Read Online Twisted Winter by Catherine Butler - Free Book Online

you, that was what counted, not book-learning.
    And then there was all the fun you could have without laying a finger – that was the best. Suppose a fox got into your chickens at night – not that Brad could probably have achieved that, but he
said
he knew how, and the lad went paler than ever. Or that time he grabbed the lad’s homework – all that neat writing! – and shoved it into a cowpat in the lane. And then how the lad had whimpered, really whimpered, when that old cat he was so fond of had come along, and Brad had said all the things he could do to it. Mind, he never would, really, the way the ugly mog had scratched him only time he tried to pick it up. Maybe he could set the dogs on itone day – Patch could be proper vicious, specially if you gave him a kick to egg him on – but probably it’d be too much trouble. Plenty of other things he could do to the lad without getting scratched to ribbons first.
    The bus came slowly to a halt at the foot of Rhos Lane (see, even the lane was named after his dad’s farm; it wasn’t called Losers Lane, now was it?) and George the driver called out, “All right, lads?” Only Brad and Rhys got out here, half a mile of un-made-up road the school bus couldn’t go up, though his dad managed perfectly well with his tractor and quad bike. That was another thing Rhys’s mum was on about, couldn’t he get the road made up, all that mud and ice in the winter, but his dad said, why should he? Let her pay for getting it tarmacked, stupid cow, if she was so keen.
    Brad grinned at George as he stood up in the bus. Rhys stood up too, and with a wave of his arm, Brad generously let him get off the bus first; you’d think they were best of friends the way he behaved towards the lad in public.
    â€œMind how you go now,” said George as he always did, and Rhys and Brad tumbled down the steps ofthe bus onto the grass verge and then on to the muddy lane. They stood and watched as the bus trundled off down the road and into the distance. After the warm fug of the bus, the December air was like an icy slap in the face; you could almost feel your eyelashes freezing up. This morning’s heavy frost hadn’t even melted, and the whiteness shimmered on the hedges and in the meadow, everything colourless and chill, only a few hawthorn berries blood-red against the grey. A river of ice ran down the edge of the lane; it had been there for days.
    Then Brad turned to Rhys and said with a grin, “Aw
right
, kid?” Fact was, he hadn’t quite decided what he was going to do to the lad today, but he had a few ideas, and by the time they got to that bend in the lane he’d have worked it out.
    Rhys was already walking away. Brad called out after Rhys’s narrow hunched-up shoulders, “Awright, then? Ready for some fun tonight, are we?”
    Usually, this made Rhys cower even more and try to scurry away. But today something odd happened. For Rhys suddenly stood stock still in the lane, straightened his shoulders and turned to face Brad.
    â€œYou’ve got a big mouth on you, you know that, Brad Williams?”
    For a moment Brad was so surprised that he went silent. What the heck did the lad think he was up to? Then he gathered his wits together, put his best menacing face on, and advanced on the kid. “You what?” he said, quietly. Always best to be quiet at first, like his dad always went when he was working up to get really angry.
    And now he had to show that Rhys. And he wasn’t scared of
him
, not one bit. He moved forward, slowly, baring his teeth like old Patch when you got him into a corner. “You
what
?” he repeated.
    Rhys started walking backwards, head still held up, staring Brad straight in the eyes.
    â€œI said, you’ve got a big mouth on you, and one day you’re going to run out of things to scare me with.”
    Brad was almost silenced, but of course he wasn’t