The father was leaning on his elbows at his desk, staring down at another thick book.
"Hello?" Gurde said.
"What is it?" the man replied into his desk, using his best annoyed voice.
"Er.. Do you want some tea?"
"No. Off you go. I'm busy."
"Sorry."
Gurde went back through into the kitchen and poured the remainder of the cold coffee down the sink. All the excitement seemed misplaced in the usual after-school routine.
Gurde peered in at Ben to see if he was still watching his programme. He was. Gurde turned back and wandered through into the hall and ended up in the sitting room in front of the battered piano. He lifted the lid, chose a chord and was about to let out the frustration on the keys when he remembered that the father was sitting next door and wouldn't let him get past the first note without shouting.
He closed the lid again and looked around for something else to do. Nothing caught his eye, so he walked around the room a couple of times, kicking at the carpet, then decided to go upstairs and plan answers in case anybody else asked what it was like to be belted by Stewart.
The curtains in the bathroom were heavier than they needed to be. Gurde pulled them closed, plunging the room into darkness, and went to the mirror to look for Matt. Behind that locked door, in the gloom, he could sometimes see the face - but only when they were alone and it was quiet. After the belting Gurde knew he would come. He positioned the face in the centre of the mirror, fixed an unblinking stare on the eyes, and waited.
For a long time nothing happened, but he had learnt to be patient. He kept still as, gradually, the borders of the face start to darken and melt, the jaw lengthened and narrowed, the forehead bulged, and then that magical instant when the eyes that had been green flicked to black and began to stare back with a new intensity. Gurde knew better than to try and inspect Matt's face closely - if he blinked or moved focus the other face would disappear - but there he was and, although they were one, the severe expression opposite was not welcoming. Gurde smiled and Matt smiled back. It was a knowing look.
They kept the moment for as long as they could but then Gurde had to blink and Matt was gone again, leaving the other face that he knew too well. Gurde threw open the curtains and walked out on to the landing, still aware of the weight fading inside his chest.
It was only five o'clock and already the sun was low, filling the bedroom with pale light. Gurde crossed the room and pushed the catch on the window, heaved it upwards and climbed through the gap on to the narrow balcony outside. It wasn't really a balcony at all; just the flat top of the sitting room's bay windows, and there was no railing. He could sit and stare down the twenty feet to the tarmac drive running along in front of the house. Gurde often climbed out on to the balcony when the stars were out, to sit a few feet from the bed, listen to the owls, and staring up into the endless darkness. He only climbed out in daylight if he was bored.
Gurde looked down the lawn to the wall at the bottom that had yet to be climbed. The leaves on the trees over the wall were always the first to betray the end of summer. Against the side wall, the last of the plums lay rotting where they had fallen. There had been few fruit that year, so nobody from the town had paid much attention.
The year before the branches had almost snapped under the weight of fruit and most weekends had seen hands reaching up from the field on the far side to grab clumps of sweet harvest and stuff them into plastic bags. The plum trees were not unusual - many of the gardens along the street had them too - but, with the field on the far side, they were the easiest to reach without risk. Gradually the hands would be joined by eager faces, lips glistening with sticky juices, until, as confidence grew, figures would begin to climb up on to the wall to grab at the fattest fruit in the higher branches. Then the raiders would drop down into the garden itself, scuttling up and down the drive, collecting all they could carry, glancing nervously towards the house. At the slightest sound they would freeze and listen intently before returning to their plundering. Gurde knew many of their faces from school and they knew that Matt Duff lived behind the dark windows above them.
Gurde used to enjoy it when they strayed into the garden. All he had to do was wait until enough of them had dropped over the wall then he could step forward from the shadows, open the bedroom window a little, quickly take a step back and watch the chaos. They would freeze, then someone would move and in an instant they would all be shouting and pushing and fighting to be the first back over the wall, sprinting away through the long grass with their plastic bags swinging, laughter echoing behind them.
In those moments Gurde had the power to make them afraid. And they had good reason to be afraid. They knew that any sound from the house could be the mother opening the door. That was enough to make them run. If she saw their frenzied stealing she would chase them and grab them and shake them by the collar until they begged to be free. She had no fear. She had spent her life with others like them.
But that was all the year before. There were richer pickings elsewhere. Gurde had felt relief that the plums had not appeared and that the lines between him and the others had not been redrawn.
Perhaps after the belting things would be different. Perhaps he would go with them with his own plastic bag to steal the apples and plums from other people's gardens.
Gurde stared down from the balcony at the wide, black strip between the house and the lawn. It looked a long jump across that dark river of tarmac to the far bank but perhaps it was not impossible. He had stood on the edge of the balcony many times and tried to judge if he could reach the grass. Perhaps when he had the crash helmet, and had successfully leapt down the long flight of stairs, he might have the confidence to try. The Wizard's Skull would fall, the stairs would be beaten in a single bound, and then he would be ready for the Great Leap to the lawn.
There was the grinding crunch of a gear change and Gurde looked along past the field to where the mother's blue car was trundling along behind the line of trees. She pulled up out of sight on the pavement below the wall. The engine roared and then cut. Minutes passed before he heard the car door open and then slam shut behind her. He followed her footsteps along the pavement to the front gate but, though the huge metal handle turned, it didn't open. There was a long silence before he heard the handle turn again. She heaved the left gate open with her back, shouldered it shut and carried her heavy briefcase up the drive with her head bowed. It wasn't until she had reached the front of the house that she looked up. Gurde tapped his heels against the front of the house and grinned.
"What are you up to?" she asked.
He shrugged.
"Come down. I want to talk to you."
He looked down the garden.
"Now!" she said.
She went inside. Gurde slipped away from the edge and stood up carefully, using the window surround for reassurance as he swung a leg back over the sill into the bedroom.
Two piano notes rang through the house as he opened the bedroom door. There was a pause before he heard the study door open and the father's muffled shout. Gurde walked down the landing to see Ben climbing the stairs feeling sorry for himself. The brother glared at him as he squeezed past.
"Don't turn the telly over!" the brother called.
"Why not? You can't watch it," Gurde replied.
The study door flew open again and the father filled the doorway with his favourite angry expression.
"Ben! I thought I told you to keep it down! Now get upstairs!"
Ben turned and stamped his feet up the next few steps.
The father then turned his attention to Gurde.
"What are you doing?"
"Just going in here," Gurde replied and hurried into the dining room. The study door clicked shut again.
Gurde walked through into the kitchen where the mother was making a cup of tea for herself. She sighed when she saw him.
"Go and wait in the sitting room," she said. "I'll be there in a minute."
&nbs
p; Gurde gave her a puzzled look and walked back the way he had come.
In the sitting room the piano stood invitingly against the far wall. Its lid was up and its yellowed keys beckoned. Gurde walked over, fighting the urge to press them down, longing to hear the untuned notes ring out. His right hand reached out and pressed down a key so lightly that there was only a suggestion of a sound from inside the wooden case. Gurde strained to hear any movement from the study next door. Here was an opportunity to escape the lecture from the mother that seemed to be looming. All he had to do was press the key a little harder and he would be sent upstairs to join the brother, leaving them to argue it out in the hall. If he had known what she was going to talk about it would have been easier to decide whether to press the key or not; from the tone of her voice it didn't sound as though he was going to enjoy it. The hand hovered over the keyboard, so Gurde forced it into a pocket, breaking the moment. He crossed the room, slumped on to the sofa and waited for her to come.
It was a few minutes before she scuttled in.
"Right!" the mother said, gesturing that he should move his legs off the sofa to make room. She fetched a small book from the top of the piano, put it on the arm of the sofa and put her cup of tea on top of it. Then she sat down, picked up her cup, took a sip, and put it down again. Gurde began to feel uncomfortable and looked towards the piano. The atmosphere was not promising.
"Right.. um.. I've got a couple of things to say. First thing is that.. well.. your father and I had a long talk last night and we've decided to go away for the weekend. We think you're old enough to look after Ben for a couple of days, so we're going up the coast. You know that little Bed and Breakfast near Oban that your father wanted us to stay at last time? Well, anyway, I want you to look after Ben while we're away and that means I want you to stay in the house, or rather that you are not to leave Ben in the house on his own. Is that clear?"
"But Mum.. I was going fishing with.."
"You can take Ben with you," she snapped.
"No.. No it's..."
"This is important. You can go fishing any time. Who are you going with?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Well, if it doesn't matter then I'm sure you won't mind staying here with your brother. It's only two days. I don't want anybody in the house apart from the two of you and that means don't answer the door and if you answer the telephone just tell them to call back later. Is that also clear?"
"It's not fair," he said quietly.
"What's not fair? Now, come on, don't be like that. I thought you'd like the idea of having the place to yourself. You can watch the television as much as you like and stay up as late as you like."
"Yes... but..."
"We might not be gone for the whole time. In fact, we might come straight back and I want you to be here if we do. It's important. Your father has been under a lot of pressure recently, as I'm sure you know, and we need some time alone to talk about things away from here. On our own for a while. You can understand that, can't you Matt? You know how edgy he's been getting. I need you to do this for me. It's all... has he spoken to you? Has he said anything. It's all... it's all getting too much and I need to get away. Your father and I need... before it's..."
She grabbed for her cup of tea and took a few more sips. Gurde noticed her fingers were trembling. A strange look crossed her face but she shrugged it off with a last, long swallow and put the cup down.
"Right. That's settled then."
She picked up her cup again and began to turn it around in her hands.
"Can I go now?" he asked.
"Yes dear, of course you can."
Gurde stood in the hall for a few seconds wondering whether he should go upstairs. Instead, he opened the front door and stepped out into the cool evening air. The sky was dark and a steady drizzle had started to fall, whipped by the growing breeze to strike heat into his cheeks. And Gurde felt the scream rise and lodge in the back of his throat. He paused on the bottom step and then he ran.
He sprinted down the lawn, concentrating on the wall at the bottom of the garden as he sped towards it over the wet grass. He slapped both hands on to the curved top and levered himself up, turning in the air so that he landed sitting facing the house. There was no time to see if the mother was watching as he pivoted around, lifted the legs over and pushed off into space. With thoughts burning, Gurde wasn't prepared for the long drop to the road. He hit the pavement awkwardly, crumpling across its jagged surface, feeling the loose gravel cut slices into his hands.
He scrambled upright and ran on towards the hill, ignoring the pain that was back in his palms. As he ran faster, the cold drizzle began to prick at his cheeks.
The slope past the church was steep. A shallow river ran across and Gurde jumped it but as he landed he staggered forward and lost the rhythm. The tarmac snatched at his feet and in that instant he lost control and flew down into the darkness, each stride seeming longer than the last, arms flailing, trying to keep upright, feeling as though he was being dragged forward by a rope through his face, sure that he would slide into the gutter like a puppet with severed strings. The wind whistled past. Gurde closed his eyes, fighting against the powers that conspired to throw him sprawling to the wet black ground. But as he braced for the impact with outstretched bloodied palms the road flattened out and the legs were under his control once more.
The eyes sprang open and he felt new anger, determined to show the road that he could not be beaten. He could taste the sweated rain that trickled over his lips. The breaths were shortening and he started to puff out his cheeks and felt the first wheezing deep in the lungs.
On he ran, and the legs beneath began to wobble. On he ran, but he was not far enough away and dug for more. And soon every part begged to stop but he refused to allow it and staggered on for a few more strides and a few more strides. Finally, his legs rebelled and he snorted a lump of hot phlegm into his mouth, spat it out and collapsed on to an open patch of grass by the side of the road.
Gurde sucked in the cold air with rasping gasps. He lay back on the damp grass and let the rain play across his face, waiting as the breathing settled.
He had come a long way: nearly a half mile out of town. Over the rusty wire fence a few sheep grazed on the base of the hills. Gurde peered back along the road in the direction of the house. He could just make out the red road sign at the bottom of the slope but beyond that all was grey in the evening drizzle.
He stared straight up into the thick grey sky. It was hard to believe that it had been only a few hours since Stewart had raised his leather arm. Then the ache in the hand had been welcome. Now that same palm was cradled against his chest like a sick pet, embedded with black, blood-covered grains. He picked the larger splinters of gravel from under the skin and watched as fresh beads of blood rose to the surface.
The sound of a car engine brought him back. Gurde stepped from the road, climbed through the loose wire fence and listened from behind a tree to the hiss of passing tyres. He rested his back against the tree until he could hear no sound from the car.
When it was gone he stood up. The sheep on the hill lifted their heads together, as if they were all part of one huge animal, and eyed him suspiciously. Gurde picked out a damp face at random and stared back at it. It kept its eyes locked on for a minute or more before it gave up and dragged its wet fleece away across the slope, taking the other sheep with it. One of the animals higher up let out a complaining bleat. Gurde almost bleated back. Instead he set off through the wet grass and began to climb.
The ground was soft and several times his feet slipped from under him as he trudged upwards. The drizzle that had cooled his face had been replaced by a fog heavy with the smells of old bracken and sheep shit.
He reached the top of the first slope. The ground leveled off and became boggy. He looked down at the circles of mud on the knees of the school trousers. The elbows of the pullover were also caked and strands of grass were stuck to it. He tried to brush it off but the motion on
ly smeared more stickiness on to his hands, streaking the spots of blood across the palms.
At the bottom of the next slope lay a shiny flat rock. He sat down and felt the dampness seep through to his skin. Without warning, a sickness rose through Matt and Gurde allowed him to cry. He rested his elbows on his knees and let the violent jerks rock the body back and forth. The thick air laid its comforting arms around his shoulders, snuffing out the sounds as soon as they had left the body. Gurde had to seize each brief respite to gasp in a breath before the next rush came. The waves emptied themselves on to the hillside. Then, as quickly as it had come, the sobs became sniffs became hot spits.
By the time it was quiet Gurde knew every blade of grass between his feet. He looked back down the hill and was surprised to see that the streetlights along the road were now flickering red through the mist.
A feeling of calm descended and he thought of the mother's face looking down with a telephone receiver clutched like a dagger in her hand. She would already be on the telephone, telling her friends how it had gone, how her son had reacted, and what she had thought it all meant. He could imagine her reeling off her story of despair, then quickly replacing the receiver, flipping through her book of numbers and dialing the next.
From where he sat, he was about the same distance from both the house and the cliff where the Wizard's Skull still waited. He pictured the rock, trying to judge if he should go there, but it was dark and it was wet and he felt nothing.
Gurde could listen to his instincts on the Woodhill, in the rain, on his own. The Wizard was not calling, that was certain, so he would have to go back to the house. There was nowhere else to go and he was beginning to feel cold.
He stood up and looked back along the hills towards the town. Tomorrow Bairdy would be sitting up at the dam, fishing for trout, and waiting but Gurde was to be caged for the weekend while his parents went to bicker elsewhere.
Woodhill Wood Page 5