Ritual (12 page)

12

No sooner had the children arrived on the lawn than they proceeded to leap-frog over one another. David noticed that Gilly wasn’t present. Where was she then? The bent backs and the jumping were executed with precision. David was duly impressed. It was as if they’d seen the Inspector and reacted accordingly by going into this particular routine. When the gymnastics had subsided, Fat Billy bumbled over to Cready and whispered something in his ear. Billy completely ignored the Inspector. Cready apologised for the boy’s rudeness but nevertheless led him to the willow wand to continue their conversation, unexpurgated.

The other children sat in a half circle and waited for the outcome. They stared at the policeman. Unsure why he was waiting, David rubbed the stubble on his chin. Then he wound his watch. It was now nine o’clock.

With a whine, Billy broke the conversation. ‘Look, Mr. Cready, you promised! Yes, you did! You promised we’d play proper games in preparation for tonight...’

Things were happening. David hurried over to Billy and snapped at him. ‘What games, Billy? What games are you playing on Midsummer Eve?’

Billy searched for assistance in the smiling face of Cready. Cready’s shark eyes suggested it would be better not to talk. He handed the boy the bow he was carrying. Billy fitted an arrow from Cready’s quiver onto the bow string. He flighted it to land in the shadowy green between the Inspector’s feet. Then he ran off to the other children.

‘We’ve come here,’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘We’ve come here to practice for the archery contest this evening!’

The chorus jumped to their feet and religiously intoned; ‘That’s right! We’ve come here to practice for the archery contest this evening.’

Then the duet, Cready and Martin, provided the bass counterpoint with the original lyrics; ‘That’s right! They’ve come here to practice for...’

David interrupted the recital and finished the melodic line himself. ‘... the archery contest this evening! I know! I bloody know!’

‘Unnecessary Rabelaisian phraseology in front of the children, isn’t it, Inspector?’

The thirty-eight years of civilisation exploded inside David. He yelled out his detective frustration. ‘Children? They’re potential monsters! I’ve seen Anna Spark perverting them. And when I discover the exact purpose of their corruption, I shall crush all the rotten fruit in this village. And I know you, Cready, I know you’re part of this filth! I know you are, and I’ll get you!’

David began to sweat with hate. The continuous twisting, the slime, all filtered into the children’s imaginations. It made him spiritually sick.

Opening his arms he approached the children. ‘Now listen to me, kids. I want to tell you what’s going on here. I’m a policeman. I carry the power of the law with me and if you’re being bullied, pushed about, or worse, if you’re being frightened, I will guarantee you protection. And I’ll personally see that the men and women responsible for your fear suffer! And I mean really suffer! Look, what’s going to happen tonight? Tell me and I’ll see you’re not punished for your bad manners, cheek and other nasty habits. If you don’t tell me, I’ll tell your parents what you’ve been doing!’

The children backed away. But when they heard the Inspector’s threat about their parents, they began to laugh, tossing their heads like arrogant donkeys. They brayed their laughter. Cready and Martin added their duet to the donkey mass.

David caught little Berty by his laughing shoulders and shook the laughter from him. Berty’s breath hissed like fire on water along the soft of his throat. He felt tears about to swamp the last of the laughter. But he was too breathless to cry.

‘Berty, I advise you to tell me. Did you come here to practice archery? Or did you come here to rehearse for tonight’s celebrations?’

Berty didn’t understand.

‘No, Mr. Inspector, we came to rehearse archery for tonight. Everyone’s going to be there, you know. Even the Squire comes to practice, doesn’t he, Mr. Cready, sir?’

Still perspiring with laughter, Cready nodded. David was really bewildered.

Berty’s remark about the Squire certainly explained the bow and arrow in the Squire’s hall. Or did it?

Billy began to dance around the Inspector like an Indian on the war path. The Gang joined him at a respectful distance, yogling the appropriate blood calls. David released Berty who helpfully joined in the war dance. Billy’s next contribution to the proceedings was to shoot another arrow between the Inspector’s feet. Cready threatened to flatten the fat boy. Billy decided it was time to try the sulking routine. This lasted ten seconds. Then he began to imitate the Inspector’s lithe walk. He coiled his fingers into circles and held them in front of his eyes to represent the Inspector’s glasses. He paraded around the lawn in this manner for another sixty seconds. Then he screamed at the Inspector.

‘Why don’t you push off, copper, before you get chopped?’

Billy ran in a wild zig-zag towards the Inspector, making similar rude comments.

‘You’re asking for belt round the head, boy!’ retorted the Inspector. ‘And if I belt you, my boy, you’ll know you’ve been hit!’

The fat boy circled the slim man. And then to everyone’s surprise, he rugger-tackled the policeman. No one was more surprised than David who was prepared for nearly anything—but not that.

He fell face forward but managed to spring his weight on his hands. He was soon on his feet again. Two dull green stains grinned on the knees of his trousers. Billy had hurt himself more. Ruefully he rubbed wet soil off his elbows.

At first, no one noticed the contents of Billy’s pockets winking in the sunlight. David saw them first and picked them up. There were three rainbow marbles, a half-eaten squidgey chocolate biscuit, four halfpennies, a corroded water pistol—and a pink doll with a large bronze pin thrust through its abdomen.

David handed Billy the contents of his pockets. Except for the hat pin and the doll. Like worker bees, stings at the ready, the children buzzed round their queen bee. They intended to protect her. Cready quietly moved behind little Berty, awaiting trouble.

‘What’s the meaning of this, Billy, eh?’ demanded the Inspector. ‘And why have you painted the word “Dian” in black capitals on the back of this doll?’

David held up the doll for everyone to see. Billy blubbered. He knew whatever he said the bee-keeper would squash him. He decided hysteria might help his lost cause. So he forced his mouth open into a scream. Then he backed this up with four perfect tears. The tears were the most difficult part of Operation Hysteria. He had to screw his face to a squeezed grapefruit and then force the tears from behind his eyes. It was hard work. Very. In the past, he’d put in a great deal of crying overtime. So it had a certain expertise. When the tears finally burst through, he grabbed at the doll with his left hand. David held the doll’s head and feet between finger and thumb. So all Fatso succeeded in grabbing was the spike of the pin. This jabbed into his thumb. Now he really had something to cry about. A perfect bubble of blood erupted. He licked it. He was very miserable now.

‘I hated Dian! I hated her, well, we all did—didn’t we, Gang?’ As the liquid salt throbbed from his eyes, he pleaded with the silent children. ‘Her mother is a witch—a witch...’

David wanted to interrupt and ask specific questions but he controlled himself. Billy screamed on. ‘Oh, she’s a witch all right, Mister! Make no mistake!’

Cready tried to edge past little Berty. He intended to quiet the boy. David saw this and he shook his head. No one moved. Then Cready pushed forward again.

‘Leave the boy alone, Cready, or I’ll have you in for intimidating witnesses. Your sex life, although now officially legal, could still cause you the odd problem in the hands of some of my policemen. They don’t approve of the change in the law, if you follow me.’

Cready accepted defeat. Billy went on. ‘Yes, well, her Mum could get us, see, Mister! She can make you have nightmares. Scared me rigid for weeks, she has! Vampires come to get me in my sleep. She climbs into your dreams and gets you, and Dian was like her Mum. Sneaky and nasty! Her elder sister, Anna, she’s very nice. But I’m glad Dian’s dead! I’m glad! She tried to take my Gang away from me. We all hated her guts, didn’t we, Gang?’

The other children were going to say nothing. They didn’t know what Billy was talking about.

‘We hated her, didn’t we? Didn’t we?’

Billy’s hysteria contorted his words. He was barely comprehensible. Only the hate was specific.

David held the doll up to Billy.

‘Did you stick this pin in the doll?’

No answer. Only harsh panting and tears.

‘You say her Mum is a witch. But you worked in black magic too. You wished Dian dead by thrusting this pin into the doll’s stomach. Is that what you wanted to happen to Dian? A horrible death like this? Did you want her to squirm with a hat pin in her gut? Like this! See the flesh split like this plastic? You’re that kind of boy, aren’t you, Billy? The coward! The coward who sneakily bullies his mates because he’s not as good as they are!

‘You killed her, Billy, didn’t you? That’s what happened, isn’t it? You were all playing games round the giant oak tree. Then you persuaded Dian to climb the tree. And then our brave little Billy climbed up after her. The gang watched and waited because they wouldn’t mind her dead. Her mother wouldn’t bother you kids, would she, if Dian was dead? But none of you knew what death was really like, did you?’

He turned on the silent children. His sunglasses drank the sun as he searched the children’s’ faces. They stared back. Only the occasional eyelash blinked. Susan tongue-probed a wisdom tooth. No one moved.

‘Well, you know what death is now, don’t you, Billy? You pushed her out of that tree! It was so easy, like kicking a kitten or pulling a fly to pieces. Her neck cracked under her as her shoulders smashed into the grass. It was wrenched from her spinal column. No, don’t look away, Billy, I know my description excites you. Pain always excites you—as long as you’re not the one that’s suffering!’

Billy sobbed his breath to a howl.

‘It’s lies! Lies! I was at home when she died, wasn’t I, Gang? Now, you little rotters, tell the copper what I say is true! Please, tell him. Tell him! Tell him we were playing in my garden!’

The hint of a smile flickered on the corners of the twins’ mouths. The twins always reacted together as though they were plugged into the same adaptor and then switched on. Anything could set them off. Especially the discomfort of their leader. Joan allowed her lip muscles to relax into an open grin. Her eyes wrinkled to slits as the corners of her mouth edged towards her ears.

Billy lost control and shrieked. ‘You must tell him that I wasn’t there! Look. I’ll get you! I’ll get you! So tell him! Tell him!’

Cready chortled inwardly. Martin slobbered. Two oily beads of saliva dribbled down his chin.

‘Tell him! Tell him!’

The gang gave up the pretence and exploded with laughter. All Billy could see was seven swaying heads singing out their laughter. Laughter and laughter and laughter!

They’re laughing at me. They believe I did it! But I didn’t! Help me, Mummy! I didn’t do it, didn’t, Mummy, Mummy...

His body ached with complete loneliness, crying in a disinterested crowd. They were no longer his Gang. They hated him. Like he hated Dian. He was the old tatty pig thrown out to the hounds.

They hate me! They hate me...!

Suddenly he pushed his way past Joan and at the same time grabbed the doll from the Inspector’s hand. Then he shoved past Cready, past Martin, and ran, and ran. Momentarily the Inspector was unsure what to do. Whether to put Cready and the gang through the Third Degree. Or whether to pursue the boy. He was not usually slow witted but events were leap-frogging all over the place.

Billy swung through the iron gate and puffed towards the woods. It was rough going. He was out of breath with too much crying. His lard ached with the strain of forcing one leg in front of the other. And he was sweating profusely. It began to glue his underpants to his bottom. The continuous movement chafed pink sores between his legs. He could smell the sickly aroma of cooked pork.

The sun had turned into a hammer and his squat body was the running anvil. With relief, he reached the liquid shadows of the woods. They slid over his sweating body like a piece of soft ice down his back. Once underneath the mottled green, he began to shake with relief. He looked back the way he’d come and saw the Inspector running after him. Billy knew big trouble would hit him if he remained, so he swished into the undergrowth.

Two minutes later, David found the shadows. But no Billy. He was now sure that Billy was the key to the labyrinth.

‘Billy, where are you? Come on out, son! You’re only making it worse for yourself by putting off telling the truth! Come on, Billy!’

A pigeon cooed in the folds of a silverbirch.

‘Billy, look, sonny-boy, come on, don’t mess me about! I warn you—I’m a busy man...’ He moved into the undergrowth. It was like pursuing a mouse in a granary. He walked and ran in vegetable circles. No sign. No Billy. Then he found himself on another edge of the wood.

The giant oak tree unwound in the sun dazzle. Its shadow was a grass pool where pike ached for roach. He had lost Billy. Then something moved by the oak tree. Adjusting his sunglasses, he ran into the pike shadows.