“Isn’t about time somebody told me what’s going on around here?” Henry said finally, trying to break the deadlock between the two. “How do you three know each other…? And who is this Acca…? But more importantly… what it’s all got to do with us?” Hazel and Bert both looked over to where Henry was standing, still with a cake knife in his hand. Bert took a step back from Hazel. At first, she remained where she was, her eyes back to normal but her hair still aflame. She then turned away and walked over to the sink, placed her hands on the drainer and leant forward, lowering her head. It took a second or two for her to regain a little of her usual composure. As she did, her hair returned to its normal state.
Without warning, she walked over to her son, put her arms around him, and gave him a hug. But Henry didn’t make any effort to hug her back, he was so confused, all he wanted was answers. She pulled away, a little hurt by Henry’s response, then looked down to where Ben was sitting, then back up to Bert. “You should both leave… I need time with my son,” she said, now looking back at Henry. “If that’s what you wish, my lady… but we need to talk and we need to talk tonight,” Bert replied softly. “We have little time on our hands and need to make the most of what we have.” Hazel nodded. “We will… but give me a little time with my son,” she replied politely. “We’ll meet at the oak.” With that, Ben got up, stretched his legs, and then walked over to the door.
“Well, Bert… are you going to open the door… or do you expect me to?” he growled. Bert looked down at him with disdain and then back to Hazel, who was now standing next to her son with a determined look on her face. “Please go… we’ll meet later,” she said. Without another word, Bert turned back to face Ben, nodded and then walked over to the door, opened it and stepped out into the darkness, closing the door quietly behind them. “Well, that went well,” Ben muttered as they left, “and we still didn’t have any cake.”
Hazel watched them as they left and then turned back to face Henry. “I can’t… where do I start…?” she said, his voice breaking off. Henry was also lost for words and still was none the wiser: in fact, he was even more bewildered now than he was earlier. He sat back down at the table, opened the cake tin and picked a piece off with his fingers, then looked up at his mother. “At the beginning,” he said in a matter-of-fact way.
Walt was making his way along one of the woodland tracks, his jacket collar pulled up to help protect him from the cold night air. After leaving Sophia he had decided to head straight for home and deal with the matter of Bert and the dog in the morning. Still very uneasy with the task she had given him, he knew that he had to speak to Bert but he needed a little time to build up his courage and was certainly not ready for another encounter with him just yet.
But unfortunately, just before he reached the old hut he spotted the silhouettes of Bert and the dog. They were both talking but still too far away to hear what they were saying. Just the thought of meeting up with them now made Walt suddenly freeze on the spot. Although he needed to talk to Bert, this was too soon. Besides, he wasn’t ready. His little beady eyes looked left to right. “What am I to do?” he whispered to himself. Then a thought came to him: instead of confronting them, he’d step back into the darkness of the trees and hide, but making sure he could still see and hear them. That way he could find out what they were saying.
He stumbled around in the dark until he was happily out of sight and pressed himself against a tree, sweat pouring over his head and face with the fright but couldn’t mop it off in fear of being caught. As they got closer, he held his breath as best he could. He could just make out their voices but still couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying. He thought briefly to greet them and get it over with, but then thought better of it: perhaps he could find out something useful for himself, something that could somehow work in his favour. So he decided to stay hidden and wait for them to get within hearing distance.
Still trying to hold his breath, he listened and smiled to himself as they got closer and stepped a little further back into the darkness in anticipation of overhearing their conversation. He smiled to himself again, enjoying the fact that, for once, he would get one over on them. Standing perfectly still, he listened: he could hear them both approaching, then abruptly they seemed to stop talking. He held his breath again, listening out for any sound, then suddenly, from out of the blue, Ben jumped out of the bushes behind him, barking and growling. Walter fell backwards in shock, hitting the back of his head against a tree, and then slumped to the ground crying and yelling whilst waving his arms around as if he were fighting off a plague of locusts. “Get off me… Get off, your crazy bloody animal!” he shouted. At that point, Bert reached in and grabbed Walt by the collar and dragged him out of the undergrowth and into the lane, dumping him heavily onto a fallen log that lay alongside the woodland path.
Still holding onto his collar, Bert bent down and stared Walt directly in the eye, almost touching his nose. “ W… w… what do you want of me?” Walt stuttered nervously. “Let me go… you… you bloody brute,” he repeated over and over again. Bert waited for him to calm down a little before speaking. “It’s not what I want, Walter… bloody Britton,” he said in a quiet, almost menacing tone. “It’s what you’re up to… that’s more to the point.” “Up to… up to… I’m not up to anything! ” Walt shouted whilst trying to sound hurt by being accused of something he didn’t do. “I’m up to nothing… just out for a walk… that’s all… out for a walk,” he continued in a rather unconvincing manner. Ben jumped up onto the log next to him, making poor Walt jump again, and growled in his ear, “You’re lying again, Walter… and you’re not very good at it.”
Walt tried to get away from the dog but Bert held him firm. “Now then,” Ben continued, “we know you’re lying… You would be lying through your teeth if you had any.” Ben paused, enjoying the moment. “You’re never out at this hour.” Ben paused. “Now, Walter… teeth or no teeth, you are going to tell us what you’re up to out here at this hour.” Bert smiled to himself, Ben’s insults weren’t helping matters but were funny nevertheless. “Sorry, Walt… I knows there’s no need for insults… not yet at any rate… Now, my old mucker…Ya will tell us what you’re doing in our neck of the woods… or I’ll find some interesting way to get it out of ya,” Bert said, but having no intention of hurting him any further.
Walt grabbed Bert’s hand in a vain attempt to pull away. “Let go of me first… and then I’ll tell you,” he said, struggling. “Anyway… it’s not what I want!” Walt snapped. “It’s what my lady Sophia wants, that’s more to the point.” A look of concern briefly reflected on Bert’s face, which didn’t go unnoticed by Walt. “Who’s scared now?” he said, showing pleasure in Bert’s reaction. Quicker than the eye could see, Bert had Walt by the neck again and with one large hand lifted him off the log and suspended him about two feet off the ground.
“Now listen to me, you sweaty… smelly weasel of a man… I fear no man… or woman come to that… So if ya think ya put the willies up me… think again.” Walt wriggled and thrashed about in a feeble and unsuccessful attempt to get free of Bert’s vice-like grip, his face getting redder by the second, and his eyes now almost popping out of their sockets. “Put him down,” Ben said in a matter-of-fact way. “Besides, you don’t know where he’s been… You never know… you might catch something nasty.” Without acknowledging Ben, Bert released his grip on Walt’s neck and watched him fall to the ground like a rather heavy rag doll.
Both Bert and Ben waited for Walt to pull himself up to a sitting position, at the same time listening out for anything untoward in the darkness that surrounded them. Bert had never trusted the man and he wouldn’t be at all surprised if he had something else up his sleeve. Walt never ventured out at night, so it wasn’t unreasonable to think that he may have set some kind of trap or ambush; however, to his relief, all he could hear was the usual night-time sounds of owls and insects.
Both Bert and Ben waited patiently as Walt got his breath b
ack. Deciding that Walt had had enough time, Ben finally broke the silence. “Is that all you want to say to us, Walt…? Or is there something else…? And I wouldn’t beat about the bush if I were you…You may have already realised neither Bert nor I are in any mood for playing games tonight.”
Walt didn’t answer and tried to pretend that he was still trying to get his breath. Not being fooled by Walt’s poor acting, Bert grabbed him again by the collar and pulled him up to his feet as if he were a doll. “Spit it out, man!” he blasted, making poor Walt flinch. “We’re not going to get anything out of him if we continue knocking the poor fellow around like that… Besides, it looks like you’re enjoying too much,” Ben growled. “Sit him down and give him a little time to recover.” Bert shot Ben a look of displeasure: he had never liked being told what to do; however, he did see Bens reasoning and reluctantly sat Walt on the old fallen log again and then stood back and waited for Walt to continue with what he had come to say.
Walt sat where Bert had placed him, his eyes darting from Bert to Ben and back again, daring not to move whilst still holding his throat and rubbing his hands around his collar. He knew that he had to deliver the message but that didn’t make any difference to his overwhelming urge to lie himself out of this situation. However, he had no other options open to him. He pulled out his dirty hanky and went about mopping his face, neck and head. Seconds went into moments, then with a rather hoarse voice and still rubbing his throat, Walt whispered, “My lady Sophia has asked me to relay her need to speak with you.” Trying not to make it sound like a summons, he took a deep breath and continued. “But not the both of you… just you,” he said, looking up at Bert and then looking quickly away.
Walking over to Walt and staring him in the eye, “Sorry… did I hear you right…? Am I not invited?” Ben said sarcastically. “Well… that hurts to the quick.” However, Bert’s only response was to shrug his shoulders and wipe Walt’s sweat off his hands and onto his overalls. Then, without a word, he turned and started to walk off in the direction he was heading before they encountered Walt. Deeper in the woodland, Ben ran past him and stopped him in his tracks.
“Well,” he said. “Well, what?” Bert replied. “Well, are you going to see lady Sophia…? Or stupidly ignore her request?” Bert started to walk off again. “I’m not that stupid, as you put it… but I’ll see er when I’m good and ready… Besides, we got to meet Hazel and we ave no idea what time that will be… We should know what she has to say about her boy first… That… my friend is more important.” Ben walked alongside Bert and nodded to himself in agreement. “What are we going to do about Walt?” he asked, looking back to where Walt was sitting, still rubbing his neck and mopping his head. “I could give you a hundred things I would like to do with him… but none of them pleasant…We ain’t got time for him tonight… we’ve better use of our time,” Bert replied, “Just tell him to go fall off a log… we’ll go to his lady when we are done… and not a moment sooner…”
Henry was sitting at the table across from his mother. Not much had been said since Bert and Ben left. His mind was racing with earlier events, the confrontation between his mother and Bert, as well as the strange dog … and their appearance earlier in the woods and now their appearance and abrupt departure tonight – all of which had left him somewhat bewildered. He didn’t know what to think or what to say: his mind was starting to run away with itself with all the different emotions and concerns.
Then suddenly his mother slumped her head forward on the table and started crying in her hands. She then quickly got up from the table, knocking her chair over, and without a word ran from the kitchen and upstairs to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. It had been obvious to Henry that she had not been in any fit state to talk ever since Bert and Ben had left, but he had no idea that it would have affected her this badly, whatever it was. He wanted to run after her but thought better of it; she needed time to herself, time to come to terms with whatever it was that was eating away at her. So he decided to let her be for the time being. But that didn’t help him much; he still had no idea of what was going on. However, as young as he was, he knew that sooner rather than later his mother would have to confront her demons and tell him everything, whether he wanted to hear it or not.
It was also worryingly obvious that if his mother could bury her memories so deeply and for so many years that it must be something awful. He sighed. If it was so bad, perhaps he didn’t want to hear what she had to say… maybe some things are better left unsaid. Henry remained sitting at the table for some time after his mother left, pondering over what to do next, then it came to him… He’d go and find Bert and the dog himself, but in order to do so without his mother knowing, he’d have to wait until his mother was asleep.
With new determination he got up from the table, walked around and picked up the chair his mother had knocked over, picked the mugs up from the table, and placed them in the sink, all the while going over different scenarios in his mind. What if his father wasn’t dead and his mother couldn’t find a way to tell him that he left her? That would make perfect sense. That could be why she had never spoken about him, or perhaps he died in an accident at one of his uncle’s factories, and again that’s why neither his mother nor his uncle spoke of it. “Stop it,” he said to himself. He could think of a hundred reasons why his father wasn’t around, none of which would be right. So until his mother was up to talking, he would have to try and put it out of his mind. However, it was easier said than done.
He stood leaning with his back to the sink, still a little taken back by the way his mother reacted to Bert. He’d never seen anything like it – her eyes and her hair! Who or, more to the point, what is she? But he’d have to wait for answers: his mother needed time, not just to compose herself, from him all of his life.
It was around eleven o’clock in the evening when Henry decided to make himself another hot drink. He had been sitting waiting for the right time to leave the house and meet up with Bert and the dog. However, he could still hear his mother moving around upstairs. He had hoped that she would have settled down sometime ago, but she had been moving around and banging about for hours. Lord knows what she was doing up there. When Henry heard his mother at the top of the stairs, he sat up and waited in anticipation for her to appear at the kitchen door. He then stood up, pushed his chair back from the table where he had been sitting absentmindedly looking into a half-empty cup of tea, and walked over to the door to meet her and was surprised to see that she was still very upset. He had never seen his mother like this before and he was becoming increasingly concerned, and not only for her.
His mother had always been so confident and for as long as he could remember, never one for showing emotions or holding back when she had something to say. “Mum… are you okay?” he asked gently. “Can I get you something…? A hot drink maybe,” he continued. Realising that she wasn’t going to answer, Henry took her arm as she almost robotically allowed him to escort her to the table, Henry pulled out a chair, and sit her down. “I’ll put the kettle on,” he said, trying to sound a little upbeat. “What do you want…? Tea… coffee?” She looked up and took a deep breath, still trying to compose herself. “No… thanks… I’ll just sit for a bit.” Henry put the kettle back down and then walked around the table and sat facing her. He hated seeing her like this. It was the first time he had ever seen his mother cry, let alone completely lose her composure and had no memory of her remotely showing any kind of weakness: she’d always been so strong, and witnessing her like this hurt him more than she could have realised.
Hazel finally looked up, her eyes puffy and red from crying. “I didn’t want this for you… never have,” she said. “I’ve always tried to protect you from my past and…” She stopped herself from saying more and looked back down at her hand. “I am not what you think I am.” She paused, waiting for Henry’s reaction. However, he had no idea what she was talking about and just sat waiting for her to say more. She sat back up in her chair.
“But more to the point, my boy… neither are you.” Henry sat forward and shifted a little uneasily on his seat, feeling uncomfortable with what his mother had just said, anxious as to where this conversation was going. Even though he still had no idea what his mother was talking about, he was certainly feeling a little scared and a lot less sure of himself. But still he didn’t say anything and waited for his mother to continue, wanting to hear more of what she meant by “not what you think I am”!
Hazel looked her son in the eye. “I have a sister,” she said. “Your Aunt Sophia… I have never told you of her… and for good reasons,” she continued softly. “We are… or we were… guardians of nature.” Henry stood up and kicked back his chair. “I have an aunt!” he shouted. “I always thought that Uncle Henry and you were my only family.”
Henry was so enraged it took a second or two before he realised what his mother had said about being a guardian and was about to ask her what she meant by ‘guardians of nature’ when his mother raised a hand in a gesture to be quiet. Henry went suddenly silent. It wasn’t as if he had stopped talking willingly: he had no choice in the matter, he just stopped talking as if by magic.
“I’m so sorry, my boy,” Hazel said when she saw the horrified look on her son’s face and realising what she had just done. “I didn’t mean to…” She slumped forward and placed her face in her hands and started to cry again. Henry walked around the table and placed his hand on her shoulder gently, feeling bad for shouting. “Come on, Mum… It’s late and I think we should finish this in the morning…You’re tired and in no fit state to talk now.” With that, his mother put her hand on his and nodded. Henry then guided his mother from her chair and up the stairs to her bedroom.
Between Darkness and the Light Page 4