Chapter Eighteen
I woke suddenly; it was the middle of the night.
Dogs barked.
Our dogs.
I could hear their claws scratching at the rough slate and their feet slipping as they tried to run. More than once they slapped their heads against my door as if searching for an open exit from a sinking ship. I could hear them throw themselves at the walls too. And at Cathy’s door.
Daddy was up. I could hear his voice and the raised voice of another man answering each other across the threshold of our house.
‘Bit funny indt it, don’t you think?’ the voice said. ‘Bit of a funny coincidence?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Daddy. He was not entirely calm.
‘But you don’t seem surprised. When you opened the door you seemed rather to have been expecting me.’
‘Not really. Not expecting you. Unexpected visitors aren’t unusual these days so I can’t say I’m shocked when they turn up, even so early.’
‘And you seemed to have been expecting this news.’
‘No.’
The dogs were still scrabbling and barking, crashing intermittently against the walls. I strained to hear Daddy and the stranger over the din. I needed to be nearer to the door. I climbed out from beneath my covers. Away from my bed the air was thin and fresh. I had slept naked that night and my skin pinched itself back against the cold.
‘Strangled, he was. His neck was so badly bruised we coundt tell if we’d cleaned off all the mud or not. My lad jus kept scrubbing away at him with soap and water to get all the marks off, like. I had to tell him to stop before he rubbed all his skin off too. And what I want to know is, who could do that? Who would have the strength? And who would want to? Motive, you see.’
‘I think I can smell your meaning but I want you to speak to me directly. Ask me.’
‘And it’s a strange thing. A strange way to kill a man, even a boy. Round these parts men are shot or stabbed, or beaten so badly they die of their wounds. Bleed slowly to death. They’re not strangled, like. First off, it would take strength, like I said. He wandt small. Tall, strong lad he was. Played all those posh-boy sports up at his school. Rugger and that. Squash and what have you. He woundt have gone down without a fight. Not unless the man who did for him was exceptionally strong. Second, there’s something so tender and sly about it. Why not keep your distance and clobber the man? Why not kick him when he’s down? Why not stick a knife in him, or cleaner still a bullet so as you don’t have to touch him at all. Why get up close and put your hands around his neck? Strange.’
The dogs were still moaning. Quieter now but keeping up the game. Setting each other off. Goading each other. Speaking to each other. Mimicking the conversation at the door.
‘Was it by your hands, John?’
‘You believe that it was.’
‘I’m asking you. Now answer.’
‘These hands did not throttle the boy.’
The dogs followed the silence of the men. I heard Daddy move to motion them out the front door then their paws pad and scrape on the slate then the gravel and earth, then fade as they followed his command and loped off down the hill.
‘Do you believe me?’
‘I do. But it don’t matter what I believe. Their blood is up, John. Price and his men. They’ve decided it were you, and they won’t hear owt different.’
‘What proof do they have?’
‘None. And they won’t get any. You know they won’t involve the police. There won’t be any kind of investigation. They’ll just decide.’
‘I know. I know the game. I know how it works around these parts.’
‘You do. And you know they have a convincing story. The story’s the thing.’
‘The fight was won. I won Cathy and Danny’s land for them. I had the paper in my hands. Signed by Price and me and the lawyer. It was witnessed. It was all secure. Why would I kill Price’s boy now? Why would I disrupt everything like that?’
‘Because—’
‘Because what? Because I can’t control myself? Because I’m little more than an animal?’
‘Because of your daughter, John. Because they were seen together. Because the lad had been sniffing around her for months.’
Daddy was mute. I could feel him recoil, shift his weight, step back gently in surprise.
‘What?’
‘Were you blind to it? Such an attentive father, John, in so many ways yet you dindt see that?’
‘What was there to see?’
‘Him and her. Him mainly. Coming over to talk to her whenever he could. But not in a friendly way. Not in a trying to get to know her kind of way. In a trying to get her away from the crowd kind of way. Sometimes his brother too. Him and his brother together. They were after her. Only she wandt keen, was she?’
‘Of course she wandt.’
‘No, no, she wandt.’
‘She’s too young.’
‘Aye. And he’s a creep. Both those lads are. Were, I should say. One’s dead.’
‘So they think I killed him for that?’
‘But you dindt?’
‘But I dindt.’
‘But you would’ve? For that, I mean. If the lad had hurt her.’
‘Of course.’
‘There, then.’
‘But I dindt.’
With no dogs to bark, when the men stopped speaking there was silence. I strained against the door frame, placing my ear canal exactly in line with the crack between the frame and the door, so as to hear them better should they start up again.
‘They found the boy in the early hours. It was dark but they had his dogs with them. A couple of scent hounds, I don’t know what sort, and they found him soon enough, darkness or no darkness. He was bundled up amongst the leaves with his coat laid over him like a shroud. Someone had laid it over his face, and I can see why: when we peeled it back his eyes were wide open, like they are sometimes, you know, on dead things. Animals, birds, people, the same. Wide open in astonishment; much wider than the eyelids could ever stretch in real life, like the lad wanted to capture all he could of the world, like he wanted to take a still image of that pretty little wood, the light coming through the trees, the little flowers beneath the ash and oaks, capture it and take it with him. Just that one still, wide-eyed picture. He used that last few seconds to fill his eyes with colour. But the colour from him had gone. And whatever shades he still held in his eyes, there were none in his skin. We knew he were dead right away. Wide, gaping eyes. Filthy, bruised and puckered neck. Scraps of brown leaves and moss in his mouth and stuck between his fine, white teeth. A dead man, no mistaking. Gorman was still there in the clearing. He’d stayed after the fight and the fair and after the carousing and after everyone else had left. He were sleeping overnight in the front of his van with the fish in their buckets and basins glugging around in the back. We lifted the lad between us. A long lanky thing, he was, but there were enough of us to manage. I took the middle part. I hoisted up his midriff while others took his head and feet. Damian wandt holding the lad’s head well enough. He had him more by the shoulders and his neck was bent back. I remember worrying that his bobbing head would snap his neck right through. Not that that can happen in that way but I remember worrying about it. And I were worried that that thick hair of his, longer now than when I last saw him, would get caught in the bracken as we cut a path for him back to the clearing. But we made it all right, and I reminded myself that dead things don’t mind about a bit of hair pulling like the living would. And dead things don’t worry like I do. Back in the clearing we found Gorman in his fish van and we rapped on the windows of the driving seat to wake him. Put him in the back of the van, we did. Back there with the barrels of living fish. Living, but all as cold as the dead boy. We laid him out in the centre with all the barrels of fish around him, like he was their dinner, laid out on a table in their midst for them to enjoy. I’ve seen a fully grown pike take a man’s finger in its mouth and draw blood. Vicious creatures. So
there he was. And we cleaned him up a bit before driving him back to the manor and his father. All we had was cold water in a bucket and an old bar of soap but my lad did the best job he could, scrubbing and scouring at his skin. Skin softer than any of us working men, softer than any fighting man. A gentleman, in one sense. We got most of the dirt off him, and drove him to the manor with the fish slopping about in the back of the van. I can’t deny he looked like his usual pretty self once he was clean. And when he saw his boy it was like Price was falling in love with him all over again, like he was seeing his beautiful son for the first time. I never thought he was a tender man, or that he could love like that. Men surprise you.’
Daddy spoke. ‘He is a father like other fathers.’
‘Quite. But his tenderness turned to anger soon enough, I can tell you that. His sorrow curdled. And now it’s vengeance.’
‘Aye.’
‘Aye. He already has turned it on you. He already has his target. He was calling out your name like a baying buck. I believe you, John. You’re a man of your word and you have no reason to lie to the likes of me. But if you think Price is going to talk it out you’re mistaken. The only reason he’s not up here already is because his men handt arrived at the manor yet. His thugs, I mean. The ones who’ll be coming to collect you. He’s sent for them and they’ll come soon enough. Today, certainly. You’d be well advised not to be here. This is what I am trying to say to you, John. This is why I came up here. It was hard enough to slip away and Price will wonder where I’ve gone, but you’re a good man. You’re a good father and your children are sweet things. You must go. You and the kids must leave.’
‘This is our home. It is our house and it is their land.’
‘It doendt matter, John. Go. Go where he can’t find you. That’ll be far from here. What else can you do? You know very well that there’s nothing you can do. You’re the strongest man I have ever met. The strongest and the fastest and the cleverest man I have ever seen fight. But when ten men come here and point guns at your head your muscles don’t count for a damn thing. Neither do your wits. There’s nowt you can do at this point but run.’
Daddy made no answer. My breathing had quickened without me noticing and my heart was pounding in my chest. I was suddenly aware of the noises my body was making, of how loud my body had become. I wondered if the men could hear my heart and my lungs through the door of my room. I hoped not. They were too far away and too engrossed in their conversation and the wind they could hear outside would mask the sound of the air in me. But I felt like I could now hear the blood in my veins, coursing through the tiny channels like rushing white water in a gorge. I felt like I could hear it roiling inside of me, almost trying to cut new paths within me, larger channels to the sea outside. I had been prone to nosebleeds when I was a child. I put my right hand up to my face to check, almost instinctively. Usually I would smell the sweetness of the blood but there was nothing to smell or feel or taste. I was fine.
Daddy and the man at the door exchanged a few muffled words then the man left. A deep engine stumbled into life and hummed into the distance as the man drove away.
Daddy filled his own vast lungs with air then released it with a sound like the wind rushing between a pair of mountains.
‘Daniel?’ he said, quietly. Perhaps he had known I had been hiding there all along but he could not have been sure how much I had heard. I turned my door handle slowly, still trying to be quiet about it even though there was now no need. Daddy’s was a dark silhouette in the dim hall light. The sun was still low in the sky and the edges of the trees outside were illuminated with bright precision.
I moved towards my father. ‘Do you need to leave, Daddy?’
He shook his head. He took me in his arms for a moment and held me tight. He stooped to kiss my forehead and I felt for a moment his lips, so supple and surprisingly soft, and the bristles of his beard, at once silken and prickly. He took hold of my shoulders and turned me back towards my bedroom then placed a hand at the small of my back and gave me a little push.
‘Sleep well, Danny. I will see you in the morning.’
V
I travel with Bill for days more. I am his company and he is mine. I am his succour. He is my warmth.
I search for her wherever we go. I search for her by the bus stations and by the railway tracks. I look at the adverts in shop windows. People with want for rooms, people with want for jobs. I do not have the courage to lose my faith. I bite at my fingernails as I stare out through the filthy panes of the lorry windows and scour the vertical and horizontal lines of concrete cityscapes for her familiar form.
Bill helps for a time, but finding my sister is not his main concern.
One night we take the lorry off the main roads, down some back lanes to spend the night in the quiet, away from the drill of rubber on tar. We jerk then sway back from side to side as the weighty wheels dip into deep potholes and fumble on the rocks propped against the verge. There is no light. Pitch dark. Few stars. No moon. An amber glow of electricity far off. And then our own headlights. And then a roe deer illuminated by our beacon. Caught. Stopping short. Stood right there before us and startled too, as we are. She is held as if preserved. As if dead, stuffed, posed. Glass eyes sewn into place. And what with her staring at us from behind glass, behind the windscreen, it is as if she has been placed in a museum with a natural habitat designed and built and painted for her.
Bill jams his palm against the centre of the steering wheel and the horn sounds like a hunting bugle and the deer is gone and I hate him for it, the brute.
My Daddy would have done differently.
But then we stop in a lay-by. And I learn that a body can mutate in the course of a night. And that a night can bend with the curve of a body. He is not so strong as he thinks. He is not so much of a man. His voice is deep and his chest is broad and there is more hair on his chin and jaw than on the top of his head. But I have known others. I have come from sterner stock.
I reach out to stroke him as he pulls at my jeans but he bats away my hand. I do not mind. He is nervous to the touch.
His weight is such that I am pinned. I notice the tattoos on his upper arms. They have faded and bled blues and greys against his blotchy skin. I make out the head of a serpent. There is an eagle caught in flight. Its talons and hooked beak are fierce. The body of a woman is stretched out along his forearm. Her breasts are bare.
He does not look me in the eye. We do not kiss. There is no conversation.
There is pleasure in the contact, if nothing else. In this brittle caress.
And in the morning I sit differently in my skin.
Chapter Nineteen
When you are terrified of everything nothing particularly afears. It was Cathy who first noticed the alteration. I had gone back to bed at Daddy’s behest and had fallen asleep quickly. Cathy, who had slept through the night and through the arrival and departure of the man who had come to warn Daddy, was now up and thundering around our little cottage like a songbird that had flown through the window and was madly trying to retrace its path. The noise woke me but I did not get up and go to her. I remained tucked beneath my covers with my eyes closed, terrified. When she burst into my room she nearly lifted the door from its hinges. Its handle thudded against the wall and segments of roughly applied plaster crumbled to chalky dust.
‘Wake up, Daniel, wake up,’ she pleaded. I had never heard her plead.
I hesitated, wanting nothing less than to leave my safe, warm, bed. But she was my sister. And I knew instinctively, deeply, certainly, that something was very wrong.
I opened my eyes. ‘I am awake,’ I said. ‘What is it?’
‘Daddy’s gone.’
‘He must be in trees,’ I replied immediately.
‘I’ve been into the copse. He indt there. He indt in the house and he indt in the trees.’
‘Did you go right to the heart of the copse? To the mother tree?’
‘I’ve searched everywhere.’
&n
bsp; I was silent, but this time through comprehension.
Cathy must have seen some understanding in my expression. ‘Where is he? Where has he gone?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know for sure. He said he would stay, no matter what. And if he was going to leave, why did he leave without us?’
‘Where has he gone?’
‘I don’t know. I said, I don’t know.’
‘What do you know?’
‘I saw him early this morning. Just at dawn. A man came to the door and the dogs woke and then they woke me. They handt come back either. They must be out on the hill somewhere. Did they not wake you?’
‘I slept right through the night. I was dreaming throughout. Dreaming dreams I don’t remember.’
‘I woke and I heard Daddy speaking with the man at the front door and snuck out of bed to listen. I dindt recognise the other man’s voice. He wandt one of our lot and not someone from village. He came to warn Daddy. To warn him and to urge him to leave, get out of here, and—’ I stopped. ‘And to take us with him.’
‘Why? We’ve won.’
‘Because – and this is what the man said – because after the fight, in the middle of night, they found a body in woods behind the racecourse. A dead body. It was one of Price’s sons.’
Cathy made no reaction, gave no sense that she had even heard or understood. She simply looked at me with those bright blue eyes, shining from that pale, lucid skin.
‘The man told Daddy that Mr Price blamed him. Price and the others all think that Daddy killed son. I don’t know which one it was. They had decided it must have been Daddy, from I don’t know what, extent of strangulation, strength of hands that enclosed his neck and power of person behind them. They decided because of that and because, of course, Price hates him. His hatred of Daddy goes deeper than this recent trouble, I think, Cathy. It goes deeper than all this business about the fight and deeper than land on which we live. Stranger at door said Price had made up his mind it were Daddy killed his son, and now he’s set on vengeance. There are no games any more. He’s sending his men up, today, this morning perhaps, to get Daddy. To drag him back to them and do I don’t know what. They woundt go to police, obviously.’
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