Arcadia (5 page)

“He was my friend,” Rory says, a little stung. He thinks of Molly's wrecked and drained face, and Viola saying
I wonder why They hate us so much
.

“That boy.”

“Yeah. Ol. He's got a name, actually.”

“Tell me about him.”

“What d'you mean?”

“Tell me what he was like. What sort of boy he was.” She shifts a little, almost sleepily. She's asking him about Ol the same way she'd ask him about what he'd had for breakfast.

“Why do you care?”

“I don't,” she says. “I don't care at all. I just like hearing your stories.”

Rory stares at her. One of Them, the enemy. If anyone knew that since the end of winter—since he first came here hiding from Pink, who was chasing him around being annoying, and saw Her (or didn't quite see her) rising from the waves—he'd been coming to talk to her pretty much as often as he could, they'd probably kill him. They'd probably hang him from the gibbet like a Traitor. But he can't stop coming.

“That's mean,” he says.

“Is it?”

“You're supposed to care about people. 'Specially if they just died.”

“I didn't know that.”

“Was it you? Who took him?”

“Of course it was us. Silly.”

“I mean you. Actually you. I saw . . .” The tingle turns into a flush of shame. “I thought I saw you.”

“Maybe,” she says. She's not teasing. She doesn't do things like that. She sounds like she can't remember, or can't be bothered to remember.

“Why d'you do it? Why d'you kill him?”

“I've never killed anyone. Only you do that.”

“No I don't. I never.”

“You,” she says again. “People.”

“We don't. What about Ol? You just said it was you.”

“We took him,” she says. She's not arguing. He can hear himself sounding hot and whiny like he does when he's trying to get Ol to stop teasing him or saying stupid things, but she's talking just like she always does. “He came to us because he wanted to, so we took him.”

“Yeah, well, that's the same as killing him, then.”

“I don't think it is.”

“It's not like he can come back, is it? Can you bring him back?”

“No one goes back,” she answers at once.

“So he's dead.”

“Of his bones,” she says, “are coral made.” She laughs, actually laughs even though they're talking about Ol drowning. It's the fizz of beached foam popping in the air. “Though not really.”

“What's so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you laughing, then?”

“I was thinking of something from long ago and it felt strange.” She rolls on to her side and props her head up on her arm. In the comics women are all smooth and long and sort of tight and flowing at the same time. Though she's naked she's not like that at all, she's a bit knobbly, but there's something about looking at her which is even better than looking at the superheroes in their costumes. “Do you ever have that feeling? When you can hardly believe that what you remember really happened to you?”

“You don't even notice about Ol being dead,” he says. “Do you.”

“The sea's full of wrecks,” she says. “Is that my fault? Most of them are much older than me.” She holds her free arm out again. “They're beautiful. Do you want me to show you? I'll hold your hand the whole time, I promise.”

He shivers. He shouldn't be talking to her.

“I have to go,” he says.

  *  *  *  

Laurel and Pink are on their bikes. They come whirring down the lane behind him just before he reaches Parson's.

“There he is!”

“Rory!”

“
Shh
!
”

They skid to a stop. Pink always brakes by putting her feet down, though she's not supposed to because it wears the soles out faster. They're both red-faced and breathless and they talk at the same time.

“Guess what,” Pink begins.

“Where have you been? You said you'd be in Parson's.”

“Guess what!”

“I thought your mum said not to go out.”

“It's something about you!”

“Shut up, Pink.”

“We heard them and they were all talking and we couldn't hear everything but they kept saying
him
and
have you asked him
and—”

“Pink, shut up. We've been riding all over looking for you. You better get inside, they'll be finished by now.”

“Yeah and—”

“Pink!” Laurel's six years older. She almost counts as a grown-up. When she tells her sister off she sounds exactly like Viola.

“You shut up!”

“They're definitely planning something. Your mum is. We heard them talking about going to Mary's—”

“I said that!”

“No you didn't.”

“I was going to till you interrupted!”

“No one can understand anything you say. Pig.”

“Don't call me—” Laurel mimes a slap. “
Ow
!
” Pink screeches, even though Laurel's hand didn't go anywhere near her face. “That really hurt!”

“Will you be quiet! Rory, next time there's a Meeting you better come. I think your mum's going somewhere. Missus Shark said
what will we do without you
—”

“What?” Rory says. It's the first word he's managed to get in. The girls stop jabbering and stare at him. Pink's face is all shocked and earnest, like she's just been told someone's best secret.

“I don't know exactly,” Laurel says. “We missed the beginning. And you can't hear everything from the cupboard, especially when Pink's squiggling around all the time.”

“I wasn't!”

“Shut up. They were definitely talking about you, though.”

“I said that,” Pink mutters.

“You and me'll go next time. Without Pink.”

“What? No you won't!”

“
Shh
!
” Rory holds up a hand. They all listen. Somewhere over the crest of the lane, towards the Pub, a very squeaky bicycle is laboring uphill.

Laurel and Pink look at each other and then start pedaling away past Parson's and the church without another word. Rory looks at his shoes and trousers. They're flecked with the coppery mud of the heath. He sniffs his hands: they smell salty. It's the kind of stuff his mother will notice if she's in the mood. He tears up a fistful of long grass and wipes his clothes hurriedly.

S
he wakes him up the next morning. It doesn't feel early; he must have had a long sleep. She's wearing the thick dark blue coat and the waxy trousers.

“Are you going fishing?”

She sits on the end of the bed as if it's bedtime and pats his legs through the blankets. “Not today,” she says. “I'm going over to Mary's.”

“Why?”

“There's something we might need. I'll be back tonight.”

“What do we need?” He sits up. There are lots more houses on Maries, hundreds more, so they have a much bigger Stash, though Kate says they don't look after it as well and they argue about it more. He's never actually met the women who live there but he knows there are more of them too. They sound a bit scary. Missus Anderson used to be one of them before she decided to come to Home, and she says they sometimes even fight with each other.

“I'll tell you about it later.”

He remembers what Laurel and Pink were trying to tell him yesterday afternoon and suddenly wonders whether his mother wants them to go and live on Maries instead. His stomach twists and his face falls.

“Don't we have everything we need here?”

His mother stands up. “I said we'll talk about it later. I ought to get going. What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Sometimes it's like she's not looking at him at all, but other times she can tell when he's upset just by looking. “I'll be fine,” she says. “It's not as bad over there as all that.”

“I know.”

She examines him. “You're still sad about Ol, aren't you?”

His face burns. “A bit.”

“Of course. We all are. We'll go over to the church on Briar in a day or two and say good-bye properly. Everyone'll feel better after that.”

“OK.”

“Now.” She leans on her knees. “You work hard today, OK? Be extra helpful. They're going to carry on with the harvest, but with me away and Ali still not feeling well all you children will have to help all day. And poor Molly won't be up for much either. The weather might turn soon, we can't waste any time. Promise you'll do that?” He nods. “And Rory.”

“Yes?”

“You stay between the fields and the barn, all right? And here. I don't want you going off on your own. All right?”

“'Kay.”

“I mean it. I've asked everyone to keep an eye on you so I'll know if you do.”

“I won't.”

She gives him a leathery kiss, the collar of the blue coat scratching his neck. “Good boy. OK then. There's a bit of bread downstairs and the stove's still warm, you can heat it up. Viola'll come to fetch you when they're ready to start in the fields. You can stay here till then. Read your blessed comics.”

But when she goes he squirms back under the covers and closes his eyes. Before he woke up properly he was lying in the dark imagining that She was holding his hand and they were swimming together deep in a warm green sea, diving for sunken treasure.

  *  *  *  

The storm comes fast.

Kate's the first to stop. She's far ahead of everyone else, as usual, near the top of the field. She rests her scythe on the ground and leans over it, the only sign that she might be getting a bit tired. She looks up at the sky. A moment later everyone else feels it too: the sudden gather of the wind.

“Here it comes,” Missus Shark says.

“All right!” Kate shouts from the top of the field. “Let's get all this in!”

As everyone starts hurrying up the unevenly reaped rows the sky over Briar goes the green of Rory's dream. The trees begin to hiss. A few leaves shake loose. Rory's been pushing barrows again, all morning long; now Laurel joins him and they start running with them. By the time they're back from the next trip to the barn it's as dark as twilight and the wind's blowing so hard they have to tie tarpaulins over the barrows. “Properly,” Kate says, kneeling beside him to pull the twine straight. “Take your time. Do it properly.” Everyone's shouting instructions at each other. A tarpaulin cracks and whips in Rory's hands as if it's come to life, and then the air seems to turn black. The rain starts, not a few warning drops but a lashing curtain of water like the sea emptying itself. Missus Grouse shrieks. Libby's face is a grim mask. Suddenly Rory can hear exactly what everyone's thinking:
winter
. Darkness, sickness, hunger, dread.

Kate keeps her head, sends Fi to close up the barn and the greenhouses, and steers them to shelter. Soon they're all in the Pub, wet layers dripping over the big racks in the kitchen. There's a thick reek of damp exhaustion mingling with the Pub's moldy carpet smell. Missus Shark goes off to make sure Ali and Molly are OK but otherwise there's nothing much anyone can do but wait. The storm throws itself at the windows like hailstones. There's a brief discussion about lighting a fire but everyone knows it's not cold enough, not yet, not when wood's so precious and the leaves are only just starting to turn. Rory and Pink get the red and yellow balls out and play their version of pool. The pool table's the only furniture left in the Pub. It's mostly made out of plastic and slate and it's too heavy to move, so no one ever tried chopping it up to burn.

“Connie wouldn't have started back until later anyway,” he hears Missus Grouse say. She's louder than everyone else even when she's trying to be quiet. He looks up and discovers that everyone's turned his way, except for Kate who's looking daggers at Missus Grouse. Viola gets up from the floor and comes over to the table.

“Did your mum tell you where she was going today?” she asks him.

“Yes. Maries.”

“She'll have seen this coming. She won't try and get back till it blows over. She'll be fine.”

He lines up a shot, balancing his fingers on top of the red ball. “I know.”

Viola rubs his back. “Goodness me. Listen to that wind.”

Still leaning over the table, squinting towards the yellow ball, he says, “What's she doing over there?”

Pink makes her wide-eyed face at him and tries to mouth something. It looks a bit like she's choking. Rory rolls the balls. His shot misses.

“I don't know, exactly,” Viola says, although not until after a distinct pause, during which her touch disappears from his back. “Just talking to some of them, I expect.”

“God,” Missus Grouse declares, across the room. “I wish there was still some booze.”

“Oh,” Missus Anderson says. “Don't.”

“A bottle of whiskey. And a bag of pork scratchings. Are we sure we've completely emptied this place?”

“Please don't, Vera. I can't stand it.”

“And some bloody men.” Even Missus Shark titters. “Good Lord. Things must be getting desperate if I'm missing them.”

Viola turns round.

“I don't mind it,” she says, “but don't ever say anything like that in front of Molly, all right?”

There's a tricky silence, made sharper by the click of the balls and the drumming rain.

“Oh, do let's not all be so serious,” Missus Grouse says. “Anyway, I don't want to forget what it used to be like.” Her tone of voice suggests that everyone else does.

“I doubt any of us are likely to,” Viola says. “I think about John every single day.”

Rory hates it when the adults start doing this. He looks out of the small window. Its panes are weeping raindrops. It's only a short run up the hill to Parson's but he'd get soaked through.