Darkness Demands Part 8

Almost blindly, they ran straight at the fast flowing stream. John scrambled to his feet, holding up his grease-blackened hands. "Whoa! Careful, you two. You'll end up in the stream."

"We saw his face in the water!" Emm squealed.

Elizabeth jumped up and down. "And now he's chasing us!"

"Oh," John nodded, understanding. "The water dragon."

"No!"

"Who then?"

The two girls yelled in harmony. "Baby Bones!"

Then, still giddy with excitement, they raced off down the hill. John wiped his hands on a rag. The dog looked up at him, ears pointing.

"Baby Bones, Sam?" John shrugged. "Who the h.e.l.l's Baby Bones?"

2.

Round about six-ish Paul rolled up. John noticed his face was a near cherry red. What's more, he grinned to himself when he thought no one was looking.

"Done much today?" John asked as he returned tools to the shed.

"No." Paul shrugged.

"Where did you get to?"

"Town."

"Anything exciting happen?"

Paul shook his head.

"What did you think of that video last night?"

"OK.".

John rolled his eyes skyward. At seventeen Paul was still in the one-word conversation phase of adolescence. To drag a full sentence out of him took time as well as a full-blooded determination.

"You look happy with yourself, Paul," John said as Paul hung around in the shed doorway. "What's up?"

"Nothing."

"But you keep smiling to yourself. Something funny must have happened. Aren't you going to share it with your old man?"

"I'm not smiling."

"You are."

"How can you tell when I've got my back to you?"

"I can tell, number one son."

"How?"

"Your ears go up and down."

Paul rubbed his ears. Then added, "It's hot today."

Result! John thought. Without it being levered from him, Paul had spoken a three word conversational sentence.

"Beautiful, isn't it? Can you pa.s.s me the rake? Thanks, son."

"I'm boiling."

"Great barbecue weather, eh?"

"Can I have a beer?"

John glanced across at where Val piled the nettles she'd ma.s.sacred.

"You know your mother isn't keen on you drinking beer around the house."

"Go on, Dad. I'm dying of thirst."

"On three conditions."

"What are those?" Paul sounded suspicious.

"One. You drink it from your old mouse cup."

"What? It's got a picture of Mickey Mouse on it. I haven't used it in years."

"I know, but it's colored plastic."

"You can't be serious?"

"Deadly serious. If you use that your mother can't see that you're drinking beer."

"If I drink from a bottle across here she won't see either."

"Believe me, she will. And we'll both spend tonight in h.e.l.l."

"All right," he relented grudgingly.

"Condition number two. You give me a hand with the boat."

"What's wrong with it?"

"I sunk it in the lake."

"Christ, Dad. What did you do that for?"

"Because it's built out of wooden planks."

"Sounds mad to me."

"If a boat's made out of wood and it's been left to dry out, you need to immerse it in water so the planks tighten up again."

"Otherwise it'll leak?"

"Got it in one."

"OK, deal."

"Are you sure nothing happened to you today?" There I go fussing like a mother hen again, John told himself. But wasn't that the natural way of the parent? "You look hot and bothered. Has someone chased you?"

"No."

Paul turned away as if nonchalantly watching his mother.

John shook his head. "Paul, your ears are bobbing up and down again."

Well, at least the kid had something to grin about. Better that then looking miserable.

"See you later, Pa."

"Paul. You forgot condition three."

Paul's face turned sullen.

John shot him a smile. "Bring a beer for me, too."

Paul smiled back. It was one of those moments of empathy when John realized that the pair of them were two chips from the same Newton block. There were times John could almost read his son's mind. And he guessed that it worked the other way, too. More than once they'd watched an attractive woman sashay her way along a street. Father and son had then caught one another's eye. They'd known full well what had been sizzling through the other's mind right at that moment.

3.

Emm stayed for sandwiches and ice cream. John helped Val finish heaping nettles into a mound in the orchard. On more than one occasion John caught Paul grinning his secret grin while staring dreamily into s.p.a.ce. Sam flopped into a patch of shade. He lay there with his tongue hanging like a piece of pink ribbon.

Once Elizabeth and Emm had finished their ice cream they took to kicking a ball about the lawn.

"Keep it away from the roses," Val called. "It'll burst if it catches a thorn."

Elizabeth carefully took the ball out of harm's way into the middle of the lawn. It was a favorite of hers. A Man In The Moon ball she'd bought on a shopping trip with her grandparents a few weeks ago. John had thought at the time it was a bizarre looking thing. Supposedly a replica of a fairy tale moon it wore the Man In The Moon face with his characteristic look of wide-eyed surprise, the mouth open into a big black O. To continue the fairy tale theme it was even supposed to smell like green cheese. John had watched Paul sniff it warily then announce it smelt like puke. At least the stink repelled the dog who'd enthusiastically burst so many b.a.l.l.s with his canines that John had lost count.

As the girls played with the ball, John went to the lake. There, the boat lay on the lakebed where the water was shallowest. Taking off his shoes and socks, John waded out to the boat. With Paul's help he turned it, tipping out the water, then he tied it by a line to a tree at the water's edge.

"Wouldn't it be best to leave the boat upside down to drain?" Paul asked.

"If we did that the planks would dry out; they'd start to shrink and we'd spring a leak. This way will keep the wood nice and tight."

"Uh, this mud stinks."

"Don't worry. Wipe your feet on the gra.s.s."

Then Paul did one of those things that he was apt to do once in a while. After wiping the mud from his feet by moonwalking backwards, he suddenly took off to where the girls were playing. Maybe there was still a good chunk of child-like mischief in him. He wove around Emm, tapping the ball from her with the side of one bare foot.

"And the crowd goes wild," he shouted. "He's taken control of the balla outstanding footwork by Newton. Will the boy score?"

Elizabeth wasn't impressed. "Paul-Paua ullll! Give it back. It's not yours."

Paul dribbled the ball round the girls, his arms out at his sides, while all the time keeping up a commentary. "The opposition don't know what's. .h.i.t thema this boy's so good."

"Paul!" Elizabeth folded her arms. She scowled through her bandages. "Give that ball back to me. You'll burst it." When that didn't work Elizabeth appealed to a higher authority. "Muma Mum! Paul won't give me my ball back. Tell him."

Paul was, by this time, heading h.e.l.l for leather toward the rose bushes.

John frowned. Paul sometimes took real gratification from winding his sister up. The trouble was, she then took some winding down.

"Paul," he called. "Give your sister her ball back."

"I was just about to," he replied, grinning. "Here, Bizzy Lizzie."

He gave the ball a sharp kick. It went sailing over Elizabeth's head.

"Paul, you kicked it too hard."

The ball hit the lawn. It kept on bouncing. Elizabeth chased after it.

Val called across to Paul in her best tone of disapproval. "Paul, that wasn't fair."

"She should have jumped up to catch it."

The ball rolled now, but John saw disaster on its way.

Elizabeth shouted in anger. "It's going into the streama quick, get it!"