Clay Page 4

  He inspected the finished apostle.

  “No need to be scared,” he said. “Not yet.”

  He held the apostle up in front of my eyes, and its face looked into my face. He smiled.

  “But one day,” he said, “I’ll mebbe show you something that’ll scare you stiff. It’ll scatter all your doubts. There’ll be no more maybes or dunnos.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’ll be bliddy petrified, Davie. Your soul’ll bliddy crack.”

  He smiled. He winked at Geordie.

  “Just joking,” he said, and he finished his tale. “Soon after I was struck down and raised up again, a priest came to the school looking for vocations. I stood up. ‘Me,’ I said. ‘I’ll be a priest.’ And pretty soon, off I went to Bennett.”

  He laid the apostle at the center of the fire. He heaped embers up around it. He placed more sticks to quicken the fire. I watched them burn.

  Then we flinched and were dead still. There were footsteps above us, in Braddock’s garden.

  Two silhouettes of boys appeared at the quarry’s edge.

  “Skinner,” I whispered.

  “Aye,” said Geordie. “And looks like Poke as well.”

  “But not Mouldy, thank God.”

  “These are your enemies?” said Stephen.

  “Aye,” said Geordie.

  We watched the boys crouch above us. They peered down. We heard them whispering. They moved around the quarry’s rim. We heard them coming down towards the quarry’s entrance. I hunched with Geordie in the shadows under the rock as they crept closer.

  “See?” he whispered. “If we had trip wires they’d be straight in the bliddy pond.”

  “Get ready to jump and yell,” I said. “We’ll scare the living daylights out of them.”

  We tried to hold our giggles in. We waited, but Stephen was the first to move. He slipped out of the cave and ran fast and low. There was a commotion under the hawthorn trees; then the Pelaw lads started squealing. We heard them crashing away. Then Skinner’s voice, weeping with fright.

  “He stabbed me! He bliddy stabbed me!”

  Then Poke, yelling down from the quarry’s rim:

  “Wait till we tell Mouldy!”

  twelve

  Stephen came back, wiping his knife blade on a handful of grass. We were trembling. We were speechless. We started backing away.

  “What’s wrong?” said Stephen. “It’s just a scratch. A little warning.”

  He grinned at us.

  “I thought you hated them. And who’s this Mouldy?”

  We just looked at him.

  “Who’s Mouldy?” he repeated.

  He shrugged.

  “Don’t tell me, then,” he said.

  He knelt in front of the fire. He spat and the spit hissed. Geordie cursed under his breath, then found his voice.

  “Mouldy,” he said, “is Martin Mould. He’s just the hardest bugger for miles around.”

  “Is that right, Davie?” said Stephen.

  “Aye,” I said.

  “And Mouldy,” said Geordie, “is their mate. He is hard as nails. He is massive. He is a bliddy monster. And he’ll kill you now. And us as well.”

  “Is that right, Davie?” said Stephen again.

  “Aye.”

  “Oh, dear,” he said. “What have I done?”

  He goggled and pretended to scream and tremble.

  “A monster!” he said. “I’m so scared!”

  “Stupid git,” muttered Geordie.

  Stephen knelt with his face glowing above the fire. The embers round the apostle flickered in the dusk. Stephen stirred them with a stick. He scratched the embers away from the figure.

  “Howay,” I whispered to Geordie.

  But I looked down, and I was caught by the face staring out from the fire.

  “Are you done yet, my apostle?” said Stephen. He poked it with his stick. “Are you ready to come and rescue us?”

  He stood up and his head was silhouetted against the brightening moon. He spread his arms. He held the stick high above his head. He lowered it quickly and pointed to the fire.

  “Stand up,” he said. “Stand up, my apostle. Walk the earth. Save us from our tormentors. I command you. Walk!”

  Geordie and I kept backing away. Stephen laughed.

  “No,” he said. “He’s not done yet. Needs a bit more cooking.”

  He shoved the embers back. He threw more sticks on and he laughed.

  “Take no notice,” he said. “It’s just me being daft. So this Martin Mould’s a monster, then?”

  We said nothing.

  “And you’re scared of him and you hate his guts?”

  We said nothing. Stephen smiled through the dusk and the firelight.

  “You know,” he said, “the world’d be a much better place without a thing like Mouldy. Do you think so?”

  We said nothing.

  “Aye?” he said.

  “Aye,” said Geordie.

  Stephen turned his eyes to me.

  “Aye, Davie?” he said.

  I paused as he watched me. Then I shrugged and nodded.

  “Aye.”

  And we heard a voice echoing towards us, a thin hesitant wavery voice.

  “Stephen! Stephen Rose! Where are you, Stephen Rose?”

  “It’s Crazy,” I said.

  “The loony woman,” said Stephen. “Better go or they’ll be sending me away somewhere. And I don’t want that, do I?” He looked into my eyes. “Not when there’s so much to do here.”

  Then he slipped away.

  “He’s the loony,” said Geordie. “We got to let Mouldy know he’s nowt to do with us.”

  “He’ll take no notice of that,” I said.

  I felt Mouldy’s hands on my throat, his boot on my face.

  “Let’s go,” I said, and we hurried out.

  Next morning I woke dead early. I left the house early. I went into the quarry. There’d been a frost. The clay pond had a fringe of ice. I crouched over the embers. I pulled away the ash and cinders. He was lying there, filthy, black with ash, hard as stone. The last heat of the fire was still in him, but very soon he’d be bitter cold. I cleaned his face with spit: a calm and ordinary face, a Felling face. He could be any passerby. Then my heart stood still. The clay figure was me. It was my face that looked up at me from between my own hands.

  I trembled. I crossed myself. I closed my eyes.

  “Deliver us from evil,” I prayed. “Look after us.”

  TWO

  one

  “So which one is it?” said Dad. “Her on the left or her on the right? Her that keeps looking in or her that keeps not looking in? Her that…”

  I sighed. We were sitting at the table eating eggy bread and drinking tea. The lasses must have walked past the window half a dozen times. Frances kept looking in and pretending she wasn’t looking in. Maria kept pretending there was something fascinating high up in the sky. The pair of them were linked arm in arm. They were giggling and grinning.

  “The brunette or the blonde?” said Dad.

  “Frances or Maria?” said Mam.

  Dad laughed.

  “And which one’s got the eye for Geordie?”

  They walked by again. Dad kept on nudging and asking. I kept on eating, drinking, and pretending not to watch for them. Then they were gone.

  “Lost your chance,” said dad.

  “I’m not interested,” I said.

  “Oh, aye?” he said.

  “Well, they’re both nice girls by all accounts,” said Mam.

  Dad laughed.

  “Your mother knows and sees everything,” he said.

  She slapped another slice onto my plate.

  “But mind don’t you go running after them,” she said. “Go and kick a ball or something with Geordie.”

  When I went out, they were at the end of the street, in the cut between the houses. I slowed down when I got close to them. We all pretended we were invisible but just as I was passing by, Frances said
,

  “Not speaking?”

  “Aye,” I said.

  “Go on, then,” she said.

  “Go on what?”

  “Speak.”

  “Hello,” I said.

  “Hello,” she said. “And what about Maria?”

  I tried to still my heart and calm my breath.

  “Hello,” I said.

  Maria bit her lips and blushed and looked sideways at me.

  “Hello,” she said.

  We looked at each other; then we couldn’t do it anymore. Maria walked away. Frances laughed and said, “Well, it’s a start,” and she followed Maria, and I went through another cut to get to Geordie.

  He was in his back garden. His old knife-throwing door was leaning on the hedge like always. It had the outline of a body painted on it. He’d been chucking his knife at it like always, trying to just miss the body. There were hundreds of marks on the body and head where he and his dad had missed over the years. He passed the knife to me when I walked in.

  “Go on,” he said. “You have a go, Davie. I can’t do nowt today.”

  I took the knife. I aimed for the edge of the door. I threw it. It glittered in the sun, then thudded right in where the body’s heart would be.

  “Ballocks,” I said.

  “Bull’s-eye!” yelled Geordie’s dad from inside. “Get that lad straight into the circus!”

  I slumped down into the grass.

  “What we going to do?” I said. “Mouldy’ll be out for revenge.”

  “God knows,” said Geordie. “I dreamed about him last night.”

  “Did you?”

  “Aye.”

  “He stabbed us both, then cooked us in a big pot down in the quarry.”

  “Honest?”

  “Honest. He had us with toast and HP sauce.”

  “Bliddy Hell.”

  “And a big bottle of Tizer.”

  We knew there was nothing funny but we couldn’t help laughing.

  “Mebbe we should tell our dads,” I said.

  “It’s a battle we made for ourselves. That’s what my dad would say.”

  “I know. But when there’s a knife involved, Geordie…”

  “Crazy bliddy Stephen Rose’s knife. Not ours.”

  “I know.”

  “We’ll sort it out ourselves. We need to fix a meeting.”

  “With Mouldy?”

  “Aye. Him and the others. We’ll just tell him all about Stephen Rose. We’ll tell him it’ll never happen again.”

  “Bliddy Hell. Mouldy cannot hardly even talk, man.”

  “He cannot be that thick.”

  “Can he not? Remember that story about him biting rats’ heads off down in Jonadab?”

  “Aye. I remember. And the one about him biting that kid’s lug off in Jarrow.”

  We said nowt else while we thought of that.

  “Did you believe it?” said Geordie at last.

  “Aye,” I said.

  “So did I.”

  We sat against the door. Inside the house, Geordie’s dad danced about and yelled out, “The times they are achangin’!”

  “What a racket,” I said.

  “Do you want to go to the cave?” said Geordie.

  I shook my head.

  “Me neither,” said Geordie.

  There seemed nowt we could do. I closed my eyes and let the sun fall on my face. I felt the grass warm against my fingers. I listened to the birds. I thought of the spring coming on so fast. I found myself drifting, dreaming about the apostle in the fire. He stood up and stretched himself and stepped away from the ashes. Newborn tiny frogs gathered around him from the pond. A grass snake curled up at his side on a stone. The sparrow hawk wheeled high above. Stephen came, creeping beneath the hawthorn. “Where are you?” he whispered. “Are you done yet?” He crept closer. “Where are you? Are you done yet, Davie?”

  I shook myself awake. Geordie’s sister, Noreen, was at the back door, leaning on the frame, smiling. She narrowed her eyes. She tapped her cheek.

  “So what you two been up to?” she said.

  “Nowt for you,” said Geordie.

  She shook her head and laughed.

  “You’re still just little boys, aren’t you?” she said. “Just silly little—”

  Geordie put two fingers up.

  “Get lost!” he hissed.

  She just laughed again. She ran her fingers through her hair and wiggled her hips as she went back inside.

  “Lasses!” said Geordie.

  “There’s a lass says she fancies me,” I said.

  “Aye?” said Geordie.

  “Aye.”

  He stared at me; then he slouched back into the grass.

  “That’s all we bliddy need.”

  two

  The moon was huge, right at the middle of my window. It was round as a communion host. I lay there in its light. I stared into its face. I made out its craters, its waterless seas. I heard a voice.

  “Davie! Davie!”

  Was I hearing things?

  “Davie! Davie!”

  A rattle at my window like tiny pebbles, grit.

  “Davie! Davie! Davie!”

  I went to the window and stared out and there he was. Stephen Rose, face like wax, reflecting the moon. He raised his hand. He beckoned me. I shivered. I drew the curtains. I went back to my bed.

  I lay and tried to sleep. His voice went on for a while, then stopped, then started again, but this time it seemed close by me in my room, it seemed to echo from deep inside my head.

  “Davie! Davie! Davie!”

  I felt Stephen’s fingers on me, like he was forming me, like I was his clay. His fingers slid and slipped across me. I squirmed on the bed, trying to break free from him.

  “Be still,” he whispered. “Let me make you, Davie.”

  I blocked my ears with my hands.

  “You’re mine, Davie,” he whispered.

  I clenched my fists, gritted my teeth.

  “No,” I said. “No!”

  “Who is thy lord, Davie? You cannot hide. Who is thy lord?”

  “Get off me! Let me go!”

  And then there was just stillness and silence outside me and inside me.

  My bedroom door opened. Mam came in.

  “Davie?” she whispered. “Are you OK, Davie?”

  I curled towards her.

  “Aye,” I said. “Aye, Mam.”

  “Bad dream?” she said.

  “Aye. Aye…”

  She put her gentle hand on my brow. She soothed me with her fingers.

  “Now sleep, Davie. That’s right. Just go back to sleep.”

  And she pulled the curtain, blocking out the moon.

  three

  Next day we were walking home from school when Geordie saw Mouldy leaving the Swan.

  “Mouldy!” he gasped.

  “Where?”

  “And he’s bliddy seen us!”

  Mouldy started running for us. Geordie yanked my arm and dragged me after him. Mouldy had to run uphill but still he was catching up to us. I dared to look and I saw his massive body, vicious face, pumping arms, fast thundering feet.

  “Mother of God,” I prayed.

  He got closer, closer.

  “Oh, Hell,” I gasped.

  He growled, grunted, snarled. I could smell the beer on his breath. I waited for him to kick my legs away. I waited for the first thump of his fist on my back. I felt his fingers as he tried to grab me. I leapt forward, ran faster.

  “Crazy Mary’s,” said Geordie, and we swerved towards her garden. We ran to her door and hammered on it. Nobody came, but Mouldy hesitated at the gate. He glared, red-faced, dark-eyed. He stamped like a beast.

  “We know the people here,” said Geordie. “They’ll set the police on you.”

  Mouldy came on again, slower now. He licked his lips and bared his teeth. “Don’t, Mouldy,” I said. I clenched my fists. I looked down, seeking a rock, a stone, any kind of weapon. Then Crazy came and the do
or inched open. We shoved our way inside and slammed it shut. We backed against the wall. The letter box swung open. Mouldy glared through. His eyes goggled in at us. I found Stephen at my side.

  “So that’s your monster out there?” he said.

  “Aye,” I said.

  He had a handful of ash. He threw it into Mouldy’s eyes.

  “Go to Hell!” he said.

  Mouldy squealed and the letter box dropped shut. He battered with his feet and fists at the door.

  Stephen laughed.

  “Stupid lump,” he said, and he yelled at the door: “The police is coming! They’re on their way now! They are! They are! Begone!”

  The battering went on for a while; then it relented, and Mouldy spoke to us once more before he went away.

  “You’re dead,” he growled through the door. “Every bliddy one of you.”

  Crazy looked at us in confusion.

  “But we’re not,” she said.

  She looked at us.

  “Are we?” she said.

  I shook my head. No.

  I looked out through the letter box. Stephen stood beside me and looked out too. We saw Mouldy lumbering back towards the Swan.

  “Aye, scary,” said Stephen. “But stupid as well.”

  He wiped the ash from his hands. My terror started to fade.

  “Such devils walk the streets these days,” said Crazy Mary.

  “They do, Aunty Mary,” said Stephen.

  “But these two is the good altar boys,” said Crazy Mary.

  “We are, missus,” said Geordie.

  “Come and have some jam and bread,” said Crazy.

  I dipped my fingers into Crazy’s holy water and crossed myself. We went towards the back of the house. Crazy cut thick slices of bread. She spread them thick with rhubarb jam.

  “Eat,” she said. “This is the good food of the Lord.”

  Geordie and I looked at each other.

  “Narrow escape, eh?” he said.

  We tried to laugh, but we both knew we’d been terrified.

  I crammed the bread into my mouth.

  Stephen watched, so calm.

  “Davie,” he said. “I’ve got something I want to show you.” He looked at Geordie. “Not you,” he said. “Just Davie. Is that OK?”