Wee Danny (6 page)

"You had me there, mate."

Conan sniggers. "Made you jump."

"You sure did, big man."

I could probably give him a wee payback fright. It'd just take a phantom punch. But I think he should have his wee victory over me. I shake his hand instead. His grip's a bit awkward and for one truly horrifying second I get the feeling that he wants to hug me. His other arm twitches. And he just claps the back of my hand and double-handshakes me like an old cartoon character. It occurs to me that I have a sidekick. Weird.

"You're a good lad, Conan. We should have some more fun today."

"Want me to throw that again?"

"No, that's the kind of thing that only works once in a while."

"You sure?"

"Trust me."

"I do, Danny."

One of the supervisors trundles up to us. "Get back to work you two."

I don't even look at him. "Are we getting a break or what?"

"Aye, I'll give you a break. One for each leg."

It's obviously a joke but I'm tempted to put the shits up this prick and tell him he can't physically threaten me. That'd be a bit of a dick move, though. And I've got other things on my mind. Like how to make the best of this crap situation.

I pick up my scraper and get stuck into the wall, flat-out elbow-greasing it. So fast it's an obvious piss-take. The supervisor moves along, grumbling. As soon as he's out of sight I throw the stupid tool back in the earth.

"You ever been to Newcastle, Conan?"

He shakes his head. "Is it any good?"

"Ach, it's all right. Definitely better than this. And there's a water park."

"Swimming? Wish we were there now."

"Why don't we go, then?"

"Are you …
slegging
?"

"No, mate. I'm not taking the piss. Do you want to see Newcastle?"

"Yes." Conan looks around like he expects a taxi to pull up and cart us off.

"We can't go right this minute, but when the time comes you'll need to move fast."

"Sure, I can do that."

I hope you can, big man. I hope you can.

Miss and the supervisors are busy with a pretty brutal fight. Two of the younger kids are going at it with rakes. Part of me wants to stay so I can keep Miss safe and see who loses an eye first – I'm hoping one of the supervisors takes a backswing in the face – but I know this golden opportunity won't come up again. It's a godsend that I had no hand in orchestrating. A sign that luck is on our side. I take hold of Conan's elbow and shush him with a finger on my lips. He nods, understanding that it's time to move.

We walk slowly at first, eager to remain unnoticed. I'm heading towards the car park in an effort to get my bearings. As soon as we're out of sight, we run. Conan is making those happy-grunt noises again. I should tell him to stop but I want him to have some real fun. No point offending the big bastard.

The driver is outside our wee yellow bus smoking. He kicks at one of the rear tyres and doesn't see us approach. I pray that he's left the keys in the ignition. But no. I get to the open door and immediately spot the empty ignition slot. And now the aul fellah has seen us. His yellowing eyes are big as tea-stained saucers. He shifts his gaze from me to Conan and back.

"What are you boys up to?" His voice quakes.

At this point, we're already in trouble. May as well dive into the deep end. "Give me your keys, mister."

"I can't do that, son."

"Ach, you can. It's easy. Hand them over now or the big man takes them."

To Conan's credit, he remains cool in the face of this obstacle. Maybe he's frozen by fear. The aul fellah hesitates, sizes the barbarian up with a quick up-and-down glance. But common sense prevails and the driver hands over the keys. I'm glad he's not some sort of have-a-go hero. I'd hate to have to beat up a man so close to collecting his pension. Those days are well behind me and that's where I want them to stay.

"You got a mobile, mate?"

He hesitates, then says, "Aye. I've not topped it up in a wee while, though. It'd be no use to you, son."

"You think I came down the River Lagan in a bubble?" I hold out my hand. "Give us it."

I smash the driver's phone to slow down his ability to tout on us – no credit, my balls – and take a couple of his cigarettes while I'm at it. Lambert and Butler. Any port in a storm. He looks grateful when I hand him back the rest of the packet and his snazzy Zippo lighter. I can spark mine off the wee electric doo-dah in the bus's dashboard anyway.

"Do you want to drive, Conan?"

"I don't have a licence."

"Right. I'll drive, then."

"Okay."

I climb into the driver's seat and Conan sits down behind me. His worried face fills the rear-view. The driving position is dead on. That aul fellah must have short legs. My da used to say all Belfast men have short legs because they walk everywhere and wear them down. Bit of a random thought, like, but your brain does some weird shit when the adrenaline starts pumping.

The engine rumbles to life. I'm shitting myself, but it's great. It's been too long since I've had a bit of mayhem on the go. I tear out of the car park, gravel-dust clouds rising in our wake.

"We're going to get in trouble," Conan says.

"Not before we have a bit of fun, though. Unless you want to get off the bus?"

"No, let's have fun."

"Well all right, then! Fasten your seatbelt, will you?"

The barbarian complies instantly. He's like a well-trained Rottweiler. I don't know why he does what he's told when he has the ability to unleash a mauling on me, but I'm not stupid enough to question it. As long as he's on my side, I can keep us both safe.

I check the speedometer. We're at forty miles an hour and there's a speed bump ahead. It looks flat enough. I sink the accelerator but we're on a slight incline and the old Mercedes engine has lost a bit of heart.

"It's going to get bumpy, Conan."

The barbarian giggles like a little girl. He makes me smile.

We hit the ramp and jolt the creaking suspension. I drive one-handed and rub my wrists in turn; they're sore from gripping the steering wheel too tight.

"Do it again, Danny."

"One more time, mate."

I look in the rear-view mirror. The aul fellah must have raised the alarm by now but there's no sign of pursuit just yet. All I want to do is get a head-start, make it to the top of the lane and dump this old bus. When I'm on the main road …

Fuck knows.

I'll figure it out.

Conan won't. He just wants to enjoy the rollercoaster.

Here comes the bump.

"Ready, Conan?"

"Yes, yes, yes."

His eyes are wider than I've ever seen them. If he thinks this is fun, wait until we really get things rolling.

This time something underneath the bus clangs. I hope the aul fellah has decent insurance.

"Again, again."

"I'm sorry, mate. We have to get off here."

I remember the geek in the hut at the entrance. If these National Trust guys have any sort of cop-on the geek will be on full alert. Might even act out a movie scene and block the road with crates of watermelons or caged chickens or something. Maybe I
should
plough on through, see what's around the bend.

"Again?"

"No, Conan."

"Please, Daddy."

Did I hear him right? No, maybe we're both a little too excited here.

"This next bit is going to be even more fun, big man."

"The bumps are fun."

I can't keep talking to him over my shoulder. It's something I've noticed over the last few weeks. He can act like a deaf kid at times. Like, he knows you're making noises but if he can't see your lips move then the words aren't getting to the right parts of his brain or something? I don't know. But I pull the bus onto the grass that runs alongside the lane and kill the engine. Then I whip round in the seat so I'm on my knees and facing Conan. He smiles at me like we've just met on the street.

"Did you ever play soldiers?"

Conan shakes his head. "Soldiers are baddies."

Fuck. South Armagh education. Well we're not playing Crossmaglen Provos, I'll tell you that for nothing. Fucking cider-stealing, secret-drug-dealing, punishment-beating, killjoy bastards, the lot of them.

"What about hide and seek, Conan?"

"Hiding's scary. You can't leave me on my own."

"I won't. That's not the way I play it."

"Really?"

"Let me show you. If you don't like it, we'll stop. Cross my heart, Crossmaglen."

The mention of his home town judders him to a slightly different level of attention.

"You're funny, Danny."

"Aye, funny looking, right?"

Conan pops open his seatbelt and stands up. He reaches out his hand to me. I go to shake it and realise that's not what he wants as he shifts his grip on contact. And now we're just like those little kids paired up for their trip to the zoo. Tasked to look after each other because we're too stupid to be trusted individually.

This is so gay, but nobody's looking. I heave a breath and try not to look too uncomfortable. Conan is a little excited, scared and fidgety but not one bit embarrassed.

With our fingers interlaced, I lead my big friendly barbarian off the bus and towards the trees.

I should have lit one of these stupid smokes when I had the chance. There's one tucked behind each of my ears because I don't want them to get crushed in my pocket. But I have to check them constantly with the tips of my fingers to make sure they're still in place. Conan tramps along behind me, no longer singing like a looper now that he understands the rules of this new game. He should be up front, clearing the path so I don't get the forearms scratched off me by branches, thorns and jaggies, but I'm not sure how well his sense of direction works.

I have us moving in a diagonal-ish direction. My theory is we'll pop out on the main road a little closer to Strangford, a town I know nothing about. I saw signs for the ferry on our way to Castle Ward so it must be a busy enough place. There's bound to be a bus stop or taxi rank that can get us moving towards Newcastle. The supervisors might not have reported us as missing yet in the hope that they'll track us down themselves without too much media attention and embarrassment. We'll just be another pair of teenagers knocking about the place on our summer holidays. Nobody will bat an eyelid at us.

Not every theory is a good one, but it's all I've got right now. Best not to think about it.

"Are we nearly there yet?" Conan asks.

I've an urge to tell him to keep his voice down, but we've been moving at a good pace for what must be close to half an hour by now. We're not going to be heard at this point.

"I'm not sure, big man. No signs out here."

"What if we're going the wrong way?"

I attempt a Yoda impression. "There is no wrong way. There is only going."

Conan attempts to mimic me and misses by a few octaves. "There is no wrong way. There is only going."

"Copy me, you should not."

"Copy me, you should not."

I look over my shoulder and smile at him.

"Cunt," I say.

"Cunt," he says.

His voice is loud and proud, but his cheeks are a little pink. Exertion or a rush of guilt, I'm not sure which, but judging by his smile it's good for him either way.

A few hundred metres further along Conan asks, "Are we nearly there yet, cunt?"

I have tears in my eyes. This guy's like a gift that keeps on giving.

"Maybe we should ask the fairies, big man."

"Fairies aren't real."

"Who told you that?"

"Everybody."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah. We lived near the Fairy Glen back in Cross. Never saw a fairy."

"Well they're not going to be seen dead living in a place called Fairy Glen, are they? That'd be ridiculous. Would you live in a place called Conan Quinlan Street? Sure the postman wouldn't have a clue what to do with your letters."

I realise I'm talking complete shite, but it's better than breathing in midges and beating myself up about the suspicion that we could be lost and kind of fucked.

"Who's writing me letters?"

"Ach, probably the bank and your solicitor and maybe Sky TV. All that important stuff."

"What about the fairies?"

"They don't write letters."

"Oh."

"They're all paperless now. Just send emails, like. They probably don't even leave coins under kids' pillows anymore. It'll be electronic transfers and all that these days."

"Do they live in the trees?"

"No man. Magic mushrooms. That's what makes them magic."