John Christopher - The Death of Grass

“Either they had gone far enough away to be out of earshot, or else they were spotted and bought it {138} 138 bought it: killed (slang) . Those people weren’t bad shots. Not being in the house, they wouldn’t have had any protection.”

“They could have drifted out of earshot.” Roger laughed. “Along the paths of love.”

“Out of earshot of that racket? That would have brought Pirrie back.”

“There is another possibility,” Roger suggested. “Jane may have tucked a knife in her garter on her own account These ideas probably do occur to women spontaneously.”

“Where’s Jane, then?”

“She still might have run across our friends. Or she might have tumbled to the fact that she would be less than popular here if she came back with a story of having mislaid her new husband on her bridal night.”

“She’s got enough sense to know a woman’s helpless on her own now.”

“Funny creatures, women,” Roger said. “Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, they do the sensible thing without hesitation. The hundredth time they do the other with the same enthusiasm.”

John said curiously: “You seem cheerful tonight, Rodge.”

“Who wouldn’t be, after a reprieve like that? That second grenade came within a couple of feet of pitching in at my window.”

“And you won’t be sorry if Pirrie has bought it, either from Jane or the grenade merchants.”

“Not particularly. Not at all, in fact. I think I’d be rather pleased, I told you—there’s been no need for me to get myself fixated {139} 139 fixated: obsessed by on Pirrie. I haven’t had to run things.”

“Is that what you would call it—fixated?”

“You don’t find many Pirrie’s about. The pearl in the oyster—hard and shining and, as far as the oyster is concerned, a disease.”

“And the oyster?” John offered ironically: “The world as we know it.”

“The analogy’s too complicated. I’m tired as well. But you know what I mean about Pirrie. In abnormal conditions, invaluable; but I hope to God we aren’t going to live in those conditions for ever.”

“He was a peaceable enough citizen before. There’s no reason to think he wouldn’t have been once again.”

“Isn’t there? You can’t put a pearl back inside the oyster. I wasn’t looking forward to life in the valley with Pirrie standing just behind you, ready to jog your elbow.”

“In the valley, David’s boss, if anyone has to be. Not me, not Pirrie. You know that.”

“I’ve never met your brother,” Roger said. “I know very little about him. But he hasn’t had to bring his family and hangers-on through a world that breaks up as you touch it.”

“That doesn’t make any difference.”

“No?” Roger yawned again. “I’m tired. You turn in. It’s not worth my while for half an hour. I’ll just look in and see that the kids have bedded down.”

They stood together in the doorway of the room. Ann and Olivia were lying on blankets under the window; Ann looked up as she saw them standing there, but did not say anything. A shaft of moonlight extended to the double bed that had been created out of the two single ones. Mary lay curled up by the wall. Davey and Steve were snuggled in together, with one of Davey’s arms thrown across Steve’s shoulder. Spooks, his features strangely adult without his spectacles, was at the other side. He was awake also, staring up at the ceiling.

“Don’t think I’m not grateful for Pirrie,” Roger said. “But I’m glad we’ve found we can manage without him.”

In the new pattern of life, the hours of sleep were from nine to four, the children being packed off, when possible, an hour earlier, and sleeping on after the others until breakfast was ready. It began to be light during the last watch, which John shared with Will Secombe. He went out into the garden and examined the field of the skirmish. There was a man about twenty-five, shot through the side of the head, about fifteen yards from the house. He was wearing army uniform and had a jewelled brooch pinned on his chest. If the stones were diamond, as they appeared to be, it must have been worth several hundred pounds at one time.

There were tatters of army uniform on the other body in the garden. This one was a considerably more ugly sight; he had apparently been carrying grenades round his waist, and the first one had set them off. It was difficult to make out anything of what he had been like in life. John called Secombe, and they dragged both bodies well away from the house and shoved them out of sight under a clump of low-lying holly.

Secombe was a fair-haired, fair-skinned man; he was in his middle thirties but looked a good deal younger. He kicked a protruding leg farther under the holly, and looked at his hands with disgust.

John said: “Go in and have a wash, if you like. I’ll look after things. It will be time for reveille {140} 140 reveille: waking signal in armed services, sounded in the morning by bugle or drums soon, anyway.”

Thanks, Mr Custance. Nasty job, that I didn’t see anything as bad as that during the war.”

When he had gone, John had another look round the environs of the house. The man who had had the grenades had had a rifle as well; it lay where he had lain, bent and useless. There was no sign of any other weapon; that belonging to the other corpse had presumably been taken away in the retreat.

He found nothing else, apart from two or three cartridge clips and a number of spent cartridge cases. He was looking for signs of Pirrie or Jane, but there was nothing. In the dawn light, the valley stretched away, without sign of life. The sky was still clear. It looked like a good day lying ahead.

He thought of calling again, and then decided it would be useless. Secombe came back out of the house, and John looked at his watch.

“All right. You can get them up now.”

Breakfast was almost ready and there were sounds of the children moving about when John heard Roger exclaim:

“Good God!”

They were in the front room from which John had directed operations during the night John followed Roger’s gaze out of the shattered window. Pirrie was coming up the garden path, his rifle under his arm; Jane walked just behind him.

John called to him: “Pirrie! What the hell have you been up to?”

Pirrie smiled slightly. “Would you not regard that as a delicate question?” He nodded towards the garden. “You cleared the mess up, then?”

“You heard it?”

“It would have been difficult not to. Did they land either of the grenades inside?” John shook his head. “I thought not.”

“They cleared off when things were beginning to get hot,” John said. “I’m still surprised about that.”

The side fire probably upset them,” Pirrie said.

“Side fire?”

Pirrie gestured to where, on the right of the house, the ground rose fairly steeply.

John said: “You were having a go at them—from there?”

Pirrie nodded. “Of course.”

“Of course,” John echoed. “That explains a few things. I was wondering who we had in the house who could hit that kind of target in that kind of light, and kill instead of just wounding.” He looked at Pirrie. “Then you heard me call you, after they had cleared off? Why didn’t you give me a hail back?”

Pirrie smiled again. “I was busy.”

They travelled easily and uneventfully that day, if fairly slowly. Their route now lay for the most part across the moors, and there were several places where it was necessary to leave the roads and cut over the bare or heathery slopes, or to follow by the side of one of the many rivers or streams that flowed down from the moors into the dales. The sun rose at their backs into a cloudless sky, and before midday it was too hot for comfort. John called an early halt for dinner, and afterwards told the women to get the children down to rest in the shade of a group of sycamores.