Joe Treasure - The Book of Air

I have found the turn of spring with all the birds coming and the bright leaves and the snowdrops pleasant and comfortable, but here, away from the village, it has no meaning. And so with everything. Times and changes are just themselves and nothing more. I see that it is not just the Book of Air that I yearn to read more than one way, but the events of my waking life. I didn’t begin to understand this until Walt was born. Even if Quinlan had never come to the O, I would have wanted more for Walt than this thin scrabble for existence.

If we mean to go north. Those were Dell’s words. We both knew without saying that with nothing left for us at the O but danger we would try to reach the village. There is danger for us there too, I have no doubt of that, but at least Walt will be safe. My neighbours will surely take the child, even if they turn me out. If I am locked away or killed, perhaps they will raise him at the Hall. If we lose our way in the forest and starve or fall into the hands of ruthless men it will be worse.

I think Dell has her own reasons to come that neither of us will put words to. For myself, I am frightened of the village, and frightened of what I must do when I get there, but driven by a desperate hope. My courage might fade when we come near the Hall and within the Mistress’s reach. But we have decided and must take our chances.

In the dining room, what’s left of last night’s dinner litters the table – the plates stained with gravy, the wilting flowers, the candles shrunk to dried puddles of wax. The chairs are just as we left them, angled away from the table, one tipped over on to the floor.

I sit with my back to the window. Simon is on my lap. He’s wearing my jacket and I hold him close, but he doesn’t stop shivering. I’d take him to the kitchen, but Maud’s in the kitchen with Abigail. The church is still burning. I can taste the fire. The flames light up the mirror above the mantelpiece and animate the pictures.

There are blackberries scattered on the table. I gather the ones within reach and offer them to Simon, but he shuts his mouth tight and shakes his head. He asks for Jangle and I tell him again that Django’s dead.

I hear raised voices in the hall. Deirdre comes in, followed by Aleksy. She asks me what we’re going to do.

‘About what?’

‘What are we going to do about Maud?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say, ‘I haven’t thought about it.’

‘We must do something.’

Aleksy pulls a chair up to the table. ‘Maud’s young. She’ll get over it.’

Deirdre is exasperated. ‘It’s not about her. It’s about Django. She killed him. We can’t do nothing.’

‘You want we build her a little gaol? We all milk the cows and bring water in for her to sit and get fat? You want to give her ten years maybe? Then for sure she won’t kill no one else.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Just give her a good slapping then. What do you think? You want to do it, or how? You want me and Jason to beat her a little?’

‘You’re really a disgusting human being, Aleksy – you know that?’

Aleksy grins slyly.

Deirdre turns to me. ‘I just think we ought to do something, Jason – to show that it’s important – to show that Django’s life mattered.’

‘You never killed no one, Deedee?’ Aleksy asks her.

‘That was different. That was on the road. That was self-defence.’

‘This was no different.’

‘She gets away with it and who’ll be next?’

‘No one will be next,’ I tell her.

Deirdre looks at me for a moment and then turns to the window. She speaks more quietly, as if this is an argument she’s having with herself. ‘She never talks. Who knows what she’s thinking?’

Simon frowns and his mouth begins to move. ‘What did mmm…’ We watch for a bit while he struggles with Maud’s name.

Then I answer his question. ‘What did she do? She watched out for you, Si. She saved you from a fall. You might be dead if she hadn’t.’

‘She…’ There’s a k-word coming. It scratches in his throat like a hairball, until it threatens to choke him.

‘Killed Django, yes, but someone had to.’

He frowns at me, struggling with this new thought. ‘Why did someone have to?’ He pushes my arm away and shuffles off my lap to stand on the floor. ‘Why did someone?’ I watch the rage gathering in him, tightening his face, pulling him upright.

When Maud appears in the doorway all Simon’s red-faced fury is turned on her. ‘Why did you?’

Maud turns to Abigail, standing beside her with an arm round her shoulder, then she faces Simon again. ‘Because, Simon…’

We’ve never heard her voice. We couldn’t know it would sound just this way – the soft music of it, the faint Welsh lilt – but now no other voice is imaginable.

Maud breathes and tries again, speaking slowly but with gentle urgency. ‘Because I wouldn’t have him fill you with that book of death.’

Simon glares at her, shaking with rage. ‘She must be sent to her room,’ he says, ‘withouten any ice cream.’

They stand for a moment confronting each other. Then Maud turns and runs. We hear her footsteps on the oak staircase, all the way to the top of the house and more faintly along the passage. A door bangs, and I know which door it is. She’s chosen your beautiful bathroom, Caro, to hide herself in. The house creaks and falls silent. Deirdre rests her head against the glass. Aleksy sighs. Abigail says, ‘We should have tea,’ but doesn’t move, and I realise this isn’t a proposal, but an expression of loss. A strange peace settles on the room.

We rode for two days. It was late afternoon when we saw the village. A fresh spring wind came up to meet us. The hedges were all in blossom, the track skirted with sorrel and thrift, a sight I’d not thought about in my time among the scroungers but had pined for in my heart. Dell, who is not so used to riding, sat behind with Walt. I saw in the distance through the trees the swallows swooping and the cows grazing the meadow, everything in its right place.

When the Monk’s Ruin came into view ahead of us, I cut in through the trees and headed for the High Wood, so that we would see the Hall before being seen.

The villagers who had once been my neighbours were gathered on the grass. Seeing them together and the Mistress with them I faltered. If Brendan was dead they couldn’t blame me for it, but I had escaped from the red room and defied the power of the Hall. I told Dell, though she seemed less afraid than I was, that everything would be all right and that she should stay by the horse with Walt. If they took me she should do as we had agreed – ride boldly to the oak door and ask to speak to Sarah. If Sarah wouldn’t come she should tell whoever would listen that little Walter was Brendan’s child and should be taken in for his sake.

I dropped quiet as I could to the ground, pulled the leather bag from Gideon’s back and took some steps towards the lawn. The shadow of the Hall reached out to meet me, pointing with its gables and chimneys.

A woman stepped from the shadow of a tree and I saw it was my old neighbour Bessie. She threw her arms around me. ‘You here,’ she said. ‘I never thought to see you again.’ Drawing back, she put her hands to my face. ‘And are you well, dear Agnes, and are you home for good? Your cottage stands empty since your poor mother died.’

‘I’m home if they’ll have me, Bessie,’ I said, ‘and not lock me up.’

She shook her head and sighed. ‘That’s more than I know.’

I asked her, ‘Why is the village gathered?’

‘A terrible thing. Morton is dead and they say Daniel killed him. So he must be beaten, poor boy, and sent out into the forest to scavenge.’