‘Don’t you speak to nobody, you little wretch,’ he hissed. ‘Or I’ll cut out yer tongue. Do you hear?’
James nodded, watching the world disappear as the shutters were locked into place. But all the time his mind was racing, churning over what Billy had said about Webster.
When he laid the Lanber down on the table in his caravan, Billy stayed still, looking at it, rain dripping off him on to the floor. Then he kicked out at the table leg.
‘Bastard gun.’
He towelled down his hair and made himself a cup of tea, and then sat at the table and looked out of the window at the field and the wagon in the distance, with the woods behind it. The fairground was starting to take shape in a field to the left of the trees. He stared at the half-built helter-skelter pointing at the sky, thinking for a while, until his blood had cooled. Taking a slurp of tea, he reached across and picked up a flyer for the fair from the large pile stacked on a chair beside the table. He studied the details silently, and then cursed to himself, and balled up the flyer in his fist and threw it against the wall.
47
Gudgeon sat in his caravan for quite some time, listening carefully for any footsteps or voices outside. But no one came and knocked on his door. Eventually, his hands relaxed. They had been glued tight to the edge of the table in front of him the whole time.
Whenever James’s face drifted into his mind, he swatted it back into the dark. But like a fly it kept coming back.
He got up and went to a drawer, and took out an old iron key. He laid it down on the table and looked at it.
‘Maybe I kept you for a reason after all,’ he said.
After putting the key in his pocket, he checked on the sky and saw patches of blue, and realized the day was set for fine weather. He decided he would take a drive to the coast nearby. He’d smoke. Walk. Think. It would be easy enough to throw the key off the cliff if he felt that was the best thing to do.
‘Sod ’em,’ whispered Gudgeon when he saw the fair going up beside the woods. And then he glanced at the wagon and thought about the boy behind the shutters.
When he opened the door, he saw Billy, walking straight towards him, carrying a shotgun. Gudgeon gripped the door frame with one hand. The other went into his pocket and closed around the key.
‘Hey, Gudge,’ shouted Billy, hurrying towards him. ‘I’m glad I caught ya.’
‘Yeah?’ The old man’s heart was close to breaking as Billy stopped at the bottom of the steps. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Cos you can fix anything, everyone knows that.’ And Billy grinned. ‘This Lanber keeps sticking on the upper barrel.’ He pointed the gun at Gudgeon and pulled the trigger, and there was no click. Not a sound.
As Gudgeon stared down the black mouth of the upper barrel, a thin trickle of sweat rolled over the bumps of his spine.
‘Probably just needs a good clean,’ he said. It was as many words as he could muster.
‘I done all that,’ said Billy, shaking his head. ‘It’s something else. The workings. You wanna take a look?’
‘Could do.’
‘You got time now?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’ll leave it with you then.’
Billy walked up the three steps to the doorway of the caravan, and turned the Lanber around and handed it to Gudgeon stock first. He didn’t let go immediately. The two men eyed each other along the length of the gun.
‘You all right, Gudge? You look like you seen a ghost.’
‘Old age,’ said Gudgeon, who tugged the gun free and stood it next to him inside the door of his caravan. ‘Some days just ain’t as good as others.’
‘That right? Long as it en’t catching then,’ said Billy, smiling.
Gudgeon was sure he could smell the key in his pocket. The rich iron whiff of it. And he was sure he heard it moving and clinking, even though he was breathing as slowly as he could.
‘Seriously, if you ever need anything, you know where to go. Me ma an’ all.’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
‘By the way. My wagon?’
‘What about it?’
Billy rolled his fingers back and forth over the door frame.
‘There’s no way in or out, is there? It’s solid, right?’
‘Built to last, according to my dear old da.’
‘Yeah. That’s what he said when me da bought it off him.’ Billy looked round the inside of Gudgeon’s caravan. Everything in its place. Neat and clean and tidy. Windows full of blue sky and green field. ‘I know you’re a good man, Gudge. And so was yer da. But I want you to check the wagon over for me anyway. I want you to tell me it’s still solid. You got better eyes for it than me.’
‘Why?’
‘Cos I don’t want what’s in there getting out. So you give it the once-over, all right?’ Billy glanced at the half-built fairground in the distance, checking on its progress, and then he drew out a roll of twenty-pound notes from his shirt pocket and pushed them into Gudgeon’s trouser pocket, squashing them down on top of the key that was hidden there. ‘Forget the fair today. It’ll go up fine without you. I want you to put an extra lock on the door too. That’ll cover yer costs and yer time.’
Gudgeon nodded.
‘A padlock won’t keep Smithy out, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s got a gift, that boy.’ Gudgeon tickled his nose. Coughed and spat on to the grass below. ‘I heard he got into your wagon a while back.’
‘He did,’ said Billy, nodding. ‘Poking around where he wasn’t supposed to.’ He smiled. ‘Didn’t you hear the rest of it though?’
‘Hear what?’ When Billy frowned, Gudgeon just shrugged. ‘I been away visiting family, ain’t I? Only really just got back.’
‘Course you ’ave,’ said Billy, clicking his fingers. And then he smiled as he did it again, as if he found clicking his fingers amusing. ‘Well, I took Smithy’s thumbs for it. He won’t be going near that wagon again and causing trouble.’
Gudgeon nodded. Wiped the heat from his brow.
‘What you got in there then?’ he asked. ‘The bloody Crown jewels, is it?’
But Billy just smiled back. ‘Just you let me know when you’re done, Gudge. All right?’
When Billy had gone, Gudgeon closed his door and took out the roll of bank notes and the key from his pocket, and laid them next to each other on the table. He was not sure what he was going to do. Things had become more complicated. As though it was a test set by someone who was watching him to see what happened next.
Setting Webster free had been easy once he had realized how best to go about it. Collecting up Smithy’s cigarette butts. Depositing them beneath the wagon steps. Making it look as though it was Smithy who had been talking to Webster and been convinced to pick the lock to set him free. Smithy with half a brain and who was always in trouble on account of it. The story was there for Billy and his ma to read without question.
But now Smithy had no thumbs.
Gudgeon flexed his hands and heard the joints crackle. He tried not to think about what Billy and the old woman might do to him if they caught him freeing what was in their wagon now. He stood there for some time, thinking everything through, until he realized he was staring at the Lanber resting by the door. And he began to wonder why the top barrel had jammed and never fired. Whether it was luck or fate, or something else entirely of another design, a clue perhaps, about what he was really supposed to do. After all, why had he bothered to keep the spare key for the wagon all this time, after finding it in his father’s things as a boy? Why had he not thrown it away after helping Webster? And why had he suddenly decided to go and hunt for berries the other morning in the mist only to come across the boy?
He thought about all these things for a long time. Until he decided what he was going to do.
It was late morning by the time he found the problem with the Lanber.
Then he went outside and climbed into his van, and drove over the grass field to Billy’s caravan with its bright green lettering.<
br />
When he knocked on the door, Billy opened it and yawned before fixing Gudgeon in his sights.
‘I’ve got to go into town to get something for your gun to fix it,’ said Gudgeon, glancing at all the paperwork on the table behind Billy.
‘Lovely job.’
‘And I’ll get you a proper padlock there too. I’ll fit it on the wagon before it gets dark.’
‘Thanks,’ said Billy as Gudgeon turned to go. ‘You’re a star, Gudge. A real good man.’ Gudgeon raised his hand without turning round, and got back into his van and drove away out of the field.
In town, after asking around, he found a field sports shop and bought a new mainspring for the top barrel of the Lanber. Then he went to the nearest hardware shop and chose the biggest steel padlock he could find, with a cadmium coating, and bought a stout black hasp. He also had a third key cut for the padlock to match the two in the packet, which he had opened.
It was late afternoon by the time he returned to the traveller camp and saw the big rides of the fair ready and waiting for the evening trade, motionless against the blue sky. He drove across the field right up to the wagon, its shutters still closed, and took out the power drill from among the tools in the back of his van and went about fitting the hasp, putting two self-tapping wood screws into the wooden door frame and two self-tapping metal screws into the steel door. When the hasp was secure, he opened the padlock and pushed the arm of it through the eye of the hasp and snapped it shut. He pulled hard on it to check it was locked.
There was no sound from within the wagon. And Gudgeon said nothing either. After he had finished, he put the power drill back in his van. Then he inspected the wagon, checking the shutters and its underside, as Billy had asked him to do.
‘I’m gonna let you out,’ said Gudgeon quietly as he walked slowly around the wagon, pressing his hands on the wooden sides. ‘I’ll do it. But I’ve gotta come up with a plan so’s I don’t get caught.’ Although there was no reply, Gudgeon knew he must have been heard.
Afterwards, he drove back across the field to his caravan and then worked on the Lanber, replacing the spring for the top barrel with the new one he had bought. When he’d finished, he fired off both barrels to check they were working.
The sun was setting by the time he walked up the steps to Billy’s caravan. The fair was already pumping music into the sky. He could just pick out the Orbiter, raising the clusters of cars on its arms, as it started to rotate. Faster and faster it spun, creating a whirring, humming corona of pinks and blues that made his eyes sing and he had to look away.
Billy was not there. So Gudgeon went to his ma’s caravan and knocked on the door. When the old woman opened it, he nodded his head.
‘All right, Esther?’
‘Gudge.’
‘I got these two keys for your boy. He’ll know what they’re for,’ he said, holding them up by their tiny metal ring. The old woman nodded, and took the keys and placed them on the counter just inside the door. A black pot was bubbling gently on the stove behind her, blowing out steam whenever the lid lifted off with the heat. He could smell sage and aniseed and lavender. ‘I fixed this gun of his too. Needed a new spring. That’s why he was having trouble with the upper barrel.’ The old woman nodded, and took the gun and stood it inside the door.
‘You need paying?’
Gudgeon shook his head.
‘All sorted.’ When he turned to go, she grabbed his elbow with her bony fingers.
‘Money doesn’t always do what it should. You look tired. I’ve got a tonic if you want it. Help you sleep better.’
Gudgeon nodded. ‘Thank you.’
He followed her into the dim-lit caravan and waited, looking up at the bunches of herbs dangling from the ceiling, as the old woman rooted through a collection of jars in a cupboard.
When he heard the sound of a rocking chair, he looked up and saw a wooden man sitting on the seat, its undersized legs swinging, one of them bandaged from the knee to the hip. Swinging like a child’s legs, thought Gudgeon as he felt a chill on his neck and looked away.
‘It’s in here somewhere,’ said the old woman without looking back. Suddenly, the simmering pot on the stove bubbled over and water gushed down over the sides. Quickly, Gudgeon reached across, and lifted the lid and turned down the heat. As the steam cleared, he saw a piece of grey meat bobbing in the water, reflecting the light.
‘Supper for your boy, is it?’ he asked as she appeared beside him.
‘Oh, it’s too good for him. It’s just my business,’ she said and Gudgeon nodded and smiled because he knew not to ask any more. He leant forward over the pot, and breathed in and closed his eyes. He saw a face surrounded with golden blonde hair in the deep dark of himself and smiled.
‘My wife used to stuff them with sage and onion. Or put them with other pluck to make haggis.’ Gudgeon opened his eyes. ‘A sheep’s heart for my ram she’d always say when she served it up.’ He blushed a little. ‘Of course, we were much younger then,’ he said, putting back the lid.
The rocking chair suddenly stopped its creaking, but Gudgeon didn’t look. He kept his eyes firmly on the old woman as she handed him a small brown bottle of tonic. Then he watched her lift the lid and look down into the pot, and stare at the heart rolling in the water. Her eyes were misty and red. The eyelids almost see-through.
‘You all right, Esther?’
She looked over at the gun standing by the door.
‘Problem with his gun, you said?’
‘That’s right,’ replied Gudgeon. ‘Misfire on the top barrel making it jam.’
The old woman put down the lid on the pot and turned off the heat. She held out a pair of oven gloves to Gudgeon.
‘Why don’t you take it for yer supper, Gudge?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ she said, nodding her head. ‘I don’t need it any more.’
48
After scoring a ninth mark in the wooden wall, James sat quietly in the dark, thinking about Webster and Billy, and what had happened on the moor.
He remembered how the single gunshot had echoed up out of the gully and over the gorse and the heather. He recalled seeing the heart in Billy’s hand as the man had sat down in the car. There had been an iron smell of blood. The whiff of the shotgun. The bitter stench of boggy mud clinging to Billy’s boots. The gleam in the old woman’s eye had been as bright as a sunbeam as she’d wrapped Webster’s heart in her black shawl.
James turned everything over and over in his mind, and came to the same conclusion every time. Webster was dead. But then Billy’s worried face loomed up in front of him and persuaded him to think through everything again. Why would the man who killed Webster think he was still alive?
Eventually, James had become tired and dozed, dreaming that Webster had two hearts, but Billy had only taken one of them, allowing Webster to live out his days on the moor because he had felt sorry for the man who was cursed to live as something else.
James had woken later to the sound of a drill. He listened as someone worked on the wagon door, not knowing who, because he could not see anyone through the crack in the shutters. So he sat. Listened. And tried to work out what was happening.
When he heard Gudgeon walking around the wagon, whispering that he was going to let him out, James just nodded. He was too relieved to speak. And he wanted the old man’s words to linger all around him in the dark because they were a comfort.
After Gudgeon had left, James drank from the wooden cup until his throat was cool. And for the first time he noticed a warmth inside of him, which he realized was hope.
After Billy had rolled back the shutters to reveal the stars, James heard him walk up the steps and pause at the door. And then the man walked back down and looked up through the bars.
‘You’re locked up doubly tight now, boy,’ he said. ‘You want yer food?’
‘Yes.’
Billy folded his arms.
‘You’re sure?’ And James nodded. ‘I’
ll go get it then.’
After Billy had disappeared, James listened to the distant noises of the fair. The sounds of faraway voices made his heart shrink and he closed his eyes. And then he thought he heard someone moving in the dark across the grass. He watched carefully and glimpsed the outline of a person beside a section of the hedgerow running around the field. He wondered if it might be Gudgeon. He whispered quietly into the night, hoping that he might hear him on some secret wavelength and come to set him free before Billy returned.
But the old man did not appear.
Gudgeon stood in his caravan, in the lamplight, and laid two keys on the table in front of him. One was the large iron key for the steel door of the wagon, which had been in his possession since he had been a young boy. And one was for the padlock, which had been with him for less than a day.
He rooted around in a drawer until he found an old circular key fob made of brown leather which was sun-cracked and worn. And he slid both keys on to the metal ring of the fob, and put them back down on the table and stared at them again.
‘So, Gudge,’ he said to himself. ‘What’s the plan?’
He stood for a long time, thinking about what he was going to do next. It had been risky enough letting out Webster, the man who had been his friend for a while, who had suffered from nightmares as loud and as frightening as his own, which was why they had got round to talking in the first place.
But it would be much more difficult to free the boy. Billy was watching the wagon. Gudgeon sighed and shook his head. The heart the old woman had given him made his whole caravan smell as it sat cooling in the pot on the hob. It made him shudder, and he closed his eyes and stared into the dark until he saw his wife.
‘The boy’s an angel’ she whispered.
Gudgeon nodded his head.
‘Yes,’ he whispered back.
A sharp knock at the door startled him and his eyes snapped open.
‘Gudge?’ shouted Billy. ‘You there, old man?’
The Dark Inside Page 17