Everything with Rick was funny, but they never, ever discussed that bit again.
Stonewall had felt sorry for the drowned man, later. He reckoned that if he drowned, he would be taken away and buried somewhere like the man was. His mum and dad wouldn't come to the funeral either. They'd be too busy.
Stonewall pounded on the door of Swamp Cottage, then opened it. There was a lock which was never used, nothing to steal; burglary was not a problem in the village, except recently, when it could be called the work of tourists or the ghost. The door led straight into a tiny scullery where only two dishes lurked in the sink and a fly buzzed at the window, down a step into a living room where a TV blared. Rick sat in an old sofa, his finger easing stuffing out a split in the arm as he gazed at the screen. The sight of the haversack on the floor and the bruises round the eyes threw Stonewall into a panic.
`You're not going, Rick? You're not going away, are you? Your dad'll kill you.' His voice was high with anxiety.
`He already tried,' Rick grunted. He got up, towering in the gloomy room, his head inches away from the ceiling as he ruffled the boy's hair. 'Don't fret, boy, it wasn't so bad. Only I might go on the boat tonight. Then again, I might not.'
`Can I come too?'
`Nope. Only in the mornings. Your mum'd miss you. God knows why.' Stonewall relaxed. If Rick was teasing, he must be all right. The boy took up occupation of the sofa and began to play with the stuffing, rolling flax between his fingers. He was utterly relieved to find Rick so normal, had news to impart which made him as full to bursting as three rounds of chips followed by chocolate.
`Tell you what, Rick, I just seen a ghost just now. I did, honest. A woman.'
Òh yeah?'
Ì saw this woman, see? Same one as I used to see, long time ago, when my dad started taking me out in the boat—'
Ànd you were scared to death of the water. Oh I remember that. You'd cry like some mating cat in heat, you would.' Rick taunted without malice. 'Wait a minute,' he added, still teasing, `you mean you saw one whole woman ugly enough to be a ghost? Just the one? There's dozens out there!' His laugh hit the rafters.
Ìt's the same one,' said the boy stubbornly, 'that came up out of the sand. She went down the creeks, drunk, her face mashed up. I was with Dad, he ticked me off for laughing at her. Course, that was MY body, the one I found with Dad, not the one I found with you. I'd never have remembered her if it wasn't for her stuff, with her picture in. Anyway, this one I just seen got the same red hair. Lots. Got to be a ghost. Or a twin?' He wilted under Rick's glare.
Stonewall could not resist the importance of being present at the finding of two bodies, made reference to it whenever he could. He'd been a cosseted celebrity in school twice over. Rick, on the other hand, had only ever found the one. A few dogs and cats down the creeks, a couple of swans poisoned by lead weights, a seal killed by massive fishing hooks, but only one corpse. It was the only feature of Stonewall's little life which gave him any superiority. He milked it.
`Red hair? You saw a ghost with red hair this morning, did you?' Rick jeered. Stonewall was deflated.
`Saw her this morning, when I went out looking for you. Saw her again, walking into town, with your girlfriend,' he said cunningly, but Rick only shrugged.
`That weren't no ghost, baby. That's a lawyer, so she says. Belongs out with those Pardoes. They could do with a gardener, never mind a lawyer. And Jo isn't my girlfriend.'
Òh no? Not what I heard,' said Stonewall, looking so much the little man. Rick wanted to laugh at him but hadn't the heart.
Ànyway, I follows them both. That's how I come to reckon the red one was a ghost. Your Joanna went in the grocer's; the ghost went in the doctor's. Just like that other one with the hair used to do, all the time. My Aunty Mary used to say it was shocking.'
Stonewall loved to be the purveyor of
Stonewall had felt sorry for the drowned man, later. He reckoned that if he drowned, he would be taken away and buried somewhere like the man was. His mum and dad wouldn't come to the funeral either. They'd be too busy.
Stonewall pounded on the door of Swamp Cottage, then opened it. There was a lock which was never used, nothing to steal; burglary was not a problem in the village, except recently, when it could be called the work of tourists or the ghost. The door led straight into a tiny scullery where only two dishes lurked in the sink and a fly buzzed at the window, down a step into a living room where a TV blared. Rick sat in an old sofa, his finger easing stuffing out a split in the arm as he gazed at the screen. The sight of the haversack on the floor and the bruises round the eyes threw Stonewall into a panic.
`You're not going, Rick? You're not going away, are you? Your dad'll kill you.' His voice was high with anxiety.
`He already tried,' Rick grunted. He got up, towering in the gloomy room, his head inches away from the ceiling as he ruffled the boy's hair. 'Don't fret, boy, it wasn't so bad. Only I might go on the boat tonight. Then again, I might not.'
`Can I come too?'
`Nope. Only in the mornings. Your mum'd miss you. God knows why.' Stonewall relaxed. If Rick was teasing, he must be all right. The boy took up occupation of the sofa and began to play with the stuffing, rolling flax between his fingers. He was utterly relieved to find Rick so normal, had news to impart which made him as full to bursting as three rounds of chips followed by chocolate.
`Tell you what, Rick, I just seen a ghost just now. I did, honest. A woman.'
Òh yeah?'
Ì saw this woman, see? Same one as I used to see, long time ago, when my dad started taking me out in the boat—'
Ànd you were scared to death of the water. Oh I remember that. You'd cry like some mating cat in heat, you would.' Rick taunted without malice. 'Wait a minute,' he added, still teasing, `you mean you saw one whole woman ugly enough to be a ghost? Just the one? There's dozens out there!' His laugh hit the rafters.
Ìt's the same one,' said the boy stubbornly, 'that came up out of the sand. She went down the creeks, drunk, her face mashed up. I was with Dad, he ticked me off for laughing at her. Course, that was MY body, the one I found with Dad, not the one I found with you. I'd never have remembered her if it wasn't for her stuff, with her picture in. Anyway, this one I just seen got the same red hair. Lots. Got to be a ghost. Or a twin?' He wilted under Rick's glare.
Stonewall could not resist the importance of being present at the finding of two bodies, made reference to it whenever he could. He'd been a cosseted celebrity in school twice over. Rick, on the other hand, had only ever found the one. A few dogs and cats down the creeks, a couple of swans poisoned by lead weights, a seal killed by massive fishing hooks, but only one corpse. It was the only feature of Stonewall's little life which gave him any superiority. He milked it.
`Red hair? You saw a ghost with red hair this morning, did you?' Rick jeered. Stonewall was deflated.
`Saw her this morning, when I went out looking for you. Saw her again, walking into town, with your girlfriend,' he said cunningly, but Rick only shrugged.
`That weren't no ghost, baby. That's a lawyer, so she says. Belongs out with those Pardoes. They could do with a gardener, never mind a lawyer. And Jo isn't my girlfriend.'
Òh no? Not what I heard,' said Stonewall, looking so much the little man. Rick wanted to laugh at him but hadn't the heart.
Ànyway, I follows them both. That's how I come to reckon the red one was a ghost. Your Joanna went in the grocer's; the ghost went in the doctor's. Just like that other one with the hair used to do, all the time. My Aunty Mary used to say it was shocking.'
Stonewall loved to be the purveyor of
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