Woodhill Wood (11 page)

"I'll check in a minute. Where's your mother?"

"Sitting room."

The father almost said something, but caught it in his throat and swallowed it again. "Goodnight then," he said.

Gurde left him drawing another cigarette from the packet.

There was no sound from the sitting room as Gurde began to climb the stairs. He pushed away the rush of guilt and tried to replace it with a feeling of satisfaction that he had won the round. She probably already regretted what she had said, but she didn't regret it enough.

He locked the bedroom door and turned to see the black school uniform lying washed, ironed and folded on the bed. He rushed to the chest and opened the top draw with a thumping heart but the sweets were still where he had hidden them amongst the underpants and socks, untouched by her questing hands.

Gurde pulled the Sunday newspaper out from behind the chest of drawers and stared again at the headline: KILLER CARVES CHILD. Something about the story bothered him.

He removed the magazine and put the rest of the paper back against the wall, moved the mourner's uniform from the bed, stripped off his clothes and lay in bed flipping through the glossy, colour pages, listening for her return to the telephone in the study.

At eight o'clock the radio exploded. Gurde pressed the snooze button to kill the noise and lay half-awake waiting for the music to spring to life again. The room was getting colder each morning. Winter was creeping nearer. There was no heating upstairs, so getting out from under the covers was getting more and more difficult.

It seemed that only a few seconds had passed before the radio came blasting back. This time he turned it down, following the ritual, and rolled against the wall away from the cold air.

Gurde lay there listening to the tinny beat, trying to place what was missing. He yawned, rubbed his bleary eyes and realised that there were no sounds of movement in the house, no doors banging, no voices calling up from downstairs, no-one throwing open the curtains. Gurde took a deep breath and threw off the covers.

The digital watch was on the floor by his shoes. He checked the time to make sure the alarm clock was right: 8:10. Puzzled, Gurde put on clean black clothes and went downstairs.

The mother's lift to work wasn't due for another half an hour but her briefcase was not in its place under the table in the dining room. Gurde still couldn't think properly so he made a cup of strong tea. The warmth flowing down his throat sent a quiver through his body and suddenly Gurde felt awake.

He hurried back upstairs to see if Ben was still in bed and found him buried under his duvet, fast asleep, with only a few hairs poking out to reveal he was there at all. The mother always got Ben up because nobody else would, including Ben.

Gurde left him for the moment and gingerly pushed open the parents' bedroom door. No protest came, so he put his head inside to find the bed unmade and empty. He went back downstairs and slowly pushed open the study door. Gurde knew from the smell that the father was there long before the door was wide enough to put a head through. The father was asleep on a mattress in the corner.

Gurde went into the kitchen to make some toast, then waited until he was ready to leave before he ran upstairs and gave Ben a hard shake. Ben groaned complaint, so Gurde told him he was late for school. That shut him up and woke him up. Gurde rushed downstairs again and put his head back around the study door. The father was awake but still too drowsy to move.

"Hello?" he sighed.

"Morning. Just checking you're awake."

"Huh? Where's your mother?"

"She's gone."

"Damn." He sounded more disappointed than annoyed.

"Bye, Dad."

"Wait a... "

Gurde rushed out of the house, leaving Ben to do the father's little jobs for him, and walked briskly down towards the town swinging his brown plastic briefcase.

As he approached the bus stop under the clock, the various heads lifted to watch him arrive and then went back to the more important business of discussing the weekend. The glances seemed different on that crisp morning. Gurde didn't know whether they were tinged with Stewart's belt but not knowing was enough. He preferred not to know but the fact that there was doubt at what lay behind those dark eyes lifted his spirits.

He put the briefcase down with a confident slap and looked around for Bairdy. Gurde didn't often see him at that bus stop but, if he happened to be there, then Gurde had a reason to go over and talk to him.

Bairdy wasn't there, but that wasn't surprising and Gurde didn't let it bother him. There would be other chances.

The first of the blue and cream buses arrived. Gurde clambered on board and climbed the spiral stairs. Upstairs the bus was full of people giggling and shouting. He sat in one of the few empty seats about half way back and listened to the lively conversations. Monday morning was always the loudest; there was a whole three nights' worth of news to pass on. The doors hissed shut and the bus headed out of town.

Gurde did listen for Matt Duff's name amongst the words being kicked around the back seat, but he didn't feel as worried, because now there was real hope that what he heard might not be too bad. The journey passed quickly. Gurde didn't even have time to look up at the Woodhill.

Matt Duff's name wasn't mentioned and Gurde still felt some relief at that; he would have been sure to blush no matter what they had said. He tucked the briefcase under his arm and hurried towards the school. There was a lightness in his step and less tightness in his chest as he went through the gates, across the bustling playground, and up the stairs to the registration class.

He didn't see Bairdy all day. Gurde wasn't in the same class for anything on Mondays but still hoped to bump into him between classes.

At break, Gurde wandered about in the area where Bairdy and his friends normally gathered. The friends were there but there was no sign of him and Gurde didn't feel up to asking somebody where he was.

Gurde stood against the wall a little way away from them and watched them as they started playing Dodgey. The game didn't look too difficult. It was played in a large, square area marked out with stones with about twenty people gathered inside the boundary. One person started off alone and made others join him if he could hit them below the ankle with a tennis ball. As the ball bounced across the square everybody jumped into the air to get out of the way, sprinting away from those who were allowed to pick it up. The game soon reached a hectic pace, the ball being passed between those who were already caught as they tried to hit the others, the shouts of warning growing louder as the ball became harder to avoid. Several times the ball bounced out of the square towards him and Gurde tossed it back as confidently as he could.

As Gurde walked into Maths after lunch, Stewart's eye gave a hostile twitch but he didn't bother anyone during the lesson. He didn't even belt Dewar.

He belted Dougie Erskine for yawning: one perfectly placed smack. Stewart slid the belt back under his jacket without looking for any other victims.

The day dragged on. Gurde felt a little disappointed as he boarded the bus to go home. He had expected it to be different but the day had passed without him uttering a word to anyone. He still felt hopeful that the week would see some change.

Bairdy wasn't around the next day either. Gurde had to do all the experiments in Chemistry alone. He heard someone say that Bairdy had caught a bad cold and wouldn't be around for a few days. Gurde wondered if he had caught something fishing after all.

It was disappointing that time was slipping away and he hadn't managed to grab hold of anything to hang on to as the memory of the belting faded. Still, there was nothing he could do about it.

Winter had begun to flex its muscles and that week turned dark and cold and miserable. It was so gloomy that the buses started turning on their headlights for the journey to and from school. Gurde couldn't face going up the Woodhill in the icy wind that blew along the hills and it was getting too dark by the time he got back to the house.

Old Jim Gunn would probably still be making his regular trips with Spike whatever the weather. Gurde could picture him striding against the gusts: one hand holding tightly on to his cap, the other gripping the top of his walking stick.

As the days ticked by Gurde hardly saw the mother at all. She wasn't there when Gurde woke up in the mornings and she spent the evenings shut in the silent sitting room, reading books or marking essays. He wasn't sure if he was avoiding her or she was avoiding him. Gurde decided it was probably a bit of both. When they passed in the hall or the kitchen they exchanged forced smiles but he felt as uncomfortable about it as she seemed to. Gurde wasn't sure if he had caused her to be so distant or if something else was driving her inwards.

From that Sunday onwards the father slept in the study on his mattress. He had used to sleep there occasionally, and the mother had said that this was because he was working late, but now it seemed to be for some other reason. If the father was home when Gurde got back, he was always working on his case in the study and only appeared to eat what he could find in the fridge.

Ben too seemed very subdued, as if he had caught the mood of the house. Every night that week he went to play with friends on the way home from school and was given his evening meal there, so he wasn't brought home until late evening. Gurde guessed that the mother had arranged this in advance to keep her youngest son out of the way, but this didn't seem to occur to Ben, he was just having a good time, coming home with excited stories about new games he had discovered, before being sent to bed.

The mother stopped making meals for the family. With Ben away and Dad working she only had herself and her eldest son to feed. Each night there was money left by the toaster for Gurde to go and buy fish and chips from the shop at the end of the main street; always exactly the right amount.

Gurde spent the evenings either watching the television or reading comics in the bedroom. He couldn't get to the piano in the sitting room as the mother was in there most of the time.

One morning, after she had gone to work, Gurde ventured as far as the sitting room doorway and stared at the unused piano against the far wall but he did not go in. Gurde missed hammering the piano keys but he had vowed not to touch them again until the fall of the Skull.

It had been over a week since the belting. Gurde rolled out of bed into the cold silence of the room and threw open the curtains. The sunlight dazzled his eyes as he stared out across a frost-caked lawn. He immediately thought of the cliff on the Woodhill. A clear day at last, a chance to finish moving the pole and get it back into position ready for the fall of the Skull. Mr Gunn was bound to be on the hill on such a day, sitting on his log.

The school uniform lay scattered across the floor. Gurde had to put it on so that the father wouldn't be suspicious when Gurde took him his cup of tea. He pulled on the pile of black clothes and pounded downstairs, excited at the idea of getting back amongst the trees.

The mother had already gone to work, leaving the money for fish and chips tucked under the toaster. Gurde slipped the coins into the trouser pocket without a hole and flicked the button on the kettle.

It was now his job to wake Ben and make a cup of tea for the father before leaving the house each morning. He made the tea in the proper way, in a white cup. The father could taste the difference if the milk was put in before the water, or if the sugar was put in last; he wouldn't drink it if it wasn't done right. Gurde picked up the cup, confident that the father would like it, and went through to the hall.

As he pushed open the study door there was no smell. The mattress was propped up against the far wall. Still clutching the hot cup, Gurde went upstairs hoping to find the father back where he should be. He knocked on the bedroom door. There was no answer so he crept in expecting to see the father curled up in the blankets on the far side. The bed was empty. Gurde carried the now useless cup of tea back to the kitchen and poured it down the sink.

"Where's Dad?"

Gurde jumped at the voice and turned to glare at Ben who was suddenly standing behind him.

"Out."

"Where?"

"At work, I suppose. Why are you up already?"

"I heard you going into Mum's room."

"Oh," Gurde said. Ben was still trying to do up the top button on his shirt. "Are you ready for school then?"

"I can't find my tie."

Gurde went up to the bedroom and pulled a spare tie from the chest of drawers. The remaining sweets were still there, hidden at the back, wrapped in a pair of almost clean underpants. He hurried back down and tossed the tie over.

"I can't put it on properly," Ben whined.

"Well, I can't do it."

"Please."

Gurde sighed. It was much harder putting a tie on somebody else. The final knot was loose and baggy but at least it stayed on. Ben seemed satisfied.

"Have you got your key?" Gurde asked. "I've got to go now."

"I'll come down with you."

"Er.. no, you'll be too slow."

"No I won't."

"You will."

"Won't."

They left the house together. Gurde slammed the door shut aware that he was leaving the house empty. Ben was already jogging down the drive.

"Come on," he called, "you're too slow". With that he turned and ran down to the road. Gurde knew he couldn't shake Ben off without him telling the mother what had happened. It seemed that he was going to school after all.

Gurde followed Ben down to the bus stop. Ben stayed a few yards ahead the whole way, quickening his pace whenever Gurde tried to catch up, turning every now and then to shout a comment about how slowly he was walking.

They got to the bottom of the hill. Gurde hoped that Ben would keep quiet as they reached the crowd waiting under the clock. Gurde stopped just after the bridge. Ben's school, the Primary school, was another ten minutes walk away. As soon as Ben had crossed the road he turned for a last time and shouted, "you're too slow," then ran off, his satchel swinging on his back as he went. A few faces turned but Gurde ignored them.

He now had the chance to return to the Woodhill. He knew he was pushing his luck. The asthma excuse couldn't last forever. If the mother found out he had started to skip school she would complain to the headmaster.

Gurde was still trying to decide what to do when the bus drew up and the crowd began to move forward. Events were guiding him towards school and perhaps there was a reason for it. Gurde tried to read the instinct that might lead towards the cliffs. He dug deep inside, searching for a sign, but the bus doors hissed open and he abandoned any thoughts of escape and climbed on board.

Behind the dead fields the Woodhill was no longer green. It had lain hidden by mist and darkness for a week, but now it was clearly visible from the bus window. The faint patches of yellow and red had spread to touch most of the trees, passed by the wind from branch to branch. Soon the Wizard's Skull would be seen from the road, beckoning across the valley. The idea that others could peer in at that secret place worried him. The hill was growing more beautiful by the day and the sight of its lingering death could only draw others to it. Gurde felt a new urgency to get the scaffolding pole away from the paths and above the cliff where it would never be found.

He squirmed against the seat, wondering what it was that had stopped him from being up there watching that same bus pass along the road below. If the pole was stolen he would be angry, but there was nothing he could do, the choice had been made, and he had to find out why it was that he was going to school. It had been over a week since the belting had produced a gap in the clouds. It could be the last chance he would have to benefit.

"Duff?"

"Here, Sir."

That name was always one of the first to be called. Gurde drifted off as the rest of the names and replies fired back and forth to be ticked off on the sheet. He wondered where the father had been and if the mother had noticed. Perhaps he'd been working late on a case at his office, or perhaps he was visiting the publisher who would make him famous. Gurde decided that that was the reason: he'd had to stay in a hotel because he was arranging for his book to be published.

The sudden sound of thirty chairs being pushed across the floor brought him back to the registration class. Gurde grabbed the briefcase and was the last to leave the room. He was on the stairs to Maths before the bell fell silent.

Stewart was not at his best first thing in the morning. He was very easy to annoy and, being Friday, people tended to be annoying. He belted Dougie Erskine, Jimmy McLeod, Paul Stewart, Brian MacDonald, and some kid who brought him a note from another class but didn't knock loudly enough at the door before coming in. They got one each. Girls never got belted. Gurde kept glancing at Dewar who was trembling at his desk a row behind.

Gurde stared at the scribbles on the blackboard and hoped he would be belted as well. It would have been so easy to do. He could ask a stupid question or drop a book on the floor or, best of all, he could ask, "please Sir, would you belt me as well?" Stewart would pound his stage. Gurde imagined the twitch in Stewart's eye taking control as he screamed. Out to the front, sonny jim. Two blows and then, after the second blow, Gurde would say, "that was a good one, Sir" and Stewart would explode. Gurde would walk back to his desk with a smile and the class would applaud...

"Duff!"

Gurde nearly fell off his chair. "Y..Yes, Sir?"

"Get on with your work!"

"Yes Sir. Sorry, Sir."

Gurde started writing anything he could think of. Stewart walked towards him and Gurde felt his throat tighten. The bell went at just the right moment. In Stewart's class nobody stood up when the bell went.

"Right. For Monday, exercises four and five. Everybody!""

That was the signal to leave and everyone put away their books. Gurde was one of the first into the corridor, thinking what Stewart would have done the next Monday morning if he'd gone up the hill as he had planned.

Gurde hurried into Chemistry and slumped into his seat. The class filed in and took their places.

Bairdy was the last in. His entrance was heralded by a huge sneeze that forced him to take a step backwards. Jackson, the Chemistry teacher, was right behind him. Bairdy wiped his nose on the back of his hand and hurried out of the way. The lesson began immediately. Jackson handed out a pile of printed sheets and began to draw diagrams that resembled squashed white spiders. He was a small, balding Englishman with narrow glasses that could not hide his nervousness. He also had an annoyingly obvious lisp. In some classes that would have stopped the teacher keeping control, but with Jackson there was only a slight feeling of pity; Jackson could be torn to pieces in seconds and that was his salvation.

After a ten minute introduction, the blackboard was wiped clean. "OK", Jackson said, "will you all pwease gather at the back of the woom and I will go and fetch the equipment. Will you keep as quiet as possible."

The class rose and moved along the benches. Gurde slipped into the crowd beside Bairdy who took in an enormous breath and sneezed into his upturned palms. The movement rippled through the whole group.

"Nasty cold," Gurde said casually.

"Bloody right!" Bairdy replied whilst trying to transfer the slimy contents of his palms on to the tissue he pulled from his pocket.

"Did you catch it fishing?"

"Yep."

"When?"

"Sunday. It was too wet Saturday." He wiped the last of the stuff off his hands and squeezed the wet tissue back into his trousers.

"Aye. It was pissin' down," Gurde said. "Sunday was all right, though."

Bairdy wasn't listening. Jackson was back with a cardboard box full of plastic glasses. "Put these on. I'll be back in a minute." He scuttled off again. The goggles passed around the circle amid waves of giggles, mainly directed at the people who had to take off glasses to put their goggles on.

"Did you catch anything?" Gurde asked Bairdy.

"Apart from dis, you mean?" he said, sniffing heavily and swallowing the result.

"I mean fish."

"Dope."

"What, nothin'?"

"Dothin' apart from dis."

"Who else was there."

"Eh?" he said. He wasn't listening.

Jackson returned with a shout. "Evewybody stand well back!" The crowd parted. Jackson was standing with a thin, ten foot pole upright in his hand. In his left hand were two inflated balloons. He reminded Gurde of the pictures of sea fishermen with their catches in the father's magazines. "OK. Will evewybody pwease come and stand back this way." It was curiosity that led the class to the required spot.

Jackson walked up to the end of the bench, where a plastic screen had been erected. He tied both balloons to a gas tap against the far wall so that the red and blue bounced together, then slid the heavy, plastic screen carefully across in front of them and walked back towards us with a gleam in his eye.

"OK. I warn you there may be wather a bang. The scween should hold but be pwepared to duck if it does bweak."

He took his ten foot pole, which looked as if it were made of paper straws linked together, and lit one end with a match. "OK?" He glanced around to satisfy himself that everyone was behind him then slowly slid the pole through his hands like a novice baker feeding an oven.

The little flame edged closer to the balloons. When it reached the screen Jackson paused. "OK. Let's make water!" He pushed the flame the final few inches and there was a sound like an embarrassed cough. The balloons deflated. A snigger broke out at the back. "Oh," said Jackson. "Well, let's see if we have any."

He jogged to the end of the bench and retrieved the dead balloons. "OK. Let's see."

"They condoms, Sir?"

The sniggering quickly spread through the group.

"Er... very funny, whoever said that."

Jackson squeezed the red balloon and a single drop of water formed at the bottom and dripped on to the bench.

"There!" he said triumphantly.

Gurde was skeptical. To make sure the experiment worked, all Jackson had to do was to blow up one of the balloons with his breath.

"That was set up," Gurde whispered to Bairdy. "That's why it didn't go bang."

"Maybe."

"You goin' fishin again tomorrow?" Gurde asked as they walked back towards the desks at the front of the room.

"Naw. I'm goin' away with my Dad for a few days."

"Where's that?"

"Dunno. Away."

"Are.. are there any good trout still in the dam?" Gurde asked before their paths parted.

"How should I know?" Bairdy said as he turned to his seat.

Gurde ran all the way from the bus stop up to the house. Ben was in the kitchen making himself an enormous pile of sandwiches.

"Not playing with your friends tonight?"

Ben looked startled.

"You've forgotten to go to your friend's house, haven't you?"

"Dad's back," he said.

"Is he?"

"He's working. He doesn't want to be disturbed."