David Lawson, Red to his friends on account of the colour of his hair, sits nursing his pint. Mercifully, as far as he is concerned, the pub is still sparsely attended. He would leave before too long, not enjoying having to push his way to the bar through crowds of people with nothing to say but insisting on saying it anyway. Already dressed for his late night activities he lets his body soak up the warmth of the room, storing it for the night ahead, totally oblivious as to how out of place he looks. The few people in the bar, mostly men having stopped off on their way home from work, are meticulously dressed in suits and ties, although many of the ties have now been loosened from their collars – symbolic of the loosening of the wearer’s ties to their places of work. The door opens and Red looks up hopefully, wondering if she will come tonight. Debbie. Wanting to see her, hoping against hope that her other half will not be with her. Not that it would happen of course, Debbie never went anywhere without Paul. Not quite true, he reminds himself - there had been the memorable exception of the last but one Christmas Party, when Paul had been suffering one of his frequent heavy colds: Debbie’s attendance obligatory, because she had organised the bash. The party still weighs heavily on his mind, causing confusion within him. Anticipation and aspiration had subsequently been dashed by unrealised events. Had he really dared think she would leave Paul? Had he really thought she held any real feelings towards him? He knows that somewhere within her, she feels something. The odd glance, the occasional meaningful eye contact; always when Paul was not by her side and always catching him off guard when he was least expecting it. Meaningful eye contact was one thing, deciphering the meaning quite another. He longed to be alone with her, to talk to her, half-convinced that she would forsake Paul and fall into his arms. He mentally shrugs, knowing that in reality it would never be. She was not meant to be his and that was all there was to it. Still he could dream - and he often did. Paul walks into the pub, waving a hand of recognition at Red but making his way straight to the bar. Debbie follows him in, chatting to Lorraine. Red’s heart sinks. Not even beginning to like Lorraine, the young girl seemed to have set her heart on him. He groans, knowing she will once again try to monopolise his attention. Lorraine wanted him, he wanted Debbie, and Debbie wanted Paul. What a wonderful world! He tries not to notice Lorraine’s eyes sparkle as she sees him and almost runs over to his table. “Red! How are you? Long time no see!” He grunts a reply; it has only been four or five days. “Like my hair?” Lorraine asks. “Cost a fortune!” “Very nice,” making a point of trying to be polite, he looks up at her but does not see anything different other than the fact that she now wore it tied back. “Red.” Paul puts a drink in front of Lorraine and places his own pint on the table. Debbie pulls up a stool and sits across the table from him; sipping from a glass containing a clear liquid that Red knows is a vodka and tonic, hold the ice and lemon. “Paul, how the devil are you?” His thoughts regarding Paul’s girlfriend would be easier to vindicate if he disliked the man but, having known him more than twenty years, Paul is his only real friend. Together they had set up the local badger group. Even before Paul answers, Red knows the exact words he would use. “Been better. It’s this damned weather. Goes right through me.” Knowing Paul well enough not to respond, Red turns to Debbie, delighting in her smile. “And you Debbie?” “I’m well thanks. Busy but well.” Debbie is always busy. One of those people never able to sit still, she always has something on the go. “The newsletter won’t be out on time if I don’t get it together this week. Buggerlugs here,” she nudges Paul, “hasn’t written his piece yet.” “Tomorrow Debs,” Paul promises. “It had better be.” “I could do a piece for you,” Lorraine chips in; her carefully manicured but gaudily painted fingernails distinctly out of place around the table. All three turn to stare at Lorraine, wondering what kind of “piece” she has in mind. Not the brightest of kids, Lorraine always tries hard to please. Her direction is often wayward, but she does try. She would probably be more successful if she managed to relax a bit and not try quite so hard. Red looks at Paul who, making sure Debbie and Lorraine cannot see him, raises his eyebrows. Red flashes him a smile. Ostensibly dressed in keeping with the other three, the cost of Lorraine’s cable-knit jumper would easily keep Red in clothing for a year: the price of her coat would be enough to replace his car. “Perhaps next time,” Debbie says kindly. “Out tonight?” Paul asks Red. A needless question, Red was out every night. Out watching the family of badgers he helped save when the new road had been built. It had cost the council a fortune, his proving that the sett had been occupied: the plans for the new bypass having to be redrawn to avoid disturbing the sett and hundreds of yards of fencing provided to stop the animals from wandering onto the carriageway. Not that it had done much good. Badgers are extremely resourceful animals, as well as being great creatures of habit. The finalised route of the new road, whilst leaving the sett intact still cut across paths that the animal’s ancestors had used for centuries: well trodden paths that led to their favoured feeding grounds. A fence, even one dug eighteen inches into the ground, proved only a minor obstacle to the ingrained animals. A fence had to end somewhere and the badgers were prepared to travel great distances to find that end, in order to follow the wire all the way back again to pick up their path where it had been interrupted. Fences could also be breached. Several times Red had found holes dug underneath the fence: several more times, holes had mysteriously appeared in the wire mesh at ground level, cut as cleanly as if by wire-cutters. What with new roads and the diggers, the badgers’ life was not as simple as one would like to think. When he had first discovered the large and rambling sett, some twenty or so animals had been living there. The road accounted for two or three animals each year and together with natural mortality, despite regular births, the sett’s population was slowly dwindling. Fortunately, although recently active nearby, the badger diggers had not turned their attentions towards Red’s sett - for which, although he would not accept, he could be given much credit. His constant vigilance being enough to turn the diggers and their dogs to other, less well watched sites. “That old boar’s still going,” he informs Paul, “I saw him again last night.” “How’s he looking?” “A little slow. Still loves the honey and peanuts.” “Will you get any cubs this year?” “I’m hopeful. Saw two of the females mated last year. There’s only one surviving cub from last year, the road got the other two. By the way Debbie, I’ve got one in my freezer if you’re interested.” “Yes please.” Debbie had been an A’ Level biology student and loved dissecting carcasses. In her third year of an Open University degree course in biology, she has amassed an impressive collection of carefully cured skins and other “trophies”. Her pride and joy was a necklace of badger penile bones, strung onto a black leather thong that she had made and always wore. “Much damage?” Debbie asks. “The usual blow to the head. You know, I’m convinced they try to stand their ground and meet the vehicles head on.” “We certainly get a lot with head injuries, although they seem to be glancing blows rather than full impacts. It’s as though they run into the sides of the cars.” “Anything good on at the pictures this week?” Lorraine asks, her usual knack of subject-jumping not having deserted her. “There’s that new sci-fi,” Debbie says. Red feels her stare settle on him and glances up in time to see Debbie quickly looking away. “It’s not new, it’s a remake. The original was good, very good. I’ll bet the new one isn’t a patch on it,” Paul dismisses the film. “Is that the one with that gorgeous hunk in it? Don’t you just love him?” Lorraine says. “Doesn’t do anything for me,” Red states. “I’d love to see it.” Red realises that three sets of eyes are now focused on him. It is Debbie who suggests that he takes Lorraine to see the film and, against his better judgement, Red finds himself succumbing, agreeing to take Lorraine to see the movie, which holds absolutely no interest for him. He has the feeling that Debbie wants him to take Lorraine and he grudgingly agrees only to please her. Once more he finds himself completely confused. Does she really want him to date Lorraine? Is she telling him, once and for all, that she herself is off limits? Or was he making something out of nothing? It could easily be that, knowing her friend fancies him, Debbie was just trying to push the two of them together. It could even be that he had totally misread Debbie; that she really did feel nothing at all for him. Although people-skills would never be Red’s strong point, he doubts this; there had been those looks when Paul was not around. There had been the Christmas party.

MARCUS LYNDALE