Tree Palace by Craig Sherborne Read Free Book Online

against it, not at this early hour. It would take till midday to form a line of shelter. Until then the house might as well be in the sky given the heat. The tent and the caravan might as well be in the sky in the afternoon when the sun faced their direction. For now, it was the house.
    Shane sipped coffee on the theory that the warmer you were on the inside the cooler you felt outside. It took a full cupful to work and in the meantime you sweated but it was worth the discomfort till then. He strolled off around the side of the house to visit the toilet and sit there with his coffee air-conditioning.
    Moira took a cup to the caravan for Midge and called for him to come out and have a word, please. ‘What happened?’ she said.
    ‘Fan belt broke on the way home last night.’
    ‘I’m not talking about fan belts. I mean Shane. He’s beaten up.’
    Midge straightened his shoulders. ‘Not beaten up. He stood his ground good, Moira. He don’t go too bad when he’s had a few. Mind you, someone makes you mad enough.’
    ‘The other person. Did they get hurt?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Property?’
    ‘They kept away from big breakables.’
    ‘Police?’
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘What was the fight about?’
    ‘Nothing much really.’
    He was shuffling about, uncomfortable with the topic.
    ‘Didn’t you try and stop it?’
    ‘Me? I keep out of scraps. Too small. Get done. I’ll watch the trots, thank you very much. You know they got four TV screens at the pub now?’
    ‘I’m not interested in TV screens. Who was this fight with?’
    ‘Jim Tubbs.’
    ‘What?’
    Tubbsy was a friend of Shane’s. Moira had a soft spot for him because she met Shane through Tubbsy, at the Horsham Tractor Pull festival where Shane was drinking with mates. Moira was there with a boyfriend who peddled stolen diesel. Tubbsy said that was a sleazy business. Come meet a friend of mine who’s in antiques. Tubbsy could get over-friendly with the drink under his belt, put his hand on your backside and give a rub and squeeze. But he came from trant stock and lived in Barleyville these days. There was a trant bond between them.
    Tubbsy did farrier work and had arms thick as anvils. Nobody took on Tubbsy who didn’t have anvil arms of their own.
    ‘What made them have a falling out?’
    ‘Best if Shane tells you himself. Zara still asleep? You reckon I could peep in on the little fellow?’
    ‘No. Tell me what happened. Now.’
    Midge got his asthma spray out and took a puff and shifted his weight from leg to leg.
    ‘I missed the lead-up. That Jim Tubbs, he’s a real mongrel sometimes. Filthy minded. No wonder his missus shot through.’
    ‘Keep going.’
    ‘Jim went too far. He’s got a mouth. It was just a joke but he said, “Come on, Shane. Be honest. Zara probably dropped your son, eh? You been having her on the side.” Shane did his block.’
    ‘I hope he did. I hope Shane did a job on him. The pig.’
    ‘Shane and Tubbsy are mates, Moira. It’ll blow over. Shane says we’re not going to that pub again. But it’ll blow over. Hope so. Four TV screens. A whole wall.’
    ‘Shut up about TV screens. He’s saying my Shane and my daughter, and all you think about is TV screens.’
    ‘Sorry, Moira. Tubbsy’s not a bad sort. It’ll blow over, that’s all I mean.’
    She could have cuffed Midge, the fool. She walked off instead. Into the house to get her smokes. It looked like only half the amount in the pack was there that should be. Rory—he must have stolen a fistful this time. He tears a strip from the flint side of the matchbox to light his matches and sneaks off smoking like he’s the master thief of Barleyville. She’d deal with him later.
    Midge was wary to go near her but wanted to let her know he meant no insult.
    ‘No sense in being bitter, that’s all I’m saying,’ he said, stepping into the house. ‘You’re right, Tubbsy’s a pig. But no sense in being bitter.’
    He thought he’d try steering her away from the subject of