by Alan Garner
“Used to what?”
“All bloody this! No.” She reached out her hand and gripped his. “No. I’m sorry.”
Tom raised his glass. “To Us, then.”
“Yes. To the Us.”
“And not the glorious dead German grape.”
He watched her eat every course. They had coffee and he paid the bill.
A taxi was waiting when they left the hotel.
“Mow Cop, please,” said Tom.
Jan said, “Is this what you want?”
“Yes.”
“Right.”
The gradient made the taxi use all its gears. Tom sat with his arm around Jan, her head on his shoulder. They went to the castle, and again Tom paid too much.
They stood by the folly, on the cliff edge. The wind blew Jan’s hair across Tom’s face. He chewed strands, and stared down at the drop.
“I’ve absolutely no head for heights,” he said, “but your hair makes everything all right. What shampoo do you use? Look at the unfinished millstones cut in the rocks. Aren’t they terrific? Order swelling out of chaos. I suffer from acrophobia rather than vertigo. It can be insidious. I’m glad they let us eat in these clothes, aren’t you? You’d’ve been cold if you’d come in your green coat and dress. Up here, I mean. Too cold. Wouldn’t you?”
“They were Christmas presents. I didn’t tell you.”
“Where’s your overnight case?”
“I leave it at the bookstall. She doesn’t charge. Why didn’t you meet me properly, if you saw? Why the stupidity of pretending at the barrier? We could’ve been together longer.”
“It’s my way. Why do you travel in different clothes?”
“To give myself a lift—to get through the parting bit—to—to—I change on the train. You wouldn’t see my coat. Only my case—”
It was as if someone were hitting her. The thoughts smashed in. Tom pulled her away from the cliff to the shelter of the castle.
“What I’ve always wondered,” said Tom, “is whether they give you an extra matching handkerchief for blowing your nose. Or is there just the one, to match the tie and the shirt?”
“What have you done?”
“A lot,” said Tom. “But, for the moment, I have believed that there is a single person in all time and space who is honest, and that I have found her. I have believed that she accepted me, and that I could trust her. I have believed in perfection. I did not believe that perfection came slumming to Crewe on a First Class ticket that was paid for in advance. I have been to London to look at the Queen, or, rather, the foundation stone she laid at Euston station, near the booking office. I have hitch-hiked to save the precious money for a surprise treat. I have waited by the window. I have been with you for two hours longer than usual today, but I have travelled Second Class.”
“Do you want the truth?” said Jan.
“Have you ever lied to me?”
“In this. And only by not saying.”
“Can I take it?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve worked out most of the permutations. The truth may be better. If you tell it. But not here. Not the castle. The boundary’s undefined.”
“Our house?”
“You’re calm.”
“Come along.” She led him across the rocks. He was listless, and yawned, even in the wind.
She put him in a corner of the ruin, near the fireplace. She stood for a long time where the door had been, and watched the clouds moving from Wales.
“I’ll tell you,” she said. “But what do you think, first? It won’t alter what I say.”
“I read his luggage. I heard him. I watched him. He knows what he’s after, and is used to getting it. He’s the wine grower you stayed with in Germany last Easter.”
“Yes.”
“You fell in love with him.”
“Yes.”
“He’s nearly twice your age, rich, sure of himself,” Tom’s voice was a monotone, “and therefore has outgrown bike rides to Barthomley.”
“Yes.”
“You slept with him.”
“Yes.”
“Come here.” Tom held her, held on to her. “Who made the running?”
“Both of us.”
“God damn my mother.”
“Why?”
“For being right.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s true.”
“Not true.”
“Tell me the rest, while I’m safe. Why you string me along. Why you bother to come here. Why me at all.”
“I love you.”
“You do throw that word around. You love him.”
“No. It’s because of him I know I love you.”
“Never tell me his name.”
“Right.”
“And I thought two-fisted Bingo was exacting. No wonder you weren’t interested. What’s Bingo to an international Lay-by Lil?”
“Now listen!” Jan sat up, shouting. “You bloody listen!”
“Don’t swear. I might just start, too.”
“I wish you would. I’m scared stiff you’re going to kill me.”
“Guilt.”
“Yes! All right! But listen!”
“I don’t want to.”
“Will you hear me?”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”
“I went,” said Jan, “because of another mess. Every boy I’d known, I’d let down. I went to Germany to get away. You don’t know what loneliness is. My parents. They understand. They understand all the time, but time’s what they never have. Time’s for others. They work so hard, they do so much, I’ve worshipped them. I know I’m the price they pay, and I can’t begin to criticise them. But loneliness—and girls at school, talking, boasting, wondering. I thought I was abnormal—”
“Obsessed.”
“I was. I was lonely. You have you. You know you’re better than the rest.”
“I wasn’t better than you.”
“Don’t stop me. I must say it only once.”
“I wasn’t better—”
“He was kind. He flattered me. He took notice.”
“Of course.”
“I knew what I was doing. But just for once to be treated as if— I knew, I knew. I’m going to give you the worst now.”
“I don’t want to—”
“Listen,” said Jan. “Listen to this filth. It was not filth. He said come to his room for a book to read if I couldn’t sleep. I went. In my pyjamas. Are you listening? There wasn’t a book. He was kind, and warm and considerate, and he knew I was scared, and he didn’t hurt me, and he promised nothing. We both knew. I was so grateful to that man—but nothing else. He didn’t reach me. I went back every night, to that warm man. It was only warmth. He never reached me. But he let me become what you felt the day I got home. You said it was the first time you really saw me. That’s why. He made us possible. What we have was never before. You reached me without touching. Because I’d changed. Don’t blame him. He never reached me.”
“Is he married?”
“Yes.”
“Children?”
“Two.”
“Naturally.”
“His wife—”
“Doesn’t understand him.”
“—was pregnant. He loves her.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why isn’t it ever going to be like it could have been?”
“That’s up to us.”
“Him. He’s—seen—touched—where—I haven’t—krauts—father—you tinpan bitch—you kissed me less than a month after.”
“Look!” Jan snatched his head round. “Look at my eyes! That’s me! He never saw that! No one’s seen that!”
Tom spat in her face. She wiped it, and picked up a lump of rock. The edge was sharp, and she dragged the gritstone harshness over the back of her hand slowly. Tom watched the moment of ragged white before the blood.
“It stops,” she said. “By next week there’ll be no
mark. I’m not hurt. The me that matters isn’t touched. I’m unchanged.”
“I can’t—” Tom held out his arms. “Jan—” She went to him and he held her. She carried the pain of his strength without a sound, and raised her head when she felt his tears. As he looked at her, he retched, and threw her from him, slamming her body against the wall, and caught her as she fell, held her as if he were a woman, such gentleness.
“I love you,” he said.
She could not breathe. He was still crying. “I’m sorry: I’m sorry. My head knows. The rest will catch up. I’m sorry.”
“I’ve wanted—”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“—to tell you.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I never wrote to him, or anything. That’s what today was. He was going through London. He was worried. I thought I hated him now. I don’t. But I thought he could help us. Have one day like you wanted. He says he hopes we’re always happy. He gave the money to both of us. He’s gone.”
“I made you drink that Moselle.”
“I understand.”
“I wish I didn’t. How’s your hand?”
“Bleeding.”
“Ribs?”
“They’ll mend.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. It was worth everything to let you say it.”
“What?”
“You’ve said you love me.”
“High tides and mermaids on Mow Cop would have serious implications for Cheshire.”
“We’d better descend.”
“That money he gave—we’ll need it for a taxi. I’m skint.”
“That’s all right.”
The journey back was quiet.
“I’ve made a fool of myself,” said Tom. “Wasting that money.”
“I’d made a bigger fool of me,” said Jan. “But we’re OK. Aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t come to the platform. We’re saving. Just tell me again.”
“I love you?”
“And give me the Bunty.”
“It’s not with me,” said Tom.
“Sorry: it wouldn’t be. I forgot.”
“It was going to be such a day in London.”
“I can’t bear to leave you looking so ill.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Remember the Bunty.”
“Yes.”
“I love you!”
“Yes.”
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Sit,” said Face. “Hush now.”
“What’s up?” said Logan.
“We’re dead.”
“What?”
“It’s quick always. No pain.”
“Her?”
“Doesn’t take long.”
“Her?”
“Wait.”
“Dead?”
“Mouth and hands tremble, then feel it.”
“She killed my Ninth.” Logan took his sword.
“Hush now.” Face held him with no effort. “She carries your Ninth. If she dies, you’ll not have lived.”
“My mouth—”
“Hush now—”
“Ninth mounth—”
“Face and Logan: what’re they doing?” said Macey.
“Shall I go?”
“Leave them,” she said.
“Hey, I’m thirsty!” It was Magoo shouting. “Let’s have some beer!”
Macey picked up a jar.
“Watch him,” she said. “If he attacks.”
“Attacks?”
“Stand clear of him.”
“Beer, lame-brain! Now!” Magoo was on the boundary. Macey ran down to him and gave him the jar. Magoo drank the full jar without stopping. “More.”
“Not on duty. Logan said.”
Magoo was rubbing his fingers, flexing them.
“Tell Logan it’s his head next. Beer.”
Macey caught the jar as it dropped from Magoo’s hand. He retreated. Magoo turned towards the sky and the plain, and lifted his spear.
“My hands tremble!
“My mouth sings!
“I have been to the rock of the snake!
“Look! The snake is here! It fills the sky!
“The horned snake, guard of men!”
Macey scrambled back to the hut. She watched.
“Big Words! Big Words! Magoo has them!”
“No.”
Magoo was striding the boundary, his weapons moved in the holy way of the Mothers. He shouted. Macey slid down the rocks with more beer, but was too frightened to approach.
“The snake of the dale, it cannot be reckoned!
“The snake of the fell, it will not die!
“Blue of the great heart, be with me!”
Macey called back, “They are Big Words! Listen!”
“The snake of the road, it will not be trodden!
“The snake of the fire, it will not lose its eye!
“The snake of the rain, the shining serpent!
“The Great One Snake, the Giver, the Taker!
“All here now! Now is their time!”
Macey ran between the hut and the boundary. Fear was on him. Magoo tossed his weapons, and caught them. Beyond him was open ground, and then the scrub, silent.
“I am the Son of the Furious Singer!
“Mother, be here and around and fill your sky!”
He jumped the boundary.
“No!” Macey screamed to him from shelter.
Like rain beginning, the spears came, skimming on the hard ground from all directions: and then the arrows. They sucked the air, and hit. Magoo brushed them off, but some had to find their way, there were so many. Magoo sang and roared. The arrows, the spears were dragging. They rustled as if they were a dry part of him. He stopped.
“Mother,” he said, and only Macey heard him, “why have you emptied the sky?” He was dead.
Macey ran back. “He didn’t stay on the mountain,” she said.
“Cats!”
The scrub, the open ground were still.
“Big Words. I heard him.”
“No.”
“I need my Big Words. I need Macey. They’re my mates.”
A Cat war-cry echoed on the ridge. It was Face. He stood alone, armed. “He’ll be safe,” she said. “Go to him.”
Face was moving in a different time. He knew Macey, but talked to other people, things. He spoke, but in all the words of Rome and the tribes. He seemed to be happy, and for Macey it was the only shield.
“I am well I hope you are can fight now you I. Why come not on Mow Cop yet all please but every not worry. I want know now all see same sky now soon.”
Face did not stop. There was a line of torn shirt going red. The red shirt grew, and Face’s words closed without end. When he fell, Macey saw the red dark on his back.
“Kid, watch your ass!” Logan whispered to him in Latin from a cleft rock. “We got most, but the rest is sneaking somewheres.” His sword had ripped through Face.
“Logan?”
“We’re deployed. Soon as they show, we hit: many as they like, with companies in reserve, and cavalry. I pulled in the Ninth, all the lovely bastards. When we go over that ridge, no fooling, when we go, there’ll be the Ninth wide open behind us. You ready?”
“No!” Macey tried to reach her. “What can I do?” But she could not leave the hut. She could not walk.
“They think we’re chicken.” There was no enemy. “You ready? You flip for me, eh? Mintaka, baby? Here we go, then: wide open! Spaced out!” Logan stepped from protection onto the ledge.
“No,” said Macey. “Logan. Sir. Mate. Logan. No.” He was beyond him. Though he lay flat on the slab and stretched his hands he could not reach Logan.
“Spaced out!”
Logan managed to flap his arms twice before he hit rock. It was longer until his body stopped.
The sky, mountain, plain were empty. The wind blew grit. Macey got himself to the fir
e, and she held him to give him her strength. “It was the goddess,” she said. “Those who sleep with her must die.”
He spoke cleanly. “I couldn’t help them. I couldn’t flip. Now Macey’s gone. No me. No Big Words. No use. They saw. I didn’t. Even that I couldn’t do for them. I’m wasted time. Even Magoo: even him: he saw. Take it. Take it from me.”
“No,” she said. “They saw nothing. You see real.”
“Not now.”
“Now.”
“Not any more.”
“More than ever. Someone must. Killing’s finished. Macey’ll be real soon.”
Then he cried. “My mates. My brilliant mates.” Only then.
“Now then, Madge. I’ll look after him. Get where it’s warm. You’ll catch your death.” Dick Steele put his hand on her shoulder.
“He’s not fit,” she said.
“He will be, unless you tell him contrary.”
“He’s not fit.”
“Let him stand.”
“I’m all right,” said Thomas. “I can do sentry.”
Margery went down the stair. “You look after him, think on.”
“Have you heard anything?”
“No,” said Thomas. “There’s the smoke out by Basford.”
“None nearer. Nobody crossing fields. They’ll be in the lanes: so listen. If they don’t burn dwellings we shan’t see them till they’re here.”
“Yes, Dick.”
“And I doubt they won’t be on Mow Cop. Let’s have you this side of the tower.”
John went to the pulpit. “I’m taking my men out, father.”
The Rector came down the steps to him. “You’d be better with us, John.”
“No. We show them today. If they come, and see we’re ready, I think they’ll not try.”
“You’re as like to provoke them. They’ll pull back and work something devilish to draw you out. Be with us here.”
“We’re too much of a risk for you.”
“Even the Irish won’t touch God at Christmas.”
“The Barrow Hill’s the only place we could fight from,” said John. “I’ve not done it to spite you.”
“That stockade’s worse than useless,” said the Rector. “It’s a challenge you can’t back up. You could’ve killed every Irish, one by one, from the hedges, but you can’t beat hard men in the open. If you will play, make sure you always win.”
“Why didn’t you say that earlier?”
“I wasn’t asked.”
“They’re better tactics than mine.”
“Heart and head, John. They should know each other. Yours have never met.”
