The Fearful (5 page)

The sun looked about as bright as it was going to manage today, but the streets were busier now, people were moving about; the town had pretty much woken up. Tim, however, felt like he could quite happily crawl back into bed. He'd been up since before six and his body-clock kept insisting the day should be half over already.

There were a few kids hanging around outside the school gates. It was a Friday so the usual dawdlers were dawdling even more, reserving their energy for being lazy at the weekend. Parents' cars pulled up to drop off sons and daughters who pretended they didn't have a clue who those irritating adults were from the very second they slammed the passenger door closed. Bikes darted and weaved onto the pavements and flew up the footpath between the tall gates. Everyone knew Tim and Jenny – of course they did, who in Moutonby didn't? Few acknowledged them. If anyone managed a smile or a ‘Hiya' it was probably aimed at Jenny, so Tim didn't even bother to look up. He avoided eye contact, walked with his head down. Keeping himself to himself usually worked well. But not today.

‘Hey! Monster Boy!'

There were some days – the good days – when he managed to survive all seven periods undisturbed and unmolested. Good days meant he remained hassle-free. Today wasn't going to be one of those days.

‘Monster Boy!'

He glanced back over his shoulder at the school gates. He measured the distance in his head. Maybe twenty steps. He'd managed to take twenty whole paces before somebody
decided to have a go. He wondered if it was a new record; thinking,
An all-time low
.

‘It's Roddy,' Jenny said, half worried, half warning.

Sarah flinched.

Tim nodded. ‘I guessed.'

‘Ignore him,' his sister said.

Sarah walked quickly, wasn't even going to turn and look. But Tim knew ignoring Roddy Morgan was never quite as simple as it sounded. So he stood his ground.

‘What d'you want, Roddy?'

Jenny and Sarah exchanged an anxious glance. Tim pretended not to notice.

Roddy Morgan shoved his way through the bustle of kids to catch up with them. ‘I've been waiting for you all morning.'

Sarah was staring at her feet. Again Tim said, ‘What do you want?'

He had scruffy blond hair, was skinny not scrawny, looking like he was made out of twisted wire. ‘I've been looking for you all over the place.'

‘And now you've found me. So what do you want?'

He took a folded sheet of paper out of his jacket. ‘I want you to do me a favour.'

A
favour
? Tim nearly laughed out loud. Like that was ever going to happen. ‘Can't, Roddy. Sorry. Bit busy at the minute.'

‘It won't even take a minute.' He waved the sheet of paper.

‘I'm in a rush. I've still got homework to do.'

‘This isn't homework. This is important.' He chuckled to himself, because he thought he was funny.

Unconsciously they'd squared up to each other. Roddy had never been the worst; there had always been older lads more vicious and little kids more irritating when it came to ripping the piss out of Tim and the tradition and the Mourn. But Roddy had been the first to call him ‘Monster Boy' and Tim was quite happy to hate him for the rest of his life just for that alone. Although he'd become noticeably more spiteful over the past year and Tim didn't think it was coincidence that he'd also started working for Vic Stones at WetFun round about the same time. Roddy had a talent for all things mechanical apparently, spent long hours at the weekend coaxing life from the most clapped-out jet-skis and outboard motors. According to Roddy's constant crowing, Vic Stones couldn't sing his praises loud enough. In return Roddy claimed Stones was a generous boss, a ‘top bloke'. The two of them were a mutual fan club.

Tim had told Jenny that he'd probably learned everything he knew about engines from nicking cars – yet couldn't help feeling a prickling of envy towards him. His mechanical skill, the fact that he could
do
something. Tim had never been able to do anything. The typewriter and the guitar and the photography books in his bedroom were proof of that, weren't they?

But there was a more obvious jealousy on Roddy's side. Last Christmas he'd asked Sarah out, bought her a cuddly toy (a horrible, cute, sickly bear or something) with some
of the money he'd earned from WetFun. She'd refused him, embarrassing him, and then in February she and Tim had started seeing each other. These days Roddy liked to pretend she didn't even exist.

He was refusing to acknowledge her now, had his back to her. ‘Come on. Just one favour,' he said to Tim. He grinned in what he must have thought was a friendly way, but just looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth. He waved the folded sheet of paper under Tim's nose.

Tim looked down at the white sheet suspiciously. He saw the oil and dirt under Roddy's fingernails. ‘Sorry, Roddy.' He put his arm around Sarah's shoulder, made to lead her away. ‘Like I said, bit busy at the minute.' But Sarah wasn't about to be used in the argument and squirmed out from under him. Tim immediately regretted his action, felt stupid because of his own tactlessness, and tried to follow her.

‘No. Hang on.' Roddy jumped in front of him to block the path. ‘Don't you want to see . . .?' He was unfolding the paper.

Jenny stepped in his way. ‘We're not interested. We'd rather chew silver foil than do you a favour. Goodbye.'

Tim shouldered her to one side, glaring at her. Then, to Roddy: ‘Read my lips: Piss off.'

‘Make me.'

It was a well-practised antagonism. Tim held Roddy's stare for one, two, three seconds. Only then did he try to follow Sarah again.

But Roddy wasn't going to give up. He was back grinning
again. ‘This is your duty. You can't turn your back on your
duty
.'

‘Did you hear a mouse squeak?' Jenny asked her brother.

Which only helped wind him up more. He could fight his own battles.

Roddy said, ‘What would your dad say if he knew you weren't doing your
duty
?'

It bit Tim deeper than he'd expected. He turned on Roddy. He saw, and ignored, the look on his sister's face. ‘Come on then, what is it? What's made you come crawling to me begging for my help?'

Roddy ignored the dig. ‘I've got my list of names for tomorrow's Feed.'

It was perhaps the last thing Tim would have expected. ‘And?'

‘I can't make it myself tomorrow. It's a pity, I know. But, busy busy busy, and all that. You could give it to your dad for me, though, right?'

Tim looked at the white sheet in Roddy's grubby fingers.

One of the most important aspects of the Feed was when the Mourner read aloud the list of names he'd been given by the gathered Fearful. Back in the olden days it was usually the names of the fishermen who earned their living out on the lake and had been given by their anxious wives or mothers. Reading it aloud was the Mourner's way of asking the creature to spare these people, in exchange for the sack of feed itself. These days, now that the town no longer relied on its fish market to survive, it had become a list of loved ones who their families believed were in need
of special remembrance, or could do with saving from more general ills. Tim knew his father would never refuse a list of names – no matter who had written it.

Jenny got in between the two of them, but Tim elbowed her out of the way before she could say anything. He met Roddy's eyes and they sparkled sharply. There were alarm bells in his head but he took the list anyway.

‘Cheers, Monster Boy. Thanks.' Roddy beamed.

Tim turned to go.

‘Read it. Don't you need to check it?'

Tim realized that this was Roddy's punchline; he needed Tim to see the list for his spiteful joke to work. So the last thing he was going to do right now was read the names on that sheet of paper.

‘Read it. Go on.'

‘I'll give it to my dad to read.' He made a show of folding it again, to shove in his back pocket. But Roddy suddenly made to grab it. Tim tried to hold it out of his reach, but Roddy was taller – and stronger.

He swiped it away; flourished it. ‘Vic Stones!' He waved it in front of Tim's face. ‘I want Vic Stones saving!'

The name stung Tim – he saw Jenny flinch slightly too – but he didn't get the joke just yet.

Roddy said, ‘He'll put you out of business. He's building a hotel of his own. No one's gonna want to stay in your
Monster House.'
He was eager to see the looks on Tim's and Jenny's faces, and was evidently disappointed.

‘Old news,' Tim said, relieved that the punchline had fallen flat. Very relieved he'd already heard the worst. ‘I
thought you were going to tell us something exciting.' He was smarting just the same, but managed to hide it behind a careless smile far faker than Roddy's. ‘We probably knew before you did,' he lied.

Roddy was clearly annoyed he hadn't managed to cause the amount of upset he'd been hoping to. But he recovered quickly. ‘Who's gonna want to stay in your shit-heap when there's brand-new rooms at WetFun?'

Tim shrugged, pretending Roddy's darts were just bouncing off him, not sticking in deep. It was time to get going – he needed to get away. He looked at his sister, who played along. Together they turned their backs and walked the way Sarah had gone.

‘You're going
down
, Monster Boy. You'll have to eat your own feed!'

‘Old news, Roddy. Old news.' He hoped his words sounded like he couldn't care less. He kept his back turned through sheer force of will.

Roddy was behind him, shoving, aggravating, kicking at his ankles. He kept walking, desperate to get away, but knowing he couldn't be seen to be backing down any. He glanced at Jenny by his side: her forced smile had slipped and her face was tense, anxious. He guessed he must look the same. Other kids were watching now. Roddy was at his shoulder, shouting in his ear, his spittle spraying the back of Tim's neck.

‘Why don't you piss off and leave Moutonby –
for ever
!'

He could feel Roddy's hate like heat. He tried not to walk too quickly, but he had to get away. He wanted to be far far away from all of this – for ever.

‘Everybody hates you! Everybody thinks you're a
freak
!'

They reached Sarah, who was standing by the entrance to the main block. They'd attracted quite a crowd – Monster Boy-baiting could often be relied on for entertainment. He tried to ignore them; was wary of their stares. He made to follow his sister in through the door, but Roddy clutched at his arm.

‘
Fucking
freak!'

Almost instinctively, without actually thinking about it, he jabbed his elbow back, sharp and hard. It was to get away; it was because he didn't want to be pulled back into the middle of all those stares. But it smashed into Roddy's face.

And Roddy yowled. He was sent back-pedalling. He stumbled over his own feet and went down.

There was a whoop from the crowd and they pushed closer, keen to see.

Part of Tim was shocked and bewildered by what he'd just done and he almost apologized – it was his first impulse. Roddy sat stunned on the ground with blood spurting from his nose and Tim almost helped him get up. It was the crush of the crowd that stopped him.

Roddy covered the lower half of his face with his hand but the bright blood flowed down onto his chin and neck and dripped onto his chest. The crowd of kids jostled around them, wanting to see more. Tim stood as if frozen with his own surprise at what he'd just done. His elbow throbbed and he cradled it in his hand, simply staring as Roddy staggered to his feet. He might have even let Roddy grab him
and beat him to a pulp if Mr Cropper hadn't appeared. The teacher demanded to know what was going on.

Roddy's eyes glistened with watery pain. ‘Nothing.'

‘Doesn't look like nothing to me, Morgan.' Mr Cropper scanned the already vanishing crowd, looking for the likely other half of a fight, skipping Tim completely. His gaze didn't even pause as it swept by because Tim Milmullen would be the last person expected to smash Roddy Morgan's nose.

Roddy looked as though he was thinking exactly that thought too. ‘I walked into the door.'

‘Did you indeed?' Mr Cropper didn't believe it for a second. ‘Not very bright of you, Morgan. Should we be teaching GCSE “How Doors Work” these days?' Then, when Roddy didn't reply and the crowd of suspects had all but vanished, he said, ‘I suppose I'd better come with you to the medical room, then, hadn't I? There are at least three doors to navigate along the way and I'd hate you to bleed to death figuring out how to get through them.'

The fingers of the hand Roddy had covering his nose and mouth were slick with blood. He let Mr Cropper lead him away but his stare told Tim this wasn't the end – far from it. Tim watched them go, slowly rubbing at his tender elbow, and knew that his life had just taken a scary turn for the worse. Roddy had always been an annoyance, a pain in the arse; now he was an enemy.

‘Are you okay?' Jenny asked. Then: ‘You shouldn't have taken his list. You know what he's like.'

Tim could feel the adrenaline still coursing through him;
his legs felt shaky with it. ‘Yeah? And what was I meant to do instead?' He was nervous about what had happened, about how Roddy was going to react. It made him angry, so he took it out on her. ‘He wasn't calling you
Monster Girl,
was he? No one ever does, do they? No one says anything to you.'

‘I used to get called it.'

Tim didn't reply. He just let the ‘used to' hang in the chilly morning air between them.

They'd always been close – they were twins, it was impossible for them not to be. But when they were younger they'd found themselves isolated from a lot of the other children because of their father and what he did. If they hadn't been friends with each other then they might not have been friends with anyone.