It had been brief but that didn't matter. He could still feel the remnant of contact as he left the room. He studied it in its dying seconds and locked away what he could.
Gurde went through to watch the television in the living room. Ben was there, as usual, lying on the floor with his chin on a cushion.
"What's on?" Gurde asked him.
"This is."
"What is it?" Gurde tried again.
"A film."
"What film is it?"
"I don't know... but it's good," he added quickly.
"What's it about?"
"Police."
"Has it been on long?"
"Yup."
Gurde slumped down on to the remaining cushion on the settee and stared at the screen.
"Mum found the stain," Ben said without moving.
"What stain?"
He pointed to the coffee-coloured patch of carpet by the radiator. "She went mental. She was scrubbing it for ages." Ben lay still for a few moments and then rolled over and looked up with a pained expression on his face. "And she won't give me my sweets back. Has she got yours yet?"
"Where's she put yours, then?"
"In the bin, she says." His face fell and his voice grew towards a whine. "And it's not fair. You've still got all yours, haven't you? I told her you had some. I only had six before she took them. And you had more than me anyway."
"I had the same..."
"Has she got yours yet?" he asked.
"Maybe."
"Has she?"
"All right, yes. She's got them."
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
With a little nod of satisfaction Ben rolled back to his starting position. "Mum's really angry with you as well," he went on with obvious pleasure.
"Why's that?"
"'Cause you went for sweets and then you went out. Where've you been, anyway? You're all muddy."
"Counting."
"Counting what?"
"Otters."
"Eh?"
"There's only about six left."
"Six otters? Where?"
"On the hill. In the burn. You have to crawl up really quiet or else they can smell you."
"Eh?"
His stupid voice was getting annoying so Gurde left him to puzzle over the explanation. As Gurde walked into the hall he glanced at the watch. It was still too early to go to bed. The weekend was nearly over and Monday's playground already seemed close, but he didn't have Chemistry until Tuesday, so he probably wouldn't see Bairdy until then. Gurde remembered that he still hadn't decided whether to tell him about the visit to the dam. He paused on the bottom step of the stairs to think.
"So you're back, are you?"
The mother's voice echoed around the hall. Gurde felt his stomach give a little dance. He turned to see her standing in the doorway of the study. He stared back at her.
"I asked you a question!"
"No. I'm not back yet," Gurde said, looking away again and quickly taking a few steps up the stairs. He could feel her straighten with anger.
"And where do you think you are going, young man!"
"I need to go to the toilet. Alright?"
"Oh, no you don't. Not until I've had a few words with you!"
"I need to go."
"You'll have to wait. Get in here!"
"I need to go now." Gurde sprinted up the stairs, across the landing, into the bathroom, locked the door and sat on the toilet with a smile as he heard her stomping up the flights of stairs. Eleven steps, then three, then seven. She strutted across the landing and rattled the bathroom door.
"You little... I'm not going to stand around again and let you mess me about. Not after last time. Come out of there right now!"
"What?"
"You heard me!"
"What?" Gurde shouted, "I can't hear you!"
"Arrr!" She shook the handle again and then stopped and Gurde thought for a moment she was going to break the door down but then the cavalry arrived.
"What on earth is going on, Pat?" The father called up from the hall.
"Matty has locked himself in the bathroom!" There was real venom in her voice.
The father's voice remained calm. "Is that unusual?"
She let out a little squeak of rage.
"Well Pat? What do you think he's doing in there? He's not hiding from you, is he?" he continued.
"I'll give him a good hiding!"
"Sounds like he is hiding from you. Can't say I blame him. Now, come on. Calm down. What's he done?"
"I haven't done anything yet!" Gurde shouted. "There's no toilet paper in here!"
The father let out a short laugh, and then, against her wishes, she laughed as well.
"Come down, Pat, and let the poor boy have his crap in peace."
"But he's not..." she protested.
"Come down. I'm sure Matt will be down in a minute, won't you, Matt?"
"Yes, Dad," Gurde called back, "in a minute. Mum, where's the paper kept?"
She forced herself back to the top of the stairs. "You know full well," she said.
The smile was so wide it was starting to make his cheeks ache but Gurde avoided laughing out loud.
He sat on the toilet lid for a while to give the mother time to calm down, then he flushed, unlocked the bathroom door, crept downstairs and looked into the study. It was empty. The telephone was back on the hook at the far end of the desk.
They were in the kitchen. As Gurde walked in they stopped their conversation and looked around with guilty expressions. Nobody seemed to know quite what to say first. Gurde inspected the skin on the back of his hands and waited.
"Do you want a cup of tea, Matty?" The mother said to break the hold.
"Coffee."
"Right."
She clicked the button on the kettle and the three stood and watched as the steam billowed from the spout. She filled two cups and passed one over.
"Come through here," she said, "I do need to talk to you."
Gurde looked across at the father but he was staring back out into the darkness.
She led him to the sitting room. He stood in the doorway and watched as she walked across to the piano and selected the same book, the tea stain rings were still on its cover, put it on the same arm of the sofa and placed her cup on top of it.
She sank into the cushions, picked up her cup again, rolled it around between her hands and patted the cushion beside her to show where she wanted him to sit. Gurde sat on the sofa arm furthest from her and took a noisy slurp from the cup.
"Are you comfortable up there?" she asked.
He took another slurp.
"Oh well. Look, I'm sorry I shouted at you before. You were being difficult though, weren't you?"
He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the far wall.
"I wanted... I wanted to say... I'm sorry if I upset you the other night. I didn't mean to upset you. Your father says I shouldn't have said anything." She turned the cup again. "Anyway," she went on, "it's done now and that's that. I meant everything I said and... will you look at me when I'm talking to you?" Gurde kept his sight fixed on the wall. She sighed then said, "...do you remember? I wasn't sure you were listening. The way you went rushing off afterwards. Look, I think it's important you understand what I was saying."
"What's that?"
"You know, don't you?"
"What?"
This time he was in charge. If she wanted to go any further she would have to say it all again, but this time he was ready.
"I..."
Her voice drifted off into nothing and she took her first sip from her cup. Gurde let the silence fall like a fog.
"Matty," she said, "were you upset before?"
"When?"
"The other night."
"No. Should I have been?"
"No, no, of course not."
Gurde drained the cup and put it on the floor by his feet. He could hear her mind churning away behind her eyes, struggling for what to try next.
"
I'm still angry that you left the house. I trusted you."
"I only went to buy you a paper."
"Yes, but I told you explicitly..."
"It was first thing in the morning. I stayed with Ben all the rest of the weekend. What's the problem?"
"What about all the sweets then?"
"What sweets?"
"All the sweets you gave to Ben."
"You were up the coast with Dad enjoying yourselves. Ben was getting bored. I thought they would help keep him happy."
"Yes... all right... Ben says you had more for yourself."
"Does he? He just wants to try and get his back from you."
"I know he does. Did you get some as well?"
"I bought a paper for you, sweets for Ben and a packet of crisps for myself." Gurde prepared a hurt expression and then showed it to her. "Selfish, wasn't it?"
She backed off and took another thoughtful sip from her cup. "I'm sorry," she said. "Thanks for looking after Ben."
Gurde returned his stare to the opposite wall. She went back to her thinking.
"Well Matty? What did you do while we were away?"
"Watched television."
"Is that all?"
"What did you expect?"
"No, come on. I told you, your father and I needed some time away. It wasn't too much to ask of you, so there's no need to feel so hard done by. I'm sure you enjoyed yourself really. Staying up late and being in charge and everything. When I was your age..."
Gurde got up.
"I haven't finished yet," she said.
"Finished what?"
"Matty. Don't make me angry again."
Gurde sat back heavily on to the arm of the sofa and crossed his arms.
"God, you're getting difficult!"
"Am I?"
"Look. I'm not surprised you're angry with me. I did what I thought was best. I'm sorry if I've hurt your feelings. After all, I am your mother..."
"That's true."
"And I suppose now you wish I weren't?"
He kept quite still.
"You’re being very childish about this."
He let the smile break across his face. "Did you enjoy your trip?" he asked.
"Yes, it was OK."
"Why did you come back so early?" he asked.
"Is that what's annoying you?"
"Yes. That really annoyed me."
"You're being ridiculous."
"Why did you come back so early?" Gurde asked again.
"I don't see that's any of your business."
"What did you do this time?"
"I... I don't know."
"You must know."
The tears started to bubble up her throat. "I don't," she said shaking her head slowly from side to side.
"I'm sorry if I've hurt your feelings," Gurde said, turning her words back on her, "I did what I thought was best."
Her tears broke free and dribbled out of her red eyes as she returned the glare. Gurde stood up, sensing she was empty, and took a step towards the door.
She sat in silence, spurring the guilt, forcing him to turn and face her again. Gurde felt the terrible power grip him and urge him to return to her, the silent scream for affection, so loud that it was impossible not to listen, so piercing that he could feel his ears starting to burn, but he fought to keep his hands from reaching out and touching her. She looked up with an expression of growing desperation and the accusations shot through as if she thought she would die without a touch but Gurde knew he mustn't give in. He had to drive the stake home. He dragged his mind to the thought that she was beaten, forced to bring out her secret weapon: pity, like a magnet, tugged at his body, willing him to surrender. She didn't blink as the tears went on dripping off her chin. “I’m not sure I can go on, “ she whispered. “Not sure at all. It’s all too much. Too much.”
"Can I go now?" he said, trying to keep the voice from betraying any feeling. She looked down into the tea in her cup. Gurde shrugged and left.
He wandered through to the kitchen to say goodnight to the father. It was as close as he could get to thanking him.
"Is Ben still up?" the father asked.
"I don't know. I think so."
"I'll check in a minute. Where's your mother?"
"Sitting room."
The father almost said something, but caught it in his throat and swallowed it again. "Goodnight then," he said.
Gurde left him drawing another cigarette from the packet.
There was no sound from the sitting room as Gurde began to climb the stairs. He pushed away the rush of guilt and tried to replace it with a feeling of satisfaction that he had won the round. She probably already regretted what she had said, but she didn't regret it enough.
He locked the bedroom door and turned to see the black school uniform lying washed, ironed and folded on the bed. He rushed to the chest and opened the top draw with a thumping heart but the sweets were still where he had hidden them amongst the underpants and socks, untouched by her questing hands.
Gurde pulled the Sunday newspaper out from behind the chest of drawers and stared again at the headline: KILLER CARVES CHILD. Something about the story bothered him.
He removed the magazine and put the rest of the paper back against the wall, moved the mourner's uniform from the bed, stripped off his clothes and lay in bed flipping through the glossy, colour pages, listening for her return to the telephone in the study.
At eight o'clock the radio exploded. Gurde pressed the snooze button to kill the noise and lay half-awake waiting for the music to spring to life again. The room was getting colder each morning. Winter was creeping nearer. There was no heating upstairs, so getting out from under the covers was getting more and more difficult.
It seemed that only a few seconds had passed before the radio came blasting back. This time he turned it down, following the ritual, and rolled against the wall away from the cold air.
Gurde lay there listening to the tinny beat, trying to place what was missing. He yawned, rubbed his bleary eyes and realised that there were no sounds of movement in the house, no doors banging, no voices calling up from downstairs, no-one throwing open the curtains. Gurde took a deep breath and threw off the covers.
The digital watch was on the floor by his shoes. He checked the time to make sure the alarm clock was right: 8:10. Puzzled, Gurde put on clean black clothes and went downstairs.
The mother's lift to work wasn't due for another half an hour but her briefcase was not in its place under the table in the dining room. Gurde still couldn't think properly so he made a cup of strong tea. The warmth flowing down his throat sent a quiver through his body and suddenly Gurde felt awake.
He hurried back upstairs to see if Ben was still in bed and found him buried under his duvet, fast asleep, with only a few hairs poking out to reveal he was there at all. The mother always got Ben up because nobody else would, including Ben.
Gurde left him for the moment and gingerly pushed open the parents' bedroom door. No protest came, so he put his head inside to find the bed unmade and empty. He went back downstairs and slowly pushed open the study door. Gurde knew from the smell that the father was there long before the door was wide enough to put a head through. The father was asleep on a mattress in the corner.
Gurde went into the kitchen to make some toast, then waited until he was ready to leave before he ran upstairs and gave Ben a hard shake. Ben groaned complaint, so Gurde told him he was late for school. That shut him up and woke him up. Gurde rushed downstairs again and put his head back around the study door. The father was awake but still too drowsy to move.
"Hello?" he sighed.
"Morning. Just checking you're awake."
"Huh? Where's your mother?"
"She's gone."
"Damn." He sounded more disappointed than annoyed.
"Bye, Dad."
"Wait a... "
Gurde rushed out of the house, leaving Ben to do the father's little jobs for him, and walked briskly down towards the tow
n swinging his brown plastic briefcase.
As he approached the bus stop under the clock, the various heads lifted to watch him arrive and then went back to the more important business of discussing the weekend. The glances seemed different on that crisp morning. Gurde didn't know whether they were tinged with Stewart's belt but not knowing was enough. He preferred not to know but the fact that there was doubt at what lay behind those dark eyes lifted his spirits.
He put the briefcase down with a confident slap and looked around for Bairdy. Gurde didn't often see him at that bus stop but, if he happened to be there, then Gurde had a reason to go over and talk to him.
Bairdy wasn't there, but that wasn't surprising and Gurde didn't let it bother him. There would be other chances.
The first of the blue and cream buses arrived. Gurde clambered on board and climbed the spiral stairs. Upstairs the bus was full of people giggling and shouting. He sat in one of the few empty seats about half way back and listened to the lively conversations. Monday morning was always the loudest; there was a whole three nights' worth of news to pass on. The doors hissed shut and the bus headed out of town.
Gurde did listen for Matt Duff's name amongst the words being kicked around the back seat, but he didn't feel as worried, because now there was real hope that what he heard might not be too bad. The journey passed quickly. Gurde didn't even have time to look up at the Woodhill.
Matt Duff's name wasn't mentioned and Gurde still felt some relief at that; he would have been sure to blush no matter what they had said. He tucked the briefcase under his arm and hurried towards the school. There was a lightness in his step and less tightness in his chest as he went through the gates, across the bustling playground, and up the stairs to the registration class.
He didn't see Bairdy all day. Gurde wasn't in the same class for anything on Mondays but still hoped to bump into him between classes.
At break, Gurde wandered about in the area where Bairdy and his friends normally gathered. The friends were there but there was no sign of him and Gurde didn't feel up to asking somebody where he was.
Gurde stood against the wall a little way away from them and watched them as they started playing Dodgey. The game didn't look too difficult. It was played in a large, square area marked out with stones with about twenty people gathered inside the boundary. One person started off alone and made others join him if he could hit them below the ankle with a tennis ball. As the ball bounced across the square everybody jumped into the air to get out of the way, sprinting away from those who were allowed to pick it up. The game soon reached a hectic pace, the ball being passed between those who were already caught as they tried to hit the others, the shouts of warning growing louder as the ball became harder to avoid. Several times the ball bounced out of the square towards him and Gurde tossed it back as confidently as he could.
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