‘They found the boy in the early hours. It was dark but they had his dogs with them. A couple of scent hounds, I don’t know what sort, and they found him soon enough, darkness or no darkness. He was bundled up amongst the leaves with his coat laid over him like a shroud. Someone had laid it over his face, and I can see why: when we peeled it back his eyes were wide open, like they are sometimes, you know, on dead things. Animals, birds, people, the same. Wide open in astonishment; much wider than the eyelids could ever stretch in real life, like the lad wanted to capture all he could of the world, like he wanted to take a still image of that pretty little wood, the light coming through the trees, the little flowers beneath the ash and oaks, capture it and take it with him. Just that one still, wide-eyed picture. He used that last few seconds to fill his eyes with colour. But the colour from him had gone. And whatever shades he still held in his eyes, there were none in his skin. We knew he were dead right away. Wide, gaping eyes. Filthy, bruised and puckered neck. Scraps of brown leaves and moss in his mouth and stuck between his fine, white teeth. A dead man, no mistaking. Gorman was still there in the clearing. He’d stayed after the fight and the fair and after the carousing and after everyone else had left. He were sleeping overnight in the front of his van with the fish in their buckets and basins glugging around in the back. We lifted the lad between us. A long lanky thing, he was, but there were enough of us to manage. I took the middle part. I hoisted up his midriff while others took his head and feet. Damian wandt holding the lad’s head well enough. He had him more by the shoulders and his neck was bent back. I remember worrying that his bobbing head would snap his neck right through. Not that that can happen in that way but I remember worrying about it. And I were worried that that thick hair of his, longer now than when I last saw him, would get caught in the bracken as we cut a path for him back to the clearing. But we made it all right, and I reminded myself that dead things don’t mind about a bit of hair pulling like the living would. And dead things don’t worry like I do. Back in the clearing we found Gorman in his fish van and we rapped on the windows of the driving seat to wake him. Put him in the back of the van, we did. Back there with the barrels of living fish. Living, but all as cold as the dead boy. We laid him out in the centre with all the barrels of fish around him, like he was their dinner, laid out on a table in their midst for them to enjoy. I’ve seen a fully grown pike take a man’s finger in its mouth and draw blood. Vicious creatures. So there he was. And we cleaned him up a bit before driving him back to the manor and his father. All we had was cold water in a bucket and an old bar of soap but my lad did the best job he could, scrubbing and scouring at his skin. Skin softer than any of us working men, softer than any fighting man. A gentleman, in one sense. We got most of the dirt off him, and drove him to the manor with the fish slopping about in the back of the van. I can’t deny he looked like his usual pretty self once he was clean. And when he saw his boy it was like Price was falling in love with him all over again, like he was seeing his beautiful son for the first time. I never thought he was a tender man, or that he could love like that. Men surprise you.’
Daddy spoke. ‘He is a father like other fathers.’
‘Quite. But his tenderness turned to anger soon enough, I can tell you that. His sorrow curdled. And now it’s vengeance.’
‘Aye.’
‘Aye. He already has turned it on you. He already has his target. He was calling out your name like a baying buck. I believe you, John. You’re a man of your word and you have no reason to lie to the likes of me. But if you think Price is going to talk it out you’re mistaken. The only reason he’s not up here already is because his men handt arrived at the manor yet. His thugs, I mean. The ones who’ll be coming to collect you. He’s sent for them and they’ll come soon enough. Today, certainly. You’d be well advised not to be here. This is what I am trying to say to you, John. This is why I came up here. It was hard enough to slip away and Price will wonder where I’ve gone, but you’re a good man. You’re a good father and your children are sweet things. You must go. You and the kids must leave.’
‘This is our home. It is our house and it is their land.’
‘It doendt matter, John. Go. Go where he can’t find you. That’ll be far from here. What else can you do? You know very well that there’s nothing you can do. You’re the strongest man I have ever met. The strongest and the fastest and the cleverest man I have ever seen fight. But when ten men come here and point guns at your head your muscles don’t count for a damn thing. Neither do your wits. There’s nowt you can do at this point but run.’
Daddy made no answer. My breathing had quickened without me noticing and my heart was pounding in my chest. I was suddenly aware of the noises my body was making, of how loud my body had become. I wondered if the men could hear my heart and my lungs through the door of my room. I hoped not. They were too far away and too engrossed in their conversation and the wind they could hear outside would mask the sound of the air in me. But I felt like I could now hear the blood in my veins, coursing through the tiny channels like rushing white water in a gorge. I felt like I could hear it roiling inside of me, almost trying to cut new paths within me, larger channels to the sea outside. I had been prone to nosebleeds when I was a child. I put my right hand up to my face to check, almost instinctively. Usually I would smell the sweetness of the blood but there was nothing to smell or feel or taste. I was fine.
Daddy and the man at the door exchanged a few muffled words then the man left. A deep engine stumbled into life and hummed into the distance as the man drove away.
Daddy filled his own vast lungs with air then released it with a sound like the wind rushing between a pair of mountains.
‘Daniel?’ he said, quietly. Perhaps he had known I had been hiding there all along but he could not have been sure how much I had heard. I turned my door handle slowly, still trying to be quiet about it even though there was now no need. Daddy’s was a dark silhouette in the dim hall light. The sun was still low in the sky and the edges of the trees outside were illuminated with bright precision.
I moved towards my father. ‘Do you need to leave, Daddy?’
He shook his head. He took me in his arms for a moment and held me tight. He stooped to kiss my forehead and I felt for a moment his lips, so supple and surprisingly soft, and the bristles of his beard, at once silken and prickly. He took hold of my shoulders and turned me back towards my bedroom then placed a hand at the small of my back and gave me a little push.
‘Sleep well, Danny. I will see you in the morning.’
V
I travel with Bill for days more. I am his company and he is mine. I am his succour. He is my warmth.
I search for her wherever we go. I search for her by the bus stations and by the railway tracks. I look at the adverts in shop windows. People with want for rooms, people with want for jobs. I do not have the courage to lose my faith. I bite at my fingernails as I stare out through the filthy panes of the lorry windows and scour the vertical and horizontal lines of concrete cityscapes for her familiar form.
Bill helps for a time, but finding my sister is not his main concern.
One night we take the lorry off the main roads, down some back lanes to spend the night in the quiet, away from the drill of rubber on tar. We jerk then sway back from side to side as the weighty wheels dip into deep potholes and fumble on the rocks propped against the verge. There is no light. Pitch dark. Few stars. No moon. An amber glow of electricity far off. And then our own headlights. And then a roe deer illuminated by our beacon. Caught. Stopping short. Stood right there before us and startled too, as we are. She is held as if preserved. As if dead, stuffed, posed. Glass eyes sewn into place. And what with her staring at us from behind glass, behind the windscreen, it is as if she has been placed in a museum with a natural habitat designed and built and painted for her.