–That’s just to let us think she isn’t in the front room looking out all the time.
We weren’t scared of her.
–She can’t make us eat anything.
That was the only way she could get us, by poisoning us. She didn’t know any other way. She wasn’t small and wrinkly enough to be frightening. She was bigger than my ma. Big women—not big, fat ones—big women were normal. Little ones were dangerous; little women and big men.
She had no children.
–She ate them.
–No, she didn’t!
That was going too far.
Kevin’s brother knew why.
–Mister Quigley couldn’t get his mickey to go hard.
We never went over the wall. I told my parents this when Missis Quigley complained to them about me. She’d never done anything before. They did their usual, made me stay in my bedroom till they were good and ready to deal with me. I hated it; it worked. They made me stay in there for hours. I had all my stuff in the room with me, my books and my cars and stuff, but I couldn’t concentrate on the sentences in the books and it was stupid to be playing with my Dinkies when I was about to be hammered by my da—it was Saturday. I didn’t want to be on the floor playing when he came in; I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. I wanted to look right. I wanted it to look like I’d already learnt my lesson. It was getting dark but I didn’t go near the light switch. It was too near the door. I sat on the bed in the corner made by the walls. I shivered. I let my teeth chatter. My jaws went sore.
–Explain yourself.
It was a terrible question, a trap; everything I’d say was wrong.
–Explain yourself I said.
–I didn’t do any—
–I’ll decide that, said my da.—Go on.
–I didn’t do anything.
–You must have.
–I didn’t, I said.
There was a gap. He stared at my left eye, then my right one.
–I didn’t, I said.—Honest.
–Then why did Missis Quigley come all the way down here—
It was only five doors.
–to complain about you?
–I don’t know; it wasn’t me.
–What wasn’t you?
–What she said.
–What did she say?
–I don’t know. I didn’t do anything, I swear, Dad. Dad. Cross my heart and hope to die. Look.
I crossed my heart. I did it all the time; nothing ever happened and I was usually lying.
I wasn’t lying this time, though. I hadn’t done anything. It was Kevin who broke her window.
–She must have had a reason, said my da.
Things were going well. He wasn’t in the right mood, when he wanted to hit me. He was being fair.
–She prob’ly thinks I did something, I said.
–But you didn’t.
–Yeah.
–You say.
–Yeah.
–Say Yes.
–Yes.
That was the only thing my ma said. Say yes.
–I only—
I wasn’t sure if this was right—wise—but it was too late to stop; I could tell from his face. My ma sat up when I started speaking and looked at my da. I thought about changing, and telling him about Missis Quigley poisoning Mister Quigley, but I didn’t. My da wasn’t like that; he didn’t believe things.
–I only sat on the wall, I said.
He could have hit me then. He spoke.
–Well, don’t sit on her wall. Again. Okay?
–Yeah.
–Yes, said my ma.
–Yes.
Nothing else; that was it. He looked around for something to do, to get away. He plugged in the record player. His back was turned; I could go. An innocent man. Wrongly convicted. Trained birds while I was in jail and became an expert on them.
Liam’s howling stuck us to the grass; we couldn’t move. I couldn’t touch him or run away. The howl went into me; I was part of it. I was helpless. I couldn’t even fall.
He was dying.
He had to be.
Somebody had to come.
The hedge he fell out of wasn’t Missis Quigley’s. It had nothing to do with Missis Quigley. It was the only really big hedge on our road. Liam and Aidan’s was bigger and branchier but they didn’t live on our road; they lived off it. This one grew quicker than the others, and it had smaller leaves that weren’t as shiny or as green as normal. The leaves were nearly not green at all; the backs of them were grey. Most of the hedges weren’t that big; the houses weren’t old enough. Only this hedge; it was the last jump, we kept it till last.
The hedge was in the Hanleys’ front garden. It was their hedge. It was Mister Hanley’s. He did everything in the garden. They had a pond in their back, but with nothing in it. There used to be goldfish but they froze to death.
–He just left them in there till they rotted.
I didn’t believe that.
–Floating.
I didn’t believe it. Mister Hanley was always in his garden, picking up things, bits of leaf, slugs—he picked them up with his hand; I saw him. His bare hands. He was always digging, leaning in near the wall. I saw a hand when I was going to the shops, Mister Hanley’s hand, on the wall, holding himself up as he dug; only his hand. I tried to get past before he stood up, but I couldn’t run—I could only walk fast. I wasn’t trying not to let him see me; I wasn’t scared of him; I just did it. He didn’t know I was doing it. I once saw him lying down in the front garden, on his back. His feet were in the flower bed. I waited to see if he was dead; then I was afraid someone was looking at me through the window. When I came back Mister Hanley was gone. He didn’t have a job.
–Why not?
–He’s retired, said my ma.
–Why is he?
That was why he had the best garden in Barrytown and that was why invading the Hanleys’ garden was the biggest dare of all. And that was why the Grand National ended there. Over the hedge, up, through the gate, the winner. Liam hadn’t been winning.
In a way, winning was easiest. The winner was the first out onto the path. Mister Hanley couldn’t get you there, or his sons, Billy and Laurence. It was the ones that came over the hedge last that were in the biggest danger. Mister Hanley just gave out and spits flew out of his mouth; there was always white stuff in the corners. A lot of old people had mouths like that. Billy Hanley and especially Laurence Hanley killed you if they got you.
–It’s about time those two slobs went and got married or something.
–Who’d have them?
Laurence Hanley was fat but he was fast. He grabbed us by the hair. He was the only person I knew who did that. It was weird, a man grabbing people by the hair. He did it because he was fat and he couldn’t fight properly. He was evil as well. His fingers were stiff and like daggers, much worse than a punch. Four stabs on the side of your chest, while he was holding you up straight with your hair.
–Get out of our garden.
One more for good measure, then he let go.
–Now—stay out!
Sometimes he kicked but he couldn’t get his leg up far. He sweated through his trousers.
There were ten fences in the Grand National. All the walls of the front gardens were the same height, the exact same, but the hedges and the trees made them different. And the gardens between the fences, we had to charge across them; pushing was allowed in the gardens, but not pulling or tripping. It was mad; it was brilliant. We started in Ian McEvoy’s garden, a straight line for us. There was no handicapping; no one was allowed to start in front of the rest. No one would have wanted it anyway, because you needed a good run at the first wall and no one was going to stand in the next garden alone, waiting for the race to start. It was Byrne’s. Missis Byrne had a black lens in her glasses. Specky Three Eyes she was called, but that was the only funny thing about her.