Around the time that Milton was putting down the fourth bottle, Dan was cooking a large breakfast of bacon, sausage and black pudding. Dan placed what was essentially a mixed grill between a full half of a French loaf and doused the contents with brown sauce.
“I can’t believe that bastard left without me,” Dan muttered to himself.
“At least he left the bottles.”
It was true that Milton had abandoned the original thermal bottles that he and Dan had decided were ineffectual. However, Dan was not a man to be held back by his own objections so he took them anyway. Shoving his breakfast nudger into his mouth and wiping away the brown sauce from his lips Dan reached for pen and paper. He wrote the following note.
Dear Milton,
Death to traitors.
Love Dan.
With that he filled up his bottles with milk and put them into a bag. Experimental procedure required that he leave a control bottle in the back garden so Dan took one of the bottles out to the small yard. There was an abandoned chicken coup in the back yard, Milton had cleaned it but it still smelled unpleasant enough. Next to the chicken coup, Dan recognised one of the lunch packs that Milton had decided would be best for the milk triangulation. A thrill of excitement hit him as he realised that the experiment was already in effect. Dan set out immediately to inspect Milton’s work.
5.
Gary had been crying onto his bed. The reality that it was no longer his bed only upset him more. His eyes had gotten sore and then he had fallen asleep, face first and fully clothed. The bottom half of his body slumped on to the floor. When the door bell rang his first thought was that it was Alison and she had come back to forgive him; a blissful scene of unity formed in his mind's eye. Seconds later he realised that it was probably Shelley, his new boss, and moped his way down the stairs to answer it.
Gary was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was Milton at the door. However, at the very second that Gary opened his mouth to welcome Milton, a dramatic slapping of injured wings cluttered into the front garden. Both Gary and Milton turned to observe the bird. The bird was a magpie; it held a twig of privet in its beak. The bird stared directly at Gary and Milton as if it were expecting something from them. The reason for the bird’s sudden descent became immediately apparent as a pair of magpies swept out of the air to chase the creature. They pecked at the bird, their wings outspread and flapping. The magpie attempted to fly to safety but it was obvious that it had been injured. As fast as they had arrived, the two magpies had the first magpie on its back and were working to assign their victim a number on the Glasgow scale.
“Oi,” Gary clapped his hands and stamped his feet.
The attacking magpies gave a few last pecks and left their victim for dead. Once the two attackers were out of sight, the magpie with the twig in its mouth somehow found its feet and made an erratic burst at the sky. It cleared the hedgerow and landed in the garden of Gary's next door neighbour.
“I’m not sure if that’s one for sorrow, two for joy or three for a girl,” said Milton.
“The three are very much the same thing in my experience.”
Gary gestured for Milton to enter his house. Milton had visited Gary only twice since Easter, the difference in the state of the house was dramatic. Gary had kept his living room and kitchen relatively tidy but the rest of the house may as well have been a direct metaphor for Gary’s mental state: It looked like the world had given up on it. However, the dust and dereliction that Gary had let fall liberally around him had been eradicated by Alison’s brief presence in the house. Gary didn't like the house so clean, the absence of dust reminded him of the absence of love.
“I have milk and tea,” there was the glimmer of a brag in Gary’s voice.
“Splendid, I like mine with both.”
Gary clicked on the kitchen kettle.
“So, I’ve seen Alison about. Is everything alright with you two?”
“In a word, fucked.”
“The good fucked or the bad one?”
“It’s never the good one.”
Milton nodded in what he hoped was empathy.
“Perhaps it’s for the best, besides it frees you up for Julie.”
“I haven’t lost hope yet, and Alison’s cousin is moving in to cover the rent so the more I behave...”
Gary didn’t finish the thought.
“Alison’s seeing someone else,” he added, “Neville.”
“That’s a wanker name if ever I heard one.”
Gary nodded. The kettle reached boiling in the quiet that followed the statement and Gary poured the tea. Whilst Gary stirred the mugs, Milton reached for something comforting to say.
“Might as well bang Julie then.”
“No, I wouldn’t give Alison the satisfaction.”
“What about giving you the satisfaction?”
Gary took a long swig of his tea.
“Mate, nothing is better for me: Alison is gone and I still can’t leave the village. It’s over for me, none of it matters. I noticed Dan didn’t come.”
“It’ll get better and by now, Dan should be out checking my milk triangulation.”
“What?”
Milton saw the faint glimmer of a smile pass across Gary’s face.
“You have to hear about this one.”
6.
The glimmer of an orange lunch box peered out at Dan from between a cluster of ferns. Dan made a mental note not to be impressed by how closely Milton had followed his instructions. Dan walked over to the ferns and pulled the day-glow receptacle from its resting place. The lunchbox was cold to the touch. Dan’s eyes widened as he unfastened the lunch box and felt the bottle inside it, still cold.
Dan unscrewed the top of the flask and held the opening up to his nose. He took a long smell, there was nothing. Tentatively, Dan lifted the flask to his lips. There was nothing.
Convinced that Milton had screwed the operation up, Dan shook the flask. It was definitely heavy enough to contain something. Holding out the palm of his hand, Dan up ended the flask. Slowly at first, the contents began to spill out. A lump of dried and hardened mud fell into Dan's open palm. He looked at the mud in defiance of his own eyes. He checked the flask a second time, there was definitely nothing else in there and not a trace of milk.
Dan threw the mud over his left shoulder and carried on to find the next flask.
7.
Gary was washing the cups, only seconds after he and Milton had finished their tea. Milton eyed him with suspicion.
“What's all this then?”
“Gotta keep it tidy,” Gary told him.
“That's not like you.”
“No, I have a visitor.”
Milton smiled.
“I appreciate it and everything but I know you pretty well by this point.”
Gary laughed.
“Not you, Shelley.”
“Who?”
“Alison's cousin, the one I told you about.”
“The one you made sound like a spy?”
“I didn't make her sound like a spy, I just suspect the Alison will be mining her for information.”
“So what's the deal? Girl? Boy?”
“Female, that's all I know. Oh, and you'll like this, she's coming to Hettford to study for her Ph.D.”
Milton scratched his head.
“You've got me, why would anyone travel to Hettford to study for anything?”
“She's into witches apparently.”
“Cool, I like her already. Hang on, when you say 'into witches' she's not one of those bloody Wiccans is she?”
“No, she's one of those historians.”
“Then I stand by my original statement.”
“Considering you run an occult bookshop, I would have thought you'd welcome as many Wiccans as possible.”
“I do: Better than Christians, I suppose. At least the Wiccans never picket anything. So what else do you know?”
br />
Gary shrugged.
“Only that she's paying my rent from now on and she wants me a research assistant.”
“How much does that pay?”
“Enough to live well by my recent standards but not enough to buy anything except the bare minimum food required to keep me in the state of animation I have become accustomed to. Not that I can go to any good shops anyway.”
“Well, that's good. At least Alison's still looking after you, there might be hope after all.”
“I suppose so.”
Gary didn't look at all convinced by the argument.
“When is she coming?”
“Put it this way, when I heard you at the door I was expecting it to be her.”
“Should I leave before she gets here?”
The doorbell rang. Gary laughed again.
“Looks like you're staying.”
8.
Hettford woods were unusually silent; there was no bird song of rustle of branches to accompany. To break up the monotony of the silence Dan had been humming the song that was stuck in his head. It was Maneater by Hall and Oates, Dan would have liked to sing the song but the only lyrics he knew were those in the chorus and so, as he couldn't really remember what noises any of the instruments made either, he settled for humming the lyrics to the chorus with the odd word thrown in, “hum, hum, here she comes, hum, hum, hum, she'll hum you hum.”
The second lunch box was a little harder to find. For reasons that Dan could not begin to fathom, Milton had hidden it behind a really big tree. By the time Dan had reached the second lunch box, he had convinced himself that Milton had obviously made a mistake and put mud in the first flask. He took regular sniffs at the milk in his own flasks to make sure there were no witches around, just to be sure. What he thought was that Milton must have filled the bottles up in the kitchen and accidentally poured in the soil from one of the wilting potted plants on the windowsill. Anyone could do it, Dan reasoned, just as long as he hadn't done it to them all. He was rehearsing the chastisement he was going to give Milton in his mind:
“Talk me through it,” Dan would say, “if the police did a line up of similar looking people, do you really think Mr. Plant Pot and Mr. Milk Bottle would get into the same line?”
It had been a pleasant walk for Dan, mostly spent thinking of ways to make Milton look stupid. It had only been slightly marred by how difficult it was to find the second lunch box. Now that he had found it, there was no sense in delaying. Dan pulled open the Velcro and took out an icy bottle. He shook the bottle to make sure that there was liquid inside it. The contents sloshed about agreeably. Dan unscrewed it and sniffed at the contents. There was no smell, which was good. After the mud filled bottle, Dan was a little wary of drinking the liquid so he cupped his left hand and poured some out. It was clear fresh water.
“Oh, very funny Milton,” Dan muttered to himself.
Dan was about to turn about and walk home, but the thought occurred to him that just maybe, just maybe, someone else had tampered with the bottles as a joke and, if so, there was a good possibility that they had only found the first two. Dan resolved to locate the rest and set on his way.
9.
Milton opened the door. The woman in the doorway had dark hair pulled back in to a neat plait. Her t-shirt was made of a light metallic grey Lyrca that clung to her body. She wore heavy walking boots that reached half way up her calves. Her shorts were dark brown cotton with a heavy black belt. A leather wallet hung from one of the belt buckles. Gary couldn't help but feel there was something familiar about her.
“Hello,” said the woman, “I'm Shelley.”
Shelley was a few years older than Gary and the first thing that struck him was just how thin she was. Shelley was clear foot shorter than Gary standing at about 5' 1”. Her shoulders and arms were athletic but unnervingly absent of subcutaneous fat. Gary thought she looked like one of those anatomical drawings which show the human body without skin, all muscle and sinew. The second thing that struck Gary was that despite her incredibly slender physique, Shelley's stomach was round and prominent. Her breasts were not large but her stomach came out nearly as far as they did. Her face was pale and anaemic. Her legs were pale and bony. By contrast, Gary's face was bright red. Gary had just realised that his first response to Shelley was to look her up and down. He raised his eyebrows, blushed and tried to maintain eye contact.
“Hi Shelley, I'm Gary. Come on in. Can I make you a cup of tea?”
“Got anything stronger? It's been a long frigging drive.”
“Only coffee I'm afraid. This is Milton; he's the local expert on the Bellows witches. I thought you'd like to meet him.”
“Nice to meet you Milton. Can I get my stuff inside before I drink anything? There isn't much.”
Gary walked with Shelley to her car. She opened the boot of her car to reveal two heavy looking portmanteaus. Gary lifted the first one. Judging on weight alone, Gary would have guessed that the case contained the corpse of a recently deceased gourmand. Not wanting to seem weak, Gary bit his lip and struggled to the front door with it. Shelley followed him with the second case. Showing no sign of exertion whatsoever.
Gary surprised himself by still being able to talk.
“Do you want me to take this to your room?”
“Yes please,” Shelley's voice lilted with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Gary's spirit began to whither as he made it up the first few steps, he refused to put the case down on principle; The principle in question being that he didn't want to look like a weakling in front of a girl. Working on blind habit, he trudged to his former bedroom and put the case down on the floor.
“Well, this is your room,” he told her.
“You're strong,” said Shelley, “I had to stop six times when I put that in my car.”
“It is heavy,” said Gary.
“Yes, it's full of books, paper and probably the odd chunk of lead.”
Shelley glanced around the room.
“Ooh, a double bed,” she noted, “I didn't realise we'd be sharing.”
Gary blushed for the second time.
“I'll be sleeping in the study,” he told her.
“Well, I might need the study, for studying.”
“I can sleep in the lounge if you'd like.”
“We'll work it out later; I'm going to unpack a few delicates. I'd love that cup of tea though.”
Gary gave an, “of course” and then made his exit as quickly as possible.
10.
Back in the kitchen. Gary filled the kettle and began to dig in the cupboard for the teapot.
“She seems nice,” said Milton.
“You think so?” Gary asked, “She's not, you know, creepy?”
“No, why do you say that?”
“I don't know, she's weird.”
“She's fine; you're just looking for reasons not to like her because of Alison.”
“I am not. Do you think she's pregnant?”
“Hardly,” said Milton.
“But she has that little tummy; it just doesn't fit with the rest of her.”
Milton scratched his chin, and then patted his stomach.
“No, I don't think so. I think we'd all look pregnant in a t-shirt that tight. I know I would.”
“Well me too, but neither of us can get pregnant.”
“I don't think I can argue with logic like that,” Milton laughed, “What's she doing upstairs?”
“Unpacking.”
“Do you fancy her?”
Gary pulled a face. It was the sort of face he used to pull at primary school whenever anyone suggested he liked any girls at all. His eyes scrunched together, his lips separated into a grimace and his shoulders hunched up protectively. Milton and Gary were talking in hushed whispers. Upstairs the noise of drawers opening and things being moved stopped thumping conspicuously, as if it might be listening to their conversation.
“Eugh
, no.”
“She's quite pretty.”
“She's not as pretty as Alison.”
Milton pulled the face that he normally reserved for when Dan was being unreasonable.
“It doesn't look like Alison is an option right now. You probably need to move on.”
“Oh balls to that, how long were you single? Two decades?”
“Two and half so I know what I'm talking about, if you can't be with the one you love then love the one you're with.”
“No,” said Gary, “I flat out refuse to. Besides, I've only just met her I don't fall in love that easily.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes I do but there's really no reason to believe she's interested in me anyway.”
“What did she say to you upstairs?”
“She asked me to make a cup of tea.”
“And?”
Gary spluttered for a few seconds as he failed to think of anything that Shelley had said that suggested her lack of interest in him.
“And, that's beside the point. Nothing is going to happen.”
Gary crossed his arms.
“Are we clear?” Gary added.
“Clear and transparent as glass,” Milton smirked.
Gary swilled the boiling water three times anti-clockwise around the teapot to warm it up, threw the water in to the sink and then re-boiled the kettle.
11.
Dan took the third bottle out of a clump. He shook it, as there was obviously no liquid in it he opened it straight away and emptied it out on the palm of his hand. Nothing fell out of the bottle. Dan sniffed at the bottle opening; there was the vague odour of the bottle's plastic but no smell of milk. Dan thrust his thick index finger into the opening and ran it around the inside of the bottle. It was bone dry. Perhaps Milton was sending him some kind of cryptic message. Whatever it was, Dan wasn't going to let it get the better of him. He would argue that he had to collect the lunch boxes in order to test Milton's ability to correctly follow a map. That would do.
Dan began to wish that he had started putting out his own bottles in place of the lunch boxes as soon as he had found the first one. Still, it was too late now. A mixture of boredom curiosity and competition drove him to keep looking for the fourth bottle. He poured all of his remaining milk into one flask to keep it cool, took a swig of the refreshing cow's mucus and continued on his way.