Home Boys (16 page)

Then the same noise again, but quieter, more careful. Close enough for Colin to place it. Just below them, to the left of the fly. He strained his eyes but the darkness stared back, unreadable. Whatever it was reached the shelter, and its shape became apparent against the lighter background of the tarpaulin. No more than five yards from them, but still just a shadow, blurred at the edges, without form or feature. Human though, upright at first, then slowly bending, as it looked beneath the canvas cover. It straightened and did not move. Colin felt the almost unbearable pressure to do something; move, speak, run away. Trapped here, beneath the dark weight of a fallen tree and the soft decay of all that had fallen before, was the worst place to be.

‘It isn’t him,’ Dougal breathed in Colin’s ear, so quiet the warmth of the words overpowered their sound.

‘How do you know?’ Colin replied, relieved at the chance to say something. But his voice was too loud, or at just that moment the forest went quiet. Either way the visitor heard and
immediately started, stepping forward and away from the fly, invisible again. Colin felt Dougal grab his hand. His grip was strong, but not strong enough to control the shaking.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dougal whispered to his friend, his words struggling to hold their shape. ‘This isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have brought him here. It’s not you he’s after. Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll go down. It’s me he wants.’

‘No, stay here,’ Colin told him, squeezing his hand in turn, feeling the dryness of fear in his throat. Neither boy moved, and somewhere close in the darkness a third person breathed and waited.

‘Colin? Colin, is that you?’

The voice was as quiet and uncertain as their own. So small and so close that it might have come from within Colin’s head. But Dougal heard it too.

‘Jesus.’

‘Veronica?’ Colin crawled out from beneath the tree, using his voice like feelers in the darkness.

‘Colin, where are you?’

‘Here. What are you doing here?’

‘I followed you.’

‘Yes, but why?’

‘Because …’ They stumbled into one another, voices first and then their bodies. Colin felt her arms around him, and his face against hers. She was shivering, with cold or fear.

‘You frightened us.’ Dougal’s voice was close beside them, and suddenly loud after all their whispering.

‘Who did you think I was?’ Veronica asked.

‘No one.’

‘You must be freezing,’ Colin said. She wasn’t wearing a coat and her woollen jersey was heavy with water. ‘Come on, get inside the shelter.’

‘There won’t be room,’ Dougal told them.

‘That’s stupid. Of course there will.’

‘It’s my birthday.’

Veronica removed herself from Colin’s hold and embraced Dougal. ‘Happy birthday Dougal. I can just sleep under a log or something if you want.’

‘Don’t be daft. I was only joking. Come on.’

Veronica lay in the middle with the two boys close on either side. Wet layers were removed cautiously, wrapped in giggles and apologies. Then they were still and the warmth built quickly beneath the blankets. Colin waited for the conversation to start but nothing happened. No talk of why she had followed them, or how all three would stay together. No easy laughter and telling of stories. He knew he couldn’t start it himself. It would come or it wouldn’t. He would have to wait. On the other side of their makeshift home Dougal found his own reasons to stay quiet. So it was down to Veronica, and all she said was, ‘It’s so good to be warm. I’m tired. I’ll see you both in the morning.’

‘It would be hard not to,’ Dougal replied, and she laughed and Colin wished it was him who had said it.

And that was all, before she was asleep. Colin forced himself to stay awake a little longer. There was nothing waiting inside his head worth giving up this moment for. She was right there, next to him. Not close, touching. He could feel the sticky warmth of rain and sweat where their legs met. He could smell her hair and move in time to the rise and fall of her breathing. He remembered the dream that had brought her here, but even
that couldn’t take his smile from him. The last thing he thought on purpose, before sleep took hold, was how this might be perfect, if Dougal wasn’t there.

‘So, how come you followed us?’ The question Colin wanted to ask too, that had taken so long in coming. The weather had cleared and they were sat round their small fire, more smoke than heat because that morning dry wood was impossible to find. They had already shared out some breakfast and set up their wet clothes to dry on sticks dug into the ground around the fire. It had been decided, with no more discussion than ‘let’s’ and ‘okay,’ that they would stay here another day, rather than try to carry wet gear. And now the winter sun was doing its best to help with the drying and Colin and Dougal were both watching Veronica, waiting for her answer.

‘I don’t know really.’

‘Your dad will be angry,’ Dougal said.

Colin hadn’t thought about that. He should have. A man who would follow his son all the way to Auckland would surely think nothing of pursuing them into the bush. And when he found them, he would have little need to manufacture any accident.

‘He’ll come for you won’t he?’

‘He’ll think I’ve caught a ride into town, that I’m headed for the city. He’ll never think to look here.’

‘You did,’ Colin pointed out. ‘How did you find us?’

‘It was easy. I saw you, on the first morning, up on the ridge. I went out early, to collect wood. Gino told me you’d gone. I was looking.’

‘So why did it take so long to find us? We haven’t been going that fast.’

‘I had to get some gear, without being noticed, and then wait for night until I could slip away. I was beginning to think I wouldn’t find you at all. But I was sure this was the way you’d come.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s the way you have to come, when you’re up here. You can’t help it. It’s part of the reason I followed you.’

And just for a moment an expression took hold of her face that made her look like Mary, or maybe the way Mary once looked, before another person grew up around her.

‘What do you mean?’ Dougal asked her.

‘It’ll sound crazy to you. But it isn’t. Look,’ she checked both boys’ faces, as if having trouble deciding. ‘Maybe just pretend I never said it. Where do you want to go? I know this place. I can get you out of here, take you by the shortest way.’

‘That’s sounds good, we should do that,’ Colin said, too quickly. ‘We were going back to the valley, but just to get to a road. We’re going to get a ride across to the South Island. We’ll find work on a farm, where they pay you money, and we’ll save it all until we have enough to go back home. That’s what we’re doing isn’t it Dougal? That’s what we said. You should come too. I’ll show you London. You’ll like it.’

It was more than Colin was used to saying in one breath and he blushed at how obvious it sounded. Veronica smiled at him and he was wondering what that might mean when Dougal interrupted.

‘No, tell us what you meant. I want to know what you were talking about. Where do you think we’re headed?’

‘Well …’ the wind shifted and blanketed her in smoke. She stood, coughing and waving it away with her hand. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s better over here,’ Colin told her, making room so she could sit down beside him. He noticed things he hadn’t seen before. The dryness of her bottom lip, the way it was beginning to crack; creases at the sides of her eyes when she smiled, which pointed the way to her life ahead; a red mark, the beginning of a pimple perhaps, above her eyebrow. These blemishes gave him hope. Dougal, who sat to the side of them, watched intently too, leaning forward as if to make sure none of her words could slip past.

‘It’s just a story.’

‘So tell it.’

‘It’s not mine.’

‘You brought it up though.’

‘Well, okay, but it’s just a story okay. I’m not saying I believe it all right?’ She stopped and looked at them both, as if it was impossible to proceed past this point without their understanding. Colin nodded and saw Dougal do the same. She had them. For all the differences, she was still Ron’s daughter.

‘I heard it first from a man who came to the village. Matt, he called himself, but that was only one of his names. He only stayed a few weeks. He was looking for work he said, but later Mary told me he was a drinker, who she had met at the church, and he was trying to recover. He worked the boats and on nights when the drinking started Mary would stay back in the house with him and me, so he’d have company and not be tempted. He used to tell stories. Old stories, about the area, from hundreds of years ago. They were the best stories I ever heard, and although even then I knew they weren’t real exactly,
they weren’t made up either. Do you know what I mean?’

Colin nodded.

‘There was one, my favourite, about a man who made a huge kite, and tied himself to it, so he could soar high up above an enemy stronghold and spy, but the old man who showed him how to make it told him he could not look at the building where the chief lived. But of course he did, because he was desperate to find what it was he shouldn’t see, and as soon as he did the wind changed and carried him out to sea.’

‘And what was it, that he saw?’ Colin asked.

‘We don’t know,’ Veronica replied, turning to him and smiling, as if the question was expected. ‘He drowned before he could tell anyone.’

‘So how did they know he looked down then?’ Dougal objected.

‘It’s a story,’ she replied, impatient with interruptions now that she was underway.

‘Then one night there was some special celebration, a good catch probably; we could hear loud singing, louder than normal, and Ron came in, half drunk already, and dragged Mary out with him. I don’t know where David was, out with them too I suppose, some nights he was allowed. So it was just me and Matt and maybe that’s why I remember this story most clearly. I always thought of it as my story. He told me of a cave, in the hills not far from here, that called out every night, and drew people towards it. He said it had been known as long as people had lived here and told their stories.

‘He said there was a river then, that ran past the old village, and provided it with its water, for drinking and cooking and cleaning, and that once every year, without fail, a great rain
would come and swell the river to an angry rush of water, and it would rip through the village, damaging the buildings and washing possessions away. The young people questioned their elders, and asked why they built their village so close to the water, when each year it suffered this fate, but always they replied it was the price they paid for the service of the river, that all it asked in return was that they should never forget the might of the earth.
But
what
about
all
the
things
you
lose?
the young people would ask, and the elders would reply,
It
is
the
earth
reminding
us
not
to
take
more
than
we
can
enjoy.

‘Now for generations this explanation was good enough, but a fiery young man came along who had different ideas.
I
can
move
the
river,
he boasted, and with the help of the other young men of the village, he dug a great channel and diverted the river, so that while it still came close enough to be of use, even when it flooded it did not touch them. Now the young people celebrated their mastery of the earth and quickly named the young man their new leader, but the elders were worried.

‘And then one night they heard it, like a deep breathing all along the coast, and if you listened carefully it was a voice, as deep and as rich as any voice you would ever hear, and it was calling the young leader by name. At first the young man denied hearing such a thing.
It
’
s
just
the
wind,
he said, but everyone knew it was not. And soon rumours started, that he was afraid, and so to show he wasn’t, he set off with two of his closest friends, to find the source of the calling.

‘They tramped up here, this very way, until they found a cave. And at its mouth the voice was at its loudest and the young man was forced to venture inside, to find out why he was called. His friends stayed outside and waited. They waited
one day, then two, then three. On the fourth day they realised the voice had stopped its calling, and their rash young leader was never seen again.’

‘So?’ Dougal challenged, before Veronica could even draw breath, or see the look of magic reflected back in Colin’s eyes. ‘That’s just a story. You’d have to be daft to believe that.’

‘I know,’ Veronica replied. ‘But I was ten and I loved that story. Matt told me straight away it was just a story, but then he said something else. He said,
but
the
cave,
the
cave
is
real
enough.
I asked what he meant, and he said that the cave exists, up in these hills, and although nobody understands it, there is something that draws wanderers towards it. Not everyone can hear it calling, but those who do always find it, and no one who’s entered the cave has ever left it, well, not alive. I asked him what killed them and Matt told me it was probably their fear. There’s a certain sort who is drawn to confront their fear he said, and you never should, because the only thing you are truly afraid of is the thing that will kill you.

‘These hills, they have spirits in them. Everybody knows that. I know it sounds silly but you ask anybody in the village, even the biggest unbeliever, and they’ll tell you.’

She looked at them both, as if daring them to challenge her, but even Dougal kept his thoughts to himself.

‘Two days after he told me that story, in the middle of the night, I heard Matt get up and put on all his clothes and walk out of the bach. I followed him, as far as the place where you climbed up, to get here, and when I saw he was heading into the hills I called out, and asked where he was going, but he wouldn’t answer me. He just turned and waved, and motioned for me to go back. And no one ever saw him again.’