Blackberry Wine (13 page)

Dammit, there was nothing he could do.

The gypsies were safe enough in their caravan. They’d wait it out until Zeth got tired or ran out of ammunition. He had to go home sometime. Besides, it was only an air rifle. You couldn’t do any real damage with an air rifle. Not really. Even if you hit a person.

I mean, what was he supposed to do, anyway?

Jay turned to go and let out a yelp of surprise. There was a girl crouching in the bushes not five feet behind him. He had been so absorbed watching Zeth that he hadn’t heard her approach. She looked about twelve. Under a bramble of red curls her face was small and blotchy, as if her freckles had been stretched out of shape in an attempt to save on skin. She was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt so large that the sleeves flapped around her thin arms. In one hand she was carrying a grubby red bandanna, which looked to be filled with stones.

The girl was on her feet as quickly and silently as an Apache. Jay barely had time to react to her presence before she sent a stone whizzing through the air with incredible speed and accuracy to strike against his kneecap with an audible, agonizing crack. He gave another yell and fell over, clutching at his knee. The girl looked at him, a second stone ready in her hand.

‘Hey,’ protested Jay.

‘Sorry,’ said the girl, without putting down the stone.

Jay rolled up the leg of his jeans to inspect the injured knee. A bruise was already rising. He glared at the girl, who returned his gaze with a flat, unrepentant look.

‘You shouldn’t have turned round like that,’ said the girl. ‘You took me by surprise.’

‘Took
you
 … !’ Jay struggled for speech.

The girl shrugged. ‘I thought you was with him,’ she said, jerking her small chin fiercely in the direction of the lock. ‘Using our caravan and poor old Toffee as target practice.’ Jay rolled back his trouser leg.

‘Him!
He’s no friend of mine,’ he said indignantly. ‘He’s crazy.’

‘Oh. Ok.’

The girl returned the stone to the bandanna. Another two rifle shots sounded, followed by Zeth’s ululating war cry,
‘Gypp-o-oh!’
The girl peered down warily through the bushes, then lifted a branch and prepared to slide underneath and down the banking.

‘Hey, wait a minute.’

‘What?’

The girl barely glanced back. In the shadow of the bush her eyes were golden, like an owl’s.

‘What are you doing?’

‘What do you think?’

‘But I told you already.’ Jay’s anger at her unprovoked attack had been replaced by alarm. ‘He’s crazy. You don’t want to have anything to do with him. He’ll get tired soon enough. He’ll leave you alone when that happens.’

The girl stared at him with undisguised contempt. ‘Spect that’s what
you’d
do?’ she demanded.

‘Well … yes.’

She made a sound which might have been amusement or scorn, and passed effortlessly under the branch, steadying herself with her free hand as she slid down the banking, braking with her heels when she reached the scree. Jay could see where she was heading. Fifty yards down the slope there was a cutaway, which opened out right over the lock. Red shale and loose stones smattered the banking where the hill had been opened. A screen of thin bushes provided cover. A tricky place to reach – if approached fast or carelessly you could ride the scree right off the edge onto the stones below – but it would provide her with a good place to launch her attack. If that was what she was planning. It was hard to believe that she was. Jay peered down the banking again and caught sight of her, much further down now, barely visible in the undergrowth except for her hair. Let her do it if she wanted, he told himself. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t warned her.

None of this really had anything to do with him.

It was none of his business.

Sighing, he picked up the coalbox with its three-day load and began to scramble down the rocky path behind the girl.

He took the other path to the ash pit, shielded from view most of the way by bushes. In any case, he thought, Zeth wasn’t looking. He was too busy shooting and yelling. Easy enough, then, to get across the open expanse of the ash pit and under the concealed lip beyond. It wasn’t as good a hiding place as the girl’s, but it would have to do, and with two of them against one even Zeth might have to concede defeat. If it
was
two against one. Jay tried not to think about any friends Zeth might have in the area, maybe just within shouting distance.

He put down the can of coal chunks and settled himself close to the edge of the ash pit. Zeth sounded very close now; Jay could hear his breathing and the snicking sound
of his rifle as he broke it to reload. Glancing swiftly over the edge of the ash pit he could see him, too, the back of his head and a slice of profile, his neck glaring with acne, his flag of greasy hair. Above the lock there was no sign of the girl, and he wondered, in sudden anxiety, whether she had gone. Then he saw a flicker of something red above the cutting and a stone zipped out of the bushes, hitting Zeth on the arm. Jay knew a moment’s amazement at the accuracy of the girl’s aim before Zeth swung round with a roar of pain and surprise. Another stone hit him in the solar plexus, and as he whipped round towards the cutting Jay threw two chunks of coal at his back. One hit, the other missed, but Jay felt a hot rush of exhilaration as he ducked down again.

‘Kill you, you fucker!
’ Zeth’s voice sounded both very close and horrifyingly adult, a teenage troll in disguise. Then the girl fired again, hitting him on the ankle, missing once, then scoring a direct hit on the side of his head, making a sound like a pool cue potting the ball.

‘
You leave us alone, then!’
yelled the girl from her eyrie above the lock.
‘Bloody well leave us alone, you bastard!’

Now Zeth had seen her. Jay saw him move a little closer to the cutting, his rifle in his hand. He could see what Zeth was doing. He would try to move under the overhang and out of sight, reload, then jump out firing. He’d be firing blind, but all the same. Jay looked over the edge of the ash pit and took aim. He hit Zeth between the shoulder blades as hard as he could.

‘Get lost!’ he shouted deliriously, firing another coal chunk over the lip of the pit. ‘Go pick on someone else!’

But it had been a mistake to show himself so openly. Jay saw Zeth’s eyes widen in recognition.

‘Well, well, well.’ Zeth had changed after all. He’d broadened out, his shoulders fulfilling the promise of his height. He looked fully adult to Jay now, fully grown and ferocious. He smiled and began to move closer to the ash pit, rifle levelled. He kept under the overhang now, so that the girl
could not target him. He was grinning. Jay threw another two pieces of coal, but his aim was off target and Zeth kept on coming.

‘Get away!’

‘Or what?’ Zeth was close enough to see clearly into the ash pit now, with one eye on the overhang which shielded him. His grin looked like a bone sickle. He levelled his rifle with a quizzical, almost a gentle smile. ‘Or
what
, eh? Or
what?’
Desperately Jay lobbed the remaining chunks of coal at him, but his aim was gone. They bounced off the bigger boy’s shoulders like bullets off a tank. Jay looked into the barrel of Zeth’s rifle. It was only an air rifle, his mind repeated, only an air rifle, only a poxy pellet gun. It’s not as if it were a Colt or a Luger or anything, and anyway, he wouldn’t dare shoot.

Zeth’s finger tightened on the trigger. There was a click. At this range the gun didn’t look poxy at all. It looked deadly.

Suddenly there was a sound from behind him and a flurry of small rocks slid from the cutaway, scattering down onto his head and shoulders. Zeth must have stepped out of the shelter of the overhang, Jay realized, into The Girl’s sights again. Funny, that leap into proper-noun status. He moved back towards the edge of the pit, never taking his eyes off Zeth. His assumption that it was The Girl throwing stones from her bandanna had to be wrong: these were not isolated flung stones, but dozens – make that hundreds – of pebbles, shards, gravel chunks, small rocks and the occasional larger one falling down the banking in a cloud of ochre dust. Something had dislodged a part of the overhang and scree was shooting off the edge in a gathering rockslide. Above the scar he could see something moving – an oversized T-shirt, no longer very white, topped by a carroty tangle of hair. She was on her hands and knees on the banking, rabbit-kicking at the scree for all she was worth, dislodging chunks of rock and soil and dust, which fragmented onto the stones below, pelting Zeth
with earth and stones and acrid orange powder. Behind the sound of falling rubble Jay could just hear her thin, fierce voice screaming triumphantly,
‘Eat shit, you bastard!’

Zeth was taken completely off-balance by the attack. Dropping his rifle, his first instinct was to take shelter under the cutaway, but although the overhang protected him from thrown missiles it did nothing against the rock-fall, and he stumbled, choking, right into the thick of the falling scree. He swore, holding his arms protectively above his head, as chunks of rock suddenly came down on top of him. One piece the size of a housebrick caught him on the bony part of his elbow, and at that Zeth abruptly lost all interest in the fight. Coughing, choking and blinded by dust, clasping his injured arm to his stomach, he stumbled out from under the overhang. There came a triumphant war cry from above, followed by another avalanche of small rocks, but the battle was already won. Zeth flung a single murderous glance over his shoulder and fled. He ran up the side path until he reached the top, and only then did he stop to howl his defiance.

‘Thar fuckin dead, atha listenin?’ His voice rolled off the stones at the canal side. ‘If I ever see thee again, tha fuckin
dead!
’

The Girl gave a mocking yell from the trees.

Zeth fled.

JAY AWOKE TO A SPILL OF SUNSHINE ON HIS FACE. THERE WAS A
strange yellowish quality to the light, something strained and winey, unlike dawn’s clear pallor, but he was amazed when, looking at his watch, he realized he had slept more than fourteen hours. He recalled being feverish, even delusional, that night, and he anxiously inspected his injured foot for signs of infection, but none were apparent. The swelling had subsided as he slept, and though there was some gaudy bruising, as well as an ugly cut, on his ankle, there seemed to be less damage than he remembered. The long sleep must have done him good.

He managed to replace his boot. With it on his foot was sore, but not as much as he had feared. After eating his remaining sandwich – very stale now, but he was ravenous – he picked up his things and made his way slowly back towards the road. He left his bag and case in the bushes and began the long walk into the village. It took almost an hour, with many rest stops, to reach the main street, and he had plenty of time to look at the scenery. Lansquenet is a tiny place; a single main street and a few side roads, a square with a few shops – a chemist’s, a baker’s, a butcher’s, a florist’s – a church between two rows of linden trees, then a long road
down to the river, a café and some derelict houses staggering along the ragged banks towards the fields. He came up from the river, having found a place to cross where the water ran shallow over some stones, and so he came to the café first. A bright red-and-white awning shielded a small window, and a couple of metal tables were set out on the pavement. A sign above the door read Café des Marauds.

Jay went in and ordered a
blonde
. The
propriétaire
behind the bar looked at him curiously, and he realized how he must look to her: unwashed and unshaven, wearing a grubby T-shirt and smelling of cheap wine. He gave her a smile, but she stared back at him doubtfully.

‘My name is Jay Mackintosh,’ he explained to her. ‘I’m English.’

‘Ah, English.’ The woman smiled and nodded, as if that explained everything. Her face was round and pink and shiny, like a doll’s. Jay took a long drink of his beer.

‘Joséphine,’ said the
propriétaire
. ‘Are you … a tourist?’ She sounded as if the prospect amused her.

He shook his head. ‘Not exactly. I had a few problems getting here last night. I … got lost. I had to sleep rough.’ He explained briefly.

Joséphine looked at him with wary sympathy. Clearly she couldn’t imagine getting lost in such a small, familiar place as Lansquenet.

‘Do you have rooms? For the night?’

She shook her head.

‘Is there a hotel, then? Or a
chambre d’hôte
?’

Again that look of amusement. Jay began to understand that tourists were not in plentiful supply. Oh well. It would have to be Agen.

‘Could I use your telephone, then? For a taxi?’

‘Taxi?’ She laughed aloud at that. ‘A taxi, on a Sunday night?’ Jay pointed out that it was barely six o’clock, but Joséphine shook her head and laughed again. All the taxis would be on their way home, she explained. No-one would come this far for a pick-up. Village boys often made hoax
calls, she explained with a smile. Taxis, takeaway pizzas … They thought it was funny.

‘Oh.’ There was the house, of course. His house. He had already slept there one night, and with the sleeping bag and the candles he could surely manage another. He could buy food from the café. He would be able to collect wood and light a fire in the grate. There were clothes in his suitcase. In the morning he would change and go to Agen to sign the papers and collect the keys.

‘There was a woman, back there where I slept. Madame d’Api. I think she thought I was trespassing.’

Joséphine gave him a quick look.

‘I suppose she did. But if the house is yours now—’

‘I thought she was the caretaker. She was standing guard.’ Jay grinned. ‘To tell the truth, she wasn’t very friendly.’

Joséphine shook her head.

‘No. I don’t suppose she was.’

‘Do you know her?’

‘Not really.’

Mention of Marise d’Api seemed to have made Joséphine wary. The doubtful look was back on her face, and she was rubbing at a spot on the countertop with a preoccupied air.