The Tin Horse

Archie Button desired just two things in life; having what he wanted then wanting what he had.  It was the latter bothering him outside the filthy window of a rundown junk shop, draped in dust coated cobwebs and stuffed with piles of faded newspapers, battered furniture and sad looking, worn-out toys.  

“You already have too much junk” Linda, his wife, reminded him.  If he wanted more, he’d have to make space by getting rid of some of the tat littering what he referred to as his ‘workshop’.

Archie loved his workshop, a garden shed with a fraying felt roof, its door hanging on more by luck than functioning hinges.  There was no room to ‘work’ as such; it was the final resting place for his magpie urges of picking up this and that with the best intentions of restoring then selling his finds only to be distracted by the next desirable object that came along.

“Don’t come back home with any more rubbish!” Linda scolded him, “We can’t afford to waste money, Archie.”

He’d promised sincerely not to be tempted by anything else and had walked past the shop twice already, determined to stick to his word.  Stopping, out of interest only, he pressed his nose against the grimy pane as something caught his eye, a brightly painted animal made of tin abandoned half hidden beneath a pile of grubby blankets.

“I’m not doing anything wrong if I just ask what it is,” he told himself.  The bell over the door gave a dull ‘clunk’ as he stepped in, met by the scent of mould and damp carpets.  Two buckets stood nearby catching drips from a crumbling ceiling.  No one seemed to be about.  Archie got the itchy palms he always felt when he spotted something he just had to have.  Despite promising Linda, he picked through the dead flies and dust and reached down to the bright object.  He turned it over; a white tin animal, decorated in fairground swirls of orange and red and blue, chipped paint with dents and rust at the cheap hinges.  He was captivated.  

“I can do you a good price on that,” said a bronchial voice from the back of the shop.

“Oh, I’m just browsing,” Archie looked about him.  “Out of interest, what are you asking for it?”

There was a phlegmatic cackle followed by a long hacking cough before the shopkeeper shuffled forward, “It’s a nice one that.  Picked it up overseas, I forget where.”  

Archie felt uneasy, his overwhelming desire for the tin object wavering momentarily, “What is it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The shopkeeper approached Archie, a grin of blackened teeth and calcified gums, liverish eyes studying the object in his hands, “It’s a horse, a tin horse, given away at fairgrounds in France or somewhere like that.”

Archie’s stomach churned at the stench of the shopkeeper, and he turned his head to one side taking shallow breaths, “It’s, ah, interesting.”

“I can do a good price,” said the shambling figure, now propped up against a peeling wall.

“Oh, I’m not sure…” Archie had to try and not give in.  Linda would go on and on when he got in if he bought anything else, especially as he had so much stuff already.

“Tenner,” the shopkeeper slapped their hand against the wall, “can’t do better than that.  It wants to go home with you so it does,” the figure coughed and spat out a gob of mucus at their feet.

Disgusted, Archie nearly dropped the horse then took pity on it, as if it were at the mercy of this ghastly character.  He reached into his pocket, took out his wallet and peeled out a ten pound note.  This was the last of the weeks housekeeping money and he was supposed to buy whatever was remaindered in the supermarket to see them through.  Linda was holding down two jobs as it was just to meet the rent, bills and debts.

“That’s most kind,” said the shopkeeper, snatching the note from Archie’s hand before he could reconsider, “I’m sure you’ll give it a good ‘ome.”  Coughing and hacking, they slipped back into the shadowy recesses of the shop.

Archie placed the horse into his jacket and left the shop, heavy with the burden of guilt and broken promises.  He headed home, hoping Linda was out.

#

            “What the hell is wrong with you?” The shouting and arguing had started the moment he got through the front door, travelled through the house to the kitchen, out onto the patio and ended in the shed.  “Look at this place, look at it!” Linda gestured to the piles of ‘stuff’ Archie had collected over the years which he always intending to move on, make a profit, solve their financial woes.  “You cannot resist can you?”  Slamming the workshop door so hard the bottom hinge gave way, Linda stormed back to the house.

            Archie was feeling angry, hurt, guilty, stupid…the way he always did whenever he broke yet another firm promise to his wife to do the right thing.  He threw the little tin horse down onto his workbench where it lay benignly.  “You caused this,” he muttered.  Sulking he began to make piles of things he no longer wanted until each and every horded item called to him its siren song and he capitulated and put them back.  

He could barely turn around when the shed door was yanked open and Linda, gripping an overnight bag bellowed, “I’ve had it, I’m going to stay with Dad.  Don’t call me or message me, I don’t want to know!”

Unusually for Archie he shouted back, “Good.  Don’t bother coming home.”

Linda froze and spun on her heels, “I’m getting a divorce, the house and this shed, then I’ll hire a skip and dump every useless bloody object in it, including you!”

#

            Still fuming hours later, Archie sat uncomfortably amongst his treasures, cradling the tin horse.  He tried opening it but the hinges were locked with rust.  He could hear a faint sound inside when he shook it.  Spraying some WD40 onto the seized joints he began to sense some play and with a little manipulation he gently opened it, each part slowly giving way.  “Hmm!”  A little slip of stained paper dropped at his feet.  Picking it up he saw a faint word scrawled in a ragged hand,

Tre Desideri

Was that a name, a phrase?  French?  Spanish?  He typed it into his phone, ah, Italian for three wishes.  Odd what people stash away he thought, looking at the clutter around him.  “I tell you what,” he said to himself, “If I had one wish right now I wish Linda would just disappear.”  He allowed himself a chuckle and then wondered if there was anything to eat as he was starving.

#

            It had been another tough morning and as Archie watched the police drive away, an audience of chattering neighbours with crossed arms all looking his way, he began to feel desperate.  Linda had been missing for nearly three weeks.  She hadn’t even arrived at her father’s house the night she walked out.  The police wanted to know all about the argument they had, did he know where she was, did they have any financial problems, was she seeing anyone else?  Her Dad had been threatening him until the police warned him to back off but even their visits were getting more frequent.  He’d heard from they were asking for any local door-cam footage as they didn’t believe Linda had ever left the house, or if she had it was in black bags in the boot of a car.  

            Back in the workshop the little tin horse was coming on a treat.  It was the only thing keeping his mind off things.  He’d dug out his paints and touched up the scuffs and scratches, cleaning off the rust marks and straightening out the dents.  “You look nearly new,” he said to the horse, standing it up.  He’d brought yesterday’s post down with him and laid it out in piles; polite requests to settle bills, demands for payments, final notices then bailiff threats.  He had two days to find the money, or he’d lose the car, his phone and then the house.  Head in his hands he felt desperate.  He was not only facing bankruptcy but if Linda didn’t show, he was up on a murder charge too.

            The paint was dry on the horse so Archie popped the tin body open and sighed, finger touching the rolled-up scrap of paper, “If I could do with a wish now,” he said, “I’d get a nice fat cheque through the post.”  He closed the horse and gave it a friendly pat then stood up to face the rest of the day as he expected the police would be back to arrest him.

#

            He picked up more post with a resigned groan, wondering what prison food was like?  Several brown envelopes and one largish one addressed to him from an insurance firm he’d never heard of.  Dumping the bills on the kitchen worktop he slit open the unknown mail then froze.  It was a cheque for £250,000.  He turned it over, wondering if this was a scam?  With trembling hands, he read the accompanying letter, rereading one sentence,

We have pleasure in enclosing the settlement of your wife’s life insurance policy.   

            Life insurance.  He didn’t know Linda had a life insurance policy, let alone for that amount.  His thoughts jostled as he totted up the amount of debt vs his sudden windfall, ideas elbowed aside by the problem of the policy only actioned if Linda died and what would the police make of that?  He hadn’t submitted any claim, provided a death certificate, nothing.  Despite himself, thinking he could always return the money when Linda turned up seething somewhere, he used the app on his phone to submit the cheque to his account.  A message pinged confirming the cheque would clear within five working days.  I could do with getting away from here, thought Archie, just for a short break.

#

            He sipped a cold Mythos at a small side street bar in Chania.  Archie was keeping a low profile in a dapper straw hat and expensive sunglasses.  He’d checked the local news on his phone and the police were looking for him.  Still no sign of Linda; her dad had made an emotional TV appearance telling Archie to be a man and say where Linda was thengive himself up.  As Archie had no clue to the location of Linda, dead or otherwise, he ignored the pleas.

            He travelled to Crete by train and ferries, this area a place he and Linda loved back when they weren’t at each other’s throats.  He felt in his rucksack for the cold metal body of the tin horse, reassured knowing it was there.  He’d moved all of his windfall onto a new online account and converted the lot into Euros.  I’m not daft, he thought, the police will be chasing me down, so I’m going to enjoy this freedom for a while longer.  

            “Archie is that you?” said a loud voice.   

Archie froze.  

“I said to Derek, didn’t I Derek, I said that’s Archie from our street.  Fancy bumping into you here!”

            “Yes, fancy.”  Archie peered from under the brim of his hat at neighbours Alison and Derek. 

            “Linda not with you?” said Alison, standing uncomfortably close.

            “No, she’s, ah, gone ahead.  I said I fancied a pit stop.”

            “Good idea,” muttered Derek, and to Archie’s horror went to pull up a chair.  

            “Come on,” Alison wrestled her husband away, “We’re only here for the afternoon, we’ve got souvenirs to buy, haven’t we Derek?”

            Derek gave Archie a look suggesting what Alison could do with souvenirs.  The pair bickered into the middle distance, and he waited until they turned a corner amongst the hot and bothered throngs of tourists then made his escape.  He’d taken a small studio above a taverna, somewhere he felt safe but would now have to vacate.  Spotting the little antique shop, he’d been frequenting, picking up a few things for when life got back to normal, he saw Alison stood in the doorway on her phone, chatting animatedly with purpose, her eyes catching Archie’s and as they held their gaze, he knew then he’d been rumbled.  Quickly he pushed through the crowds, abandoning all plans of collecting his clothes and new purchases, instead heading towards the taxi rank where he’d get a cab to the port and then take his chances on the next ferry.

#

            Nodding off on the upper deck, Archie sat on a hard plastic seat.  He was alone as night was drawing in, just a few romantic couples pointing at the darkening sky, the sun setting behind the horizon.  He felt very alone.  Cradling the tin horse, he turned it over and over in his hands, admiring his repair job.  He could honestly say of all the junk he’d bought over the years; it was the one thing he actually loved.  Despite this, Archie couldn’t help but think the thing was jinxed.  I’m not superstitious, he thought, and yet I made a wish about Linda disappearing then another one about getting some money and here I am, more screwed than I was before. 

            A few of the romantic sunset watchers began to chatter loudly, pointing at something approaching the ferry. Dolphins wondered Archie.  He gripped the horse and stood to watch a small vessel moving quickly, getting closer and closer as Archie realised the ship had stopped.  The smaller boat approached the side of the ferry and he saw then it was the police.  He looked about him, nobody noticed him, why would they?  Trotting down a steel staircase he met a wall of people all exclaiming and gesticulating at members of the crew, demanding to know why they’d stopped.  He had a sudden to urge to hide away.  There was no reason to believe the police were after him, but he knew deep down he was being hunted.  All he had with him was his rucksack containing the tin horse; the blasted thing was doomed.  Finding the lifeboats and squeezing under a tarpaulin to secrete himself he clutched his phone and wallet then after an agonising second, he lobbed the rucksack carrying the tin horse over the side.

            Archie lay under a stash of life jackets in a puddle of salt water, cursing his luck, for what felt like hours.  He could hear chattering and orders being shouted around the decks.  Head down he crossed his fingers, praying the police and crew would assume he’d fled somehow.  After a while it went quiet then the dull thrum of the engines started to vibrate the ship meaning they were again underway.  Archie breathed a sigh of relief and sat up, poking the tarpaulin up to peep out, his eyes meeting the eyes of a young woman in a police uniform.  She smiled, then called for back-up.

#

            The prison facilities were disgusting.  Archie had been stripped of his clothes, phone and wallet and given a stained overall stinking of sweat.  He sat in the corner of a hot and overcrowded holding cell, watching dangerous looking thugs play backgammon, shouting and arguing as they rolled the dice and slammed the counters down.  He’d been allowed to contact the consulate who had in turn spoken to him about what they could and couldn’t do, one of which was giving him a list of English-speaking lawyers.  Despite the appalling mess Archie felt reasonably content things would improve now having got rid of that cursed tin box.  

            “Mr Button?”

            Archie looked up to see an earnest looking man he presumed was his lawyer and saviour come to get him released.  “Over here!” Archie called.

            “We found this; I believe it’s yours?”  The man was holding Archie’s rucksack, wringing wet.  “Police picked it out of the harbour.”

            Astonished, Archie stared.  His cell mates looked at him, a taut silence settling upon the men.

            “There’re some issues getting you back to the UK, you face a murder charge.  Looks like you’ll be here for a while whilst we sort the paperwork.” said the man reaching into the bag and taking out the tin horse, placing it on a table and admiring it, “Nice little thing.  Oh, just one thing before I go, I’m afraid they found your wife’s body, I thought you should know.  I’ll fill you in more when I get the details.”

            The men all turned as one to glower at Archie, who couldn’t take his eyes off the tin horse.  A few prisoners muttered to each other, clearly translating the man’s comments, a palpable wave of shock and disgust then spreading amongst them.  Archie felt very alone and very afraid.  A tall man reached overhead to the fluorescent light which flickered and went out, darkness settling.  Archie could just make out the thick shapes of the men who were muttering menacingly amongst each other, tension rising in the shadows, the tin horse barely visible on the table.  A chair leg screeched as one of the prisoners kicked his seat back and walked up to Archie.

            “A man who kills a woman is not a man,” said the looming figure in fractured English.

            Archie’s mouth was dry, and he was terrified, trying to back away, stumbling into a huddle of men who were now gathered around him.

            “Do you know what happens to men who kill women?”

            Archie took a look over at the little tin horse; it’s cursed, he thought, I’m cursed.  Vainly he tried to push through the assembled prisoners only to be punched hard to the ground, his mouth filling with blood as he tried to stand, only to be brutally kicked, his ribs cracking.

            “Do you know what?”  Archie spat, “I wish I was dead.”

END