I turned my attention to the sweep of hill before me. Where the quarry had once been there was now only a sunken crater filled with scraggly brown grass, the dead land all that remained of the landfill site. Green grass crept up to the crater’s edge and waved at its dead kin.
I wiped the rain from my eyes, felt the sting of tears.
An invisible sun was burning in a clear blue sky as we snaked along the path that circled the brickworks and down towards the quarry. Beads of sweat bubbled on my forehead and I could feel my T-shirt sticking to my back. Rob walked a few paces ahead of me, kicking a football, red dust swirling around his ankles and sticking to his calves.
At the front of the building a group of men were standing on the loading dock. They were stripped to the waist and their torsos glowed red in the light from the kiln. Steam clouded above their shoulders and trousers heavy with sweat hung low on their hips. They looked like the newly dead at the gates of Hell.
As we reached the dirt track that led to the quarry itself, we saw Tom Dillon down by the water’s edge. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but he looked to be watching something in the water. Rob held his finger to his lips and gestured for me to follow him.
Tom Dillon was a weak child and consequently natural prey to anyone with muscles to flex. He was also well-off, and to someone like Rob, who never had anything of his own, well, that was like taking money out of Rob’s own pocket. And Rob wasn’t too subtle about hiding that resentment. One winter he had severed Tom’s earlobe with a piece of shale hidden in a snowball, drops of blood bursting on the ground like brilliant red flowers. And the previous spring he had chased Tom through the cemetery with a fresh oak sapling torn from the ground, flicking it at his back until welts rose in the skin that looked like worms buried in his flesh.
I scrambled after Rob as he climbed the side of the quarry and into the thick bracken that grew along its edge. We crawled further up the hill until we had a good view of Tom. I looked at the water, slick with oil; ripples carried rainbows to the shore. The raft that Rob and I had built the previous summer had been dragged onto the far bank, the dry warped planks the bleached bones of a giant skeleton.
“What’s he doing?” said Rob.
Tom was sitting on his haunches and fiddling with something on the floor in front of him. He had his back to us. The ground by his feet was wet and there were footprints leading to the pond, as if he had been in the water.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I can’t see anything.”
“What is it?”
I shook my head.
Just then Tom shifted to the right and I caught sight of the object in his hands.
“Looks like a boat,” I said. “A speedboat.”
“A what?” Rob looked at me with quizzical eyes.
“You know. Remote control.” I mimed the joystick.
“Hey,” he said slowly, “let’s go take a look.”
Rob climbed over the edge of the quarry and ran down the slope, digging his heels into the shale to keep from tumbling over. At the bottom he paused briefly, wiping his palms on the seat of his jeans, before crossing towards Tom. His shoulders were held artificially high and I sensed something nasty was about to happen.
I ran down the slope, fitting my footsteps to the grooves left by Rob, and walked towards them. But something held me back, an intruder in their private drama, and I pulled up short. I shielded my eyes against the sun.
Tom was explaining how the boat worked. It sounded simple enough — two-speed gearbox, forward/reverse switch, joystick — and Rob appeared to be listening. But after a moment I saw a change in the light in his eyes, the way a candle will flicker and then right itself when someone leaves the room, and I wanted to shout at Tom, tell him to run.
Lesson over, Tom took the boat over to the pond and carefully placed it in the water. Rob followed, eager to see the boat in action. I stayed put, a reluctant spectator, my heart thumping in my chest, the sound of blood swirling in my ears.
The boat kicked out a few bubbles and started to move away from the shore, but after a moment its movements didn’t tie in with the way Tom was rattling the controls, his fingers knuckled white in frustration.
“It’s jammed,” he said. His eyes flicked between the boat and the controls.
Rob reached out a hand. “Here, let me,” he said.
Tom whipped the controls away and turned his back on Rob. “No!” he snapped. “It’s mine.” He continued to work the controls frantically, his eyes off the boat.
“C’mon, it’s going to crash,” shouted Rob, pointing towards the boat.
Then, without warning, he snatched at the remote and knocked it to the ground. The boat responded to the violent command by cutting its engine. Within seconds it came to a halt.
Tom immediately picked up the remote and wiped it clean with the palm of his hand. He gave it a gentle shake. A muted rattle told us something was broken.
The boat drifted in a slow arc thirty feet from the shore.
Tom looked at the boat and then back at Rob. “What did you do that for?” he said. His words sounded as if they were being squeezed out of his throat and tears welled up in his eyes. “You’ve broken it... I only got it on Saturday.”
A sneer appeared on Rob’s face. “It’s not broken you little fuckin’ cry baby. Here, give it to me.” He held out his hand for the remote. “Let me have a go.”
Tom put his hands behind his back.
Rob looked at his face, at the tears streaking the dusty cheeks. “C’mon...” he said, trying to reach around Tom for the remote.
I couldn’t watch it any more. I walked to the edge of the pond and picked up a couple of chunks of shale, thick plates about the size of my hand. I took a step forward and hefted one into the water. It landed with a slap about ten feet from the boat. Ripples shot out but the boat didn’t move any closer.
“What are you doing?” squealed Tom. He ran over to me and slapped the other piece of shale out of my hand.
“Hey, we’re trying to get your boat back, all right?” I said, holding up my hands.
“You’ll break it.”
I dropped to my haunches and reached for another piece of shale. “The waves’ll push it to shore,” I explained.
Just then a loud splash echoed around the quarry. A drop of oily water hit me on the forehead. I saw Tom touch the back of his head and then quickly turn around, his eyes scanning the water.
Small waves lapped at the shore, the shale hissing as the water pulled back. Towards the centre, tiny bubbles broke on the surface.
“Where’s my boat?” screamed Tom. He ran to the pool, the toes of his baseball boots in the water. “Where’s the fuckin’ boat?” He turned to Rob. “What’ve you done? Where is it?”
“It was only a fuckin’ boat.” Rob was holding a piece of shale in his hands. He turned to walk away. “No big deal. I’m sure Daddy’ll buy you another.”
Tom grabbed his arm, pulled him back. “You’re mad. Fuckin’ mad. Just because you never have anything...” He stopped abruptly, took a step closer. He struggled to keep his voice under control as he focused all his anger into his next words. “Man, you even live in a stolen house!”
I saw Rob’s eyes flare with a demonic iridescence. He lifted his arm to the side of his head, and then with a force that came from deep within, he brought his hand and the chunk of shale down on the side of Tom’s head.
I walked back down the hill, my boots dragging through the grass. The morning dew had yet to burn off and my feet felt damp and heavy. I reached the car and sat for a long while just staring out of the window, thinking of the cheap life I had lived, afraid to enter my imagination for fear of what I might find.
I put the car in gear and headed into the village. It had begun to cloud over and I could taste rain in the air.