I left behind a notebook with sketches, doodles, anecdotes and observations, jokes and one-liners, plus one song the title of which she’d thrown at me in a jokey but disconsolate mood between the turkey and Christmas crackers…
When Will and Paul came across the hole in the fence, they left their bikes on the side of the road, chained to a lamppost. They looked round but no one was on the street. Will pulled the wire back and crawled through the hole. As Paul came up behind him, he caught his T-shirt on the wire. Paul felt the wire scrape the top of his back and he cried out. Will reached behind him and unhooked the wire from Paul’s T-shirt. They ducked down and zigzagged, commando style, to the edge of the trees.
After a while some golfers appeared wheeling their bags. The two boys crouched down in the undergrowth, watching the golfers and chuckling into their hands until the golfers disappeared up the course. Will said:
“You ever heard of the golfer with only one ball?”
A ball landed in the middle of the fairway. But it was too far away for the boys to reach without the golfers seeing.
“We’ve got to wait till they hit the rough,” said Paul.
“Look over there,” said Will suddenly.
“Where are you going, you idiot?”
Will broke cover and ran out into the rough beyond the trees. He picked up a golf ball and waved it aloft. “Come on, Paul,” he said, waving him on. “Don’t be a chicken.”
Will and Paul went on searching in the rough near the edge of the trees; they found two more balls between them. Satisfied with their prizes, they crawled back out of the hole in the fence, unchained their bikes from the lamppost and rode home.
Paul was lying on his bed reading a commando comic when Claire came in and picked one up from the pile lying on the desk. She stared at the images of blackened soldiers with blackened faces.
“Put that down, will you.”
“Why can’t I read it?”
“It’s not yours to read.”
Claire put the comic down. She was going to pick up another, when she noticed the golf ball in the bowl of paperclips. “Where did you get that?”
Paul let rip from the bed. “Can’t you keep your hands off my things!”
“You went to the golf course, didn’t you?”
“What if we did? Put it back.”
Paul got up off the bed. Claire held the ball aloft, but her brother had a longer reach. He grabbed her arm.
“I’ll tell mum,” she said.
“Put it back in the bowl.”
“I’ll tell her you took it off the golfers.”
“No, we didn’t.”
Now her brother had her on the bed and was holding her down by her wrists. “Let go of me,” she said.
“Paul! Honestly! What are you doing?”
Their mother had her hands on her hips and that expression she always had – somewhere between cross and super-cross.
“I’m not doing anything,” said Paul. “Claire’s stealing my comics.”
“They’re not your comics, they’re Will’s comics.”
“So what if they are!”
Claire waited till their mother had gone back into the kitchen. “Anyway,” she said, “are you going out on the bikes tomorrow?”
Her brother continued to ignore her.
“You’re going back to the golf course, aren’t you? – You better take me,” said Claire, “or I’ll tell mum about the golf balls.”
The Shakespear’s bungalow was at the top of the hill at the beginning of the woods. The path ran for about half a mile through the woods over tree roots and bracken, and sometimes you had to duck under branches. They rode down the hill on the other side of the woods and left their bikes against the wall outside Dale’s.
The bell rang as they went into the shop. Mr. Dale came out, smiling. – “Have you got any beans, Mr. Dale?”
Mr. Dale called to his wife in the back. “Mrs. Dale,” he said. “Got any beans.”
Mrs. Dale came out and took a tin off the shelf.
Paul’s face dropped. “They’re not Heinz beans.”
Will’s face was red. “Beans means Heinz.”
“Boys, is there anything else you require?”
“Ice-pops,” said Paul. “We came for ice-pops, didn’t we, Will.”
Mr. Dale came out from behind the counter and went over to the freezer to pick out the ice-pops.
“Mr. Dale,” said Will, stifling his giggles. “Have you got cherry?”
They walked up the hill wheeling their bikes. They propped their bikes against a fence and stood in a patch of sun, sucking on their ice-pops.
Claire turned to her brother. “Anyway,” she said, “why did you ask for beans? Mum didn’t want any beans.”
“Well,” said her brother. “She certainly didn’t want any Ariel washing powder.”
Will burst out laughing; as he did, he got on his bike.
“Come on,” he said, “let’s scram.”
They jumped on their bikes. Claire called after them. “Wait for me!”
By the time she had caught up with them, they were in the middle of the woods doing tricks. “Look,” said Paul. “No hand over bumps.”
“That’s nothing,” said Will. “No hands over bumps. – Backwards.”
Will tried to peddle backwards with no hands, but he couldn’t control the bike. He had to put his feet down on the ground to stop himself from falling off.
“You’re rubbish, you are,” said her brother.
Will and Paul started calling each other names. Claire told them to stop. But they wouldn’t stop. “Shut up, you two!”
Mr. Burroughs, who lived on his own at the top of the hill opposite the Shakespears, was coming towards them on the path.
Mr. Burroughs was a tall, thin man with a long face. He wore a short sleeve shirt and he had with him a string shopping bag. As he passed them, he didn’t say hello; he didn’t even look at them.
“Did you see that?” Will said. “He looked right through us.”
“Right through us. – What about his gammy leg?”
“Is rumour going around he lost his foot in the war. He lost it to gangrene in the jungle. The Japs were on top of him and he hid under a corpse.”
“I heard he fought with the desert rats. They say he knew how to use a knife in a tight spot.”
“I heard he’d used it on his fellow men. He was a deserter, a coward.”
Claire could not stand it anymore… “Stop it!” She said. “Stop making up stories about Mr. Burroughs.”
But Will and her brother didn’t listen. They went on ignoring her till they came to Mr. Burrough’s house, at the edge of the woods.
The house, which was on two floors, was surrounded by a fence and trees. Claire looked up into the windows. “You can’t see in,” said Will. “He’s deliberately blackened the windows so we can’t see in.”
“You reckon?”
“You know why he keeps the windows blackened,” said Will. “He keeps the windows blackened ‘cos he keeps rats.”
“I heard that,” said Paul. “He’s conducting a huge Nazi experiment.”
“I heard he puts wires on their legs and presses buttons to see how they react to pain.”
“What are you talking about?”
Claire looked at Paul in disbelief.
“Like I said, he’s a dangerous Nazi war criminal.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. You’re fibbing.”
“Young lady,” said Will. “I’ll have you know this Burroughs chap is a top Nazi war criminal, wanted by Interpol. What’s more, he keeps rats.”
Claire looked at him. “Well,” she said, “I don’t believe you.”
“Hello, what’s this?”
Will grinned as he took a golf ball from his pocket and held it aloft. – “I do declare… Some golfers have lost their balls.”
So saying, he threw the ball over the fence into Mr. Burrough’s garden.
Claire’s brother burst out laughing. “We better help them fetch it. Before we do that, we got to draw straws.”
“An excellent idea, my good fellow! – Let’s draw straws. Claire, can you fetch us some straws?”
“There aren’t any straws.”
“No straws. Dash it!”
Paul picked up a twig from the ground. He broke it into three pieces. He put the differing lengths in his hand so neither Will nor Claire could see. “It’s your turn to draw the straw.”
“I’m not playing this game,” said Claire. “It’s a stupid game.”
“Claire, you must, for the honour of our country.”
“The golfers!”
Claire was upset. “You two are stupid. It’s a stupid game.”
Paul shrugged and turned to Will:
“It behoves to us to draw straws. Claire must do the honours.”
Claire shook her head furiously. “I’m not doing that!”
“Claire, if you are not going to draw straws, you must do the honours.”
Paul removed one of the twigs and placed the remaining twigs in her hands. “Anyway,” she said. “I don’t know why you’re doing this.”
“Claire,” said Will. “We must draw straws.”
Will pulled one of the twigs. It was shorter than one in her hand. – “I’ve drawn the short straw.”
There were tears in his eyes. “Must do my duty and climb the fence.”
Claire looked at Will. She didn’t want him to climb the fence. But his mind was made up.
Near Mr. Burrough’s fence was a large tree with a low-lying branch. Will hauled himself up and put his foot on the wall at the bottom of the fence. As he did, he put his hands on the top of the fence and gave a start.
Will cried out and fell back off the fence. His hand was covered in blood.
Will was bleeding and he was in pain, but Paul was still laughing.
“Will, are you going to die?”
At that moment, along the path, came the tall, thin figure of Mr. Burroughs with his string bag full of shopping. His face had a cruel look, like a splinter of glass.