from the world by parkland dotted with trees, a half-frozen lake. The roof was still white with frost when we arrived.
Herod still looked like Owen, of course: dark, catlike, but thinner and quieter. He shaved his head now but wore the usual ragged jumpers, workboots, old jeans. He smiled when Mum handed him a big squashy Christmas present wrapped in paper decorated with silver reindeers. They hugged, then Louis stepped forward. I hung back.
“I know you said you’d rather I made a donation to charity,” Mum said, speaking a bit too quickly, defensive, “and I did. It’s just I saw this in town and I thought about you.”
I knew what it was: a jumper, really soft wool. Expensive. I’d seen it on the kitchen table that morning. She was doing what she could for him: there was no proper central heating in the Centre and, despite the wood-burners and fireplaces, it was always freezing.
Herod smiled his quiet smile again. “Thanks, Mum.”
“Hi there!”
I glanced across the courtyard. A tall woman with bushy brown hair emerged from the barn, carrying a basket of logs. She waved eagerly, striding over to join us.
“Morning, Andy,” Herod said. He smiled at her, gently, as if she was somehow fragile and might shatter into pieces like a dropped glass. Andrea never looked fragile to me – she must have been nearly six feet tall, dressed in dodgy ethnic hemp clothes that billowed in all the wrong places. Always hanging around, somehow.
Mum and Louis smiled at her, too.
“Come and join us for a cup of tea,” Herod said. He didn’t really have much choice – Andrea was still lingering with the basket of logs, obviously waiting to be asked.
She gave him the thumbs-up sign and disappeared into the house through a side door.
“Poor girl,” Mum said. “She always seems a bit lonely.”
There was the usual small, awkward pause before Herod turned to me. “How’s it going, Jack?”
“Fine,” I said. “Fine.”
I flicked my unfinished cigarette out of the bedroom window. Mum or Louis had put some music on downstairs – Joan Baez. It’s what Mum always listens to when she’s in a state.
And now Herod was gone. Just gone.
EIGHT
Enough of the charming memories
, I told myself. The house fell quiet as the last track finished on the CD. Most Sunday nights we got a film out, so Mum and Louis were probably watching one downstairs, but I was pissed off with them for being so weak, for going along with Bethany’s bitch of a mother, and they’d come rushing back from France straight into a shit-storm of my creation. It wasn’t exactly a cosy situation.
So I went out. I took the unconventional route through my window, dropping down onto the corrugated-iron roof of next door’s potting shed. No point in bothering Mum and Louis again. They had enough to worry about and, anyway, they thought I was getting an early night. I didn’t really know where I was going, only that home was stifling me and I had to get away.
I crossed the park and sat on a bench near the pavilion, staring at the tall, narrow old houses fronting the green. The lights were lit up at ours. It looked friendly, welcoming – a place you’d want to be. Well, I didn’t. Not tonight. I still had a tiny bit of sticky left, so I got out my smoking tin (it had once contained those weird boiled car-sweets). I skinned up, wondering what I was going to do.
Bethany and I had made a silent pact to see each other. Putting it into operation was going to be tricky. We weren’t at the same school. If I called her house and someone other than Bethany answered, what would I do? Hang up?
Maybe she could call me. Mands and some of the other girls from school had rung me the odd time, like when Jo Brinkley and me were in that sappy play together. Or when I got put with Georgie Hicks for the Geography project.
I shivered, thinking of Georgie. She’s not bad, quite pretty really. But I couldn’t forget the way she’d stared at me across the table, stupid
Herod still looked like Owen, of course: dark, catlike, but thinner and quieter. He shaved his head now but wore the usual ragged jumpers, workboots, old jeans. He smiled when Mum handed him a big squashy Christmas present wrapped in paper decorated with silver reindeers. They hugged, then Louis stepped forward. I hung back.
“I know you said you’d rather I made a donation to charity,” Mum said, speaking a bit too quickly, defensive, “and I did. It’s just I saw this in town and I thought about you.”
I knew what it was: a jumper, really soft wool. Expensive. I’d seen it on the kitchen table that morning. She was doing what she could for him: there was no proper central heating in the Centre and, despite the wood-burners and fireplaces, it was always freezing.
Herod smiled his quiet smile again. “Thanks, Mum.”
“Hi there!”
I glanced across the courtyard. A tall woman with bushy brown hair emerged from the barn, carrying a basket of logs. She waved eagerly, striding over to join us.
“Morning, Andy,” Herod said. He smiled at her, gently, as if she was somehow fragile and might shatter into pieces like a dropped glass. Andrea never looked fragile to me – she must have been nearly six feet tall, dressed in dodgy ethnic hemp clothes that billowed in all the wrong places. Always hanging around, somehow.
Mum and Louis smiled at her, too.
“Come and join us for a cup of tea,” Herod said. He didn’t really have much choice – Andrea was still lingering with the basket of logs, obviously waiting to be asked.
She gave him the thumbs-up sign and disappeared into the house through a side door.
“Poor girl,” Mum said. “She always seems a bit lonely.”
There was the usual small, awkward pause before Herod turned to me. “How’s it going, Jack?”
“Fine,” I said. “Fine.”
I flicked my unfinished cigarette out of the bedroom window. Mum or Louis had put some music on downstairs – Joan Baez. It’s what Mum always listens to when she’s in a state.
And now Herod was gone. Just gone.
EIGHT
Enough of the charming memories
, I told myself. The house fell quiet as the last track finished on the CD. Most Sunday nights we got a film out, so Mum and Louis were probably watching one downstairs, but I was pissed off with them for being so weak, for going along with Bethany’s bitch of a mother, and they’d come rushing back from France straight into a shit-storm of my creation. It wasn’t exactly a cosy situation.
So I went out. I took the unconventional route through my window, dropping down onto the corrugated-iron roof of next door’s potting shed. No point in bothering Mum and Louis again. They had enough to worry about and, anyway, they thought I was getting an early night. I didn’t really know where I was going, only that home was stifling me and I had to get away.
I crossed the park and sat on a bench near the pavilion, staring at the tall, narrow old houses fronting the green. The lights were lit up at ours. It looked friendly, welcoming – a place you’d want to be. Well, I didn’t. Not tonight. I still had a tiny bit of sticky left, so I got out my smoking tin (it had once contained those weird boiled car-sweets). I skinned up, wondering what I was going to do.
Bethany and I had made a silent pact to see each other. Putting it into operation was going to be tricky. We weren’t at the same school. If I called her house and someone other than Bethany answered, what would I do? Hang up?
Maybe she could call me. Mands and some of the other girls from school had rung me the odd time, like when Jo Brinkley and me were in that sappy play together. Or when I got put with Georgie Hicks for the Geography project.
I shivered, thinking of Georgie. She’s not bad, quite pretty really. But I couldn’t forget the way she’d stared at me across the table, stupid
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