“That’s the stuff, that’s what I’m after; bet there’s a few Froghopper Nymphs in that lot,” he muttered, smiling to himself.
“Watcha got there, bug boy?”
Roger jumped a foot out of his skin!
“Yeah, watcha got there, eh? Watcha talkin’ to yerself about, Bugsy?” cackled another of the gathering gang of jeering and dangerous-looking yobs.
“Yer gone cuckoo or sumfin?”
Roger had been bent over, half hidden in the bush, keenly concentrating on his search and been so intent on his task, he’d been oblivious to anything else in the world around him.
“Wh-wh-what d-d-do you want?” he stammered, looking around in sudden alarm.
(His being shy and having a stutter as well, especially when he was nervous or scared, didn’t help matters at all.)
He saw a large, leering youth standing over him with a mocking sneer on his pudgy, dirty face. Roger recognized Sid the Squid, one of the local louts from the infamous Cold Arbor Gang, who plagued the streets of the Council Estate in nearby Eltingham. And there were several more he recognized too, from his school, who were quickly gathering around him.
There were about a dozen of them now, all sneering down at him as they maneuvered and surrounded the bush he’d been caught in the middle of. They must have been silently tracking him for quite some time; enjoying their very own, ‘bug-hunt.’
“Come on then, Bug-baby, let’s be ’avin’ yer,” called out another of the belligerent bullies, from just behind him.
Roger jumped again, confused, turning from one threatening dirty face to another as they gathered ever closer, ready to pounce on him at any moment.
“Been sneezin’ yer snooty snot all over the woods, ‘ave yer?” said a third, giggling and pointing downwards towards a large glob of the Cuckoo Spit.
This one he also recognized. This was the actual leader of the Cold Arbor Gang, known as Josh the Cosh. And a nastier and a meaner brute of a bully you’d never be likely to meet.
Roger looked from snarling face to snarling face. He was surrounded, his blood thumped in his temples, his heart was racing, and panic was bubbling in his throat. He was trapped!
Then, all at once, without thinking, he suddenly acted. He blindly charged past the fat boy, Sid the Squid, swiping his bug-catcher net swiftly and deftly over Sid’s bulbous head.
He saw that there was only one thing he could possibly do.
Run!
Mary had gotten about halfway on her journey to the River Quaggy; The forbidden boundary that she wasn’t allowed to cross; the clear dividing line between the Good Wood and Bad Wood. But it was there, close to the banks of the Quaggy she knew the rarest of herbs and flowers were to be found; including, of course, the much sought-after White-Willow Bark.
She’d long suspected that across the river, she’d find even stranger and more potent plants, but she’d never wanted to go against her Gran’s wishes and so had always obeyed and kept to the south side of the river. Always. She knew her Gran was far wiser than her in such things.
Still, she couldn’t help thinking that maybe, just maybe, one day the temptation would prove too much and that maybe, just maybe, that day could be today!
Mary was now quietly singing to herself as she walked along, picking the odd herb here and there as she went, but mainly intent on getting to the Quaggy’s riverbank. The Good Wood was green and peaceful, with a soft, warm sun sprinkling lazily down through the leafy trees, spilling pools of light and shadow on the springy, flower-strewn turf at her feet. A few birds chirped and whistled, and the insects hummed in happy chorus all about her. Mother Nature was smiling on her and Mary was smiling back. Then without warning:
Crash!
A body suddenly hurtled toward her, straight through a thicket of brambles and ferns, his hands waving wildly about, clutching a satchel in one hand and a magnifying glass in the other. He’d come out of the blue, at breakneck speed, and had slammed right into her!
“Oh, my goo…!” was all she had time to say.
She’d fleetingly recognized the boy as Roger, a boy she knew from school, but who she’d never spoken to before. He’d always seemed so posh and aloof and… well, so preoccupied. Now her sudden introduction was proving to be a lot more painful than she’d have liked.
Roger had slammed straight into her, thumping her with a sudden and forceful wumphh!
She was badly winded and immediately bowled over onto the ground, with all her belongings scattered to the winds. She lay flat on her back, dazed and awkwardly entangled in a flattened dogwood bush, with Roger on top of her.
Luckily the bush had cushioned her fall. However, not so luckily for her, she’d done the same for Roger. He looked at her wide-eyed and dumbstruck, feeling dazed and dishevelled, with his round-lensed glasses hanging off of one ear.
“Awf, awf, awfully s-s-s-sorry!” Roger stammered to her, as he lay there, trying to recover his legs, his belongings, and his dented dignity. “B-b-beg your p-p-pardon. I didn’t see you; I’m s-s-so… s-s-s-sorry!”
“Oh, shut up!” snapped Mary. “You sound like a cross between a wet dog and a dry snake! Just get off of me, will you? Where are my…?”
At that point, she became quiet, realizing that in all the confusion, she had totally failed to hear the loutish bullies now silently surrounding them. She saw Josh and his gang standing there, laughing and watching her embarrassing collision and consequent entanglement with Roger and the bush, with much sadistic amusement.
There were about a dozen of the thugs, all two or three years older than Roger and herself, leering menacingly down at the two of them, and with snarlingly pleased and evil grins on their dirty faces.
Their leader, the black-haired, black leather-jacketed thug, Josh, was the first to approach.
“Well, well, well, what do we ‘ave ‘ere then?” he said jeeringly.
He loomed over them and prodded Roger roughly in the ribs with a big black boot.
“If it isn’t our good ol’ friend Brainiac Briggs! Got yerself a girlfriend ‘ave yer then, ol’ Bug Boy?”
Roger remained silent and just lay there, clutching his satchel tightly while trying to get his glasses back on to his face.
Mary, meanwhile, was pushing him off of her and was still feeling very cross with him. She hadn’t had time, as yet, to get to grips with the leering gang of bullies surrounding them.
“’Ere you go, missy,” said Josh, extending a grubby hand to her, which she just ignored. She didn’t like the look of this grinning gargoyle of a greasy haired youth at all.
“Let’s ’elp you up an’ dust yer down, shall we? We carn’t ’av’ these thoughtless thickos like ol’ Brainiac Briggs ‘ere, chargin’ around an’ knockin’ over damsels in distress like you, darlin’, now can we?” he persisted, oozing soothingly to her.
He then leaned over her, hands on hips and arms arrogantly akimbo. “You can call me Josh, Josh the Cosh, darlin’,” he continued, “an’ this ‘ere’s me gang.” He then flung an arm out in an all-embracing arc, introducing said gang. “This one ‘ere’s Sid the Squid; ‘ee likes squeezing things tight. Then ‘ere’s the Dawson twins, Digger an’ Delver, coz they do like to pick at their ‘orrible noses an’ flick boogies everywhere. Disgusting, ain’t they?” He smiled at her smarmily, then brusquely demanded, “Come on then darlin’, let’s be ‘avin’ yer upright, an’ I’ll introduce the rest o’ these fine gentlemens to ya.”
The rest of the gang just leered and chuckled in ignorant appreciation.
Mary was getting the idea that there was really something quite nasty and dangerous about these uncouth youths, and especially with this toothy and slyly grinning, black-jacketed Josh. She had heard of him and his gang, but like Roger, their paths had not directly crossed before.