by Jacky Gray
‘This is getting silly; I’m having to explain almost everything to you. It means you got me out trouble. Like when you stopped me falling on Geena and crushing her.’
‘But it wasn’t your fault.’
‘They still would have blamed me. Didn’t you see them turn on me at the table?’ Peter looked over for a reaction, but there was no pause in Archer’s smooth rhythmic strokes with the dandy brush. ‘Then you did it again, telling them I tried to save her. My dad was well chuffed. I don’t think he’s ever said he was proud of me before.’
‘I’m sure he must have. When you get good marks at school.’ Archer picked up the gentle finishing brush, smoothing the mare’s coat to a shine.
‘I never get good marks. I’m in the bottom set for everything.’
‘When you show him something you’ve made, then.’
‘I’ve never made anything.’
‘Really?’ Archer’s look emphasised the question.
Peter shrugged, running his hand over the mare’s shining rump. ‘I made some biscuits in food tech once, but we ate them all before he came home.’
‘Don’t you learn any crafts like working with wood?’
‘Yeah, but whatever you make, the other lads wreck it, so I just leave it at school. I made a clock once and the tech teacher kept it on her wall. She said it was really good.’
‘Didn’t your dad see it when he visited the school?’
Peter snorted, picking up the rest of the brushes. ‘As if. Dad hated school and he said that if he ever had to go in because I was in trouble I’d get grounded for a year.’
Archer followed him back to the tack room and started cleaning the muck out of the brushes.
‘I’m impressed. Dawn goes mad if there’s a speck of mud on them. She’s proper OCD; every brush has to go in the right space.’
Archer continued the previous conversation as he slotted the brushes into labelled spaces in the tack box. ‘It’s a shame you never get to make things, it’s cool. Sedge is a carpenter and he taught me how to carve wood. I made that bow.’
‘You’re kidding. Really?’ Peter handed over two damp cloths and they returned to do the tricky bits.
‘Yeah. I went to see a man who showed me all the stages. I worked for him over the summer, and he gave me two yew staves to make my own bows.’
‘Where’s the other one?’
‘There was an accident. No it wasn’t. Edl…’Archer paused in the delicate task of wiping his mare’s eyes and Peter looked over expectantly.
Archer moved round to do the other eye, keeping his voice bland. ‘An enemy of mine stole her and threw her on the Beltane bonfire.’
‘Beltane?’
‘It’s the May Day feast. We all chose a Worthy character and had a competition to see who would be crowned King and Queen of the May. I was Robin Hood.’
‘Figures. I suppose you won?’
‘Yes, but it was really close.’ Archer concentrated on the mare’s ears, to avoid looking at Peter who gave a thoughtful glance, then grinned as he changed the subject.
‘So do you give your bows names then, like people do with their cars?’
‘What? Why do you say that?’
‘You called your other bow her. You said he stole her.’
Archer was gripped by the memory of the nymph that had possessed his Bow. The powerful tree-sprite that wanted her revenge on Edlyn. He blushed, recalling the image of the beautiful girl she had become in his mind. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. ‘She was very … uh-hum… curvy. Like a girl.’
Peter laughed and threw a cloth at Archer’s head. ‘I don’t think it’s some old bow’s got you blushing like that.’ He ducked as Archer threw it back and they returned to rinse them.
‘There’s a girl isn’t there?’ Peter wouldn’t let it go.
Archer sighed as images of the Beltane celebration filled his mind. He grinned. ‘Three actually. Unless you count Bethia, but I had to kiss her, she was the May Queen.’
‘You kissed four girls?’ Peter’s expression hinted at horror and fascination, but he had no chance to find out more because Dawn appeared with a request.
‘I know you’ve been really helpful already today, but I need to ask another favour.’
‘Will there be more chocolate?’ Archer had developed a real taste for it.
‘Certainly. We need to get the dinner ready …’
‘Oh no. I draw the line at peeling spuds.’ Peter’s face showed his horror at the idea.
‘Well the alternative is keeping Mikey and Geena occupied. You did such a good job yesterday. Maybe you could take them for a walk or pick some fruit for pudding.’
‘Aren’t we having treacle tart and custard?’
‘That’s a winter pudding. The strawberries and some of the raspberries are ready. With ice cream or cream, I think. Remember, don’t pick them unless they’re coming away in your hand.’
Phil insisted that the men should do the clearing and washing up after the meal. When Peter tried to explain that they’d already washed up once, Dave held up his palm saying he didn’t want any excuses. That put Peter in a black mood and he plugged his headphones in and dried up sullenly, slamming each piece of cutlery into the drawer with a great crash until Dave cuffed him round the head.
It put a damper on the whole day; he was turning back into the sulky, withdrawn boy he had been at home. Archer wondered if this was the pattern every time Peter tried to do something different. That his dad would find something to criticise so he didn’t bother trying to improve.
On the way home, as they reached Glastonbury, Julie asked if the boys wanted to have a walk up the Tor. ‘I’d like to spend some time at the Well, and the walk will do you good after that huge meal.’
‘And what am I supposed to do? I ain’t going round no poxy prayer place.’ Dave was not impressed.
‘You can go with the boys or sleep in the car. Failing that I’m sure you can find a pub open. If I’m driving, I get to choose when I take a break and that is now.’
‘All right, keep your shirt on. There’s a pub on the main road opposite that Well place. You can come and get me when you’re ready.’
Julie parked on a side street and as they walked, she explained to Archer that the Chalice Well was a living sanctuary where water flowed at the same rate and temperature all year round. ‘The water is supposed to have healing properties and wherever it flows, turns red. They say it’s the blood of Christ from where the Holy Grail was buried or something. I just love the peace and quiet of the beautiful gardens. I like to pop in here every time I’m passing; it gives me a real lift.’
‘That sounds good.’
‘Oh it is, one of my special treats. Take your time, we’ll get going by five o’clock.’
As they walked round to the Tor entrance, Archer mused on the fact that he had drunk from that same well in his world, but he had to be very careful what he said. It was best to say nothing about these things at all, which meant that he was constantly on his guard. It was never more necessary than when they reached the top of the mound. The tower at the top looked different to the one he knew and he read the notice inside saying that the original St Michael’s church was destroyed in an earthquake in 1275 and was rebuilt in 1360. It had fallen into ruin after 1539 when the monasteries were destroyed.
The tower was little more than a shell; he thought it looked almost impossible to climb. Almost, but not quite.
Peter was looking at him with interest, he’d actually switched off his music and taken the ear-buds out. ‘You’re not thinking you could climb that are you?’
‘Maybe not today with all these people around, but if I got up early enough …’
‘You really are bonkers aren’t you? Tell me, what did it feel like when you kissed the girl?’
‘Which one?’
‘Any of them. How come there were so many?’
Archer shrugged. ‘I was the May King. It’s supposed to be good luck to kiss him.’<
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‘And you had to kiss the May Queen.’
‘In front of the whole village. But worse, in front of her boyfriend Fletch, who just happens to be my best mate.’
‘Was she a dog? I mean, you know, ugly or fat.’
Archer could see her blonde perfection and slender figure. He shook his head. ‘Just about the prettiest girl in the village. Long blonde curls, huge blue eyes, curves in all the right places.’
Peter grinned. ‘I know the type. Absolute bitch, full of herself and nasty to lesser mortals. One of the popular crowd that rules the roost as you would say.’
‘Not at all. I thought exactly the same at the start, couldn’t see what Fletch and Finn were drooling over. But I spent the afternoon watching her be kind, generous and really sweet.’ He shrugged.
‘So you fancy her as well. That’s tough. Maybe she’ll like you more because you won that competition thing. Was she a good kisser?’
‘I don’t know. She was the first girl I ever kissed; I had nothing to compare it to.’
This was obviously a topic Peter was keen to explore in some depth, as he just wouldn’t let it drop. ‘Come on Archer, tell me more, what was it like?’
‘I really can’t say; it all happened so quickly.’
‘You must have felt something. Try and remember; it’s important.’
With a sigh, Archer closed his eyes and went back to the never-ending minute when he worried Fletch would never speak to him. Then his lips had briefly met Bethia’s. ‘Warm, soft, she tasted of honey.’
Peter let out his breath. ‘Is that it? Didn’t you, well didn’t you feel something? Like, inside?’
‘Not with Bethia, no. But it was just a quick touch.’
‘Aha, what about the others?’
Sensing there was more to this than idle curiosity Archer resolved he would more than get his revenge shortly. He accessed the collection of sensations stored in the “kiss” box of his memory. ‘Kayleigh was clumsy and our noses knocked together first. Chrisya tasted of strawberries. She was an expert, holding my face for ages. The rest were just shy little pecks on the cheek.’
‘Except?’
‘Except nothing. That’s it.’
‘Bullshit. You’re holding out on me. One of them was special, the one you fancy. She was different to the rest.’
Archer did not want to discuss Patricia’s kiss with anyone, it was something private and wonderful and even now as he thought about it, his heart began to race and his skin prickled with heat.
‘I knew it. Did you get a funny feeling inside, like your guts were twisting up and your heart wanted to explode?’
‘Well you obviously did.’ It was Archer’s time to get his own back. ‘Who is she?’
Peter realised he’d given himself away and blushed. ‘We need to be getting back now, Mum will be wondering where we are.’
‘She knows where we are. She said five, there’s still half an hour. Come on, be fair. I told you everything, now you have to tell me.’
‘I can’t. She’ll kill me. She’s going out with someone else.’
‘Either you tell me or you climb the tower. Your choice.’
‘You’re not supposed to; we’ll get into trouble.’
‘Since when did that stop you? There are no notices saying you can’t, and there’s no-one around now. Come on, you have to pay the forfeit.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Because you have no arms or legs? There is no such word as can’t, that’s what Kalen always says. What you mean is you will not because you’re a coward.’
‘I am not a coward.’
‘You’re a girl then. No, that’s not fair; many of the girls I know would climb this.’ Archer leapt onto a bench and found hand and foot holds to get him up to the first window ledge. He swung himself up and sat there confidently, folding his arms. ‘See how easy it is? I bet Mikey could do it. Come on, I’ll give you a hand.’ He stood up and overbalanced, starting to topple. Peter screamed like a girl.
12 Small Steps
Archer was in full control as he grabbed the window frame, he had only been messing around. He had a hunch about Peter’s reluctance and wanted to test it out. It wasn’t that he was cowardly, he obviously had a fear of heights. Yet he had climbed to the top of the Tor without comment. Archer replayed their time at the top, realising that Peter hadn’t been the slightest bit interested in looking at any of the views, spending the whole time looking at the ground, the tower or at Archer. He abandoned his plan of climbing to the top and let himself down slowly until he could leap onto the bench.
Peter was sitting on the other bench, white as a sheet, with a sick look on his face. The floor of the tower was rank with molten cow dung; that was not helping.
‘Come on mate, let’s get you out of here, it stinks.’
‘No, just leave me alone. You were right. I’m a stupid rotten coward and a bully and I hate myself.’
‘Bullshit. Or maybe it should be cowshit. There’s plenty of it around here.’ Peter gave a weak smile at the weak joke. The fact that Archer had sworn, made him take notice and he allowed Archer to help him outside. They sat on the concrete platform with their backs against the tower.
‘Why didn’t you say you hated heights? I would never have come up here if I’d known and I’m sure your mum wouldn’t have suggested it if she knew.’
‘I don’t think it’s a proper fear of heights, more a fear of falling. It’s hard to explain.’
‘Try. What’s the difference?’
‘Well I was all right coming up and I don’t mind looking out at views like this as long as I’m sitting down or on solid ground. But I couldn’t go near the edge, and the thought of climbing that tower makes me want to vomit.’
‘Even the thought of me climbing it made you feel ill.’
‘Yeah. It happens sometimes when I stand at the top of a flight of stairs. I get this image of myself falling down, going over and over and my head goes all funny. The stairs start to wobble and I feel sick and I have to sit down ’til the feeling goes away. Then I’m late for class and I get into trouble.’
Archer was starting to realise how the bad things in Peter’s life were causing him to behave the way he did. ‘So how were you going to get down from here? All those stairs and having to look down all the time?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t think that far ahead. I just didn’t want to look like a wuss in front of you or …’
‘Or your dad. His opinion means a lot doesn’t it?’
‘Of course it does. He’s my dad. But he thinks I’m rubbish. I bet he would be much happier if I was more like you – or if you were his son. He’s always going on about how brainy you are. And Mum thinks you’re wonderful because you help her so much.’
‘That’s only because it was the way I was brought up. I’m sure if I lived here all my life I’d be exactly like you.’
‘No way. You’ve always got your head in a book.’
‘Only because I want to learn about your life. If I lived here, I’d already know wouldn’t I? Look, we need to get back now, but I want you to try something for me.’ They stood and started walking down the long slope with Archer slightly in front.
‘You’re not going to tell me to close my eyes or walk backwards, I’ve tried all that.’
‘No, this is part of our warrior training. If you have some kind of irrational fear, you need to fight it.’
‘That’s easy to say.’
‘Nothing worthwhile happens without some effort on your part. What’s your favourite thing in the world to do?’
‘I dunno. I suppose it’s playing Final Fantasy on the Nintendo. Or my skateboard, yeah, my skateboard.’
Archer had seen him on it; he was quite fearless. ‘And how long did it take you to learn that?’
‘I dunno. A couple of minutes just to get my balance.’
‘But how long to do all the tricks?’
‘Hours. Weeks. I had to build up to it. Especially the ramp at t
he park, that was really scary.’ By focussing on his favourite thing, Peter didn’t even notice when the long slope turned into stairs and he carried on walking.
Archer was relentless in his efforts to distract Peter’s attention. ‘Yet you managed that height because you needed the skill. This is the same as skateboard training. You have to take it a step at a time. If you start feeling weird or your eyes go funny, try not to focus on looking down all the time. Look up slightly or look to the side.’ They had gone down the first set of steps and had reached a tight, curving staircase, each concrete step edged with wood.
‘Whoa, it’s happening.’ Peter stopped and put his arms out to balance himself.
‘All right. Take a deep breath. Relax. Get into a rhythm with the steps; that will help. If your body is moving smoothly, your brain will not have so much to complain about.’ He took one hand and pulled slightly but Peter’s brain was not ready to let his body function.
Archer searched for a new topic. ‘Tell me about this girl you kissed. You don’t need to say her name, just tell me what she looks like.’
‘Tall, for a girl. And skinny; she’s always playing sports so she’s well fit. Short brown hair with a blonde fringe and blond bits at the side.’ He demonstrated with his hands, not realising that he was actually walking down the staircase now. Archer’s diversionary tactic had worked. ‘Big brown eyes, but she wears too much make-up and it spoils them. She’s dead lippy to the teachers. They all think she’s a right hard case, but she’s not really. She just has a hard time at home. Her dad’s always calling her stupid.’
‘Sounds familiar.’
‘And her step-mum doesn’t wanna know; she’s too busy with the baby.’
‘I thought you said she has a boyfriend. How do you know all these things about her?’
‘She has. But he’s using her. He just wants to be seen with the fittest girl in year ten.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘No. Well yes, obviously, but it’s not like that. I’ve fancied her since year seven when she had frizzy hair and braces and loads of puppy fat.’
‘Sounds appealing.’
‘She was. Cute and cuddly and always laughing. Then her mum died and she was off for ages. When she came back to school she was like a different girl.’