More bottles appear and we neck these. Then he gets out the whisky. He passes the bottle around and we all have a few swigs of this and he starts telling us more stories about his criminal past, which Ashley seems pleased about if no one else. The bottle goes round again, more stories. Another swig of the whisky. Things get a bit hazy. Becky gives my thigh a squeeze and winks at me. I feel all warm and glowing.
Smiler is getting worked up about something. He’s shouting now, —You think I’m stupid? You think I’m thick? I’ll show you, you bastard!
I don’t know what he is talking about. Ashley just watches him, not sure how to react, but he isn’t shouting at Ashley, he isn’t even looking at Ashley, he’s shouting at some imagined person, someone from his past maybe, someone from when he was inside.
Now he’s on his feet again. He positions himself in a spot, steps around it, defining it. He rolls his shoulders and hunches them up. He bunches his fists and draws them up to his chest, then up to his face, so that his deep-set eyes peer over his knuckles. He bares his teeth and growls. He starts to shadow box. I want to laugh, but I stifle it. As he carries on with this shadow boxing, he starts to make pained noises. It’s as though there really is someone in the room fighting with him.
He works himself into a frenzy, like he’s not going to win, which is funny because there’s no one there, but none of us laugh. He’s struggling, he staggers backwards, almost loses his footing. He bumps into his rocking chair, then the side of the table. He rights himself and raises himself up to his full height. His eyes have gone wild and he roars. Becky squeezes my thigh again, this time not out of affection, but out of concern. Ashley’s had another spliff and he’s not really taking it in. I give Becky one of those looks that acknowledges that this bloke is crazy without making too much of it, but I’m not really sure he even knows we are in the room.
Then he seems to get the upper hand. He gets the man on the floor and he’s stamping on his head. He drops to his knees. He’s talking to the man now, whispering in his ear. We just sit and say nothing. We try not to watch him and focus on something in the distance. Becky puts her head against me and pretends to be asleep. I think this is a good idea. I put my head on hers and close my eyes. I can hear Smiler whispering to this bloke, then he’s mumbling to himself, I can’t really make out what he says.
That night, for the first time in many years, I have a nightmare about the marabou storks. I’m back at Becky’s place, only in the living room is a stork, perched on the back of the sofa. It’s staring at me. I walk into the kitchen and there’s a stork on the fridge by the door. Another stork is perched on the top of one of the large paintings. It shits and the grey mix of urine and excrement drips down the canvas. Then I hear the front door open and I look through a gap in the kitchen door. It’s Dave with some other blokes. They walk into the living area and then the dining area. I see Dave go upstairs. I hear him search the rooms. Then a stork flies down the stairs with Ashley’s blazer in its beak. It drops to the floor and one of the men picks it up and sees the Roseway badge on the breast pocket. He nods to himself and then shouts up the stairs for Dave.
When I wake up I know that Dave and his gang are coming for us.
Woodcocks
A greenfinch, a pair of wood pigeons, a skylark, six lapwings, a golden plover, a stonechat, three magpies, god knows how many gulls, jackdaws, rooks, crows, but no ravens.
I was up first thing, before anyone else. I had a walk round some of the surrounding woodland. Everything was so still. The sun was just a sliver of light edging the horizon. I was in a strange mood, half-awake, the world of dreams draped over me like a shadow. It was like I was watching myself from the trees, a bird’s eye view of the world, a bird’s eye view of me, scurrying about, thrashing ferns with a stick, prodding at the undergrowth, picking up clumps of earth, breaking it up with my fingers, sniffing it. Clambering on all fours. Trying to be an animal, sharpening my senses to all that is alive and to all that is dead and rotting.
When I went back to the shack everyone was still sleeping. I crept into the space I had left next to Becky, still smelling of the earth. Still feeling that dream-like feeling. When animals dream their eyes flick and jerk like ours, their limbs thrash about and they grunt or make whatever noises they would when going about their waking routine. Do they make a distinction between the two worlds or is it all one to them? Perhaps in order to find ravens I must become more like a raven.
We crouch in the undergrowth near to the crag that a rather hung-over Smiler pointed out to us this morning. No one mentions the incident. I don’t think Smiler even remembers. Ashley is with us, I have Becky’s binoculars and I’m looking at a clump of trees, when I hear Ashley receive a text. He takes his phone out and opens the text. I see his face go white and I’m about to ask him what the matter is, when I see it, a woodcock.
I can’t be sure at first. I think it’s a snipe but I focus and see that it is plumper than a snipe and its bill, although long and tapering, is thicker than a snipe’s. As I watch it walking through the undergrowth, it sort of bobs its bulky frame along, almost like it’s doing the conga. It’s brilliantly camouflaged against woodland but here in the open it’s easy to spot. Its black eyes and black bar on its head and neck contrast with its dead leaf colour. I nudge Becky and pass her the binoculars.
I take out my field guide and turn to the checklist. I scan the list. No, according to the checklist I’ve never seen a woodcock in the wild. I take out my pen and tick it off. Brilliant. That makes 190 species in the bag. Apart from killing a man and one or two other hiccups, this has been a really valuable trip. Besides, I didn’t really kill a man, Ashley didn’t really kill a man either, it was the car. No, not even really the car, seems unfair to blame the car. The killer of Dave’s brother, if indeed he is dead, was the concrete. It was the concrete that killed Andy.
I leave Becky watching the woodcock and crawl through the undergrowth towards Ashley. I ask him what the matter is but he just ignores me. I ask him again and this time he takes out his phone and shows me the text: I no where U R. U killed my brother now its your turn. I look at Ashley and he stares back at me. There is only darkness in his eyes. I pass the phone back and he puts it away. Becky comes over and wants to know what’s wrong. I give Ashley a look and he shakes his head. She sees that we are both upset and she puts her arm around me. Ashley watches her jealously, I think. He stares at me with hate in his eyes. Becky is picking all this up.
—What’s wrong?
He gives me a look and then turns to her. —This is boring. That’s what’s wrong.
I look at Becky and shrug.
—It’s your fault, he says to Becky and points. I just look at Becky and give a slight shake of my head. —We were having a laugh. We both ignore him. I wonder about this. Were we having a laugh before Becky turned up? It was certainly very exciting, I don’t think I’ve ever had so much excitement, but not exactly a laugh, no, I wouldn’t use that word. He picks up a stick he has been using to thrash the undergrowth and hits the ground with it. —Slag, he says, under his breath.
I don’t even think about it. I just go for him, —You what? I say, as I grab hold of him. He has the stick in his hand and he swings it round. It whacks me in the back of the head and I fall to the ground. Becky just stands there watching me fall. I come round and she is standing over me.
—What happened there? she says and shakes her head. Ashley holds the stick as though he is about to whack her with it.
—I’ll kill yer, I’ll kill both of yers. He stares at us both with rage in his eyes, then he screams out and runs off.
I get to my feet. Becky looks shocked. Then she turns to me, —You alright? I feel the side of my head. There’s blood on my hand. Becky examines it. There’s not too much blood.
—You took me by surprise, she says, —I didn’t expect that. We sit down on some rocks. My head throbs from the whack and a numb ache starts to form. I use the sleeve of my jacket to halt the flow of bloo
d. It isn’t a bad cut. She says I should be more careful. I wonder whether I should go after him, but it’s too late, he’s already run off through the woods along with the woodcock. The woodcock is a shy bird and is easily disturbed. I think maybe that’s why it has evaded me for so long.
After the shock has worn off, Becky wants to know what’s going on. It feels weird keeping things from her, and although I know Ashley wouldn’t want her to know about the text, I can’t help it, it all comes pouring out. I tell her everything I know about Dave and about what’s happened so far.
—Hang on, she says, —not so fast. Who’s this Ashley?
But Ashley has run off so I can’t show her Ashley. —He was my friend, I say.
—And he’s not now?
—I don’t know.
—I still don’t get it, you were running away from someone called Dave? Why? I thought you came here to find ravens?
It’s confusing for her, I know, there’s a lot to take in, but I tell her what I think, that Dave has come to the Lakes, that he will have gone to Kendal, that he will have found Becky’s house.
—Calm down, she says, and takes my hand in hers. —Think about it rationally. All what you’ve said, doesn’t make sense. This Dave, I mean, why would he be here? He will have gone back to Salford... Don’t you think?
I nod my head, trying to believe this to be the case, but perhaps I’m less than convincing because she persists.
—Look Paul, even if he did make it to Kendal, even if he did find my house, how would he know we were here, hiding out in a shack in Helvellyn with some nutter who drinks too much and fights imaginary blokes?
She laughs, and I join in. Of course she is right. It feels good to laugh and it sort of lightens the weight I’ve been carrying around.
—What was that all about? I say, and she knows I’m talking about last night, and she shrugs and we laugh again.
Then after some time she says, —Do you really think he’s dead?
I think about this, there’s no point in denying it. —I don’t know for sure, but he really took a smash. We’d picked up a lot of speed and he went right up in the air and landed on his back real hard. If he’s not dead, he’ll be in a hospital bed somewhere strapped up with tubes and wires and all that.
—But you weren’t driving the car?
—No.
She thinks about this. —So where’s Ashley now?
I shrug, he’s run off. I’m not his keeper, I don’t know where he is all the time. And then she does something quite strange, she smiles, and I’m taken aback by this. How is that something to smile about? We watch the clouds form into clumps as they drift over the horizon. We watch their shadows darken the fells, like damp stains, then lift again. That’s something that you miss when you look at a photograph, the constant change of light and shade. It’s the same with people, that’s why people sometimes look quite strange in photographs. I think about my photograph with dad, his arm round me, smiling, but what do I really know about him? Do I even remember him, or do I just think I do from that one image? We look happy, smiling at the camera, but doesn’t everyone do that?
We’ve moved around a lot, it’s got to be said, but if he’d really wanted to find me, wouldn’t he be able to? It’s not as if we’ve left the country, we’ve not even moved out of Salford. Well there was that time we lived in a Maisonette in Miles Platting but apart from that, it’s been mostly Salford: Weaste, Ordsall, Higher Broughton. How many schools are there? How long would it take to go to them one by one? A couple of weeks? Then I start to feel the weight again, and that hollow in my stomach and I try not to think about it. I look back at Becky and she is staring at me.
—You’ll be alright, she says, and she gives my hand a squeeze. There’s a chill as a cloud darkens the area where we are sitting, and I suddenly feel very alone. In a strange way, thinking about Dave is a lighter thought than some of the other thoughts I’m inclined to have, if I don’t watch myself and I tell her about my fears. Well, I tell her what my main fear is.
—Ashley said that Dave had this device in his car.
—What do you mean?
—He’s got a scanner. She nods her head, she knows what they are. —That car I stole near your house, it would have been reported to the police and a call would have gone out. Isn’t it possible that Dave has found the car where we abandoned it?
Again, she thinks it over. —Ok, it’s possible, but it’s pretty unlikely... Don’t you think?
I wish I could believe it. I wish we hadn’t been so stupid as to dump it so close to the shack. She laughs it off. —Don’t be daft, she says.
Of course she’s right, but I’m still not convinced. I tell her about my nightmare and about the storks.
—What are you now? Telepathic? Or maybe you can see into the future?
Again, I can’t fault her logic. I’m not telepathic and as far as I know, I can’t see into the future. We talk for a long time about what we should do next. We need to move on, if only to ease our minds. Whether Dave is a real threat I don’t know.
—You really are a strange one, she says. But again, she’s just teasing me, she’s not being mean. I decide not to tell her I can fly. It’s not the right time, she has enough to deal with.
—My mum and dad, they’re coming back soon. I have to go back to Kendal.
They’ve been texting her again.
—I can’t go back there, I say. —They’ll find us. We need to move on... Stay.
—I can’t.
—Just till your parents get back... Please.
She stares at the ground for a long time.
—I’ll stay until we find the ravens, she says at last.
I put my arm round her. I hold her. I don’t want to let go. She knows how much the ravens mean to me. And I can’t stand the thought of her going back to Kendal. So I agree. I want to find the ravens, and I also want to stay with Becky. But then what happens when we find the ravens? I lose Becky.
We spend another few hours on the moors: curlews, grouse, more jackdaws. We keep thinking we see ravens, but they turn out to be crows or rooks, so hard to tell without a sense of scale, you need perspective, and in any case, I’m quite unsure about finding them now. It was easy in the Tower of London when they were standing next to a packet of crisps or a coke can say, but here it is much harder. It’s mid-afternoon when we make our way back through the woods towards the shack.
We hear a commotion, a harsh chorus of football rattles. Then we see magpies fly up, still making their clacking cackle. As we do we come across a nest of squirrels that has fallen to the ground. As we approach it, we see that the squirrels, only a few days old, have provided the birds with a feast. Their guts are exposed and their heads ripped open. One of them has had its head ripped off its body and there is just a bloody hole there instead of a head. Only a few days old and bald, they look like human babies.
Accentors
Foxes, badgers, crows, ravens – it seems farmers don’t like any of them. There is no doubt about it though, that the raven is being held back not just by farmers, but game keepers, park rangers, the Forestry Commission, local councils, the government, tourists, egg collectors, hikers, mountain climbers, grouse hunters, clay pigeon enthusiasts, quarry workers, hang-gliders, para-gliders, other types of sporting knobheads, and knobheads in general with shotguns who just like ‘shooting things’. I’ve noticed that a lot of the new forests round here are plantations of conifers. The problem with this is that they are grown too close together. They don’t allow ground vegetation. There’s no way that a bird as big as a raven can use most of the forests round here to hunt. You might as well build a retail park.
We make our way through such a wood. Trees planted so close together that all you get on the forest floor is pine needles. What use is that to anyone? We don’t talk, just wend our way through the darkness. Spruce, I ask you, since when did we demand for our countryside to be populated by Christmas trees? I don’t even like Christmas trees at Christm
as, so why would I want them growing out of the ground? I’ll say this for mum, she’s never bothered with that stupid tradition. About a week before Christmas, she’ll get a box out from under the bed, with a few baubles, tinsel, stuff like that. It gives the same general impression.
Apparently the first word I said was ‘bap bap’. Not mum or dad but bap bap. We were in Albert Park in Broughton, according to mum. Dad was still with us. I must have been one and a bit. We were feeding some ducks, me and my sister, and that’s when I said ‘bap bap’. Not quack quack, but pretty close. After that, I called all birds bap baps. Until I got to about four. This is all according to my mum. I never called them birds. I learned each of their names: sparrow, magpie, pigeon, starling... Learned all the names of them before I used the word ‘bird’.
When persecuted, ravens are shy and wary birds. You can’t blame them for this, in fact it seems like a healthy attitude. I’m quite a private person myself. I’m thinking about this as I walk behind Becky. It’s the first time I’ve opened up to someone who’s not my mum. The behaviour officers at school used to try and get me to open up but it never worked and I just went more into myself. Nice people, a lot of them, but do-gooders. My mum calls them nosey interfering fuckers, which I think is a bit harsh. But not as harsh as what she calls social workers. Or doctors.
In intelligence tests ravens score better than wolves and dogs but not as well as monkeys or dolphins. But I’m not sure tests really work. I’m in the bottom groups for both Maths and English, but that’s because I never go to class. One teacher actually refused to mark my English work. She said I hadn’t done what I was asked. But technically we were ‘told’ to do it, not ‘asked’ so she was wrong about that as well. I don’t think she understood what I was writing about. The truth is, most teachers aren’t very bright and don’t like very bright kids – it shows them up.
King Crow Page 12
