Chapter 2.

Chapter 2.

I grew up in the rural beauty of Somerset, a small village called Evercreech. Born the youngest of three and the only daughter, I had a good, happy childhood. I was doted on by a father to whom his family were his world, cherished by a mother who had always longed for a little girl and looked after by my brothers who would do me no wrong. Although we lived in a small cottage, with a roof which leaked in the winter and doors that would slam shut for no apparent reason, we were never wanting for food, love or affection. I was lucky I suppose.

From when I was old enough to keep up but before the daily punishment of school started, I spent the long days following my brothers and trying to join in on their adventures which I felt I had missed out on for so long. More often than not we would come home at dusk, weary from a day of playing and exploring and streaked with layers of grime and dust.

'No way for a young lady to behave' my mum would cluck and shake her head disapprovingly, but always with a smile in her eyes if not on her face. I would giggle as she pulled me onto her lap to start work the fine metal comb through my tangles. I had inherited my mother's hair, a golden red which shone in the sun like a dying fire, mine however fell just below my chin as I refused to wear it long. Hers was a spectacular waterfall cascading down her back on the rare occasions she wore it loose, like one of the pre-Raphaelite paintings my father had shown me at the National Art Gallery in London. John, lucky as he was, appeared to have taken after my father, a tall strong man, his eyes could read you from across a table, it was impossible to lie into those cool grey eyes. And Henry, Henry was the odd one out. Mousy brown hair, a pointed nose and chin, his eyes squinted as if he'd been staring into the sun.

'She's just a girl .' My father would exclaim, pulling me into a bear hug and planting a a grizzly kiss on my cheek. At the age of 6 I vowed to myself that I would never marry a man with a beard.

Sometimes I thought that Henry resented me joining the duo, he had always cherished the alone time he spent with his brother where he could show off and try to impress. Occasionally he took it too far and I remember more than one occasion where John had to rescue him out of a sticky situation. One time, I must have been 6 or 7 which would have made him 10, he got stuck 30 foot up in an oak tree. John had warned him not to climb it, presumably having tried himself before and failed. But as always this only encouraged Henry to try harder and prove everyone wrong. For about ten minutes me and John had waited at the bottom of the tree, watching his progress as he slowly gained height, until we could no longer see him for the foliage. As we sat there, sharing a wedge of fresh bread from the morning wrapped up in brown paper, I was happy that I had John all to myself. I felt I understood why Henry felt the need to show off to him. John had a way of making people feel like they had something to live up to. After 5 minutes of no noise from the tree above, and with no sign of Henry, we began to worry. John walked up to the trunk and looked up through the dense green.

'No sign Rosie,' he said with a chuckle, ' reckon he got stuck?'

I giggled clasping my hand over my mouth at the thought. Poor Henry, he would be so embarrassed.

'Henry? You up there?'

'Yes, its so good up here.' A faint and scared voice called back down to us.

'How high up are you?'

'Over 100 metres I think, I can see London from here!' At that we both fell about laughing

'Hey!' Came the yell from the tree. I could see that John was considering his options.

'Do you want to come down now Henry? We're going to head home.' He winked at me and put his finger to his lips.

'No...It's ok. I quite like it up here. Such a nice view...'

'Not sure how much you can see with all the leaves....'

Silence.

Eventually we got him back down, red in the face and scratched up from the branches. He had ripped a hole in his one pair of black trousers which made mother angry of course. He still denied having got stuck even after John had had to climb up and practically carry him down, whilst I laughed on the bank until my sides ached. John never minded me tagging along, he took the role of protective older brother very seriously and was always watching out for me and knowing my limits better than I did myself. If for example, Henry suggested we swim across the river at its fastest point, John would say how he couldn't, or didn't want to, and give my hand a quick squeeze saving me from the embarrassment of being left behind and mocked. Once when we were playing on the banks of the lake, I fell badly and cut my knee wide open. The sight of all the blood made me feel queasy and suddenly I wanted to go home. John stopped, picked me up and dusted me over, then when he saw the tears in my eyes gave me a hug then threw me over his shoulder and started the mile and a half walk home. Henry of course, followed 20 foot behind, dragging his feet and complaining the whole time.

'It's not fair,' he whined, always wanting to be the centre of attention, 'why can't she go home on her own, I want to stay out and play, it won't be dark for hours yet and I have school tomorrow. I don't want to go home.'

'So don't.' Snickered John, knowing Henry would not call his bluff, having always preferred somebody else's company to his own.

'Maybe we can play football with Scotty and Ryan later, if they're in?' John continued, and just like that everything was solved.

I think I must have been 9 when I first realised my father was ill. We were all sitting around the solid oak dining table, a heirloom from my mother's grandfather, as we did every evening, enjoying a comfortable winter meal of piping hot crusty bread and deliciously sweet butternut squash soup.

'So John, do you feel prepared for your exams?' My father spoke between mouthfuls of soup. John had almost reached the end of his schooling, 16 years old he had changed so much from the brother I knew before. Grown up way beyond his years he held an aura of wisdom and kindness.

'Please Charlie, don't eat with your mouthful. It's not as if we need Rose to learn any more bad habits.' She teased but I knew she was becoming worried about my tomboy attitude and my disdain for anything considered girly. What had been fine and the norm not months ago was now becoming a problem for her as I grew closer to the big one oh.

'Yes Sir, I think so. I've been working quite hard, I still can't get my head around physics. It will forever escape me I fear.' I didn't know why my brothers addressed my father as sir. It was presumably something they had picked up at school because to my knowledge he had never requested it. I called him Daddy or Papa, because that's who he was.

'And after, have you considered college?'

'No Sir. I was actually hoping to be able to get a potters apprenticeship in Shepton Mallet.' John, although always brilliant in his own way, had never been gifted with too much intelligence.

'That's my boy!' Daddy was a potter and a very good one at that. I knew he had always wished for one of us to follow in his footsteps. I had tried to give it my best, but after a day of hard work and tears, I had only come up with a family of misshapen hedgehogs. After that I had avoided it, although often spending afternoons watching my father work, I resented the way the cold damp clay felt in my hands, and stuck to my skin like cement.

'I'm sure the money would come in useful to your mother as well, nice to have the extra income.' His eyes were downcast, giving me my first clue. I knew of course that finances were seldom discussed with 9 year old girls but to my knowledge money had never been an issue. Daddy ran a successful pottery business, in charge of two other workers, which supplied to most of the local towns.

'What did you do at work today Daddy? Was James being lazy again?' I referred to his newest employee, at 21 year old Scottish boy about whom we would often hear stories. When I asked my question my mother closed her eyes for a brief moment. A clatter of metal hitting ceramic.

'I wasn't at work today darling.' A quiet voice which I did not I did not recognise as my father's emerged from behind the great beard which I had learnt to love.

'Why not?'

'Charles....' My mother cautioned him, making me only want the answer more.

'It's okay Helen, I was just feeling under the weather Rosie, nothing to worry about love.' The man who had never lied to me my entire life, telling a lie.

It was then that I noticed all the changes which presumably had happened over weeks or even months. Tighter skin stretched over an almost gaunt face, his beard appearing to be 3 sizes too big. His hands shook gently even as he stirred his soup in contemplation. His eyes looked tired, his voice weary. Later in life I realised that was the day I lost the innocence of childhood.

I had started at the local school by then, and despite how I had originally hated it for stealing the freedom of my youth which I had truly believed would never end, with the news of father's illness it soon became my one escape. At home I would only be reminded of how everything was changing and there was nothing I could do about it. At school I could lose myself in my work and not think of anything but the subject in question. John grew quiet, my mother grew weary, strands of silver appearing in her long tresses, although in all honestly I felt it only improved her beauty. Henry played out more than ever in a desperate attempt to get the attention which had once been his but was now my fathers, eventually he grew sullen and would mope around the house all day, refusing even to join John in football with the neighbourhood kids. Later in life I would regret the time I had spent walking in silence through the woods playing foolish games by the river, wishing I had made the most of the time I had left with my Daddy.

'What's up Rosie?' Harry asked, stirring the murky brown waters of the river with a stick. Harry was a school friend, my best friend probably. His family lived on a small farm on the other side of the village to me. Well I say farm, really they had a dozen cows, occasionally a few pigs before Christmas, and always a multitude of hens pecking round their garden, running around squawking when Daisy, the family goat, would come charging towards them with her head down low playing her favourite game of 'scare the chickens.' His mum made jams and chutneys from the fruit and vegetables she grew on the land, caring for each plant as if it were her child. She sold to the neighbours and also to the village shop, but always gave me tastes for free when I sat in their small dimly lit kitchen in the evenings. My favourite was her green tomato and ginger, a taste to which this day reminds me of afternoons with Harry under the old oak, scraping the bottom of the jar with out fingers once we had eaten all of the bread.

I licked my fingers in silence, wondering how to answer. In truth, everything was wrong. My father had now been ill for 2 years, and the money he had got from selling the business had long gone. John had moved to Shepton Mallet for his apprenticeship, and although he sent home as much of his pay weekly as he could, money was short and we all knew it. I knew everyday that it was drawing to an end, and although in recent weeks my Father had appeared stronger, it was only a matter of time. A couple of minutes had passed before I stood up with a start, sending the jam jar flying into the water where it bobbed happily downstream.

'Let's go swimming.'

'What, now? You must be mad, its almost November the water will be freezing. You'll catch your death.'

'You sound like your mother.' I teased, knowing this would get him as it always did, hating being associated with the adults in his life.

'Fine.' He stood up hesitantly.

'I don't have anything to change into...' This confused me.

'So?' I asked, ' can't you just wear your clothes?'

'If I go home in wet clothes my mother will murder me.'

'So take them off.' He looked awkward at that, and for the first time I noticed how much he had changed in the past few months. He was bigger, both taller and broader than he had been in the summer when we had played. His jaw was more angular, he had dressed with more care.

'I can't.'

'Why not? We've seen each other naked plenty of times before, don 't say you're embarrassed.' I teased him again hoping to get a reaction more than the doubt in his eyes. He was definitely thinking about something else. 'What's wrong Harry?' I echoed his words back at him, I needed this distraction.

'Okay...' He still seemed nervous. I looked at him curiously observing the way his hair almost his his bright blue eyes, he looked as if he were not sure how to proceed.

'My mother says its wrong.'

'What is?' He loved his mother I knew but it seemed like she imposed so many unnecessary rules on his life now that he was getting older, I almost resented her for dragging my oldest friend away from me.

'Doing that in front of a girl. She says its private, immoral.' He said, facing away from me as if he did not want to catch my eye.

'And do you always listen to your mother?' I asked slyly. That got him, as I knew it would. He pounced on me and for a moment we were wrestling as we used to, as always, it didn't take me too long to pin him, arms by his side, my face only inches from his. His eyes were wide, almost frightened like a deer in the headlights as we panted on the floor. Something hard in his pocket was digging its way into my leg so I rolled off and lay on my back next to him. I reached out for his hand which was sweaty to the touch. I could feel his heart racing almost as fast as mine was. Something had changed. As we lay there curiosity got the better.

'What's in your pocket? It hurt.'

'Nothing.' He was still breathing hard and as he said it I wondered why he was lying. I looked over and true to form, his face had turned the vibrant shade of his mother's beetroot chutney. Oh well, he had the right to his secrets just as much as I had the right to mine.

When I retuned home later that afternoon the house seemed louder than normal. That was exclaimed quickly as a trio of 18 year old lads ran down the stairs almost knocking me over as they burst out the front door shouting about some football match or other. John was visiting for the weekend with two of his friends. I wandering into the kitchen following the mesmerizing scent of bakes apple and cinnamon wafting through the door. I stopped in the doorway, pausing to inhale the heady scent. My mother heard my footsteps and turned to greet me, she looked beautiful today with her auburn hair tied up loosely allowing the curly tendrils to escape around her pale face. I had her hair and tone, both pale as the winter in comparison to my father and brother's tan.

'Pie? Just out of the oven, I need you to try it for me.' It wasn't really a question, she was already serving it up on a plate before she had finished talking. She placed it down on the table and I dove in, hungry after an afternoon of swimming. Once I had finally persuaded Harry to get into the water the awkwardness between us had disappeared. I noticed his eyes on me as I undressed, and stared back when it was his turn. At that he had hidden behind a tree to finish undressing, hanging his clothes on the low hanging branches and refusing to come out until I was in the water.

'What did you do today dear?'

'Harry and I went down to the river, I saw a massive fish. Maybe Dad would want to go fishing this weekend?' I asked hesitantly because I was pretty sure I knew what the answer would be.

'Well yes, he might do. He seems to be feeling better at the moment I'm sure he'd love to.'

'oh,' I remembered something,' this is for you, from Mrs Malloy. It's a new flavour she wanted you to try before anyone else.' I said handing her the small glass jar, she read the label expectantly and her eyes lit up.

'Ooh lovely,' She said smiling again,' your Father will love this one. I'll have to send you over with something later. How is Julie? '

'Okay I think. Harry didn't really talk about her.' I said hesitantly, Harry had always had problems with his parents although I had never seen them treat him anything but well. I knew he had always wished for a brother or sister to share their attention with and perhaps distract them from some of his accidents. He felt guilt for wishing it though, knowing his mother had wanted a daughter more than anything and would have had it been a possibility for her. Sometimes he said he felt his mother resented him for having been born a boy, so to compensate he helped around the house as much as possible, even letting her teach him to cook and bake, which my brothers had never done with mother. 'His father is worried though. Another one of their cows died last night.'

There was a strange illness spreading amongst the livestock in the area affecting certain farms but not others. Green Farm, the largest in a 50 km radius has already lost 2 dozen, although they had had so many to begin with I couldn't see why that mattered. The Greens were the richest family in Evercreech and for that alone they had distanced themselves from the rest of us. Benjamin, their youngest, was in my class at school and already had the pretentious heirs and graces of his parents. I had gotten a detention over him before so of course I hated him. One day at lunch he had started talking to my friend Elizabeth very rudely, asking her to do this and that for him, and when she refused saying she was ugly and stupid. All the other boys had laughed at her and she had cried for the rest of the afternoon, more affected than I would have been by the silly teasing, probably because she had not grown up around boys. It had made me so angry that some stupid boy thought he could treat my friend that way, he had no right, what made him think he was better than her other than the fact his parents had money? That day after school I had shouted out to him in the playground, causing him to hang back and wait for me to catch up. I smiled sweetly at him, he looked confused but then smiled back, oblivious to the fact that I would NEVER smile genuinely at someone like him. As soon as I caught up, I punched him hard right in the nose. Blood had poured out like a fountain and I still remembered the sound of his scream to this day. I didn't even get in trouble that day although I'm sure Miss Hannibal saw what happened. Elizabeth had cried to her about Benjamin that afternoon and although she had tried to talk to the boy, he had obviously been brought up with a complete lack of respect for women and barely listened to a word. I went home happily, believing I had gotten away with my little stunt, but the next day at school Mrs Green had come in, shouting and crying over her poor little boy and the 'bully' who had tried to beat him up. Apparently I had held him against a wall and hit him repeatedly until three of his friends had run over to drag me off. Although I knew the teachers did not believe him as I had never done anything of the sort before, they had to punish me to keep the mad old lady quiet.

'Oh gosh, poor things. That really is a worry what with winter coming up. I must pop over at some point and see how they are doing, maybe they would appreciate a little extra help around the place, and I would appreciate getting you out from under my feet! And how was Harry dear? Is he doing well at school?' She looked at me expectantly and for someone reason I thought she had guessed what had changed between us that afternoon. But of course she hadn't, she wasn't there and nothing had even happened. Just a strange feeling which started in my stomach and made my fingers tingle when I thought of him.

'He's good. It was his birthday last week, he's 14 now. He's taller than Henry now.' I said nonchalantly, shrugging my shoulders as if I couldn't care less how he was.

'Three years older than you Rose, doesn't he have friends of his own age to play with?'

'Only two school years.' I said defiantly, why was age an issue anyway? It hadn't been a problem last year, or the year before that. Why did it suddenly matter now?

'Okay Rose,' she said smiling sweetly as if she were the one with the secret, 'invite him over for dinner sometime, maybe for your birthday. He was always such a lovely polite boy.'

Two hours later and I was knocking on his door, nervous for some reason despite having stood in that exact same spot so many times over the years. A heard footsteps and my heart tightened, then let go in relief when his mother opened the door, brushing flour off her hands onto her apron before she pulled me in for a quick hug.

'Rose my love, you're getting more beautiful everyday. Oh is this from your mother?' She asked taking the awkward bundle from me. 'How sweet of her, how are you dear? And Helen and Charlie?'

'I'm good Mrs Malloy. Mum and dad seem okay too, I think Daddy had good news from the doctor in Bath last month.'

She smiled hesitantly at that, wondering what to say to a poor child who was soon to lose her hero. Mrs Malloy was beautiful, in her way. Although I could not compare her to my elegant and slim mother, she seemed more like the mothers in the picture books, blonde curls surrounded her fat red cheeks, and her eyes twinkled in the light. She had always reminded me slightly of Mrs Claus. I hadn't truly believed in Father Christmas for a long time, Henry had let me in on the secret when I was 6, I had cried for days realising that my parents had been lying to me for so long. When John found out that Henry had told me, he punched him in the face and asked me to pretend to our parents that I had no clue. It made Christmas difficult, now that I knew the beautiful little trinkets and wooden toys were not a gift from a stranger, I felt bad that my parents were spending money to preserve an idea that I no longer believed in.

'Go on out back dear, I think Harry's doing his art again. Strange boy never seems to be away from his pencils, except when he's with you of course.' She smiled that same mysterious smile as my mother and again if wondered if all parents had a sixth sense which just let them know things like this.

I turned away abruptly and half ran out of the back door attempting to hide the blush which had crept up on my cheeks. Damn being pale. I found Harry illuminated by the last of the suns dying rays, perched on an old stump holding his sketchbook with one hand and paints balanced precariously next to him. A dozen red hens clucked noisily around his feet, occasionally jumping up a foot or two in the air in a misled attempt at flight. I had always pitied chickens having had so cruelly the power of flight taken away from them, and although I understood why that was, I vowed that if I ever had chickens in the future they would be allowed to fly freely around the local countryside, only returning at night to rest and lay.

'Hey.' I called out as I approached, not wishing to disturb him and ruin his work as I had done before a few weeks back. I had tried to surprise him from behind, not realising that he was working on a piece, and in his surprise he had dropped the sketchbook face down in the mud. For a moment it had looked like he would shout at me, but in an instant the stormy seas on his eyes had cooled to a silent lake in summer. I had never seen Harry get angry before, it was almost like he lacked the ability, but I knew really that he had just learnt to hide his emotions so well, never wishing for a confrontation. He reminded me of the complete opposite of Henry, seeming so much older although in reality he was at least a year younger.

'Hey Rose,' he said even turning to see who I was, his hand frantically racing across the paper leaving splashes of colour and adding light to his picture. Harry had a real talent with art and I loved to watch him work. Although I had tried, I couldn't form a likeness on the page with the ease that Harry did. Sometimes whilst he worked I drew delicate patterns on a page, which he always said were very impressive, though I knew he was lying to make me smile. Of course that made me smile all the more.

'Can I see?' I asked although knowing he would no show me until the finished project, taking particular care and pride in his work which I had never had the patience for. I always wondered how people like Harry and my Father could honestly spend hours perfecting one tiny little thing, which to everyone else had looked great to begin with. I had seen Harry get upset if he was unable to finish a piece or make it perfect, when I knew it was the process that mattered not the end result.

'One moment..' he said without moving his eyes from the paper again. I squeezed onto the stump next to him and sat patiently, when I noticed after a moment how close my arm was to his I tried to edge a bit further away and fell to the ground with a bump.

He snorted and I turned red as a the fire trucks I had seen once in Shepton Mallet, before getting back up without saying a word. This time I sat right next to him without worrying. The minutes passed slowly and I relaxed in the comfortable silence which had enveloped us. It's rare in life that you find someone with whom silence can be just as important as conversation. Some people feel the need to fill every gap in conversation with the sound of their own voice. Henry was like that, sometimes at dinner he would provide enough conversation for the 5 of us.

'Done.' he said eventually, ripping out the page and handing it to me with a flourish. 'it's good to see you Rose.'

'You saw me earlier today, miss me already?' I teased him but I was happy he had said it. It was good to see him too, it always was. 'This is great Harry, it looks like its coming to life.' I showed the hen closest to me the picture, she looked at it curiously before returning to her pecking at the ground. 'Look, its you!' I told her with a giggle.

'Actually it's not. It's Heather.' Harry said with a chuckle, pointing to one of the further away chickens which stood a little way away from the rest.

'I don't know how you tell the difference,' I said, trying to refrain from laughing, 'can I have this?'

He almost looked like he was considering it before laughing and shaking his head.

'No,' he said, as I knew he would. 'I'm going to hang it in their coop.'

'But it's my birthday.' I pouted.

'Not for another month,' he said teasingly, 'don't get ahead of yourself.'

'Fine. Will you draw me something for my birthday then?' I asked him.

'I already am.'

I turned to hug him in thanks and in doing so accidentally knocked over the discoloured water jar, causing the chickens to jump up in the air and squawk noisily. We both laughed but he hugged me back, I was happier than I had been for a long time. I knew that no matter what, Harry would always be my best friend.