The Fetch. Finuala Dowling

than listen to Dolly’s rant, he thought of the struthiola. Though not much to look at, its narrow scented flower lured moths with fine proboscises.

      They passed the spot where, earlier, William had pointed out the golden orb-web spider.

      “Ider! Ider!” shouted Oro, and tried to use his knees to steer his mother into the shrubs at the side of the track. But Dolly ignored him.

      “Look at me! Barefoot, naked, carrying my lovechild! Not even two cents to rub together! But what does he care? He’s got to let me see his mother’s will! This old rust bucket,” she said, pointing to the caravan as they walked into William’s driveway, “is my only asset.” She spoke pitifully, making a play for his solicitude. “What I need is a hot shower and one of your nice vodka teas.”

      “Sure,” said William, “You know where the bathroom is.”

      Emmanuel came panting up behind them. “Master Chas, hy sê – die handdoek …” He pointed towards the towel that was Dolly’s only covering.

      “Good grief, that man wouldn’t give me snow in winter!” said Dolly. She handed Oro to William and unfastened the towel, letting it drop onto the dirt. Then, naked except for her G-string, she walked inside saying: “You’ll find Orrie’s bottle is in the van. Mix some hot tea with milk and sugar. We’ll find him something to eat later.”

      Emmanuel was still standing there. “And Master Chas hy skryf vir jou …”

      William unfolded the proffered piece of paper.

      Beware! said Chas’s message.

      William knew Dolly’s type. She was not a subtle, nocturnally scented shrub. Dolly was one of those people who present themselves to the world as a permanent emergency. Nothing else is important, shrieks the permanent emergency, but my crisis, my pain, my need.

      Looked at another way, Dolly was the Queen of Spades: your only chance was to pass her on to the next player. If Chas wouldn’t give her the cash to leave, he would.

      William sat on his bed with Oro, listening to litres of solar-heated water sluice down his plughole in the bathroom next door. At least he’d insisted that Dolly have an empty bucket in the cubicle with her. She – or he, perhaps – could bath Oro in the water saved that way. And while Dolly showered, he had this moment’s peace from her relentless chatter.

      He needed silence in order to think. Already his word count for the day was mounting dangerously high. It was easily in the hundreds by now.

      The child was quiet, swigging at his bottle, never taking his eyes off William, who was rummaging in his bedside drawer for his miner’s light. He adjusted its elastic around his head and switched it on. Then, followed by Dib, he climbed the ladder up to the hole in the ceiling.

      “Up! Up!” called Oro from the duvet, chucking his bottle aside. He flipped onto his tummy and slid expertly off the bed, making his way to the bottom of the ladder.

      “Orrie up!” he shouted, trying to lift his foot onto the first step.

      But William was already reaching into the attic above. He found the cloth bag and stepped down, careful to avoid the tiny hands clutching the bottom rungs.

      He sat on the bed again and opened the bag of gold coins. Orrie stood beside the bed, his clasped hands resting on the duvet with the attitude of one expecting good things to happen soon.

      William counted out the Krugerrands. How many would it take to get rid of Dolly? One would be too little. Five would amount to a third of his stash, but would probably mean a clean break. Strictly a loan, of course, until Dolly and Chas sorted out a divorce settlement. He had a feeling she’d take it without trying to bargain him upwards. Then, once she’d gone, he’d build a gate across his driveway and put a padlock on it.

      After that, he promised himself, he’d live the rest of his life by the mantra that there is no such thing as a free fuck. Yes, he would go to the coin exchange in the morning. Borrow her car if necessary.

      “What have we here?” It was Dolly, her wet hair wrapped in a towel, wearing his own bathrobe. “I hope you’re not feeding Orrie chocolates before suppertime.”

      “Oh, it’s nothing – just entertaining him with some old junk,” said William, swiftly shovelling the gold back into the bag and bundling it up tightly. “Would a boiled egg be okay for his supper? And ours too, I’m afraid. It’s either that or quail. But I don’t really have enough quail.”

      “Oh, no need to go to any trouble. We love our eggy, don’t we, Orrie? Don’t worry about me. I don’t have a big appetite. But a drink is always welcome.”

      Dolly left to get dressed in her caravan.

      “Bring some clean clothes for the kid,” said William.

      He felt quite light-headed. He had a plan. By midmorning tomorrow he’d be a free man.

      He switched on the beam of his miner’s light in preparation for putting the gold back in its hiding place, but Orrie was on to him this time and said firmly: “Up! Up!”

      Clearly, having a child doubled the number of problems a person had to solve every day. With one arm holding Orrie fast to his hip, William had to use his free hand for the dual purpose of holding the bag of gold and steadying their ascent. Cat’s eyes peered down at them from the dark hole above, giving Oro much happiness.

      “Now you’re going to have a bath,” William said to Oro when they were safely down. He undressed the boy and tried to lower him into the warm soapy water that had accumulated in the bucket standing in the shower cubicle. But Oro kept lifting his knees up.

      William fetched the goggles and snorkel and threw them into the bucket first. Oro consented to follow them into the water. He played with these new toys while he was soaped and rinsed. Finally, William wrapped Oro in a towel and carried him to the kitchen.

      Dolly came in while he was filling a pot with water, looking almost respectable in a pair of jeans. She’d knotted her checked shirt to expose her midriff and wound a cheap, tasselled shawl around her hips, belly-dancer style.

      “I’ve brought Oro’s clothes,” she said, pointing to a patchwork bag she carried over her shoulder. Do you mind if I dress him in your room?”

      “Go ahead,” said William, handing the boy to her.

      While Dolly was busy with Oro, William set about making their simple supper, cutting the bread and toasting it, putting three eggs into the pot of water he had placed on the stove.

      Dolly came back to the kitchen with Oro in his pyjamas. “I’ll just put this back in the caravan,” she said, indicating the patchwork bag.

      William put a heavy bolster on top of a chair so that Oro could reach the table top, then he threaded a leather belt around the child and buckled it behind the chair back.

      “Take a seat,” he said to Dolly when she returned.

      “In a moment,” she said.

      William wanted her to sit down and help the child with his supper. He felt unsettled by her restlessness. Dolly kept moving around his living space and touching things, turning them over.

      “What’s this?” she asked.

      “It’s a gauge for my anemometer,” he replied.

      “What’s an anemometer?” asked Dolly.

      “It measures the wind speed.”

      William cut an egg carton into three. He buttered the toast and spooned the hot eggs into their cardboard cups.

      “No thanks, nothing for me,” said Dolly when William asked her if she would like one. She stood in the doorway smoking and looking out at the night.

      Oro regarded his supper with the gravest suspicion. He watched as William cracked his own egg open with a spoon, setting the implement aside in order to dip a toast soldier. Oro then took up his spoon and