by Sam Haysom
Gary had stared at her, amazed, and asked her what had happened. He hadn’t even known his dad played football.
Oh, he never made it in the end, his mum replied. Her face was hard and cold, her eyes distant. He got a knee injury and couldn’t play for a year, and after that it was game over. I sometimes think that’s why he’s so bitter.
Gary hadn’t known what she meant at the time, but bitter was a word that stayed with him for a long while after.
Bitter. Got a temper. They were like pieces of a puzzle. Gary thought if he could just figure out how the puzzle worked, things might get better.
The third piece of the puzzle had fallen into place one day in junior school. Gary had turned up to his first class with a cut above one eye, and when his teacher Mr Simons asked him about it Gary had done something he didn’t usually do where his dad was concerned: he’d told the truth. He was tired and upset and before he could stop himself he was telling Mr Simons exactly what happened: how his dad had got angry with him for refusing to fetch him a beer, and how he’d slipped and cut his head on the kitchen cupboard after his father jumped up out of his armchair to chase him.
Mr Simons took Gary to the school nurse to get a plaster, and as he was waiting in the corridor outside after the nurse had stuck it on, he heard her and Mr Simons talking in low voices. Gary crept over to the door and pressed his ear against the wood to listen. He didn’t hear everything they were saying, but there was one phrase Mr Simons muttered that stood out and stayed with him: bit of a drinker. This time Gary did know what it meant, too, because he’d heard someone saying it in an episode of EastEnders once. It meant that you liked beer and whisky too much. Like his dad.
He ’ s bitter. Got a temper. Bit of a drinker.
Like pieces in a puzzle.
Temper. Bitter. Drinker.
Gary had wasted a good few years trying to solve that puzzle, and it had taken him a long time to realise one very important fact: there was no answer to it. Or even if there was, he’d given up trying to find it.
Now, lying on his back and staring into the darkness of the tent as these memories whirred and crashed through his mind, Gary thought maybe things weren’t so bad after all. His old man might be a bastard, but at least he’d shown Gary how the world worked. He’d done Gary a favour, really, because he’d taught him how unfair everything was nice and early. He’d stopped Gary from getting his hopes up.
The world was full of people like Tom Carpenter, who went along with your jokes and then changed their personalities at the last minute, just switched like fucking chameleons so they always came out of things okay and you looked like the bad guy. The type of people that girls like Emma Timpson went for.
Best off having nothing to do with people like that at all, thought Gary, turning over in his sleeping bag to check the time on his watch. 11.30pm. They bring out the worst in me.
He was better when he was on his own, that was true. He could have walked the full 60 miles in a couple of days if he’d been on his own, he knew he could’ve, and he wouldn’t have had people like Tramper distracting him and Tom and Matt looking down their noses at him.
Gary had made the top of Duck Tor way before everyone else earlier that day, pushing himself hard to try to work out his frustration and not looking back after he left Tom and Matt waiting on the path for James.
The sweat had run down his forehead and mingled with the drizzle and he’d welcomed the way it stung his eyes; he’d savoured the salty taste in his mouth and gritted his teeth as he climbed. Duck Tor was a big one, much higher than the first two they’d done that day, and the mist thickened the higher up he went.
The path kept getting steeper, too. Gary hunched lower and lower the higher he got, pushing down on the tops of his legs with each stride and willing himself to keep going. A couple of times he had to scramble over rocks and use his hands to pull himself up and once he slipped and scraped his knee, but he didn’t slow.
Eventually, the ground began to flatten. There was some thin grass at the top of Duck Tor and he bent down and used his hand to scoop up a fine layer of dew, which he wiped over his sweaty face. A rocky outcrop – another of the bulky formations found at the top of every tor – emerged through the mist as he walked across the grass. Gary took his rucksack off and dropped it to the ground by the rocks. He paused and listened for the sound of the others approaching, but he couldn’t hear anything.
The mist really was thick up here. It was more of a fog, actually, and when Gary looked around he couldn’t see more than 10 metres in any direction.
He wandered over to the far side of the rocky outcrop, looking around. He suddenly had the urge to pee. He’d barely needed to stop for a piss all day – probably hadn’t been drinking enough, like Mr Stevens kept telling them to do – but now that he’d stopped walking he could feel a heaviness in his bladder.
He walked further away from the rocky outcrop and saw a tree standing on its own in the mist. It was tall and thin and the branches were bare. As Gary got closer he saw that the upper part of the tree was black and twisted on one side. Lightning, probably. It was a wonder things could grow up here in the first place, he thought. Although people like Mr Stevens banged on about the beauty of Rutmoor, Gary secretly thought the whole place was a bit of a shithole. It was all well and good saying the scenery was great, but what good was scenery when you could never see more than 10 fucking paces in front of you because of the fog?
Gary unzipped his fly and started pissing against the base of the tree, his eyes closed. He finished and shook himself off, and it was only as he was zipping himself up and getting ready to walk back that he noticed a shape lying in the grass on his left. It was partway down the slope of the hill, half-hidden in the mist. Something large and white.
Gary felt his heartbeat quicken for just a second, his mind suddenly whirring with the stories he’d been telling Tramper half an hour before. He did his best to ignore any feelings of unease and took a step towards the shape.
Probably just a rock or something, he thought, but as he got closer he knew he was wrong.
The shape in the grass was a skull.
Gary walked nearer to investigate, ignoring the sudden hollow feeling in his stomach, and stopped when he was standing right over the thing.
It was a goat or possibly a sheep, he thought. Too small to be a cow, too big to be a rabbit. The thing was lying on its side, one empty eye socket staring up at Gary from the grass. Hairline cracks ran in a web over the thing’s bony surface. Its bottom edge was lined with a thin row of teeth. As Gary stared at it with mingled disgust and fascination, an earwig squirmed out of its dark socket and fell down onto the grass at his feet.
Gary was about to turn away and walk back to the rocky outcrop where he’d left his bag when a thought popped into his head.
It was too good an opportunity to pass up, wasn’t it? Gary had been planning to launch a big surprise on Tramper later that night after it got dark and they’d set up camp, but looking down at the skull he thought this might be the best chance he’d get.
This ’ ll teach him for telling me to shut up.
He paused and listened again for the sound of his friends’ voices. Nothing but the wind. That was just fine.
I could’ve been down the other side of this tor and halfway to the next one by now, thought Gary, as he started to look around in the grass for rocks. And fuck Mr Stevens’precious navigation. You just follow the fucking path, how hard can that be?
Gary found a few small stones lying around which he gathered into a pile. He looked about once more, scouring the grass, then turned and jogged back to the rocky outcrop where he’d left his bag. If he was going to have everything ready by the time the others got up here, he’d have to move fast. They were slow, but they weren’t that slow, and he’d been up here five minutes already.
Gary looked around the base of the outcrop and found a few larger rocks scattered about in the grass. He scooped up an armful and carried them back to t
he skull, dumping them next to the stones he’d already collected. Then he dashed back and repeated the process.
After a couple of trips, Gary thought he had all that he could risk. The others couldn’t be far off now. Moving quickly, he gathered up the stones and rocks two at a time and began positioning them in a loose circle around the skull. Every now and then he’d pause to listen, but the only thing he could hear was the wind. Gary shifted the stones for another minute or two, and he was just stepping back to admire his handiwork when he heard laughter drifting up from the far side of the tor. Tom’s laughter.
Gary turned and sprinted back to the rocky outcrop. He found his bag on the far side, wiped an armful of sweat from his forehead, and sat down against a rock. He unzipped one of the front pockets of his bag, fished out a cereal bar, then leaned back against the rocks and did his best to look casual.
In his head, he pictured how the finished stone circle had looked. Would the thing actually have the desired effect? Gary thought it just might. If he’d tried the trick on Tom or Matt they probably wouldn’t be all that fazed, it was true, but Tramper was a different story. He was way more gullible than the others, for one, and he was already on edge. Gary had made sure of it.
A few moments later, Tom and Matt emerged from the mist. They were grinning to each other and talking about something, but when they saw Gary they broke off and fell silent.
They’re talking about you, whispered his dad’s voice. They’re gossiping about you and laughing at you behind your back, son.
Gary ignored the voice and held up a hand in greeting. Tom returned the wave and the two boys wandered over to him. By the time they reached him James had also emerged from the fog, followed by Tim and then Mr Stevens bringing up the rear.
‘Finally thought you’d join me, did you?’ Gary grinned at Tom and Matt. ‘I almost drifted off up here waiting for you.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Matt. ‘Slow and steady wins the race. We’ll see if you’re so energetic by the time we get to Sunday.’
‘Don’t you worry about me, mate,’ said Gary. ‘Bags of energy. How you getting on Tom?’
‘Can’t complain,’ smiled Tom. ‘Be nice if I could actually see where I was walking, though.’
‘Ah, that’d take away half the fun,’ said Gary.
By this point James had reached the group. He stopped a foot or two away from them and bent down, hands on his knees as he pulled in deep, ragged breaths. After a moment or two he stood up straight and put his hands on his hips, staring past them into the mist. His face was bright red and Gary was struck by just how much his head looked like a giant tomato. He held in the urge to laugh.
‘How you getting on, James?’ he said.
James glanced over at him wearily, a slight frown of confusion on his face. It’s because I called him James and not Trumps or Tramper, thought Gary. He’s not used to it. He gave Tramper what he hoped was his most genuine grin and flashed him the thumbs up as Mr Stevens and Tim joined them.
‘How’s everyone feeling?’ asked Mr Stevens. He looked round at them all in turn, a tired smile on his face. Gary thought he looked almost done in. The boys all muttered in response, and Mr Stevens forced his smile to go a bit wider. ‘If it makes anyone feel any better, that was the biggest climb we’ll be doing today. There are a couple more small tors before we set up camp, but it’s mostly downhill from here.’
Mr Stevens unshouldered his pack, and Tim followed his lead.
‘Right, let’s take five, boys. Have a drink and something to eat and we’ll get moving again in a minute.’
Mr Stevens sat down on the grass and started rummaging through his backpack. Tim sat down next to him without saying anything. Tom and Matt slipped their rucksacks off and slung them next to Gary’s against the rocky outcrop, and James was just moving over to do the same when Gary caught his eye. He pushed himself off the rock and walked over to where James was standing.
‘Have you got a second, mate?’
‘Why, what’s up?’ James’ face was filled with suspicion, and Gary realised he’d have to tread carefully.
‘It’s a bit of a weird one,’ he said. ‘Sort of embarrassing, actually.’
James frowned at him, but Gary could tell he’d caught his interest. ‘Come round the other side of the rock with me for a second and I’ll explain, I don’t want those guys to hear and take the piss.’
Gary nodded to Tom and Matt, who were sat with their backs against the rock, talking.
James looked as though he was about to protest, but Gary kept his face as serious as he could and finally James shrugged.
‘What’s up?’ he said again.
‘Come over here and I’ll tell you.’ Before James could say anything else, Gary turned around and spoke to Tom and Matt. ‘We’re just gonna see if we can see anything from the other side of the tor.’
He turned and started walking around the rocky outcrop before the boys could react, sure that James would follow.
When he got to the other side he stopped and turned around. Sure enough, James was right behind him.
‘Look, if this is another wind up, I don’t—’
‘Calm the fuck down, would you, there’s no wind up. I just need to take a shit and I’ve forgotten my toilet roll.’
He grinned at James and shrugged. James frowned at him for a second or two longer, and then eventually he smiled too. He slung his rucksack off his shoulder and put it on the ground.
‘You mean to say you didn’t read the equipment list Mr Stevens sent round last week?’ He grinned, bending to rummage in the rucksack. ‘Wet wipes were pretty high up there.’
Gary forced out a chuckle. ‘I must have missed that one.’
‘Yeah, well that’s the one benefit of having a gran like mine.’ James fished a plastic packet out of his bag. ‘She gets all that shit sorted for me.’
He grinned and handed Gary the packet. ‘Keep those. I’ve got a couple more packs somewhere.’
‘You’re a lifesaver.’
‘No worries.’ James bent to pick up his backpack and was turning away when Gary touched him on the shoulder. ‘Hey, what the fuck’s up with that tree?’
James turned and followed Gary’s gaze to the tall, blackened tree Gary had spotted earlier. Its upper branches were half-obscured by the mist, but from where they were standing Gary could still make out part of their charred, twisted shape.
‘Come on,’ said Gary. Before James could respond he began striding towards it.
‘Hey, wait a minute.’ Gary could hear James protesting, but he was confident his friend would follow if he just kept walking. Hadn’t James always followed him, in the end?
Gary reached the base of the tree and stopped. From the corner of his left eye he could just make out the white shape of the skull and the stones he’d arranged around it in a circle, but he forced himself not to turn his head and looked up into the tree’s canopy instead. A few seconds later, he felt James by his side.
‘It probably got hit by lightning, that’s all,’ James muttered. Gary was pleased to hear a hint of unease in his voice.
‘Weird, though, isn’t it?’
They stood looking up at the tree for a while, not saying anything. After waiting for as long as he could, Gary lowered his head and stared out into the mist.
‘Not much of a view, is there?’ he said. ‘At least if all this mist cleared we’d be able to—’
‘What’s that?’
James’ voice sounded dull and hollow. Gary didn’t even have to turn to look at his friend to know he’d caught sight of the stones.
‘What the fuck is that, Gary?’
Making a big effort to keep his expression neutral, Gary turned slowly to face James. ‘What’s what?’
James was staring off down the hill in the direction of the skull and the stone circle. His face was pale. He was rubbing his left shoulder with his right hand, something he did when he was nervous. Gary stifled a grin.
‘What are you looki
ng at?’
James raised a hand and pointed in the direction of the skull, and Gary was pleased to see his finger shaking slightly.
‘That,’ he mumbled. ‘What the fuck is that?’
He took a slow step forward, as if in a trance. ‘Oh Jesus, Gary,’ he whispered. ‘Oh Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is that?’
His voice had taken on a whiny, high-pitched tone now. It was a tone Gary recognised well, the same one Tramper used when they’d done something they shouldn’t have and he was worried how his gran would react, or when they had a test at school and he didn’t think he’d done enough revision.
James took a few more steps forward and Gary stayed where he was, struggling to hold in the laughter that was threatening to bubble up to the surface. There was something about the image of Tramper tottering along, his hand still outstretched and pointing towards the stone circle as his lips moved soundlessly in his tubby, pale face that was almost too much to handle. Gary stuffed his fist in his mouth and bit down.
‘Oh Jesus Gary, I think you need to come see this.’ He was babbling now, the words spilling out in a panicked jumble. ‘I really think you need to come see this.’
James took another tottery step forward and stopped just outside the circle of stone. He stared down for a moment, and although Gary couldn’t see his expression from where he was standing he could picture it perfectly: the pale face, the wide open piggy eyes, the gaping mouth.
He started laughing silently, helpless to stop himself, his fist still clamped between his teeth as his whole body shook.
‘It’s her, Gary,’ said James suddenly. ‘Oh my God, I think it’s her.’
He ended the sentence with a high-pitched squeak and turned around to face Gary, and the look on his pudgy face – exactly the same look as the one Gary had pictured a moment before – was too much.
Gary gave up trying to hold it in and let out a bray of wild laughter. He could feel tears running from his eyes.