by Pat Young
Gus lets his face do the talking.
‘You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?’
‘You lost me at camel.’
Natalie giggles, and Gus thinks he could listen to that sound all day long.
‘Well, it’s a great hit with smaller kids. Apparently, it was Mrs Boss who had the idea we should start charging extra for some special activities. With our discounted rate at the Farm Park…’ She circles her right hand in the air and waits for him to finish the sentence.
‘Brackenbrae makes money?’ He gives a nod of admiration. ‘Gotta hand it to her. She’s the one with the business brain.’
‘Anyway, we’ll all get dropped at the Farm Park. I’ll spend the afternoon there with the wee ones, you’ll take the teenagers for a hike and we’ll meet back there for tea or ice creams, whatever.’
‘Where precisely am I meant to go hiking? Along the main road to Dunure and back? Yeah, that’ll be fun. If one of them doesn’t die.’ Shit! Why did he have to say that?
‘Don’t be daft. You will introduce them to the Ayrshire Coastal Path of course, one of Scotland’s Great Trails.’
‘Never heard of it.’ Even as he says those words he’s wondering. ‘Ayrshire Coastal Path, that’s ringing a bell. I’ve seen that somewhere.’
‘On a sign, maybe?’
‘Maybe.’ A thought occurs to Gus that makes his stomach do a flip. ‘It’s not up here, is it, on the hill?’
‘Coastal path? The clue’s in the name.’ Natalie points in the direction of the sea. ‘Duh!’
‘Thank God.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing, never mind. You’re sure this coastal path is walkable with kids?’
‘I’ve got no idea but the boss seems to think so.’
‘Looks like I’m gonna find out.’
‘We’ll call you Sherpa Seb from now on.’
Gus doesn’t ask what the hell she’s talking about.
He’s walking away when she calls him back. ‘Speaking of Dunure, there’s a cool wee pub down there. Serves great food too. I was wondering if you fancy going down some night?’
That’s the last place Gus can go. Imagine if Farmer Boy and his mates were halfway through their pints when he walked in, the big rugby star from South Africa. But how does he say no to Natalie without making her suspicious?
‘You asking me out on a date?’
As he hoped, Natalie blushes. ‘Fuck off,’ she says.
He does.
44
Dad stops as he’s going out the door. ‘Last chance, Charlie. Want to come scything? Never mind Mum, she worries too much.’
A bit of me wants to go with him. I’ve been thinking a lot about the grave and what Seb said about animals digging up the dead guy. I’d quite like to check on him, make sure he’s still buried, but I’m not going out on the hill again by myself. I’ve got something important I need to do.
Dad’s holding the door open, waiting for me to make up my mind.
Shake my head. He looks so disappointed I feel sorry for him. I feel sorry for myself too. None of this horrible mess would have happened if I hadn’t been determined to get Dad’s attention and now he’s asking me to go scything with him and I’m saying no.
‘Sure?’
Nod.
‘Okay, kid.’ He turns away and I stare at the closed door.
I sit down at the table and pour a glass of orange juice, so close to the brim it nearly pours over and I can’t lift it. Good job Mum’s gone. I’m only allowed one small glass a day. It’s bad for my teeth but good for my vitamin C. I lean over till my lips touch the glass and suck in the juice. It’s the kind I like, the posh kind with bits in it, sweet and tangy at the same time and very orangey.
I try to drink it slowly to give Dad time to get his scythe and get away. I’d like to drink it fast and have another glass but then Mum will notice that the carton’s nearly empty and I don’t want to make her mad at me.
I put the milk and OJ in the fridge and the cereal in the larder. Bowl and spoon in the dishwasher then empty my glass and put it in too. He must be gone now.
Through into the hall and try the office door. Locked. Never thought of that. This door’s always open to let Mum and Dad go back and forth from the house to the reception without having to go outside. I make a tutting noise then realise I sound just like Mum. That’s not good. Maybe she’s left her keys. That’s my only chance. Can’t get Mark to let me in. He’d be mega suspicious.
Yay, Mum’s business keys are on the hook with the Minnie Mouse keyring she bought at Disneyland that time. I unlock the door, wait a moment to make sure no one’s there, then sneak in and lock the door behind me.
There are three computers in here, so that more than one camper can get checked in at the same time. Dad says people don’t like to wait in queues on their holidays and they shouldn’t have to.
The reception is quite dark, apart from one wee window and the glass bit on the door. I can see Dad’s note stuck to it. Over in the corner, light is coming from a screensaver. Dad must have been in early to boot it up the backside. He always says that because it used to make me smile.
It asks me for a password but it’s okay. I know it. Dad once showed me how the system works, so I can help out if we ever get really, really busy.
Okay, I’m in. I blow a big sigh. Right. Now to find out some important stuff.
I type in: when does bracken wither? It’s not that easy to find the answer without reading a whole lot of very serious stuff, about how much of a pest bracken can be. It takes over whole hillsides and nothing else can grow. No wonder Dad scythes it. Eventually I find what I’m after. October, and even then it doesn’t wither away to nothing. That’s true. I’ve seen it in the winter. The stems break as if they’ve got too big for their own good and tip over. It all turns brown and collapses and then the rain batters it into a mush. I suppose that just lies there till the new green shoots come up in the spring, like someone’s planted a whole lot of pale-green violins.
So the gun won’t be found unless someone actually trips over it.
Now I understand why Dad goes scything, to keep it under control. I thought he just wanted to keep the paths clear so that adders wouldn’t come out and bite his campers. Or to keep the midgies away. What if he decides to cut the bit where the gun landed? I have to do something to stop him.
But first I need to check two more things. I type into the search box: age of criminals in Scotland. I’m hoping it will say sixteen because that’s how old you need to be to vote. Scotland’s minimum age of criminal responsibility will be raised to twelve years, in line with UN standards, after the current minimum age of eight, the lowest in Europe, was labelled a “national embarrassment”. That was way back in 2016 so it must be the law now. What if I was only eleven when the hiker got shot? I read on till I find: police would still have powers to investigate serious offences committed by children under twelve. That means Seb is right. I’ll be held responsible if anyone ever finds out what happened on the hill.
The last thing I need to find out is how to get blood stains out of clothes, so nobody knows I ever touched the dead guy. The results aren’t good. I type in how to destroy blood evidence and find out that bleach would do it. Won’t get Mum off my back though. Be better to put the shirt in the wash and hope she doesn’t notice it. But I’ve seen her, sorting out the whites from the coloured things. Dad’s always getting into trouble for putting his pants in the white section of their basket.
That reminds me, I’ve got to get out there, fast, before Dad finds that gun.
45
Gus needs to talk to the boss about this crazy hiking idea. It’s one thing keeping an eye on a bunch of little kids in the playbarn, where the biggest danger is getting scribbled on with a felt-tip pen, but being responsible for teenagers out on a coastal path? That’s a whole different challenge and not one he signed up for.
Reception is shut. Of course, Pim managed to wangle a full day
off, jammy git, just because his folks are here. Gus thinks he might pull the same stunt himself in a couple of weeks, take himself off out of here. It’s getting a bit claustrophobic. He’s scared to leave the campsite and go into Ayr with the others in case they end up in one of the pubs the dead guy has been in. The dead guy he’s impersonating. He can’t go to the pub in Dunure in case Kirsty or the farmer and his mates are there. That’s another good reason for not venturing off the premises with a bunch of kids in tow. What if he bumps into one of the locals who recognise him?
Reception is closed but he finds Big Mark in the kitchen. He smiles when he sees Gus. ‘How you doin?’
‘Ok, bud. Just wondering if you’ve seen the boss?’
‘He’s out on the hillside, cutting bracken.’
‘Shit!’ The expletive is out before he can stop it. Why the hell would he be cutting bracken? The kid must have somehow told him about the gun.
‘Problem?’
‘Nah, just need to ask him something and I don’t fancy traipsing about a hillside.’
‘It’s nice out there and the views are unbelievable. Will only take you ten minutes to find him. Follow the sign for Brown Carrick and you can’t go wrong. Want a coffee before you go? I’ve just made one.’
The smell of freshly brewed coffee is tempting but Gus shakes his head.
Mark says, ‘Suit yourself. No skin off my nose if you don’t want a free coffee.’
Gus smiles to show he means no offence then hurries out and across the courtyard. Natalie hails him as he passes to show him a picture some kid has painted. Like he cares about that kind of crap.
As he passes reception a huge SUV pulls up and what looks like fifty kids of all ages jump out, the younger ones screaming with excitement.
A guy with long hair and a shaggy beard is stretching by the driver’s door, as if he’s just completed a long drive. When he notices Gus he says, ‘Hi, can you tell me where we sign in?’
What the hell. It’s like everyone is trying to stop him getting out onto that hillside.
Gus points to the café. ‘Mark will sort you out.’
Before the man can ask anything else, Gus lopes off, jogging around the corner in the direction of the woods.
This is the first time he’s been on this path. It cuts through a stand of trees and then leads into the gorse. His stomach gives a heave at the memory of the smell that used to remind him of innocent, nice things like the beach and suntan oil.
As he weaves his way through the bushes, trying not to gag on the heady scent, he wonders what he’s going to say, or do, if he finds the boss with a gun in his hands. His own gun that he doesn’t even know is missing, presumably. He speeds up in the hope of finding the boss before the boss finds the gun. Or worse, the grave.
God, he hadn’t thought of that till now. Gus has thought once or twice of going out to make sure the body is still covered but he doesn’t want to attract attention to himself or the burial site. Also, he’s pretty sure he’d have heard about it by now if the body’s been found.
This must be the way the kid came that morning and the way he went home. God knows how he must have felt trudging back, having seen a shooting, been forced to carry a corpse and then got a beating for his troubles. For the first time, Gus actually feels a little bit sorry for Charlie, who’s not a bad kid.
As he comes out of the bushes he catches sight of the boss and by his side, his son. Gus’s sympathy for the kid vanishes. Little bastard must be showing his dad after all.
Gus has to make a real effort to walk at a normal speed towards the two of them. He wants to run up and grab the kid by the scruff of his neck. As he watches, Charlie points down the hill, in exactly the direction the gun was thrown. What’s made him so brave all of a sudden?
Gus tries very hard to keep his eyes downstream. Last thing he wants is to give himself away by glancing towards the grave.
The boss is first to see him coming. Gus watches the kid’s face and tries to read his expression. He looks scared, but then he always looks scared when he sees Gus.
‘Hi, Seb, what brings you out here?’ He holds out a red blanket-type thing and waves it in the air. Water flies off the sodden material and sprays Gus.
‘Sorry about that. I’m just asking Charlie if he knows why the cover off his bed should be lying out here in the gorse.’
The kid looks as if he hasn’t a clue what his Dad’s talking about. Gus can tell he’s pretending. Time to bale in. ‘I heard you were scything and thought maybe you could use a hand. Didn’t realise this was one of your jobs.’
‘One of the many.’ The boss sighs, like it’s all too much for him, and dumps the blanket on the ground. ‘Bloody bracken would take over the entire hillside if we left it. That’s where we got our name, of course, a brae being the Scottish word for hill.’
‘Got much left to do?’ Gus hopes the answer is no.
‘No, not really. We’re just about done for today, aren’t we, Charlie?’
The kid nods and looks as relieved as Gus feels.
‘Do you have this whole hillside to cut?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, no. I just aim to keep the bracken from encroaching on the footpath, that’s all.’
Charlie nods again, as if he’s hoping Gus will believe his dad.
‘Great view from up here.’ Gus turns on the spot, as if he’s admiring a three hundred and sixty degree view, when in fact he’s checking out the side of the stream, hoping the collapsed bank is still in place. He wonders briefly what the hell he’d do if he spotted an arm sticking out, or a foot. For a moment the scenario seems surreal, as if he’s dreamed the whole thing, but a quick look at the kid’s face reminds him it’s all too real. He turns back to face the sea and points down to the coast. ‘Actually, Boss, I was hoping to speak to you about this hike you have planned.’
‘Not really a hike, Seb. Just something different to offer the older kids.’
‘You know I don’t have any training or qualifications in outward bound activities?’
The boss laughs. ‘Not asking you to abseil off the Heads of Ayr, Seb. Don’t be daft. Just a stroll for an hour or so, maybe a stop to eat some sandwiches. Whatever you think they’d like.’
Gus decides laughing is a good idea, as if he knows he’s being a bit ‘daft’. Seems the boss has his heart set on this walking lark.
‘Well, I think the family has arrived. Want me to do a bit of scything while I’m out here?’
‘Tell you what, I think that’s a great idea. You and Charlie can stay and do a bit more and I’ll head back and see the new arrivals are happy with their accommodation.’
‘The guy looked a bit hippy-dippy to me.’
‘Like the kind of man who fancied a yurt, perhaps?’
‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ says Gus, ‘never having heard of a yurt before I came here.’
The boss suddenly turns to face the stream. Gus is sure he hears the kid gasp. ‘All of this area here will be for glamping. That’s my dream.’
Desperate to take his attention away from the hillside, Gus touches his arm and points up the coast. ‘Where is that?’
‘In the far distance?’
Gus nods.‘Yeah, way over there.’
The boss points out a whole lot of places whose names mean nothing at all, but Gus smiles and makes noises and comments to show he’s impressed.
‘Right,’ says his employer, ‘I’d better go. Take care of my son. I want him back with two feet and ten toes, remember.’
Charlie takes a big stride towards his father, as if to say, take me with you.
Gus says, ‘Will do. Okay, Charlie, can you show me how to handle this thing? I’m the one likely to lose toes, I think.’
He sees the boss hesitate for a moment and regrets his words. ‘Joking, Boss,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I’ve handled a scythe before. No worries.’
‘Remember to take that fleece home when you go, Charlie. Expect your mother to be unhappy.’ He raises his eyebro
ws then turns away. They stand and watch him make his way along the path till he disappears into the gorse and Gus is sure he’ll be out of earshot.
‘Well, well, well. You had me going for a minute there, Charlie boy. Thought you were spilling your guts.’
Charlie shakes his head.
‘Just as well. Can you imagine what sort of shit would rain down on your poor dad’s head? This peaceful hillside that he loves so much would be swarming with cops. Not that Daddy dear would be here to see it, of course. He’d be locked up. Wonder if they do family rooms in Scottish jails? You’ll certainly need someone looking out for you when they put you away.’ Gus looks worried, as if Charlie’s fate is the worst thing he can imagine.
‘Now, while we’re out here, why don’t we take a little look to make sure our buried treasure has stayed buried, shall we?’
Charlie looks like he’ll burst into tears at any moment. He backs away, shaking his head. Gus pounces and grabs the kid’s arm, squeezing it tight enough to hurt. ‘Don’t say no to me. Unless you want more of what you got the last day? No? I thought not.’
He pulls Charlie with him and walks towards the stream, surprised to find the burial spot is much harder to identify than he imagined. The bank has collapsed on itself in several places, making their handiwork look like a natural part of the landscape. Still, just to make sure, he drags Charlie with him as he climbs the hill, checking, relieved when he can see nothing out of the ordinary. Again, he has that weird feeling of unreality, although he has relived the shooting and the burial many times in his sleep.
‘Good,’ he says on a loud outbreath. ‘Looks like we’re in the clear and we’re going to stay that way, aren’t we?’
Charlie nods.
‘Still not speaking? That’s also good.’ He puts his lips close to the kid’s ear and says, ‘Don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me that you could write all this down, but you wouldn’t do that, would you, Charlie?’