A Kestrel for a Knave, Page 2

  Billy pulled his jacket together as the wind murmured over the top of the moor, and across into the lane. But the zip was broken and the jacket fell open again. He crossed the lane and crouched down with his back against the wall. The stones were wet, and shone different shades of brown and green, like polished leather. Billy opened his bag and flicked through the contents. He pulled out the Dandy and turned immediately to Desperate Dan.

  Dan is going to a wedding. His nephew and niece are helping him to get ready. His niece puts his top hat on the chair. Crunch! goes the hat as Dan sits on it. He goes to buy a new hat, but they are all FAR TOO SMALL. This is the biggest in the shop, the assistant tells him. Dan tries it on. It’s almost big enough he says, but when he tries to pull it down a bit, he rips the brim off and it comes down over his face. OH, NO! he says, looking over the brim. Outside the shop he has an idea, and points to something not shown in the picture. Ah! That’s the very thing! he says, but first he has to clear the City Square so that no one will see what he is going to do. Round the corner, he bends over a water hydrant and blows. Water explodes out of the fountain in the square, drenching everybody, and they all have to go home, leaving the square deserted. Good, now I can get what I want, Dan says. In the next picture, Dan is trying on a big grey topper. He looks pleased and says, That’s it! And it fits a treat. He attends the wedding, and at the Reception Hall he hands his hat to the cloakroom attendant. The attendant can’t hold it and the hat goes Crunch! on his foot. Ooyah! goes the attendant. He tries to pick it up, saying, Help! What a hat! It’s made of solid stone! The last picture shows where the hat came from: from the head of the statue in the City Square: WILLIAM SMITH, MAYOR OF CACTUSVILLE 1865–86. SHOT AT HIGH NOON BY BLACK JAKE.

  Billy stood up into the wind and flexed his knees as he stepped back on to the lane. He started to run, holding the bag under one arm to stop it slapping and dragging at his hip. He delivered the Dandy with a newspaper and several magazines at a farmhouse. A collie barked at his heels all the way through the yard, and back out again. It followed him along the lane, then stopped and barked him out of sight over a rise. Billy started to run again. He rolled a newspaper into a telescope and spied through it as he ran. Until he spied a stone house, standing back from the lane. Then he slowed to a walk, smoothing out the newspaper and rolling it the other way to neutralize the first curve.

  At the side of the house, a grey Bentley was parked before an open garage. Billy never took his eyes off it as he walked up the drive, and when he reached the top, he veered across and looked in at the dashboard. The front door of the house opened, making him step back quickly from the car and turn round. A man in a dark suit came out, followed by two little girls in school uniform. They all climbed into the front of the car, and the little girls waved to a woman in a dressing gown standing at the door. Billy handed her the newspaper and looked past her into the house. The hall and stairs were carpeted. A radiator with a glass shelf ran along one wall, and on the shelf stood a vase of fresh daffodils. The car freewheeled down the drive and turned into the lane. The woman waved with the newspaper and closed the door. Billy walked back, pushed the letter box up and peeped through. There was the sound of running bath water. A radio was playing. The woman was walking up the stairs, carrying a transistor. Billy lowered the flap and walked away. On the drive, the tyres of the car had imprinted two patterned bands, reminiscent of markings on a snake’s back.

  Outside the shop, Billy transferred the carton of eggs from the delivery bag to a large pocket, sewn into the lining of his jacket. The pocket pouched under the weight, but when he closed his jacket, there was no bulge on the outside.

  Porter looked round at the sound of the bell. He was up a step ladder behind the counter, re-lining shelves with fresh paper.

  ‘Evening.’

  ‘I told you it wouldn’t take me long, didn’t I?’

  ‘What did you do, throw half of ’em over a hedge?’

  ‘No need. I know some short cuts coming back.’

  ‘I’ll bet you do, over people’s property, no doubt.’

  ‘No, across some fields. It cuts miles off.’

  ‘It’s a good job t’farmer didn’t see you, else you might have got a barrel of shotspread up your arse.’

  ‘What for? There was only grass in ’em.’

  Billy folded the bag in half and placed it on the counter.

  ‘Not on there. You know where it goes.’

  Billy walked round the counter and squeezed past the step ladder. Porter hung on until he had passed, then he watched him open a drawer at the back of the counter and stuff the bag inside.

  ‘You’ll be wanting me to take ’em round for you next.’

  Billy shut the drawer with his knee and looked up at him.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘It’s time you were at school.’

  ‘It’s not that late, is it?’

  Porter turned back to the shelves, shaking his head slowly.

  ‘I shouldn’t like to think it wa’ my job trying to learn you owt.’

  As Billy squeezed past, he shook the steps and grabbed Porter’s legs.

  ‘Look out, Mr Porter!’

  Porter sprawled forward into the shelving, his arms spread wide, his fingers scratching for a hold.

  ‘You’re all right, I’ve got you!’

  Billy held Porter’s legs while he pushed himself off the shelves and regained his balance. His face and bald patch were greasy with sweat.

  ‘You clumsy young bugger. What you trying to do, kill me?’

  ‘I lost my balance.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past you, either.’

  He descended the steps backwards, holding on with both hands.

  ‘I fair felt my heart go then.’

  He reached the bottom of the steps and placed one hand over the breast pocket of his jacket. Reassured, he sat down on the stool behind the counter and exhaled noisily.

  ‘Are you all right now, Mr Porter?’

  ‘All right! Ar, I’m bloody champion!’

  ‘I’ll be off then.’

  He crossed the shop to the door.

  ‘And don’t be late tonight.’

  The estate was teeming with children: tots hand in hand with their mothers, tots on their own, and with other tots, groups of tots and Primary School children; Secondary School children, on their own, in pairs and in threes, in gangs and on bikes. Walking silently, walking on walls, walking and talking, quietly, loudly, laughing; running, chasing, playing, swearing, smoking, ringing bells and calling names: all on their way to school.

  When Billy arrived home, the curtains were still drawn in all the front windows, but the light was on in the living-room. As he crossed the front garden, a man appeared from round the side of the house and walked up the path to the gate. Billy watched him walk away down the avenue, then ran round to the back door and into the kitchen.

  ‘Is that you, Reg?’

  Billy banged the door and walked through into the living-room. His mother was standing in her underslip, a lipstick poised at her mouth, watching the doorway through the mirror. When she saw Billy, she started to apply the lipstick.

  ‘O, it’s you, Billy. Haven’t you gone to school yet?’

  ‘Who’s that bloke?’

  His mother pressed her lips together and stood the capsule, like a bullet, on the mantelpiece.

  ‘That’s Reg. You know Reg, don’t you?’

  She took a cigarette packet from the mantelpiece and shook it.

  ‘Hell! I forgot to ask him for one.’

  She dropped the packet into the hearth and turned to Billy.

  ‘You haven’t got a fag on you, have you, love?’

  Billy moved across to the table and placed both hands round the teapot. His mother pulled her skirt on and tried to zip it on the hip. The zip would only close half-way, so she secured the waistband with a safety pin. The zip slipped as soon as she moved, and the slit expanded to the shape of a rugby ball. Billy shoved a
finger down the spout of the teapot.

  ‘Is that him you come home wi’ last night?’

  ‘There’s some tea mashed if you want a cup, but I don’t know if t’milk’s come or not.’

  ‘Was it?’

  ‘Oh, stop pestering me! I’m late enough as it is.’

  She crumpled her sweater into a tyre and eased her head through the hole, trying to prevent her hair from touching the sides.

  ‘Do me a favour, love, and run up to t’shop for some fags.’

  ‘They’ll not be open yet.’

  ‘You can go to t’back door. Mr Hardy’ll not mind.’

  ‘I can’t, I’ll be late.’

  ‘Go on, love, and bring a few things back wi’ you; a loaf and some butter, and a few eggs, summat like that.’

  ‘Go your sen.’

  ‘I’ve no time. Just tell him to put it in t’book and I’ll pay him at t’week-end.’

  ‘He says you can’t have owt else ’til you’ve paid up.’

  ‘He always says that. I’ll give you a tanner if you go.’

  ‘I don’t want a tanner. I’m off now.’

  He moved towards the door, but his mother stepped across and blocked his way.

  ‘Billy, get up to that shop and do as you’re telled.’

  He shook his head. His mother stepped forward, but he backed off, keeping the same distance between them. Although she was too far away, she still swiped at him, and although he saw her hand coming, and going, well clear of his face, he still flicked his head back instinctively.

  ‘I’m not going.’

  He moved behind the table.

  ‘Aren’t you? We’ll see about that.’

  They faced each other across the table, their fingers spread on the cloth, like two pianists ready to begin.

  ‘We’ll see whether you’re going or not, you cheeky young bugger.’

  Billy moved to his right. His mother to her left. He stood out from the corner, so that only the length of one side separated them. His mother grabbed for him. Billy shot across the back of the table and round the other corner, but his mother was back in position, waiting. She lunged forward, Billy skipped back and they faced up again from their original positions.

  ‘I’ll bloody murder you when I get hold of you.’

  ‘Gi’o’er now, mam, I’ll be late for school.’

  ‘You’ll be more than late, unless you do as you’re telled.’

  ‘He said I’d get t’stick next time.’

  ‘That’s nowt to what you’ll get if I catch you.’

  Billy ducked down. His mother followed, holding on to the table top to retain balance. They faced each other under the table, then Billy feinted a move forward. His mother dived, at nothing. Billy jumped up and ran round the table while his mother was still full stretch on the floor.

  ‘Billy come back! Do you hear? I said come back!’

  He whipped the kitchen door open and ran out into the garden. He was half-way down the path when his mother appeared, panting and jabbing her finger at him.

  ‘Just you wait lad! Just you wait ’til tonight!’

  She went back in and banged the door. Billy turned away and looked down the garden, over the fence into the fields. A skylark flew up, trilling as it climbed. Higher and higher, until it was just a song in the sky. He opened his jacket and dipped into the pocket. The egg carton was dented. He opened it. Two of the compartments were filled with yellow slime and shell. He eased out the sound eggs and placed them together on the path. Their shells were sticky, so he carefully wiped each one in turn and re-grouped them like a four egger, crouching over them and looking down. Then he picked one up, weighed it in his palm, and threw it high in the direction of the house. The egg described a parabola in the air and fell on to the slates. He threw the others in rapid succession, stooping and releasing while the previous one was still in the air. The kitchen door opened and his mother came out. Billy backed away down the path, massaging his right biceps with his left hand. She locked the door and turned round.

  ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten, lad, ’cos I haven’t!’

  She slipped the key under the lip of the step, then pulled the ends of her headscarf tight under her chin.

  ‘An there’s a bet of our Jud’s to take, an’ all. You’d better not forget that.’

  ‘I’m not taking it.’

  ‘You’d better, lad.’

  ‘I’m fed up o’ taking ’em. He can take it his sen.’

  ‘How can he, you dozy bugger, if he don’t get home in time?’

  ‘I don’t care, I’m not taking it.’

  ‘Please yourself then….’

  She rounded the house and hurried up the path. Billy gave the path a V sign and made a farting noise with his mouth. When he heard the gate bang, he turned round and walked down the path towards a shed at the bottom of the garden. In front of the shed a small square of ground had been covered with pebbles and bordered with whitewashed bricks, set into the soil side by side, at an angle. The roof and sides of the shed had been patched neatly with lengths of tarpaulin. The door had been freshly painted, and a square had been sawn out of the top half and barred vertically with clean laths. On a shelf behind the bars stood a kestrel hawk:

  Rufous brown. Flecked breast, dark bars across her back and wings. Wings pointed, crossed over her rump and barred tail. Billy clicked his tongue, and chanted softly, ‘Kes, Kes, Kes, Kes.’ The hawk looked at him and listened, her fine head held high on strong shoulders, her brown eyes round and alert.

  ‘Did you hear her, Kes, making her mouth again?… Gobby old cow. Do this, do that, I’ve to do everything in this house…. Well they can shit. I’m fed up o’ being chased about…. There’s allus somebody after me.’

  He slowly lifted one hand and began to rub one of the laths with his forefinger. The hawk watched it all the time.

  ‘An’ our Jud, he’s t’worst o’t’lot, he’s allus after me… allus has been. Like that day last summer when I fetched you, he was after me then….’

  … Jud was having his breakfast when Billy came downstairs. He glanced up at the clock, It was twenty-five to six.

  ‘What’s up wi’ thee, shit t’bed?’

  ‘I’m off out, nesting; wi’ Tibby and Mac.’

  He whooshed the curtains open and switched the light off. The morning light came in as clean as water, making them both look towards the window. The sun had not yet risen, but already the air was warm, and above the roof line of the house opposite, the chimney stack was silhouetted against a cloudless sky.

  ‘It’s a smashing morning again.’

  ‘Tha wouldn’t be saying that if tha’ wa’ goin’ where I’m goin’.’

  He poured himself another pot of tea. Billy watched the last dribbles leaving the spout, then put a match to the gas. The kettle began to rumble immediately.

  ‘Just think, when we’re goin’ up to t’woods, tha’ll be goin’ down in t’cage.’

  ‘Ar, just think; an’ next year tha’ll be coming down wi’ me.’

  ‘I’ll not.’

  ‘Won’t tha?’

  ‘No, ’cos I’m not goin’ to work down t’pit.’

  ‘Where are tha goin’ to work, then?’

  Billy poured the boiling water on to the stained leaves in the pot.

  ‘I don’t know; but I’m not goin’ to work down t’pit.’

  ‘No, and have I to tell thi why?…’

  He walked into the kitchen and came back carrying his jacket.

  ‘… For one thing, tha’s to be able to read and write before they’ll set thi on. And for another, they wouldn’t have a weedy little twat like thee.’

  He put his jacket on and went out. Billy poured himself a cup of tea. Jud’s snap was still on the table, wrapped up in a cut bread wrapper. Billy turned it round and round with his fingers, sipping his tea. He poured himself another cup, then unwrapped the package and started on the sandwiches.

  The kitchen door banged open and Jud rushed through
, panting.

  ‘I’ve forgot my snap.’

  He looked at the unwrapped package, and then at Billy, who was holding the ragged half of a sandwich. Billy bolted it into his mouth, slid off his chair and turned it over as Jud came for him. Jud ran into the chair and sprawled full length across it. Billy ran past him, out into the garden and over the fence into the field. A few seconds later, Jud emerged, wrapping up the remainder of his snap. He used it to point at Billy.

  ‘I’ll bloody murder thee when I get home!’

  Then he pushed it into his jacket pocket and hurried off round the house end. Billy climbed on to the fence and looked round at the sky.

  By the time he had crossed the estate and reached Tibby’s house, the sun was rising behind a band of cloud, low in the East. High in the sky the moon was still visible, flimsy, and fading as the sun climbed steadily, illuminating the cloud. Until finally the sun appeared, burning the cloud golden, and the moon disappeared in the lightening and warming of the whole sky.

  Billy walked round the house, looking up at the drawn curtains. He tried the kitchen door, then stepped back and whispered loudly up at the bedroom window.

  ‘Tibby. Tibby.’

  The curtains remained closed. He searched about on the concrete, then picked up a clod of earth from the garden. The crust was damp from the dew, but when he crushed it, the inside was dry and crumbly, and dust puffed up from his palm. He stepped close to the house and lobbed it underhand at the bedroom window. The soil smattered the panes, then fell to the sill, which threw it back to the concrete in a wide arc, like a projection half-way down a waterfall. Down into Billy’s face. He ducked his head, spitting and wiping his mouth, then looked up and opened his eyes. The right eye blink-blinked and began to water. He rubbed it with his knuckles but it only reddened the white, and the eye still watered. So he tweezed the lashes between his finger and thumb and drew the lid down, blinking underneath it and looking up at the window with his other eye. The curtains remained closed. He released his eyelid. It blinked once, twice; then stayed up.