‘You don’t have to, you know,’ she said.
‘When I was smaller,’ continued Johnny, ‘they’d sort of pretend they weren’t squabbling. You know, they’d pretend to be good mates in that awful cheesy way you know is completely false, or they’d break off if I came into the room and they’d be standing there with white faces or red faces with tight little smiles asking whether I’d had a good day at school or did I want a glass of juice or some stupid stuff like that.’
‘My father left altogether,’ said Becky.
‘But now,’ said Johnny, ‘oh for years, I guess, they don’t bother to pretend any more. They just snipe all day and all night long, especially when Dad drinks too much, which is most of the bloody time.’
‘Why do people stay together when they don’t even like each other?’ asked Becky.
‘Dunno,’ said Johnny. ‘I sometimes used to think it might have been because of me but I don’t any more. I don’t think they care one way or another. Sometimes I think they actually enjoy the fight. It’s like one long, never-ending tennis match. Except that it’s a real grudge match.’
‘Mum and Dad got on okay,’ said Becky. ‘I think they did. Dad just sort of traded Mum in for a newer model.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘Who?’
‘The newer model.’
‘I don’t know. Never met her. She’s a lot younger that’s all I know. They went off to Queensland. He wants me to go for a holiday but I’m not ready yet. Mum reckons it’s okay but I think she’d find it hard. The whole thing’s been pretty tough on her.’
‘I thought that guy in your front room was your dad.’
Becky laughed. ‘No way.’
‘Was it your mother’s boyfriend?’
‘No, it was just some guy from Mum’s work. She was helping him look at houses or something.’
Although Becky had laughed, she had felt a small stab. It was the thought of her mother and a boyfriend. Only very rarely had she allowed herself to think that Donna Pym might one day bring home a boyfriend. It was that Becky always hoped that her father would one day tire of the newer model and come back. After a suitable period of remorse he would be forgiven and life would proceed as it had before the awful rainstorm of the separation.
Part of her knew that this was just wishful thinking, but by blocking out all thoughts of her mother with another man she was able to keep the fantasy alive. Accordingly, Becky thought it best to change the subject.
‘Do you have any brothers and sisters?’
Becky didn’t think Johnny did, but that was just a suspicion. She didn’t really know much about him at all.
‘No,’ said Johnny. ‘Well, I did have a sister. She was older than me. I never knew her though.’
There was a pause. Becky knew that Johnny would reveal a terrible secret. Sure enough, without prompting, he added, ‘She drowned.’
‘That’s terrible,’ whispered Becky. ‘When?’
‘Oh, years ago,’ said Johnny. ‘I was very little and she was five years older. Friends of the family had taken her on a trip somewhere and …’
‘How did it …?’
‘Swimming pool,’ said Johnny. ‘They didn’t realise until it was too late. I think it was somehow because of Lisa’s drowning that my mum and dad got angry with each other.’
Becky did not reply. She stared through the darkness trying to block out the awful yodelling coming from the other room and trying to block out the thought of the little girl floating in the swimming pool. She felt all at once sorry for Johnny Cadman and a little ashamed that she had been so hard on him. Once again she realised that she was actually pleased he was with her. There was something reassuring about the two of them being in this thing together.
‘Johnny,’ she whispered. ‘Why did you stay and watch me when I went to that house the first time?’
‘I dunno,’ said Johnny. He sounded a little embarrassed.
‘You must know.’
‘Well, it was a bit odd you playing the flute like that and, I dunno, I somehow felt you were in some kind of trouble. I thought you might have been hypnotised or something and that worried me because …’
‘Because?’
‘Well, you know. I always felt you were, you know, nice and, you know, the sort of girl …’
Becky did not press him further. He had said enough.
‘I’m glad you did,’ she whispered. ‘Thanks for that. I wouldn’t like to be stuck here on my own, but I guess I’ve led you into a real mess.’
‘It’s pretty much a mess everywhere, I reckon,’ said Johnny. ‘I don’t mind this at all. It’ll work out somehow.’
‘I hope so,’ said Becky.
Perhaps it would. At that moment there was a final squeal from the concertina and then a crash as it was apparently thrown on to the table. The singing stopped and there were lurching footsteps and then silence.
The silence remained until Becky was all but asleep, and then there began a thunderous snoring followed by a gasping whistle, and this awful succession of noises continued throughout the rest of the long, long night.
At some point Becky must have fallen asleep. She was alone before a gingerbread house that was syrup-shiny and dripping. She remembered touching the sticky surface and then putting her fingers to her lips, but careful not to get too close for she sensed that were she to do so she would be clutched into the house and held there as if in the arms of a monstrous tar-baby. She would be stuck there like a fly in one of those carnivorous plants until the witch arrived, for somehow Becky knew there would be a witch somewhere in this story.
The real horror of the dream came when the witch did come around the corner, for she was huge, huge perhaps because Becky was so tiny. The witch towered over her and then bent low. Her eyes were sharp and glinting, and her nose was bulbous and covered in warts and lined with broken veins. Becky suddenly realised that the witch was Silenus and she wondered why he had transformed himself. She puzzled, too, how he had transformed himself, for he was now undeniably a giant woman with rubbery features and a grating, insinuating voice. This voice wheedled as the witch that was Silenus and yet not Silenus proffered a basket of shiny apples. Have one my dear, have two. An apple a day keeps the undertaker at bay. Two apples a day keeps two undertakers at bay … Becky did not believe her. How could she? Although the apples were brightly polished and glowing red, the black mark where the venom had been inserted was pathetically obvious. Becky wanted to laugh at the obviousness, but then to her horror she realised that she was going to take the clumsily poisoned fruit, she had to, that she could not prevent herself. Even as the basket was dangled before her, even as she reached for the fruit her mouth salivating, she was crying No! No! No!
‘What?’ Becky asked, confused, looking about her in the morning light streaming through the mullioned window.
‘You were shouting,’ Johnny explained. ‘Must have been a bad dream.’
Becky sat up shaking her head as if to clear it and then rubbing at her eyes. ‘It was,’ she nodded. ‘It really was.’
‘I can’t say I got much sleep,’ said Johnny. ‘As soon as the old guy laid off singing and playing, he started snoring!’
Becky remembered the snoring, and shuddered. She gave Johnny a little grin. ‘And then I started shouting,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. You can’t have had much of a night.’
‘I have had worse,’ Johnny said, ‘but not often.’
‘He was in my dream,’ said Becky. ‘Silenus was, or kind of. He had turned into a witch and was giving me poisoned fruit.’
‘Well, I don’t think that stew was poisoned last night,’ said Johnny. ‘It was great.’
‘What’s he doing?’ asked Becky. ‘Is he up?’
Johnny nodded. ‘That’s what woke me up. He began clumping about. I thought he was knocking over things. He was making a hell of a din.’
‘I can’t hear anything at the moment.’
‘I guess he’s gone outside. I thoug
ht I heard the door open.’
Becky stood up abruptly, throwing the goatskins off her and rubbing her eyes once more. She felt a little seedy from lack of sleep and in need of a wash. She did not imagine that Silenus’s cottage would run to a hot shower, but hoped there might be a pitcher of water or something she could splash on her face to freshen herself up. She glanced around the small room, but there was nothing there.
Taking her lead, Johnny scrambled to his feet as well.
‘What should we do?’ he asked.
This time Becky did not feel irritated by the question. She considered it. They could not stay here indefinitely. There was food and shelter certainly, but there was also their rowdy, unstable host who seemed on the verge of drunkenness most of the time. Even were he to offer them lodging for some time, Becky did not think it was a good idea to accept.
She turned to Johnny. ‘I think we need to find out more about this place. As far as helping us find a way out, I reckon Silenus is useless, but he might know of somebody who could help us.’
Johnny nodded. He was not very keen to stay with Silenus and was pleased Becky was thinking too of moving on. Then they heard the sound of somebody heavy and clumsy clomping about in the room next door.
‘I suppose,’ said Becky, ‘that we ought to make an appearance.’
They opened the door into the large parlour of the cottage and were immediately assailed by the heat and the smell of stale beer and old food. Silenus was leaning over the wood range tending its fire. A pot was bubbling on the top of the range. There was a wooden spoon in the pot and as they stepped into the room the big man left off the fire and began stirring. Perhaps hearing Becky and Johnny enter he turned and saw them and grinned broadly.
‘Gruel?’ he said.
Becky saw that the pot contained a bubbling porridge of some sort. It looked grey and a little like a mud pool, but it smelt pleasantly toasty.
‘Would you like me to stir that?’ she asked, pleased to be able to be helpful.
Silenus grinned again and nodded. ‘Not long to go,’ he said. ‘It’s nearly ready.’
While Becky stirred the pot, Silenus gathered earthenware bowls from one of the shelves and laid them on the table.
Not long afterwards they were all three seated at the large table spooning into the thin porridge. Becky would have liked some sugar or some milk but none was forthcoming. However, even without it the porridge was satisfying, so satisfying she finished her portion very quickly and looked around for more, grinning to herself as once again she felt she was in a nursery story, this time Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Sensing her desire for another helping, Silenus pointed cheerfully at the pot. He had before him yet another foaming tankard. Johnny stared at this in alarm. Porridge and beer seemed a most bizarre combination.
‘I have a plan!’ announced Silenus, wiping his mouth with the back of his large hand.
‘Plan?’ asked Johnny.
‘A plan!’ the big man repeated, now wiping his hands down the front of his greasy, stained jerkin. ‘We shall go on a hunt!’
‘What sort of hunt?’ asked Becky.
‘We shall hunt the strange centaur,’ said Silenus, grinning with anticipatory pleasure. ‘When we finish eating here, I will fetch my bow and we will seek this creature. It will be a challenge to bring it to its knees!’
‘Wheels,’ Becky corrected.
‘Wheels?’ asked Johnny, confused.
‘I think he means the motorbike,’ whispered Becky. ‘All the same, it’s not a bad idea.’
Silenus’s bow turned out to be a huge weapon. It stood almost as tall as Johnny Cadman and Silenus carried it slung over his shoulder, his head between the shaft and the string. Earlier, he’d allowed Johnny to tweak the taut string and it had vibrated violently, making a twanging sound like a musical instrument. Slung over Silenus’s other shoulder was a kidskin quiver full of arrows.
Becky had been sceptical that a bow and arrow could bring down a motorbike, but seeing the size of this weapon now, she was not so sure. Silenus strode ahead of them across the valley floor towards the riverside where he claimed to have seen the unusual wheeled creature. From the hillside, the ground had looked to be level, but it was quite undulating and the little cottage was soon lost behind them. The morning was bright, the sky cloudless and now they had some purpose in mind, no matter how unlikely, Becky felt happier, more alive.
The very landscape felt more alive as well. There were insect noises: cicadas, bees; and from around their feet, disturbed by their footsteps, small blue and lilac butterflies lifted into the air. There were birds, too. High in the sky hovered an occasional skylark, trilling faintly, and somewhere an unseen warbler let loose a succession of bell-like notes.
Whereas Silenus carried his huge bow and the swinging quiver of arrows, Becky and Johnny were quite unencumbered. Silenus had not equipped them with any weapons, possibly because he had none their size, and Becky had left her flute in its case hidden beneath the goatskin coverlets in the room they had slept in. This lack of burden added to Becky’s sense of freedom and she suddenly realised that, in spite of the ongoing anxiety about their situation, she felt happier than she had for days, for weeks even.
They had travelled for nearly a quarter of an hour when Silenus stopped and pointed.
‘Yonder is the river,’ he announced. ‘This is where I saw the strange centaur!’
They were in a hollow and the river was not immediately obvious, although Becky could see the round-shouldered shapes of the tops of willow trees over the rise.
‘By the trees?’ she asked.
Silenus nodded, and then he put a finger to his lips. ‘We must be silent now,’ he admonished. ‘Centaurs have excellent hearing and I’d rather it did not know we are near.’
‘Will it run away?’ Johnny asked.
Silenus grinned ferociously at him, his eyes flashing. ‘Run away, little one?’ he whispered. ‘Would that it would! No, were it to hear us, it would attack us savagely and chew upon our bones!’
Johnny whitened and gulped, but Becky took hold of his arm and whispered. ‘I doubt it,’ she said. ‘Remember, we’re looking for somebody on a motorbike for goodness’ sake. Forget all this centaur rubbish.’
Johnny gave her a small smile but did not look especially reassured.
Silenus, meanwhile, had carried on, already making his way up the rise although much more cautiously than before. Becky and Johnny followed him equally cautiously. When they reached the top of the rise they could see the river clearly now, not far in front of them. Here and there a weeping willow tree lined its banks. The river was wide and flowed over stones in braided channels.
Silenus looked somewhat apprehensively left and right, narrowing his eyes in concentration. He had taken his bow from across his shoulder and now stood with it at the ready.
However this precaution was completely unnecessary as the river and its beds were completely deserted. It was peaceful and quiet except for the distant birdsong, the murmur and chatter of insects and the occasional pop of a gorse pod.
They followed Silenus to the bank, and then climbed down on to the sandy strand itself.
Suddenly, Silenus stopped, alert, stiffening with interest.
He pointed.
‘Look!’ he cried. ‘This is passing strange!’
What he had seen was not at all ‘passing strange’ to Becky, although she conceded that it might have appeared mysterious to Silenus.
There in the damp sand beside the river flat were three distinct tread marks of tyres.
‘Three bikes?’ whispered Johnny. ‘Or three trips?’
Becky shook her head. The marks were far too regular.
‘No,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think it’s a bike at all. I reckon it’s one of those three-wheeled things they use on farms.’
Johnny nodded. ‘I reckon,’ he agreed. ‘But how did it get here?’
‘How did we get here?’ Becky muttered. ‘What’s more interesting i
s why it’s here. Silenus hasn’t seen anything like this before, so why has it suddenly appeared?’
‘Something to do with us?’ Johnny suggested.
‘It’s too much of a coincidence to be anything else,’ whispered Becky.
Silenus, who had not been listening to their conversation, had crouched down, the better to inspect the strange phenomenon. Now he stood up again in apparent bewilderment shaking his head.
‘If this is that centaur, it is the strangest centaur I have ever known,’ he said.
‘Have you known many?’ asked Johnny.
‘A few,’ admitted Silenus. ‘Over the years,’ he added.
Becky glanced at him, realising that ‘over the years’ could in fact have meant several hundred years.
Johnny glanced again at the tread marks, and then shrugged. ‘Well, whoever it was, they’ve gone and not come back,’ he said. ‘What should we do now?’
Silenus breathed deeply through his nostrils as if scenting the answer. Then he swung about and pointed dramatically up river. ‘The centaur was heading in that direction,’ he said, ‘and it has left this strange spoor for us to follow. So follow it we shall!’
Johnny and Becky exchanged amused glances. It was probably the only thing to do, but Becky doubted that Silenus had any idea just how fast a farm trike could travel.
‘What is up the river anyway?’ she asked. ‘I mean, do you have any idea where this centaur thing might be going?’
Silenus considered the question.
‘I do not know,’ he said, ‘where it might be going. There is little up the river to find, but then who knows the mind of a centaur or what purpose it has? The river flows through this valley for some miles after coming out of a narrow gorge. We will see the bluffs soon as we follow this spoor.’
The Enchanted Flute Page 9
