On Bone Bridge Page 8

  “Will you be having a birthday concert again this year, Violet-May?” I asked anxiously.

  “Mummy says not,” said Violet-May. She pulled a face. “She says it’s too much trouble and she doesn’t want any fuss this year. It’s all Alexander’s fault – his crying is driving her mad.”

  And then I had an idea. “Why can’t we have a party at my house this year?” I said. “Then your mother wouldn’t have to fuss and we could invite your friends and my friends too.”

  “What, have my party at your house?” said Violet-May, pulling a face again.

  “It would be our party, yours as well as mine,” I said.

  “Oh right, it’s your birthday too,” said Violet-May as though this was news to her. “But I don’t know, I’ll have to ask Mummy.”

  She did ask her mother and I was almost at fever pitch as I awaited the verdict, but I might have known that Violet-May would get her own way. In fact, it was my mother who proved most resistant to the idea of a joint birthday party and I had to enlist the help of my father in my efforts to persuade her that it was indeed a good idea and not just another opportunity for Flora Duff to come and lord it over everyone while at the same time looking down her nose at them. Having once secured her reluctant agreement, I then lived what was left of the summer in that happy state of anticipation of an event, which is almost always better than its realisation, and never more so than on this occasion.

  Because our birthdays fell on a Monday that year, the party was originally set to take place on the previous Saturday, the 22ndof September. Then Violet-May discovered that she had a music exam on the Saturday and the party was rescheduled for the 29th of September, the Saturday following our birthdays.

  On the day originally set for the party, my father decided that as it was a beautifully sunny day we should make the most of the fine weather and go on our annual family nut-picking expedition. Nut-picking in autumn had become a tradition in our house. My father was a natural-born forager and, even before I could walk, as he often reminded me, he and my mother used to take me along with them on this annual expedition, riding high on my father’s shoulders. As I grew older I looked forward very much to the outing and we had never yet missed a year. I shared my father’s love of nature and in particular I loved the woods, so dim and shadowy that it made me shiver just a little to be there. My father taught me the names of all the trees. Beside the hazel, there were the giant oak and the ash, and though you did not always see them, you knew that animals lived there – foxes and pheasants and rabbits. It was always September that my father chose for nut-picking because, he said, if you left it too late into the season, the birds and squirrels might beat you to it. He was an expert in the art of gathering nuts and taught me at an early age how to spot the small clusters, often hidden in the bushes, camouflaged by their leafy green shells. He always came armed with a stick which he used to bend back the branches so that my mother and I could get at the nuts. We dropped our pickings into the wicker baskets which my mother and I carried on our arms and, when they were full, we would find a place to sit and eat the picnic we always brought with us. It usually ended with us helping ourselves to a great many of the hazelnuts we had picked – I loved the incomparable sweetness and crunch of the fresh nuts – and my father would bring along a small silver nutcracker which he used to crack them open. Afterward we would walk slowly home where my mother would store the nuts at the back of the airing cupboard for eating at Halloween.

  That Saturday I put on my denim shorts and my red T-shirt. I had to search for the basket I always used for gathering nuts and eventually found it in the cupboard under the stairs. It had once held an Easter egg and I thought it was very pretty with its blue-and-yellow weave.

  Then, just as we were leaving the house, my father said he felt a pain in his chest – a tightness he called it – and although he said it was probably nothing to worry about, my mother wanted to call the doctor immediately. My father would not let her do that and to stop her he agreed to postpone the nut-picking and go and lie down. After he had gone upstairs and I had asked my mother, admittedly for possibly the seventh time, if he was going to be alright, she snapped at me and told me to stop “hatching the house” and sent me out to play.

  I found my basket in the porch where I had dropped it and I picked it up and went and sat on our front wall and wondered miserably if my father was going to die.

  Then Ken Fitzgerald came along and began picking up small pebbles and flinging them in my direction in an attempt, he claimed, to get them into my basket. I told him to stop but he kept on doing it and I finally got up and walked away.

  “Where are you going?” he called after me.

  “I don’t know!” I yelled back. “Anywhere to get away from you, Ken Fitzgerald!”

  Sometimes I have tormented myself with the thought that had Violet-May not had her music exam that day, or my mother had not sent me out to play, or Ken Fitzgerald had not thrown those stones, the terrible things that happened afterwards might not have.

  But they did.

  Chapter 10

  I walked to the end of our estate and out onto Old Road and then I kept on going. As I passed the Duff house I walked across to the gate and peered up the avenue. I knew, however, that there was no point in going in because Violet-May had a piano exam and so I turned away again and continued walking. Somewhere along the way I had resolved that if I could not feast on nuts today, I could at least gorge myself on blackberries. I knew a spot along the road where every year the hedges grew heavy with the fattest and sweetest of berries. This year was no exception and I spent some time happily enough, alternating between eating the fruit and dropping them into my basket. But it wasn’t so much fun to do on my own and I finally grew bored and decided to go home and see if the Nugent twins wanted to play.

  Approaching the Duffs’ gate once more, I heard the sound of distant voices and then Violet-May appeared around the bend in the avenue. She was pushing a pram and I raised my hand and waved to her. She did not wave back and, as I stood and watched, Rosemary-June appeared behind her. Violet-May turned and said something to her. I could not hear what but it sounded to me as though they were arguing. I stood at the gate and watched them coming closer. Violet-May was pushing the pram very fast and when she suddenly called my name I hurried up the avenue to meet her. I remember that there were fallen leaves on the ground and as I walked the wind whipped more of them from the branches and they sailed down slowly past me. Up close I could see that Violet-May’s face was very red and hot-looking. She looked cross too and for once even Rosemary-June who was walking slowly some distance behind her was unsmiling.

  I turned and fell into step with Violet-May. We had only gone a short distance when she turned and yelled at her sister, “I told you to stop following me, didn’t I?” She turned back to me and said, “You’re so lucky not to have any sisters.” She looked down at the pram. “Or brothers.”

  As always, I wanted to agree with her but the truth was that all my life I had wished I was not an only child so I did not know what to say and decided to change the subject.

  “I thought you had a music exam today.”

  “I did have a music exam. But Miss O’Connor is sick and it was cancelled. So instead I have to do this.” She gave the pram a violent push.

  “Where’s your mother?” I asked.

  “Mummy needs to rest her eyes,” Violet-May mimicked her mother’s voice so well it made me smile. She spotted my basket then and said, “What’s that for?”

  “I was picking blackberries,” I said. “We were supposed to be going picking hazelnuts and then we were going to have a picnic but my daddy got a pain in his chest and my mammy said he needs to lie down so now we can’t go.” I bit my lip, hearing how babyish I sounded – I found it hard to remember my resolution to call my parents Mam and Dad. “Do you want some blackberries?”

  “I don’t like blackberries,” said Violet-May. “It’s a pity you didn’t pick any nuts, I like
nuts.”

  “I like blackberries,” said Rosemary-June, coming up behind her.

  So I held out the basket and she took two handfuls, which I thought was just greedy.

  “Mummy doesn’t like picnics,” said Rosemary-June. “Flies land on the food and it isn’t hygienic – and the grass is always damp and Violet-May isn’t allowed –”

  “Nobody asked you,” interrupted Violet-May, “and I told you to stop following me.” She turned to me. “Where do you pick hazelnuts?”

  “In the woods – my daddy knows the best places.”

  “We could go,” said Violet-May.

  “Picking hazelnuts?” I stared at her in surprise. “I’m not allowed to go into the woods without my daddy, without my dad. I don’t even know the way properly.”

  It was true. My father always led the way on our excursions to the woods, by a labyrinthine route it was impossible to fully remember.

  “Well, then, you might as well go home,” said Violet-May. “Everything is horrible today.”

  “I know somewhere else where there are hazelnuts,” I said quickly. “It’s down at the Surly. It’s not as good a place for nuts as the woods, but we should get some.”

  “Where’s the Surly?” said Violet-May and I looked at her in surprise that she did not know.

  “It’s the part of the river at Bone Bridge – you know Bone Bridge, don’t you? It’s only down the road from here really?”

  Violet-May nodded.

  “Right, well, there’s a copse there.” I said. “It’s right in the middle of the field and there are always hazelnuts there – you just need to know where to look.”

  “What’s a copse?” said Rosemary-June.

  “That’s what my father calls it,” I told her. “It’s like a little wood really.”

  “Why is it called Bone Bridge?” said Rosemary-June then and I told her the story of the bones that had been found and the superstition that the spirits of the dead still walked the bridge at midnight. I expected her to show some sign of fear but Rosemary-June hardly blinked.

  “Let’s go and get some nuts,” said Violet-May.

  “Mummy said we were not to go any further than the gate,” said Rosemary-June.

  “Mummy said, Mummy said!” said Violet-May. “Don’t be such a baby, Rosemary-June. No-one asked you to come anyway – we don’t want babies with us, do we, Kay?”

  I glanced at the pram and thought that, as there was an actual baby with us, it was hard to answer that question so I said nothing.

  “Well, if you’re going I’m going too,” said Rosemary-June. “I want some hazelnuts too and if you try to stop me I’ll tell Mummy.”

  In an attempt to make peace, I said, “I’ll push Alexander if you like.”

  Violet-May immediately let go of the pram and I took over. The handle was warm from where her hands had been holding it, and I smiled down at Alexander’s face which was pinker and hotter-looking than Violet-May’s.

  We were close to the gates now and I realised there was someone standing half-concealed by one of the pillars, peering round at us.

  “Who’s that?” I asked Violet-May.

  “I don’t know,” said Violet-May. “But she shouldn’t be here – this is private property.”

  She sounded so like her mother when she said this that I almost smiled. But, in any case, the girl had spun round quickly and disappeared.

  “I saw her here before,” I said suddenly. “She was here on the day of Robbie’s birthday party.”

  “Maybe she’s in love with him,” said Rosemary-June. “All the girls are in love with Robbie.”

  My heart was suddenly swamped by jealousy at the thought of that pretty dark-haired girl loving Robbie Duff.

  As we came out onto the path, I looked back to see if she was still around and she was. She had walked some distance back up the road and was standing leaning against the Duffs’ wall, apparently inspecting her nails. She was wearing a black top and a skirt of very bright green and as I watched her head came up and I saw her glance in our direction. Then she moved on again, walking slowly in the opposite direction.

  “Come on,” said Violet-May. “What are you staring at? You have to keep pushing the pram. If you stop, Alexander will start bawling again. He’s teething and he’s like an anti-Christ, Mummy says.”

  So I pushed the pram and we all moved off down Old Road and I forgot about the girl for a while. I liked pushing the pram – the road was downhill all the way so it was no bother really. The whole way down only a few cars passed us and one of them, I have no idea why I remember it so clearly but I do, was bright red in colour. Perhaps it was because the windows were open and the radio was playing very loudly so I could distinctly hear the words of the song that was playing. I remember thinking – but rain isn’t purple, it isn’t really any colour at all. Forever afterward I could not hear “Purple Rain” but I was transported back to that September afternoon, pushing Alexander’s pram down Old Road, the silver handles shimmering in the sun, warm beneath my hands.

  I do remember that I looked back once, just before we rounded the corner, and the girl was still in sight. She was closer than she had been and I had the impression she had just stopped walking that very moment and it caused my mind briefly to wonder if she had been following us.

  To me it seemed no distance to the Surly, I had walked it so many times. But Rosemary-June soon began complaining that it was too far and Violet-May asked twice if we were nearly there. I remember thinking that it was probably because they were driven everywhere and I wondered if now that my father had bought a car I would grow lazy too. Then I thought about him lying in bed and I began to fret once more and hope his pain had gone away.

  When we finally got to Bone Bridge, Violet-May leaned against the wall and peered down into the water. “It’s horrible,” she said, “black and horrible.”

  “I know,” I said, “but it’s good fun if you throw a stick or something that floats in, and then watch for it coming out the other side. It takes ages, it does. Have you never been here before?”

  She shook her head, looking about her. “I’m going to find something to throw in.”

  “Where are the hazelnuts?” said Rosemary-June. “I’m hungry.”

  I suddenly realised that I had no nutcracker with me but shied away from telling them. Hopefully we would be able to break them open with stones? I pointed to a gap in the hedge through which you had to climb in order to get into the field beyond.

  “The hazel copse is in there,” I said. “But we can’t all go through – the pram won’t fit so someone will have to stay here with Alexander.”

  “I’m not going in there,” said Violet-May. “I’d tear my dress.”

  “I’m not going either,” said Rosemary-June. “I’m thirsty and I’m hungry and you said there were hazelnuts.”

  “Yes,” said Violet-May, pushing out her lower lip, “you said there were hazelnuts.”

  “Here, eat these,” I said, and I spilled out the rest of the blackberries into Rosemary-June’s two hands. “There are hazelnuts,” I told Violet-May, “but you have to go through the field to get them.”

  I pointed at the gap again but Rosemary-June was stuffing blackberries into her mouth and Violet-May was staring at me as though she hated me.

  I said quickly, “I’ll go on my own and bring back the nuts. You stay here and have a rest.”

  I left them on the bridge and the last thing I saw as I clambered through the gap in the hedge was Violet-May leaning over the parapet of the bridge, staring down at the river. I wondered if she had tried throwing something in to watch it come out the other side. Rosemary-June had taken over pushing the pram to and fro, one hand on the handle, one hand feeding blackberries into her mouth.

  The copse was nothing more than a thicket of overgrown bushes and straggly trees in the middle of the field, a great deal more overgrown than I remembered it. It took me a lot of time to wriggle myself in to where the hazelnuts were and I caught
my shorts on a sharp thorny bush, got my hair caught a couple of times and scraped the back of my hand quite badly too. And, after all that, the squirrels must have got there before me because I could only manage to pick a handful of them. I remember looking sadly into my basket as I came out into the bright sunshine of the field again and thinking that Violet-May and Rosemary-June would not be pleased. For that reason I did not hurry back to them as quickly as I could – in fact I strayed a little from the middle of the field toward the river and gazed at it for a little while. The water was moving here – not fast but you could see it flowing. It was only at that place under the bridge that it seemed to stop, as though, I thought, it had suddenly got tired and decided to have a good rest before it moved on again. I shielded my eyes against the sun and tried to see the girls on the bridge but there was no sign of them from where I was and I moved away again and began making my way back toward the gap in the hedge.

  I heard the first scream quite clearly. It was high and very shrill and it came from a single voice. At the sound of it I stopped and stood quite still. It stopped and then it started again, only this time I knew it was more than one person doing the screaming and I also knew without doubt that it was Violet-May and Rosemary-June I was hearing. The hysteria in their voices infected me and I began to run. All the time I ran the screaming never stopped and I ran so fast that I caught my foot in something and I fell. I hurt my foot but I got up again and kept on running until I reached the hedge at the boundary with the road. My heart was bounding in my chest and in my confusion I could not find the gap. What was so clearly identifiable on the road side of the hedge was not so easily found on the field side and, peering desperately into the tangle of hawthorn, I darted first left then right, trying to find the opening I knew was there.