lot were talking about? Up at Clipston?”
Alan, the smallest of the boys sat on the bench, felt a sinking feeling in his stomach at the words, although he couldn’t have said why. He looked to his left at Duncan, but Duncan was already grinning blankly in agreement with Mark. Whatever sudden disquiet had overtaken Alan was one Duncan obviously didn't share.
Someone say no , Alan thought.
“But I thought you couldn’t get in any more,” Tom said, pulling his sweaty white t-shirt away from his chest. “I mean, that’s what Gordon Ross told Mickey and Mickey told me.”
“So?” Mark said, with annoyance. “So? Have we got anything else to do? I don’t want to sit here all day with you pussies. Anyway, maybe we’ll get it open.”
“But it’s miles to Clipston!” Tom protested, and Alan felt his heart sink. Tom always moaned when physical activity was suggested, but Mark always goaded him into it by referring to his weight. If that was the only argument Tom had then the matter was as good as settled. Mark stood and stretched his back in a curiously adult and weary manner, and Tom got up slowly too, grumbling. Duncan rose without commenting and waited passively.
Just let them go without you , Alan thought, still with no idea of why Mark's suggestion had made him feel so tense. Mark turned to look at him, and beneath the humour of his words Alan saw real anger in his dark eyes:
“You coming, jerk?” he said, and Alan suddenly saw why Mark was angry – he was uneasy himself, and angry at his own unease.
“Sure I’m coming,” Alan said, standing up.
***
Clipston was a small village of about fifteen houses at most, about two miles from the larger village where the boys all lived. It was largely unknown territory to them because there were no kids in the small community, so none of them had reason to go there. Besides, there was nothing there. Alan had once been up to the woods nearby because he'd heard there was a badger set, but he’d never heard anything about an air raid shelter.
There was a path across the fields to Clipston, but to get to it the boys had to walk past Alan’s house.
Alan's mum was in the front garden weeding as they idled past. She looked up squinting in the sun, and waved them over.
"Hi," she said still on her knees, smiling. Alan muttered a greeting back; his parents always embarrassed him somehow and he was edgy to get away. He knew his mum would probably put a stop to their trip to some abandoned air raid shelter if she knew about it, and while he wanted not to go, he didn't want the reason to be because his mother forbade him to.
"Hello Mrs Dean," Mark said - like many bullies he was conscientiously polite to the parents of those he tormented. Tom and Duncan hung back looking uncomfortable; Alan hadn't realised before how much Tom smelt , but now he was stood awkwardly in front of his mother he was aware of the stink of BO on the air behind.
Alan's mum politely said hello back to Mark, but her smile had hardened. Alan knew she thought his friends two troublemakers and an idiot. She was probably right. But he had the vague feeling that he should be allowed to stick to his choices, good or bad.
"What are you up to darling?" she said brightly, and Alan almost winced. He could picture the others smiling behind him - none of their parents called them "darling". It was embarrassing, just like the fact that both his parents were also teachers. It wasn't fair.
"We're just going up to Clipston," he said reluctantly. "Just for summit to do."
"Something," she corrected absently. She always corrected him when he spoke in the same way as the kids from the mining estate. But how could it be wrong when everyone spoke like that?
"You boys be careful," she continued. "You know what happened to that boy who disappeared," she said, although they didn't know; no one did. "So you all be careful."
"We'll be careful," Mark said before Alan could answer. She smiled up at him looking
Alan, the smallest of the boys sat on the bench, felt a sinking feeling in his stomach at the words, although he couldn’t have said why. He looked to his left at Duncan, but Duncan was already grinning blankly in agreement with Mark. Whatever sudden disquiet had overtaken Alan was one Duncan obviously didn't share.
Someone say no , Alan thought.
“But I thought you couldn’t get in any more,” Tom said, pulling his sweaty white t-shirt away from his chest. “I mean, that’s what Gordon Ross told Mickey and Mickey told me.”
“So?” Mark said, with annoyance. “So? Have we got anything else to do? I don’t want to sit here all day with you pussies. Anyway, maybe we’ll get it open.”
“But it’s miles to Clipston!” Tom protested, and Alan felt his heart sink. Tom always moaned when physical activity was suggested, but Mark always goaded him into it by referring to his weight. If that was the only argument Tom had then the matter was as good as settled. Mark stood and stretched his back in a curiously adult and weary manner, and Tom got up slowly too, grumbling. Duncan rose without commenting and waited passively.
Just let them go without you , Alan thought, still with no idea of why Mark's suggestion had made him feel so tense. Mark turned to look at him, and beneath the humour of his words Alan saw real anger in his dark eyes:
“You coming, jerk?” he said, and Alan suddenly saw why Mark was angry – he was uneasy himself, and angry at his own unease.
“Sure I’m coming,” Alan said, standing up.
***
Clipston was a small village of about fifteen houses at most, about two miles from the larger village where the boys all lived. It was largely unknown territory to them because there were no kids in the small community, so none of them had reason to go there. Besides, there was nothing there. Alan had once been up to the woods nearby because he'd heard there was a badger set, but he’d never heard anything about an air raid shelter.
There was a path across the fields to Clipston, but to get to it the boys had to walk past Alan’s house.
Alan's mum was in the front garden weeding as they idled past. She looked up squinting in the sun, and waved them over.
"Hi," she said still on her knees, smiling. Alan muttered a greeting back; his parents always embarrassed him somehow and he was edgy to get away. He knew his mum would probably put a stop to their trip to some abandoned air raid shelter if she knew about it, and while he wanted not to go, he didn't want the reason to be because his mother forbade him to.
"Hello Mrs Dean," Mark said - like many bullies he was conscientiously polite to the parents of those he tormented. Tom and Duncan hung back looking uncomfortable; Alan hadn't realised before how much Tom smelt , but now he was stood awkwardly in front of his mother he was aware of the stink of BO on the air behind.
Alan's mum politely said hello back to Mark, but her smile had hardened. Alan knew she thought his friends two troublemakers and an idiot. She was probably right. But he had the vague feeling that he should be allowed to stick to his choices, good or bad.
"What are you up to darling?" she said brightly, and Alan almost winced. He could picture the others smiling behind him - none of their parents called them "darling". It was embarrassing, just like the fact that both his parents were also teachers. It wasn't fair.
"We're just going up to Clipston," he said reluctantly. "Just for summit to do."
"Something," she corrected absently. She always corrected him when he spoke in the same way as the kids from the mining estate. But how could it be wrong when everyone spoke like that?
"You boys be careful," she continued. "You know what happened to that boy who disappeared," she said, although they didn't know; no one did. "So you all be careful."
"We'll be careful," Mark said before Alan could answer. She smiled up at him looking
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