Sea Change (7 page)

John looked at
the narrow strip of rock that ran between the back of the hole and
the wall of the cave. It did not look broad enough to walk along in
safety. He tried to imagine setting foot on the thin, crumbling
line of rock, and then taking a step, and another step, the walls
lit by the flickering flames of a candle, the hole dark and
dropping down beyond sight, with something at the bottom, something
that could cure but that at the same time was terrifying, because
it was something from beyond every day life.

"Looks scary,"
he said.

"It is," Simon
said, "I’ve done it. Brings you luck, see. Hob grants you his
favour, keeps bad luck and evil things away."

"Si!" Sal did
not sound pleased.

"Aw, come on
Sal," he said, going on the defensive. "Everyone’s done it, once.
Way of proving things. Can’t back down in front of the lads."

Sal laughed,
and it was full of contempt. "The lads? What, you mean your
gormless friends? Not surprised they’re not afraid to walk around
the Hole, if they fell down all they’d need to do is make sure that
they landed on their heads and then nothing important would get
hurt."

John didn’t
want them to argue, so he tried to lighten things up. "You never
walked round it then Sal?" he asked.

"That’s not
important," she said, and looked away, and Simon looked at John
with a broad grin on his face, opened his mouth as if he were about
to say something, but then touched a finger to his lips and stayed
silent. He was still grinning, though.

"Let’s get back
to the village," Sal said, still not looking at them. "See if we
can beat the rain."

They turned to
shuffle back out of the cave, and then stopped. Standing at the
mouth of the cave was a dark shape, watching them, waiting for
them.

Chapter
Six

The three of
them froze, as if they were statues made from the stone around
them. Then the shadow laughed, and spoke.

"Think I was
the Hob eh, come to throw you down the hole? Or just scared because
you know little boys and girls shouldn't be playing in there. Never
know what might happen."

"Greg," Simon
said, with a voice full of resignation.

"He's right
sharp your brother," the voice said. "And here was me, thinking he
was stupid. Walking around the hole, are you? Never bothered,
meself, don't need fairy tales, I make me own luck. So who's this
other little brat then, Sal? Thought I knew all of Simple Simon's
idiot friends."

"He's our
friend," she said, scrambling out into the daylight. "He's called
John." John and Simon followed her, Simon muttering under his
breath.

John blinked in
the sunlight. It was the boy he'd first seen at the bus stop, the
boy who had sent Simon cycling away in such a hurry.

"What you
looking at?"

"No—nothing,"
John said.

"No—nothing.
What's that? Doesn't even make sense. Not from round here, are you.
Don't stare at me. I don't like people staring at me."

"Okay." John
looked away.

"All right
Sal?" Greg said, and his voice softened. "What you hanging around
with these kids for?"

Sal stared back
at Greg. "Because I want to, and I do what I want."

He shook his
head. "Wasting your time. Should hang out with me, have some fun.
What did you say?" This to Simon, who had muttered something under
his breath.

"Nothing."

Greg took two
quick steps forward, and pushed Simon back against the rock.

"What did you
say?" Greg's voice had dropped now, darkened like the sky, and John
again thought of Parker, and he thought, not again, I don't want to
be that boy again, I don't want to walk away again.

So he stepped
forward, and said, "He didn't say anything. Leave him alone." Simon
shook his head, and Greg dropped him and grabbed John by the ear,
twisting, lifting.

"Did I say
talk? Did I? Did I say talk? Well until I—hey!" He dropped John now
and stepped back, rubbing the back of his leg. Sal stood there.

"Leave off
them," she said. "Or I'll kick you worse than in the leg."

For a moment
the four stood still. Rain started to fall, big splashing wet drops
at first, and then it thickened and the air was full of moving
water. John thought that Greg was going to hit Sal, and his head
filled with plans to dive at the boy's legs in a rugby tackle, to
push him off the ledge, to do something, anything. But then Greg
shook his head, and laughed.

"I like you,
Sal Tinnion," he said. "You've got bottle. Not like these two."

Sal said
nothing, just stared off into space.

"You come out
with me one day? Might make me learn how to put up with him and his
ugly friend." Greg gestured towards Simon. "Leave 'em alone,
like."

"No way Sal,"
Simon said. "That's blackmail. I'll—"

"Leave it, Si,"
she said. "Maybe. I'll think about it."

"Sal!" Simon
said, "No way—"

Greg took a
step forward, and Sal raised her hand. "I said I'd think about it.
So I'll think about it. Now I want to get home, out of the
rain."

Greg nodded,
then held his hand out, gesturing down the beach, you first. As she
clambered down, he walked past Simon and John, smiling like the
Cheshire Cat. Then, for a moment, just before Sal reached the beach
and turned round, the smile dropped from his face and he pointed a
stubby finger at each of them in turn, right in their faces.

"I'll be seeing
you around," he said, in a low voice, and then he walked off along
the beach, away in the other direction from the village, brushing
close past Sal even though there was plenty of room to walk round
her. The boys stood in the cave mouth and watched him swagger along
the beach, and then they climbed down and met Sal.

"Sal, you
can't. I don't care how much hassle he gives me, you just
can't."

"Leave it,
Simon."

"I mean it!"
The boy was at that point between anger and tears. "Don't you dare,
Sal. Not him."

"I said leave
it!" Now Sal was as angry as Simon, and John just wished that he
were somewhere else, not in the middle of a row between brother and
sister. Then Sal looked at him, remembered he was there, and Simon
followed her gaze and then looked down at the ground,
embarrassed.

"Don't worry,"
Sal said, and started to pick her way back through the boulders,
heading towards the village. John and Simon stood there for a
moment, rain splashing off their faces. John felt that he ought to
say something, but he could not think what. Simon looked as if he
were thinking the same thing.

"Ugly one,
him," John said. "Reckon he'd frighten the Hob on a dark night,"
and Simon grinned and it broke the tension, and they went trooping
off after Sal, soaked to the skin. They didn't say much on the way
back to the village, just walked on together with heads bowed so
that the rain did not hit them full on their faces, but all the
same it soaked their hair and it ran cold fingers down the backs of
their necks and dripped off noses and rattled and spattered all
around them on the rocks.

When they
reached the village they came to a halt.

"You around in
the next couple of days?" Simon asked.

"Someone’s
calling you," Sal interrupted.

"Me?" Simon
said.

"No, John. Did
you not hear it? Someone calling for you."

"Oh, probably
my sister. She must have seen us, shouted."

"Well where is
she then?" Simon said. "Thought she’d be in the shop."

"No, wasn’t
your sister," Sal said. "Was a man’s voice. Didn’t recognise it,
hard to hear properly, sounded kind of distant."

"I don’t know
any men here," John said, and his voice sounded thin and
unconvincing. He blinked twice, took a breath, trying not to let
Laura or Simon see that he was shaken up.

"Must have been
calling another John then."

"Was probably
just a seagull," Simon said, standing up tall so that he could pat
his sister on the head.

"Better get
off," John said. "Head back to my sister's or she'll be thinking
that I've fallen off a cliff or something."

"Yeah, townie
like you, surprised you haven't."

"If he did,
you'd probably fall off a second after him," Sal said.

"Pfft, I'm a
natural, amazing sense of balance," Simon said. "Anyway yeah, we'll
get back to ours and get dry and have something to eat. You around
in the next couple of days?"

"Think so.
Nothing planned. Laura said she was going to take me through to
Whitby for a day, sometime, but I dunno when."

"Wow, see the
sights." Simon rolled his eyes.

"Whitby's
cool," Sal said. "You enjoy it and don't listen to him."

"S'all right,"
Simon said. "But it is only Whitby, it's not like it's London or
anything."

"Like you'd
know Si, you've never been there."

"All right Sal,
don't start, I'm just saying, that's all. Anyway, when you're not
seeing the sights in Whitby, we'll see you around, yeah? Call for
you, or you come round and give us a knock. I'll have a word with
Uncle Davey, see if he'll take us out on the boat."

"On the boat?
Cool."

"Don't get too
excited, it's small, it's made of wood and it stinks of fish and
Uncle Davey's pipe, dunno which is worse. But it'll be a laugh.
Anyway, I'm off out the bloody rain. You two can stand here all day
if you like."

John raised a
hand as the two walked away, and stood there for a moment, watching
them go. He felt accepted, liked, and it cast a glow over the
entire day and he didn't notice the rain falling any more. Then,
just before the two figures turned the corner, he thought of
something.

"Hey!"

They stopped,
turned.

"I can't call
for you if I don't know where you live."

"Hob's Hole,"
Simon shouted. Sal cuffed him round the head. "Ow."

"Beckett
Street," Sal said. "Number fifteen, can't miss it, you can smell
the stink of Simon's trainers from the street." This time he tried
to take a swipe at his sister but she had already moved, sprinting
off around the corner. Simon shook his head, lifted a hand in
salute, and then he too was gone.

John’s mobile
rang, startling him. I should change that ringtone, he thought, as
he fumbled for it in his pocket. Don’t know why I chose it. But
then I always think that, about a week after I’ve got a new one. He
checked the screen, expecting to see the caller ID photo of his mum
and dad, a picture of them half-drunk, wearing paper hats from
Christmas crackers, happy. Or if not them, Laura. But there was no
photo, just Caller Not Known. He pressed the button.

“Hello?” he
said.

No-one
spoke.

“Hello?” John
said again. “If you’re talking, I can’t hear you. Hello?”

He thought for
a moment he could hear the sound of the sea. No-one spoke. John
shrugged, ended the call. If it was important, they would ring
back. He thought of phoning his mum and dad, letting them know that
he was all right, was even having some fun. But the phone now
showed no signal, so he stuffed it back into his pocket and walked
back to his sister's house. Laura was still at the shop, so he
turned the hot water on, read for a while, and then submerged
himself in a deep hot bath, washing the cold of the rain from his
bones, thinking about the day.

The next few
weeks were looking as if they'd be a lot more enjoyable than he'd
thought only twenty-four hours earlier. The old man seemed like a
character from a book he had read, rather than something that had
really happened. The threat from Greg was far more real, far easier
to understand, far more in keeping with John's experience. He
wondered whether Sal would go out with Greg for Simon's sake.
Surely she wouldn't. He couldn't see her and Greg having a thing in
common, and he knew that Simon would be furious. But the Gregs and
the Parkers never stopped, he thought, they just kept on pressing
for what they wanted, because in the end they always got it. And
that included the girls. Even the ones you'd think wouldn't go near
them, they seemed drawn like moths to a flame. He wondered if it
would be the same with Sal.

Anyway, it was
different this time, he reminded himself. Greg wasn't Parker. He
wasn't alone. He had his friends. Between the three of them, if
they stuck together, they would sort something out. It wasn't like
school. That wasn't going to happen again. He was not going to walk
away.

The front door
closed, and after a few seconds Laura banged on the door as she
went past. He hadn't realised how fast the time had gone, couldn't
believe that she had closed the shop, that it was the end of the
day already.

"’Lo," she said
as she started to climb the stairs. "You had a good day?"

"Brilliant,"
John shouted, and he meant it.

Chapter
Seven

John pushed the
bookshop door open.

As he did, a
distant bell rang, but only just, as if it could barely be
bothered. The inside of the shop was dim and smelt of old things,
like the last of the autumn leaves crisped by the frost and
shattered underfoot. It was divided into half a dozen narrow
corridors by rows of shelves that reached to the ceiling. One dim
light bulb hung in each corridor, making pools of light amongst the
shadows. John couldn't see anybody in there.

"I'm in the
back if you want anything. Feel free to browse if you don't."

The sudden
voice that came from somewhere at the back of the shop made John
jump.

"Thanks," he
said. He still couldn't see the speaker. It was as if the books
themselves had spoken. John edged down between war and romance,
pretended to study natural history, skimmed along cars and
transport, and then he was at the back of the shop, and as he
walked around to the next shelf he saw that no-one was there
either. Then he saw a small desk tucked in one corner that was
covered in sheets of paper like mould on the bark of a tree. One
bar of a portable electric fire glowed a dull orange dangerously
close to all the paper, a mug perched on the only free space on the
desk and steamed, but there was still nobody to be seen.