Woodhill Wood (19 page)

"Hello, Mr Gunn," Gurde said quickly, aware of the father's annoyance at being dismissed out of hand.

"Well, Spike. See who it is. Who's this, son? Your father?"

"Aye... I mean... Yes."

"Sit down. Sit down, the pair of you. Sit down on ma' log." Gurde waited to see what the father would do. He stood his ground. "No? Suit yousel'."

Spike got to his feet, shook himself, and wandered over to sniff around the father's boots. There was obviously something interesting there, because his stubby tail started beating furiously. The father moved his boot a few times to try and discourage the dog but Spike was not going to be put off. The silence that descended made Gurde feel uncomfortable. He forced himself to break it. "How are you doing?"

"Aw. Cannae complain, eh Spike? Cannae complain. You bring your fither to see your... whatever it is your buildin'?"

"Er.. no. Just walking."

"Aye..." the old man said with a singing sigh, "Good day for it." He sucked a short spurt of air through his perfect white teeth and tutted. "Aye. Not bad at all."

"Come on, Matt," the father said, "before this damn dog licks through to my socks."

"I'll have to go and..," Gurde said to Mr Gunn.

"You don't have to do anything," the father cut in. "Come if you want to."

The father shook Spike off his boot for the last time and started walking on down the path. Gurde knew he had to go but he didn't want to leave Mr Gunn without at least exchanging a few more words with him, just to show that he wanted to listen.

"Go on, son. Your father's waitin'. Folk like him havnae got time for the likes of me. What's he do for a livin'. Office?

Gurde nodded.

"Aye, I can spot 'em. I can tell. Always needin' tae get some place. You could see, he cannae stand still, not even for a minute, feet always itchin' to get some place. I'll tell you what it is that does that to a man; money, that's what it is. Me? I've never had money, didnae want it, I've seen what it does to folk. Go on, catch him." Mr Gunn waved Gurde away, then continued. "I'll tell you somethin'. My father never had money. No. He told me money is for food an' a bed an' a drink now and again. I had a father too? You wouldnae believe it would you? True, so it is. Not like your father though. Oh no. You see this hill? My father planted every tree with his bare hands, my father did, just tae get food an' a bed. Every tree. He had no money but he had time to talk and look about you son, look at it. Money couldnae get you this, could it? You could buy it, aye, but you wouldnae have it..."

"I'll... I'll have to go..." Gurde said. "I'm sorry."

"Aye." Mr Gunn rested his head back on to the top of his stick. "Be off wi' you."

"I'll see you again."

"I dinnae think so, eh Spike?"

Spike growled then went back to prodding the leaves.

"I'm sorry," Gurde whispered, "I've really got to go."

"Aye. Cheerio, son. Cheerio."

"I... "

Gurde looked down the path through the trees but the father was nowhere in sight. When Gurde looked back, the old man had pulled his cap back down over his face and returned to staring into the distance. Gurde turned and ran, wanting to look back, but having to push on while he still had a chance of catching the father.

He didn't stop running until he caught a glimpse of the father's white pullover bobbing ahead in the distance. The father had got so far ahead that Gurde wondered if he too had run part of the way to make it harder for his son to catch up. Gurde had to walk for a while, to give his lungs a chance to recover, taking what deep breaths he could between the wheezes, wishing the father would turn and wait.

As soon as he thought he could manage it, Gurde put on a final spurt and drew up alongside.

"Oh, there you are," the father said. "Come on, I wanted to be back for lunch by now."

Gurde tried to reply but couldn't get any words out.

"You're a bit wheezy? You'd better sit down."

The father said something under his breath and stopped to lean against a nearby tree. Gurde dived for a rock at the side of the path and doubled over, sucking the cold air in, then blowing it out for as long as he could to force his body to accept the next deep breath.

"Who was that old idiot?"

"Mr... Gunn... "

"You know him, do you?"

"Not... really... "

"He said something about you building something. A ganghut?"

"Something... like... "

"Good place for it. Where? Up there?"

Gurde nodded.

"You'll have to show me sometime."

Gurde nodded again.

"Funny old bugger, isn't he? I know that kind. You'd better watch him."

Gurde struggled to keep up with the pace all the way back to the house. No words were exchanged other than the father's occasional encouragement when Gurde began to lag too far behind.

After the evening meal, the parents sat watching a Sunday night wildlife programme together, which they hadn't done for months. The previous night was still having some effect, even if it was only that they were prepared to sit in the same room for more than a few minutes.

Gurde went into the study, walked up to the desk, and pulled out the heavy brown folder from the drawer with the broken lock. He opened the folder flap. There was a typed letter with father's signature at the bottom lying on top of the stack of typed sheets. Gurde pulled out the letter and looked at the next sheet. It had the banner "Prosecutors will be Trespassers: a Philosophical and Criminological Enquiry into the exercise of Discretion" by R.J.Duff typed across the middle.

The letter gave the name and address of a publisher in the top, left-hand corner and described the book as an attack on existing practices. Gurde could not have wished for more. Now he even knew which place the father would have wanted the book sent and he had signed the letter himself. Gurde looked around the study for a large envelope, found one on a pile under the table in the corner, and slipped the contents of the folder inside. Then he put the empty folder back as he had found it and slid the drawer shut.

Matthew awoke suddenly and there was sweat trickling down his forehead. He stared at the ceiling. The window rattled and he strained to hear a voice from downstairs just to know that he was not alone. The descriptions in the newspapers had left nothing to the imagination. He hit the button on the radio and a happy voice filled the room and his chest emptied of air. The tension gripped him as he checked the shadows, expecting to see those bright green eyes hurtling towards him at last. Gurde rolled over to stare at the glowing numbers on the alarm clock and lay watching them change and change again.

He checked the father's desk drawer every night that week, either when he first came back from school or when the father went through to watch the News later on in the evening. He increasingly expected to find the drawer empty, and the empty folder gone, but for days it remained untouched.

The father returned to his sleeping in the study and the mother to her long silences in the sitting room. The week was like a step back in time: the parents exchanging bitter glances in the kitchen, talking only to themselves, eating separately, breathing separately, each blaming the other for the barriers that had returned between them. And those barriers had all their attention. Nothing else was of interest as they retired to their stubbornly held corners. The News went back to discussing the Middle East and the Queen's taxes. Gurde had to lay out the headlines on his bedroom floor to remind himself that the sequence existed.

He put the written copy of the Who's Who entry under his pillow, pulling it out and re-reading it when the doubts crept into his mind. He peered into the garden from behind the curtains and prayed that word would come back from the publishers in time. There was so much waiting, but he knew that the book would come back before the man came. He didn't allow himself to doubt that. And he felt calm, satisfied that he had done all he could.

And still Gurde continued to go to school, pretending to himself in the light that things were the same, that the man might not come. He managed to keep it at a distance while he stared at the blackboard. But in the darkness the shadows moved and the twigs snapped under his window. Gurde hid under the covers wishing for a miracle. The nightmare image of piercing eyes lunging towards him through the bushes returned again and again. But there was nothing more he could do. The police had been phoned but they would not listen. He had tried to tell a father who would never believe him. He couldn’t tell the mother - that would achieve nothing. The book had been sent. Now there was only the waiting and the fear, and the hope that the News would bring salvation.

Gurde moved the bedside lamp on to the floor, leaving it on all night, so that the shadows could be kept from the room without the glare making it harder to sleep.

He set the alarm to come on just before the News, so that the first thing he would hear in the morning would be freedom, but everybody seemed to have forgotten about the murders. Without a pattern they had become confused and moved back to crackling out the stories they were used to. But there was a pattern. It was not over.

The house was quiet – nobody was speaking to anybody else apart from Ben. Gurde withdrew into himself, speaking only a few words to the brother in the evenings, and talking mainly to himself as the rain beat down and the evenings were dark and the Woodhill and the Wizard waited in the distance.

The days passed and Gurde was beginning to think that the father must know that the book had been sent and was keeping it secret. Perhaps he was pleased that the decision to send it had been made for him and was looking forward to the reply.

At other times Gurde dreaded the father making the discovery. He found it more and more difficult to look the father in the eye as they passed in the hall. He was sure that the father would suspect that it was his eldest son that had removed his life's work from its hiding place. Gurde had excuses well rehearsed, hoping that the father might understand and forgive, but thinking that whatever he said would be discarded in the explosion that was sure to follow.

The father seemed on edge, engrossed in some problem he was having at work, avoiding all contact with the people around him. He carried a pile of imposing books wherever he went.

Gurde rolled out of bed late on a Saturday morning to find a spattering of snow across the lawn. The lashing rain that had struck by mid-afternoon soon wiped it away and still there was no change.

The mother took Ben shopping at the supermarket during the afternoon. Gurde was not invited. He sat in his bedroom reading comics. He stopped to listen to the News as usual. Tucked at the end was an item so short and so understated that he almost missed it:

"Police are tonight questioning a man in connection with the murder of an Edinburgh University Law student. The man, who hasn't been named, is being held following one of the largest manhunts ever mounted. He was arrested at a farmhouse outside Edinburgh in the early hours of this morning and is expected to be charged later this afternoon. He is also to be charged with a series of murders of children in Kent. Sport: and in today's premier..."

They'd caught him.

Gurde slumped forward on to his open palms. First came the feeling of relief that he had been wrong. Then he started to cry.

Gurde drew the bathroom curtains and went to the mirror. Behind the locked door, in the gloom, he could see the other face but only when the other wanted him to. Sometimes he stood for hours but his face remained pale and grey in the darkness. Now that the man had been caught, Gurde felt sure the quieter side would want to appear. Matt would be able to smile for once. Gurde dreaded that smile. There was so much behind it that he did not understand. It seemed to threaten all that he was. But he had to see it, because it would mean that Matt also believed the nightmares would end. Gurde positioned his face in the centre of the mirror, fixed an unblinking stare on his own eyes, and waited.

There were times when Gurde needed to be reassured that he was not alone. Sometimes Matt Duff disappeared for months at a time. In the mirror Gurde could move towards something forbidden, a place where it was not natural for a boy to be. It was like diving underwater: taking a deep breath, fixing his eyes on the reflection and then letting go, sliding deeper and deeper, lungs straining, probing within and hoping to see his own shadow. Then back to the surface with a blink and blast of useless breath before diving again.

Gurde didn't do it often; only when something special had happened, something that he needed to share with his friend. Matt didn't like to be disturbed. It made him restless. You could see that in his eyes. He would have to struggle to take shape, using his reflected features as clay, molding them until they were like his own. Sometimes he would not wake at all. At other times Gurde could sense that Matt was watching from inside but he would not show his face. Only on certain days would he come forward and smile.

There was a time when Matt had always been there. Matt had been alone once but then Gurde came and they talked a lot. The mother always laughed when she caught Matt talking to his friend. But then Matt had become scared and Gurde had become strong and then, somehow, it was Matt that was no longer seen. Gurde was better at handling situations. He could make people laugh. Matt always wanted to go and hide. And now he could hide and let Gurde take over. Matt had nothing to lose. He didn't mind. It all seemed much easier. Only, sometimes, Gurde thought that Matt had sunk so deep he was never going to come back. The deal was that when things got better then Matt would come back. Gurde couldn't think on his own.

Gurde dived into the mirror again. For a long time nothing happened, but he had learnt to be patient. He kept absolutely still and held the stare. The glass shimmered like the black water in the abandoned mine. The walls closed around him and he could sense that Matt was awake. The edges of the face before him began to blur. Matt was rising. But it was too late and Gurde had to come up for air.

While Gurde was diving down from the surface so that they could meet for a few seconds in the half-light. Matt would smile and Gurde would smile. Gurde would nod and Matt would nod. Their eyes would not blink. Behind Gurde the expanse of smeared shadows stretched down forever. And then, after the meeting, Gurde would grope for the surface and Matt would retreat back into hiding.

Matt had always gone back, fading away to allow Gurde's own features to reform in the mirror. And yet, each time Gurde called, he was afraid that it was the time that Matt would take enough to enable him to stay. Then Matt would be free. Matt would have control.

Gurde dived again, staring deep into his own eyes, and this time the response was immediate. He shivered. The shadows across the mirror began to swell. And the other face began to appear. The edges began to darken and melt. The blurred features were no longer his own as they twisted and lengthened and bulged. And then the magical moment when the eyes flicked to black and glared back, angry at being summoned.

Gurde did not try to inspect the face. If he blinked or moved focus it would be over. But Matt was there, a shadowed presence before his straining eyes. And, although Gurde knew they were on the same side, Gurde was afraid. Time was short. The moment could not be held for long. Gurde smiled.

And Matt smiled and they both longed to blink. There was danger when the other was so close to the light. The solid black eyes sparkled with anticipation. Was this the time Matt would stay? The smile was not a reassuring smile. Gurde was asking too much.

He kept the moment for as long as he could, but then he had to blink, and Matt was gone, and he felt as if he had just given blood. The simpler face returned, paler than it had been. Gurde threw open the curtains but the brightness could not remove the lingering fear in his chest.

They had met on the Woodhill. Matt was young then; ten years old. He was climbing through the trees above the cliffs. It was getting dark. A spring downpour had turned the ground at his feet into a network of rushing water. He reached out to steady himself against a silver trunk and slipped on loose stones. He turned, fell backwards and began to roll. He spread his arms, trying to slow his descent towards the cliff, snatching at the ground when he could, knowing that the ground would soon cease and then there would be nothing but silence. The silver trunks flashed past at sharp angles as he tumbled. The ground struck first against his shoulders and then against his knees.

But then Matt had a tree root in his hand and he had stopped. Another three or four rolls and he would have flown over the cliff edge. He hadn't seen the tree root. He'd had no control. And yet it was there, gripped between his fingers, strong and secure, holding him back. Matt Duff knew that somebody else had put his hands around that root.

That was the first time Gurde helped. Then, a week later, Matt found the Wizard's Skull. It was on a part of the Woodhill that was off his normal route, hidden away amongst the trees. He had never been to that part of the hill before, and had no reason to change his plans, but it was as if he had been guided there.

The next day Matt Duff was waiting at the bus stop to go to school. The bus arrived and everyone moved forward. But something told Matt not to catch that bus. He stood and watched as the people climbed on board. The doors hissed shut and it left without him. Matt did not go to school. He went to the Woodhill instead and began to work on the cliff edge. After that Matt Duff started to let Gurde do things for him. Matt could just sit back and trust Gurde to move his arms and legs to put Matt into situations where he would be safe. After a while Matt let him speak as well, because Gurde could make Matt say better things. And then one day Matt just stood right back. It was easy to allow Gurde to take over.

It was good that Gurde had found the dark mirror technique. It was a way of letting him see where he had come from. Gurde knew that he could cope in situations where Matt Duff would have crumbled. That was why Matt had dived so deep. Gurde wondered what was on the other side of the glass during those moments. Behind the distorted face Gurde could see endless shadows. Behind him the bathroom was gloomy but there was always a little light there. It was about trust. Gurde knew that he needed Matt as much as Matt Duff needed him.

Two weeks after Gurde had squeezed the thick brown envelope under the glass panel at the Post Office, the father found out what had happened to his manuscript.

He came back late from his office that night a different person. Ben had gone to bed but Gurde was still watching the end of a boring spy film. The sudden slamming of the back door made Gurde jump. He recognised the father's familiar stride as he marched through the dining room, threw his keys on to the table, slammed the door into the hall and headed for the sitting room where the mother was curled up with her books as usual.

Gurde wondered where the car was, because he could normally hear it drawing up outside in the drive. He assumed the father had left it at the pub on the way home. The father always left the car if he'd had more than his normal single pint of beer.

Gurde had just turned his attention back to the film when it started.

"You couldn't bloody wait, could you!"

"Roger?"

Gurde hurried over and turned down the television.

"Why? Why couldn't you just leave it alone! Do you know what you've done? Do you...?"