by Rhian Ivory
They weren’t coming, not today. I’d have to come back again tomorrow. I clicked my tongue at Dog, ready to leave, when she flung open the top door.
‘Ah, someone said they’d seen you lingering out here. Like a bad penny. So what do you want now, eh?’ she cried out, waving a sharp knife in one hand and a potato in the other. I stood and stared at her, lost.
‘Come for some more food, have you? Come to ask for work?’ she shouted out loud, as if she was talking to the whole village not just me. I frowned at her. She knew what I’d come for. She told me to come. I’d come for my share of the ring.
‘Spit it out then. What is it? I haven’t got all day to waste on the likes of you. I’m a busy woman see.’ She scratched in her hair with dirty nails, encrusted with mud from the potatoes she was peeling. She hadn’t opened the door. She wasn’t stepping out to see me this time. She wouldn’t look at me either, delivering all her lines to the air behind me.
‘Money?’ I asked. ‘I gave you the ring,’ I prompted her when she pretended to look confused.
‘Ha, ha, ha! Now what would you be doing with a ring, eh? What would someone like you being doing with a ring? That’s a good one that is, funny that.’ She pointed at me with her knife and I saw it sparkling on her ring finger. She was wearing it. My ring!
‘Talking of rings, I guess you must have heard my good news. I’m to be married. Henry asked me only the other day. Came as such a surprise. There now, just look at you! You look shocked, like you’ve seen a ghost. Wasn’t it something you’d forseen, boy?’ She whispered the last bit, taking care that no one should hear. She showed me the ring again.
She’d taken it. There wasn’t going to be any fair price or exchange. Neither of them were going to see me right. There wouldn’t be any new clothes or boots that fit or a ticket to France.
She thought that’s what I had drawn. She thought those rings, steel and metal, were emerald engagement rings and wedding bands.She had no idea what those circles really meant, but I’d make sure now – I’d make sure that she wore those circles forever, till death do us part.
‘I’ve seen your future. I’ve seen what happens to you,’ I hissed at her, making her jump, and then I laughed out loud as the smile fell off her face. She looked frightened of me for the first time, shutting the door, leaving me there with my empty pockets. Like an angry fool.
CHAPTER 19
NOAH
It’s strange to be walking past the river on my own without Beth. She won’t talk to me at school. She’s not talking much to anyone. Eva and Georgia keep blanking her, Theo keeps winking at her, leaning up too close against her locker when she tries to open it, and Harley gives her nasty looks as if she’s something less than him, which is a joke.
She says stuff, passes me worksheets and still sits with me for lunch, but it’s like she’s not really there. Like she can’t relax around me or be herself anymore, and I don’t know what to do about it.
I haven’t got a clue how to fix this because it’s never happened before. I’ve made fake friends, pretended, acting like I care about music and films that help me fit in. I’ve joined in with meaningless conversations and gossip, taking care to wear the right clothes and hang out in the right places. But I’ve never told anyone the truth before. Pretending was always easier, but this time I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to. This time it felt real.
And I’ve messed it all up. I’ve wrecked it before it even really started, and I’m back to the plastic smiles, the cover-ups and empty conversations.
Eva and Georgia keep walking past her at break, around and around the yard, looking at her, making faces and comments, trying to flirt with me. I ignore them, which weirdly seems to make them try all the harder. When she comes back to me in English or History, it’s like being friends with a ghost, a faded version of Beth, not the real thing. If I reach out my hand to touch her, she moves away. When she smiles at me it’s like a shadow smile, not solid enough to stay for long.
I tried writing her a letter, apologising again, but everything I wrote seemed empty and never quite enough. So I screwed up my words and threw them away, only to find them the next morning covered in lines that aren’t anything, drifting and discoloured. I find more scraps of paper, dripping with images that I can’t make any sense of as they skim and skate across torn pages from my exercise books.
Now we talk around the edges, making conversation as if we’ve just met. She says things like, ‘It’ll blow over, it’s just a phase, it’ll pass,’ and maybe she’s right, maybe next week they’ll all be friends again, but what about her and me? I don’t know how to repair whatever we were starting to have.
I pick her flowers in the field behind her house, oxeye daisies, wild poppies, dandelions and buttercups, anything bright I can get my hands on. I haven’t got enough money to get her something from Daisy’s the florists in the village, not that I’d go in there on my own anyway. I hoped she’d like wild flowers more than something grown in a greenhouse or polytunnel.
I’ve written another letter and this time I’m going to give it to her, or at least leave it for her to find. Not really a letter, more of a note to stick next to the flowers. I had one Klimt card left from a set Mum bought me for my birthday. It was The Kiss. I think I’d been saving it for a special occasion. I’ll just leave them on the front doorstep and leg it, hoping she won’t see me. I don’t want to make her feel worse. I want her to look at the card and remember the kiss we’d had in my bedroom, before I trashed everything. I’ve been half-expecting her to give me back the key ring, but she hasn’t yet.
I read the note again. They aren’t my words. I borrowed them from our English lesson, but they say what I want to better than I can. Hopefully it will show her how much I want her to trust me again.
‘Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.’
Pip says it better than me,
Noah
I reach her front door, put the flowers on the step and place the card next to them, hoping she’ll see them before her parents. She said earlier she couldn’t walk home with me today because she needed to do her piano practice. I was sure it was an excuse, just another way to keep me at a safe distance. But through the open window I hear music. It must be the piece she’s writing, that she’s trying to get right. It is beautiful.
I can’t move, I have to listen to her play, even if she sees me, even if it ruins the flowers and the note and all my good intentions. I sit on her doorstep and wait until the piece is finished, until the notes have stopped climbing and dipping, making me feel so many things.
I get a text from her just as I get back from my run with Dad. He smiles at me as I fling my dusty trainers off in the utility room then run upstairs to read it alone.
Hey you. Those words were everything I needed to hear, the weeds aren’t bad either. Walk home together after school tomorrow? Bx
I send my reply immediately.
Yes.
CHAPTER 20
BLAZE
A little after the sun went down, Dog started howling, the sound vibrating in his chest. He looked like a lone black wolf stood at the door with his nose in the air, throat strained as he made the painful sound. I packed most of my things away but kept my knife out, tucking it carefully into my coat pocket, ready and waiting.
She didn’t knock. She came straight in despite Dog and his sharp teeth bared beneath his curled lip. She pointed at him, as he stood in her way, hackles raised making him look even bigger. My brave wolfhound.
‘Get him out, get that out of here … if you want me to stay that is. The last thing I need is to be cooped up in here with that flea-ridden hound. Filthy thing.’
She pointed at Dog as if he were some kind of wild animal. I didn’t want her to stay, but clicked my tongue at Dog and he closed his lip down over his large yellow teeth, bent his head low to the ground and slunk out, half in the doorway, half out.
&nbs
p; She slammed the door, but his paws were in the way. Dog yelped and jumped back in pain, and I wanted to go to him, but she blocked my way, shaking her head to say Stop. Do not move, do not take a step. I stood still and waited.
‘So I’ve bought something for you, lovey. Like I promised. One gift for another, that’s right, isn’t it, that’s how things are between you and me. Fair is fair.’ She smiled at me, but I knew I’d never trust her again. She was holding her basket close, sniffing the air in a theatrical manner. She took out a hot parcel which smelt like meat. She had the ring on and saw me looking at it. I wanted to rip it from her hand, but knew better. I needed to wait and watch for her next move.
‘Ah, hope you don’t mind, decided to hang on to it in the end. Henry liked it and once he realised it was an engagement ring, well, the seed was planted and, as they say, love blossomed. Ha, ha ha!’ She shrugged as if all this was nothing to do with her. I didn’t say a thing and she looked disappointed in me, as if she’d expected tears or rage.
I gave her neither.
‘Well, you leave me in a bit of a bind. I had this lovely meat pie for you, seeing as how you enjoyed the last one so much, but I’m not sure if you deserve it yet. Not sure you’ve quite earned it.’ She adjusted the basket, hooking it on her arm then opened the parcel, unwrapping the layers of muslin to reveal another pork pie, this one larger than the last. Steam was still coming off it and my mouth watered, despite my best efforts. I clamped my teeth together and bit down hard on my lip, not willing to show her any sign of weakness. The hut filled with the smell of pastry and my stomach gave me away, rumbling loudly. She made a tutting noise, as if to say, What a shame you are.
‘Now, I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve left me with little choice. You’ve two roads you can take here, you can do the right thing and take this lovely pie I made you, mmm, smells good, doesn’t it? Show me what I’ve asked you, seeing as you know everything.’ She held the pie out to me, just far enough away so I couldn’t reach out and grab it from her and ram it into my mouth.
‘Or we can make things harder for you, make things a bit more complicated. Is that what you’d like?’
She began wrapping the pie back up, sealing in the steam and the scent, then put it back in her basket. She waited for me to speak, twisting the ring round and round on her thinning finger. It kept catching the light coming in from the moon outside.
I said nothing.
I gave her nothing.
I stood there, waiting, waiting and watching her with my eyes wide open now. Wise to her and her schemes.
‘Like that, is it? Well let’s see now … if I told someone, perhaps a magistrate, that I found this engagement ring here in your little pit, well … you’d be doing hard labour before you could spit. Not that I’d wish that on my worst enemy, let alone a friend.’ She stopped and examined her hand, holding the ring up, twisting it back and forth to admire it. Her hands had reduced in size. The medicine was working. She kept her eyes on the ring as she carried on talking.
‘In fact, they might take such a person, a thief like that, straight off to the workhouse while they decide what to do with them.’ Her voice caught in her throat when she saw my face. I was too slow to hide it – she’d seen my horror.
‘Oh dear. Oh no, have we had a fright? Have we been having bad dreams about going back to the nasty big workhouse? Don’t want to end up back in there, do you? Can’t see that they’d let you escape a second time.’
I shook violently, trying to hide my fear and my memories, but she saw it, she knew it all. That was the problem, she knew everything. It was so hard to hide myself from her now because I’d trusted her before.
‘You know just what it’s like in there, don’t you? I’ve heard tales, o’course I have, but I’ll bet the reality is a far sight worse than the tallest tale.’ She looked happy, as if she’d found something even better to think about than the ring.
‘But if you were to give me what I want, to show me what I want, well, then I’d be happy to help you out. Poor old soulthat you are. I’d be happy to let you have a few bottles from the taproom, a loaf or two every now and then, out of the kindness of my heart. Maybe a few more pies like this one. And I’d be happy to keep your secret, for a bit longer.’
She stopped to let me speak, waiting for me to say yes.
But I didn’t.
I stood silent and steady, watching her.
‘Show me! Come on now, just show me that things work out for us and be a good boy, eh, because you know where bad boys end up, don’t you!’ She made the last word ‘bad’ sound so cold and the word ‘good’ sounded wrong coming from her. She was anything but good. It was almost time to show her why, but not just yet. She could wait, for a change, let her stand there feeling lost and clueless for once.
She rubbed her hand over her forehead as if thinking things through, waiting for me to fill the silence, but I didn’t give her a word, not a single sound. She snapped, just as I’d known she would.
‘Well then, that’s that. You’ve made a mistake this time. This is the last time I’ll ask you nicely. I could have been good to you, I could have been so good. But you remember my words – this is what you’ve chosen.’
‘Yes, this is what I’ve chosen,’ I answered, enjoying the surprise and confusion on her face.
She swung around and threw herself out of the door, kicking Dog out of her way as she stormed towards the fence. She paused once, looking over her shoulder with a spark of fear in her face.
I stood in the doorway, Dog in front of me, and watched her break into a run all the way down the river path.
CHAPTER 21
NOAH
I wake up under my bed; my legs backed up against the wall, toes cramped and cold as if I’ve been out of bed for hours. Maybe I have. My arms and head are sticking out into the room; the rest of me is buried underneath paper.
I’ve been doing it again, drawing in my sleep instead of dreaming. I try to adjust to the early morning light to see what I’ve drawn. Faces are scattered across my floor. Cold, blue eyes look up at me. It’s the same face again and again, as my vision blurs and then focuses. Each picture is from a different angle, a different time of day. In some I’ve zoomed in close on her pale face and her long yellow hair. In others I’ve caught her from a distance in the frame of her bedroom window, taking her tie off with a soft smile on her face. They are each like a film stuck on pause: one character, one scene jumping and flickering.
She is smiling in all of them, the smile she throws over her shoulder as she walks away. It isn’t a nice smile. There is no fear, no guilt. She’s enjoying it. She is pushing a small boy, her brother, out over the window ledge, her hands on his shoulders as she tilts his body back. I can’t see his face, I haven’t drawn it, but I know it’s him. She has her school tie round his throat. I can imagine his terror as he looks down at the ground way below him. But I don’t know when this is going to happen or how to stop it, and that panics me. The familiar fear rises like heat up my body reminding me of how useless I am, how slow to act, to think. I screw the picture of her face up in my hand, blocking it out. I’ve seen faces like this before, images that don’t make sense, don’t tell me enough about who and what and where and when. And when the picture finally starts to make sense, of course it’s too late.
I gather up the papers. They crackle and crunch in the early morning quiet. I freeze, waiting for Mum or Dad to come barging in. I sit there with the evidence in my hands. But my door stays shut. I look at my clock – it is only 4am. They must be still asleep. I can take the drawings and shove them in the recycling bin outside the back door. I can cover her face with soggy cereal boxes and useless junk mail, bury her underneath egg cartons and free newspapers, getting rid of her and her stupid smile.
I scrunch the pictures up, folding, bending her eyes, false smiles and sharp fingernails. I creep downstairs, taking care not to let the kitchen door slam shut behind me. The back door is locked. It makes a clicking
sound as I turn the key. The patio is cold and damp. If only I’d put on some socks. I can’t leave a telling trail of wet footprints across the clean kitchen floor. I’ll have to be quick and quiet. I hold the lid of the bin open with one hand and mix the drawings in with the other. I don’t look at her face as I push her down near the bottom. I don’t want to see her flat blue eyes watching me.
I stop and remember that I’ve done this before, that first time. I hid those pictures, the first ones I ever drew, hoping that would make everything go away. It didn’t work, but I didn’t know that then. All the same I close the lid, look up over the fence and try not to look at Eva’s bedroom window. I fix my eyes instead on a sky filled with shining stars.
CHAPTER 22
BLAZE
I lifted myself over the fence and out of the garden. The gate was stuck fast again, swollen in the heat. I headed for the river, my pocket heavy with the stone ring and the vial. I ran down the winding path, ducking under leafy ash trees that made tree tunnels over the water. I was soft and silent, alone, having left Dog sleeping under a rose bush, drowsy from the long heat of the day.
I’d gathered nettles yesterday and mixed in other herbs, binding them with river water into a lump. I kneaded the ball until it felt solid enough to use and then cooked it down in the pan over a small fire. Once it had cooled, I poured it into the glass jar. I pushed a cork into the top to seal it, taking care, I needed every drop.
Last night I left a new vial on the open windowsill of the kitchen, where she always kept my potions, swapping it for the one she usually had. She’d never know the difference, not until it was too late. If that new vial had done its job, then tonight would be the last time I’d see her. I’d never make her anything or try to heal her or help her again. But I’d have to be quick to replace it with the fresh one in my pocket, the one I normally made her. I’d have to be so quick.