky was light to the west, and a large plume of smoke was just visible billowing up into the inky night.