Perry Scrimshaw's Rite of Passage (7 page)

‘
They’re still
a bit damp,’ said Perry, ‘I only just got the fire
going.’

Joel nodded, but wouldn’t meet
Perry’s eye.

‘
When the fire
settles we can lower the line a bit, make it dry quicker. I made
you a brew,’ he poured out the tea and offered the steaming mug to
Joel.

Joel stared at
the fire.
He wants to throw my head in
it,
thought Perry.

‘
I was thinking
of guddlin’ some trout later in the Itchen. Not had a proper meal
in a few days. You could come if you like, hold my legs so I can
reach deeper in the water.’

‘
Perry,’ Joel
faced him, his jaw was clenched. ‘You said we was
friends.’

Perry held out the mug again.
‘We are…it’s just, The Sick…those prisoners…’

‘
You left me to
deliver all them notes on my own, I wouldn’t have taken ‘em all if
it was just me! It took me half the night!’

‘
I know. I’m
sorry Joel. It was mean. And wrong. Mean
and
wrong. It’ll never happen again.
Promise. Friends again?’

Joel took the offered mug and
sat. He sipped at his tea and poked a finger into the belly of his
bread slice.

‘
Alright then
Perry.’

Out from the clutches of Blue
Anchor Lane, Perry and Joel hailed the driver of passing cart. The
driver reined up and his horse stamped to a halt.

‘
Hey mister,
you going out Bishopstoke way?’

The man gave Perry a look.
‘Might be. What’s it to you?’

‘Gives us a ride and I’ll catch
you some fish.’

‘Think I’m daft?’ the man
laughed, ‘boy like you catch fish?’

‘Honest mister, it’ll be
trout.’

‘
I’m hardly
going to wait by the side of the road while you two frolic about in
the Itchen. I’ve got important lambing business to tend to near
Winchester.’

‘
So you’re
coming back to Southampton today?’

‘
Aye, around
three,’ the man said guardedly.

‘
All the
better then,’ beamed Perry, ‘we’ll wait for you by the road when
you come back, give you an extra fish or two for the ride home and
all.’

‘
And if we’re
not there, you’ve not lost much have you?’ Joel chipped
in.

‘
Cheeky
beggars. Come on then, get up.’

They sat, legs swinging as the
horse plodded up the road, Perry tapping a beat on the bottom of a
bucket they’d brought. The ride there and back would afford them an
extra couple of hours fishing, Perry reckoned he could bag an extra
half-dozen trout in that time on a good day. He drank in the clean
air of the countryside and pointed to the hedgerow.

‘See that white blossom? That’s
wild cherry that is,’ Perry was enthusiastic, ‘and if you look
through that bit of woodland up ahead, you’ll likely see the
bluebells,’ he glanced sideways at Joel and saw his companion
wasn’t really interested and said no more.

It took a little over an hour
to reach Bishopstoke and the boys hopped off the cart at the Old
Anchor Inn and thanked the driver. Perry assured him of his fish
and they arranged to meet in the same spot later.

Perry led Joel along the
winding Itchen, keeping to the trees along the bank. He’d forgotten
how much he liked it here; so different from town. The flowing
water trickled peacefully rather than the harsh splash of slops on
cobbles. There were no shouts here, just the birdsong rising from
the willows. He remembered his father taking him here for the first
time and teaching him the names of the plants and flowers on the
way. A man who taught his son such things was surely a good one,
deep down, wasn’t he? Perhaps once this business with The Sick died
down, he would go and see his Pa, find out a bit more about it
all.

Joel blew a high-pitched
whistle.

‘
What the-’
Perry covered his ears and saw Joel had a slingshot ready-loaded
with a stone. Before he could stop it, the startled birds exploded
from the trees like black fireworks. The stone spat, sliced the air
and cannoned harmlessly off a branch.

‘
What are you
doing? Put that thing down, you’re not firing at cans on a wall
Joel. They’re birds, living birds!’

Joel pulled a face. ‘So what?
We’re about to go guddlin’ for livin’ fish, what’s the
difference?’

‘
There’s no
purpose to it. Fishing is for us to eat. We aren’t about to eat
blackbirds are we?’

A sly smile appeared on Joel’s
face. ‘Thought you were a tough ‘un but take you out the town and
it’s all birds and flowers. It was just a bit of sport is all, but
if it gets your dander up then I’ll put it away.’

Perry didn’t know what to say
to that. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment and turned to
face the river.

‘
Come on, we’re
nearly there.’

They traced a few more bends of
the river and came to a flint bridge.

‘
Here we are,’
Perry scurried down the bank and rolled up his sleeves, ‘I swear
this is the best spot in Hampshire, I always do well here,’ he
leant over the bank. ‘In summer I just get in the water, I used to
do it in springtime too, don’t know how I did it - the water’s too
cold now.’

‘
What do I do
then?’

‘
Hold on tight
to my legs, then just do what I say,’ Perry dropped to his knees
and leant over the edge. Pebbles speckled the bottom and shadows
lurked under the ledge of the bank. Joel held his
ankles.

‘
Hold me
tighter,’ Perry said, and dangled upside down from the bank. He
plunged his hands into the icy water,

‘
Oh it’s
freezin’! A bit lower, don’t let go now,’ he sunk to the elbow,
then deeper still until he felt his hair flopping into the stream.
He felt underneath the bank’s overhang. He stayed still, leaving
his palms open and cupping his fingers. The Itchen trickled past,
numbing his arms with cold. Blood thumped in his head. His palms
tickled, he didn’t flinch. This was the hardest part. He began to
whisper:

‘
What are
you-’

‘
-Shhh,’ Perry
hushed, and slowly moved his forefingers until they made contact
with slick fish skin. He circled his fingers on the trout’s belly,
gradually widening out a touch firmer each time until they were
under the gills.

‘
I got him,’
Perry whispered, ‘pull me back up.’

Joel was pulling him back with
ease; he was stronger than he looked. Perry’s clasped his hands
around the prize.

‘
He’s in your
hands!’

‘
Pass the
bucket,’ Perry said calmly, getting to his knees.

Joel grabbed it, ‘Right o’, put
him in.’

But Perry threw the trout onto
the ground where it writhed and flicked.

‘
It woke up,’
Joel said, ‘why didn’t you…’

Perry snatched the bucket from
Joel and smashed it down on the trout’s head, once, twice,
thrice.

‘
Oh.’

The trout gave a final twitch
of the tail and was still.

‘
We’ll load up
the bucket at the end,’ said Perry.

A trickle of blood ran across
the brown sheen of the fish and mingled with the wet mud of the
bank.

‘
How do you
make em sleep?’

Perry smiled mischievously.
‘I’ll show you. Want a turn?’

‘
Too right I
do. Looked easy to me.’

Poor fool had no idea.

The sun warmed Perry’s back on
the walk to the Inn. They passed old cottages and spied farms in
the distance. He glanced at Joel, struggling with the weight of the
bucket, but smiling. He wished they lived out here and didn’t have
to go home to Southampton.

In the village he took a
different route, passing by his old house. It looked good, the
chimney was firing out smoke and the roof had been redone. He was
glad the home was being put to good use and wondered what his Pa
would make of it.

While they waited, Perry gave
Joel some tips about where his guddling was going wrong although he
had to admit it was impressive that Joel had managed it once. Fair
success for a first attempt.

It was an hour before the cart
trundled into view.

‘
Well, well, so
you got your fish.’

Perry glowed with pride. ‘Told
you, didn’t I?’

The Sick’s menacing undertow
could be forgotten in the countryside, but in Southampton it was a
different story. As they clopped through the busy streets, people
were frightened. He could tell by their panicked eyes and covered
mouths. People could carry on about their business, but he wasn’t
fooled. They were scared shitless, would it be them next? Perry
couldn’t blame them. It was rotten meat, this town, and rotten meat
didn’t tend to get fresh again far as he knew.

When they got back to Ma’s, he
wanted to keep the momentum of the day’s good feeling going.

‘
I’m ready to
put my feet up with a mug of brew,’ said Perry.

‘
I think not,’
Ma came into the kitchen wearing a dingy red gown, ‘thought I heard
you two scamps coming back. What’s that?’

‘
Oh this?’ Joel
put the bucket down on the table.

Ma looked at them both in
disgust. ‘You’re both filthy. Is that blood on your clothes?’

‘
Only fish
blood.’

Ma peered inside the bucket.
‘Slimy critters. Well I suppose you can sell some of them at the
port later.’

‘
Not tonight!’
said Joel. ‘We’ve been fishing all day.’

‘
Yes, tonight,’
Ma snapped, ‘passenger liner in from the Cape.’ She looked at
Perry, ‘If you’re thinking of staying here for good you’ll damn
well be earning your keep.’

Annoyed, Perry pointed at the
bucket. ‘What do you call that if it’s not earning our bloody
keep?’

Ma’s features darkened. ‘That’s
enough lip from you. Don’t think I won’t throw you both out on the
street!’

He held his tongue.

‘
Joel will show
you what to do. I’m going to bed, need my rest.’

They didn’t speak until they
heard the creak of her footsteps upstairs.

‘
You were
right. She
is
a
bleedin’ nightmare,’ said Perry.

‘
Come on, we
better eat and get cleaned up. We’ll need our wits about us if
we’re going down the docks.’

Perry grunted, irritated by
Ma’s lack of appreciation for their catch. He took a trout from the
bucket and laid it lengthways on a chopping board. He grabbed a
knife from the drawer, it looked blunt but it’d have to do.

‘
That’s a
thought,’ said Joel.

‘
What is?’
Perry followed his gaze to the knife.

‘
Nothing. Let’s
eat this up real quick; we better get down there before it gets too
late. I’ll tell you what you need to do while we eat.’

6

After supper, Perry wrapped up
the rest of the fish and headed to the harbour. It was already
black as pitch when they left the house, but on the way, Perry
stopped a street hawker and managed to agree a fair price for the
fish, gaining a slice of mutton pie each in the bargain, which they
pocketed for later. Although Joel had only caught one fish, Perry
gave him a couple of farthings of the take.

At the harbour,
three huge passenger liners were docked under a starry sky; their
lights shimmered in the water’s mirror. Perry had never really been
down here at night, it felt like a different place; the sailors
that spilled outside
The Bell &
Mast
tavern seemed larger than the men of
daylight somehow, they poured beer down their throats and clapped
one another on the back and bellowed out jokes. It was the women
too, a group of five walking to the docks were no daytime
washerwomen or maids, but rouged of face and wearing frilly dresses
with plunging necklines. Even the tavern’s sign - a bell, painted a
stormy dull gold, angled on a mast with flecks of rain flashing
past – looked the more menacing for the night. All in all, it was
as welcoming a sight as a rotten tooth.

‘
You’re older,’
said Joel, the taint of nerves in his voice put Perry on edge. ‘You
do the tavern, I’ll try the crew over by the boat.’

‘
The tavern?’
he eyed the group outside again, their breath fogging like smoking
coals. ‘Maybe I should try the crew?’

‘
No Perry, the
crew is the terrible job, awful. They’re all cranky and irritable.
You need your wits about you in case one of them snaps. In the
tavern they’re all having a drink and a good time - listen to that
lot, they’re laughing their heads off.’

The manic laughter coming from
the group outside the tavern was not putting him at ease. Whichever
way he looked at it, he had never done anything like this before
and if Joel reckoned he’d do better in the tavern, then surely he
must…and he did still feel a tinge of guilt for the prisoner
notes.

‘
Alright
then.’

‘
Great!’ Joel
reached into his pocket, ‘here, you take this,’ he handed Perry a
switchblade and showed how it sprung open. Surprised by its weight,
Perry ran his hand over the steel face down to the wooden handle
where a carp had been ornately carved on either side. It looked
dangerous, like it could skewer the hull of a ship.

‘
I’m starting
to worry about you,’ said Perry, eager to take the knife’s
appearance in his stride, ‘first the slingshot, then the knife…what
else have you got?’