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Authors: Belinda Bauer
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discovered in his nose.
Of course, the boys weren’t supposed to be at Springer Farm at all – or anywhere vaguely interesting. Davey blamed Steven, who’d ruined it for everybody by almost getting killed a while back. Davey was hazy on the details – he just knew that his nan loved Steven better than she loved him, and that that was why. Now
he
had to pay the price of his mother only working in the mornings so that she was there when they got home from school. Luckily, both Davey and Shane felt that lying to their mothers in order to be able to play properly was hardly lying at all, and so did it routinely. Davey’s mother was told they were in Shane’s back garden, and Shane’s was told they were at Davey’s. Once that lie had been told and believed, it was a simple matter to go anywhere they pleased for as long as they liked. And, more often than not, they pleased to walk up the hill until they reached Rose and Honeysuckle cottages. Then they always ran, because everyone knew that a woman had been murdered in one cottage and that a witch lived in the other. Once she had been at the gate and had asked them if their parents knew where they were. They’d run past her, laughing with self-imposed fear, and Shane had turned and – from a safe distance – had given her a V sign. They weren’t sure she’d seen it – and Davey secretly hoped she hadn’t – but it was exhilarating none the less.
Today they’d found nothing at Springer Farm, despite hours spent sifting the ashes looking for treasures and the bodies of the kidnapped children. Davey was adamant that it was the coolest place to hide a body, but their search had run them a merry dance through the gamut of anticipation, excitement and boredom – all in the space of about three hours. The sun had gone, although it would remain light for a good while yet.
They ran downhill past the cottages, then slowed to an amble, talking – as they always did – about nothing at all. Both had hazel sticks with which they whipped the heads off the cow parsley that lined the ditch along the base of the hedge. They were merciless, but the cow parsley seemed to come back as fast as they destroyed it. Before this it had been dandelions; later would come docks.
Davey sliced through several fronds at once and Shane chortled his approval. The foamy heads fell into the road in a pile.
‘Nice one!’ Shane took a penalty with the little pile of green-white flowers, which fountained off his toe, then plopped to the ground a few feet away.
‘And Collins scores the winner for England!’ He raised his arms and made a rushing sound that was supposed to be the roar of the crowd.
Davey didn’t answer.
He was standing over a slip of paper revealed by the dispersal of the clump of cow parsley.
Not a slip of paper at all. He bent to pick it up.
‘What’s that?’ said Shane.
Open-mouthed, Davey straightened up and showed him a twenty-pound note.
‘You. Are. Fucking.
Joking!
’ Shane hurried back up to where Davey stood. The note was grubby and faded, but undoubtedly a twenty. More money than either of them had ever had at one time in their lives. Combined.
They stared at the note, and then at each other, then laughed, then stared at the note again.
‘It must have been in the hedge,’ said Davey.
‘Maybe there’s more!’ said Shane.
The boys set about the cow parsley like Dickensian schoolmasters – whipping, slashing and beating the vegetation into green and white hay on the tarmac.
‘There’s another!’ Shane reached in this time and retrieved a twenty.
‘Fuuuuuuck!’
They laughed like drunks and then went back to their destruction of the hedgerow.
Three more notes came to light before the witch leaned over her garden gate and shouted, ‘You boys leave that hedge alone!’
Giggling and giddy with wealth, Davey and Shane ran down the hill to home.
*
The thought of seeing the pile of crap that he’d spent his life savings on made
Of course, the boys weren’t supposed to be at Springer Farm at all – or anywhere vaguely interesting. Davey blamed Steven, who’d ruined it for everybody by almost getting killed a while back. Davey was hazy on the details – he just knew that his nan loved Steven better than she loved him, and that that was why. Now
he
had to pay the price of his mother only working in the mornings so that she was there when they got home from school. Luckily, both Davey and Shane felt that lying to their mothers in order to be able to play properly was hardly lying at all, and so did it routinely. Davey’s mother was told they were in Shane’s back garden, and Shane’s was told they were at Davey’s. Once that lie had been told and believed, it was a simple matter to go anywhere they pleased for as long as they liked. And, more often than not, they pleased to walk up the hill until they reached Rose and Honeysuckle cottages. Then they always ran, because everyone knew that a woman had been murdered in one cottage and that a witch lived in the other. Once she had been at the gate and had asked them if their parents knew where they were. They’d run past her, laughing with self-imposed fear, and Shane had turned and – from a safe distance – had given her a V sign. They weren’t sure she’d seen it – and Davey secretly hoped she hadn’t – but it was exhilarating none the less.
Today they’d found nothing at Springer Farm, despite hours spent sifting the ashes looking for treasures and the bodies of the kidnapped children. Davey was adamant that it was the coolest place to hide a body, but their search had run them a merry dance through the gamut of anticipation, excitement and boredom – all in the space of about three hours. The sun had gone, although it would remain light for a good while yet.
They ran downhill past the cottages, then slowed to an amble, talking – as they always did – about nothing at all. Both had hazel sticks with which they whipped the heads off the cow parsley that lined the ditch along the base of the hedge. They were merciless, but the cow parsley seemed to come back as fast as they destroyed it. Before this it had been dandelions; later would come docks.
Davey sliced through several fronds at once and Shane chortled his approval. The foamy heads fell into the road in a pile.
‘Nice one!’ Shane took a penalty with the little pile of green-white flowers, which fountained off his toe, then plopped to the ground a few feet away.
‘And Collins scores the winner for England!’ He raised his arms and made a rushing sound that was supposed to be the roar of the crowd.
Davey didn’t answer.
He was standing over a slip of paper revealed by the dispersal of the clump of cow parsley.
Not a slip of paper at all. He bent to pick it up.
‘What’s that?’ said Shane.
Open-mouthed, Davey straightened up and showed him a twenty-pound note.
‘You. Are. Fucking.
Joking!
’ Shane hurried back up to where Davey stood. The note was grubby and faded, but undoubtedly a twenty. More money than either of them had ever had at one time in their lives. Combined.
They stared at the note, and then at each other, then laughed, then stared at the note again.
‘It must have been in the hedge,’ said Davey.
‘Maybe there’s more!’ said Shane.
The boys set about the cow parsley like Dickensian schoolmasters – whipping, slashing and beating the vegetation into green and white hay on the tarmac.
‘There’s another!’ Shane reached in this time and retrieved a twenty.
‘Fuuuuuuck!’
They laughed like drunks and then went back to their destruction of the hedgerow.
Three more notes came to light before the witch leaned over her garden gate and shouted, ‘You boys leave that hedge alone!’
Giggling and giddy with wealth, Davey and Shane ran down the hill to home.
*
The thought of seeing the pile of crap that he’d spent his life savings on made
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