noise, the kind you make when you surface from a bad dream. She was surprised that he should be so upset by a dead bird. But then she saw the pheasant gliding, tar-black, into the distance, and she knew something was wrong. She moved towards the hedge. David walked past her in the opposite direction, coughing and heaving.
A child lay behind the hawthorn. Louisa had already worked with animals long enough to know death when she saw it. She did not beg the child to wake, or reach through the thorns to shake him. She walked briskly to the gate, went through to the other side, and examined the body.
The gun had a tight choke. Shot had ruptured the right eye, and smashed the skull like damp wood. There had been no time to scream. Louisa looked with some wonder at the boy’s left ear, which was perfect and intricate, untouched by the damage.
The disturbance which finally pierced Louisa’s shock was a rapidly growing sense that she recognised the boy. How could this be? He wore scruffy clothes: a ragged little coat, grey shorts, socks pulled up to the knees. She guessed him to be five years old. He was weak and dirty. She lifted his left eyelid and saw the stunning brown eye of Anna Cliff. The breath went out of her. But they had taken the children away from her years ago, hadn’t they? Louisa could not understand. ‘Shouldn’t be here,’ she said. Blood ran from the child’s nose, down the side of his face.
Louisa went back to the gate to find David walking away, the gun and his cricket bag lying in the grass.
When she caught up with him, he seemed calm, but he began to cry freely and horribly the moment he looked at her. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he said. He spoke violently through his tears, like he was issuing a command, as though, she thought later, he could drive the feeling away. She took him by the shoulders to stop him walking and he dropped to his knees, taking her down with him. He convulsed against her. ‘Maybe he was already dead. Maybe it wasn’t me,’ he said. They both knew better. The blood was fresh. There was no doubt. ‘No, David,’ Louisa said.
‘We’ll lose everything,’ David said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
Louisa rubbed the bones in his lower back, then pulled out his shirt from his trousers, and rubbed the bones again, her hands on his skin. She kissed him on the neck, on the line of his jaw, feeling for the first time the shoots of stubble against her lips.
Once she had made her decision, the flush of power within her was thrilling. ‘Pick up your bag, David. Leave the gun in the grass. Pick up your bag, and go home. Get out of here. Don’t say a word to anyone.’
He tensed for a moment and then gradually broke away from her embrace. He held his breath. She watched him stand up, collect his bag, and walk away across the fields, giving himself time to regain composure. When he had gone, Louisa began to run with her eyes closed. She crossed the canal bridge, ran along the bridleway, and emerged onto the road to find that the world, with its cars and pavements, continued to exist.
She calmed herself in the phonebox by reading the spiky letters carved into the black metal of the coin tray. The initials of lovers. She dialled the emergency services, another flash of power running up through her legs. When the call was answered she licked her cold lips. It was hard to form the shape of the words, but she did. ‘I’ve killed a boy,’ she said.
N INE
In late November, Maggie and Louisa rescued Diamond from a pond, where he had bound onto a duck. They arrived back at Drum Hill bedraggled but in high spirits. In the cold hallway, Maggie took off her boots and jeans. Her wet socks slapped against the stone floor. ‘You’re completely dry!’ Maggie said, pointing at Louisa.
‘That’s because I wear proper boots, waterproof trousers and a technical coat,’ Louisa said, smiling.
‘ A technical coat ,’ Maggie said, with a wry nod. She took off her top,
A child lay behind the hawthorn. Louisa had already worked with animals long enough to know death when she saw it. She did not beg the child to wake, or reach through the thorns to shake him. She walked briskly to the gate, went through to the other side, and examined the body.
The gun had a tight choke. Shot had ruptured the right eye, and smashed the skull like damp wood. There had been no time to scream. Louisa looked with some wonder at the boy’s left ear, which was perfect and intricate, untouched by the damage.
The disturbance which finally pierced Louisa’s shock was a rapidly growing sense that she recognised the boy. How could this be? He wore scruffy clothes: a ragged little coat, grey shorts, socks pulled up to the knees. She guessed him to be five years old. He was weak and dirty. She lifted his left eyelid and saw the stunning brown eye of Anna Cliff. The breath went out of her. But they had taken the children away from her years ago, hadn’t they? Louisa could not understand. ‘Shouldn’t be here,’ she said. Blood ran from the child’s nose, down the side of his face.
Louisa went back to the gate to find David walking away, the gun and his cricket bag lying in the grass.
When she caught up with him, he seemed calm, but he began to cry freely and horribly the moment he looked at her. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he said. He spoke violently through his tears, like he was issuing a command, as though, she thought later, he could drive the feeling away. She took him by the shoulders to stop him walking and he dropped to his knees, taking her down with him. He convulsed against her. ‘Maybe he was already dead. Maybe it wasn’t me,’ he said. They both knew better. The blood was fresh. There was no doubt. ‘No, David,’ Louisa said.
‘We’ll lose everything,’ David said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
Louisa rubbed the bones in his lower back, then pulled out his shirt from his trousers, and rubbed the bones again, her hands on his skin. She kissed him on the neck, on the line of his jaw, feeling for the first time the shoots of stubble against her lips.
Once she had made her decision, the flush of power within her was thrilling. ‘Pick up your bag, David. Leave the gun in the grass. Pick up your bag, and go home. Get out of here. Don’t say a word to anyone.’
He tensed for a moment and then gradually broke away from her embrace. He held his breath. She watched him stand up, collect his bag, and walk away across the fields, giving himself time to regain composure. When he had gone, Louisa began to run with her eyes closed. She crossed the canal bridge, ran along the bridleway, and emerged onto the road to find that the world, with its cars and pavements, continued to exist.
She calmed herself in the phonebox by reading the spiky letters carved into the black metal of the coin tray. The initials of lovers. She dialled the emergency services, another flash of power running up through her legs. When the call was answered she licked her cold lips. It was hard to form the shape of the words, but she did. ‘I’ve killed a boy,’ she said.
N INE
In late November, Maggie and Louisa rescued Diamond from a pond, where he had bound onto a duck. They arrived back at Drum Hill bedraggled but in high spirits. In the cold hallway, Maggie took off her boots and jeans. Her wet socks slapped against the stone floor. ‘You’re completely dry!’ Maggie said, pointing at Louisa.
‘That’s because I wear proper boots, waterproof trousers and a technical coat,’ Louisa said, smiling.
‘ A technical coat ,’ Maggie said, with a wry nod. She took off her top,
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