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Authors: Catherine Butler
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really. âOh yes, am I? You know, youâre going to be really, really sorry you said that.â
Still Rhys walked backwards, facing him. For some reason Brad was finding this disconcerting.
And then finally Rhys turned, and started to walk quickly up the lane, his yellow anorak glowingagainst the grey. For a moment, Brad didnât know how to react, then common sense kicked in and he ran and caught him up. For a few yards the boys walked alongside each other, silently, as though they were mates.
Then they turned into the bend, the hidden bend where no-one could see what you got up to.
On the left, far as you could see, were Williamsâ fields, fat and flowing, going on right up into the misty hill, a few Texels grazing peacefully, dingy against the silvered grass.
On the other side, falling down to the stream and the lake that gleamed at the foot, was the Cae, left useless by that woman, just overgrown with wild flowers in the spring, the one bit of land round here that wasnât Williamsâ, and damn well ought to be, it wasnât right. Dad had offered her money, maybe not enough, but he wasnât going to pay the old witch more than it was worth. He was waiting, and one day, maybe when she was poor enough, heâd hit the right price and buy her out.
And then buy that miserable cottage of hers, and pull it down, or turn it into a holiday let, get fools from the cities to stay there at exorbitant rates, Bradâsmum could do all the cleaning and whatnot, look after it, money for old ropeâ¦
It just wasnât right that folk who didnât deserve it should hang on to property other folk could make something out of.
Brad clamped his hand now on Rhysâs shoulder, feeling the paltry little bones of shoulder blade and arm beneath his meaty grip. For he had an idea now, something that would make the kid really squirm, really wet himself.
âYou and me,â he said, softly still, âyou and me is going for a little walk.â And he turned the unresisting lad right round to the metal gate that led down to the Cae. He undid the gate with one hand, shoved it open with a clang.
The grass was slippery and made them both skid a bit, but Bradâs force overcame that as he impelled Rhys downwards, their footsteps making a green trail in the frosty grass.
And at the foot of the meadow, clumps of reed and water grasses, and the still gleaming surface of the lake. Frozen it was, too, a light skim of ice stretched over the top, and below you could see depths of a weird green blackness that seemed to go down forever, though he knew that the lake must only be a few feet deep.
For no reason at all, Brad felt himself shiver. And now he remembered, surely there were other stories about the lake, as well as the girl who drowned herself there. What were they? His gran had been full of them, but he never listened to her much anyway. But now fragments of those stories came back to him. Unexplained things, folk who wouldnât go near, folk whoâd been and come back changed, folk who got bad dreams. He couldnât remember details now, but still enough to make him feel like a goose just walked over his grave.
Still, he wasnât going to let the lad see that. âAwright now,â he said. âAnd what about you going for a little swim?â
And he grabbed the back of the boyâs puny neck, and pushed him forward, into reeds and frozen mud. Of course he wasnât going to do it straightaway, had to get a bit of fun first, had to make the boy really afraid, so that heâd get the most out of the thing when it really happened.
âCold and wet down there,â he hissed into the boyâs ear. âWonder how long youâd last without breathing?Minute? Half minute? Not long, anyway, and theyâd find your body there tomorrow morning, poor lad, must have gone down there on his way home, and slipped, couldnât nothing be done, thatâs what theyâd
Still Rhys walked backwards, facing him. For some reason Brad was finding this disconcerting.
And then finally Rhys turned, and started to walk quickly up the lane, his yellow anorak glowingagainst the grey. For a moment, Brad didnât know how to react, then common sense kicked in and he ran and caught him up. For a few yards the boys walked alongside each other, silently, as though they were mates.
Then they turned into the bend, the hidden bend where no-one could see what you got up to.
On the left, far as you could see, were Williamsâ fields, fat and flowing, going on right up into the misty hill, a few Texels grazing peacefully, dingy against the silvered grass.
On the other side, falling down to the stream and the lake that gleamed at the foot, was the Cae, left useless by that woman, just overgrown with wild flowers in the spring, the one bit of land round here that wasnât Williamsâ, and damn well ought to be, it wasnât right. Dad had offered her money, maybe not enough, but he wasnât going to pay the old witch more than it was worth. He was waiting, and one day, maybe when she was poor enough, heâd hit the right price and buy her out.
And then buy that miserable cottage of hers, and pull it down, or turn it into a holiday let, get fools from the cities to stay there at exorbitant rates, Bradâsmum could do all the cleaning and whatnot, look after it, money for old ropeâ¦
It just wasnât right that folk who didnât deserve it should hang on to property other folk could make something out of.
Brad clamped his hand now on Rhysâs shoulder, feeling the paltry little bones of shoulder blade and arm beneath his meaty grip. For he had an idea now, something that would make the kid really squirm, really wet himself.
âYou and me,â he said, softly still, âyou and me is going for a little walk.â And he turned the unresisting lad right round to the metal gate that led down to the Cae. He undid the gate with one hand, shoved it open with a clang.
The grass was slippery and made them both skid a bit, but Bradâs force overcame that as he impelled Rhys downwards, their footsteps making a green trail in the frosty grass.
And at the foot of the meadow, clumps of reed and water grasses, and the still gleaming surface of the lake. Frozen it was, too, a light skim of ice stretched over the top, and below you could see depths of a weird green blackness that seemed to go down forever, though he knew that the lake must only be a few feet deep.
For no reason at all, Brad felt himself shiver. And now he remembered, surely there were other stories about the lake, as well as the girl who drowned herself there. What were they? His gran had been full of them, but he never listened to her much anyway. But now fragments of those stories came back to him. Unexplained things, folk who wouldnât go near, folk whoâd been and come back changed, folk who got bad dreams. He couldnât remember details now, but still enough to make him feel like a goose just walked over his grave.
Still, he wasnât going to let the lad see that. âAwright now,â he said. âAnd what about you going for a little swim?â
And he grabbed the back of the boyâs puny neck, and pushed him forward, into reeds and frozen mud. Of course he wasnât going to do it straightaway, had to get a bit of fun first, had to make the boy really afraid, so that heâd get the most out of the thing when it really happened.
âCold and wet down there,â he hissed into the boyâs ear. âWonder how long youâd last without breathing?Minute? Half minute? Not long, anyway, and theyâd find your body there tomorrow morning, poor lad, must have gone down there on his way home, and slipped, couldnât nothing be done, thatâs what theyâd
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