Fiona Mozley - Elmet

‘Am I?’

‘Aye, you are that. You’re a funny little thing. A pretty little thing.’ The man looked me up and down. ‘Not built like your Daddy, are you?’ He chuckled to himself. ‘Are you going to be a boxer when you grow up?’

‘No. I’ve never boxed. Daddy’s never taught me.’

‘Never taught you, eh? Funny for a boxing father not to pass it on to his son. It’s a grand tradition, you know.’

He chewed on his lip and shuffled from side to side, then chuckled again.

I shrugged. ‘Daddy dindt want it for me.’

‘Is it that?’ said the man. ‘Or is it that you’re not big enough? You’ve got skinny little arms, handt you? Not sure what weight class you’d be in but you’ve not got the muscle, have you? Tallish, mind, but skinny. Worst combination for a boxer that. You carry your weight in your height not your muscles. Worst build for a boxer.’

‘Well it’s fine by me.’

‘Oh aye? Fine by you, is it? Well I woundt like sons who coundt hit back, that’s for sure, no matter how pretty they were. It’s true we can’t all be like your Daddy, but I thought his own son would be something along the way to him.’ He stopped for a moment. ‘Aye, though,’ he said. ‘You are a pretty one.’

I had never thought of myself as pretty.

I thought about Vivien stroking my hair and my face in the way this man had.

Where was Cathy?

The man chuckled again as I walked away. Daddy was still occupied with his admirers.

I walked into the woods. The trees’ trunks and enveloping foliage sheltered me from sounds of the fair, and I was left with my footsteps, the insects and the birds.

I walked in a straight line, following the rough path she had taken.

I had walked maybe 100 metres. Steps are slower in woodland.

‘Daniel.’ She was behind me with her back against a tree trunk. I had walked right past her without noticing. Her arms were crossed about her body.

‘What you doing?’

‘Nowt.’ She did not meet my eyes.

‘Daddy won.’

‘I know.’

‘Did you watch?’

‘No.’

‘Were you here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Could you hear from here?’

‘No.’

‘How then?’

‘Because I knew he’d win. Dindt you?’

‘Well yes, of course. I mean, of course. But I were nervous, I suppose.’

‘I wandt.’

‘Nothing is certain.’

‘Yes it is. He is.’

She turned and walked away from me, through the trees, back to the clearing where the men had watched the fight. Some were moving on now. Clearing up, going home. I followed her. Skipped after her. My legs were as long as hers now but I still struggled to keep the pace. I never went anywhere or did anything with as much urgency as Cathy did. Big sister, little brother. I wanted her to always lead the way, tell me what was what, carry me home.

I woke suddenly; it was the middle of the night.

Dogs barked.

Our dogs.

I could hear their claws scratching at the rough slate and their feet slipping as they tried to run. More than once they slapped their heads against my door as if searching for an open exit from a sinking ship. I could hear them throw themselves at the walls too. And at Cathy’s door.

Daddy was up. I could hear his voice and the raised voice of another man answering each other across the threshold of our house.

‘Bit funny indt it, don’t you think?’ the voice said. ‘Bit of a funny coincidence?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Daddy. He was not entirely calm.

‘But you don’t seem surprised. When you opened the door you seemed rather to have been expecting me.’

‘Not really. Not expecting you. Unexpected visitors aren’t unusual these days so I can’t say I’m shocked when they turn up, even so early.’

‘And you seemed to have been expecting this news.’

‘No.’

The dogs were still scrabbling and barking, crashing intermittently against the walls. I strained to hear Daddy and the stranger over the din. I needed to be nearer to the door. I climbed out from beneath my covers. Away from my bed the air was thin and fresh. I had slept naked that night and my skin pinched itself back against the cold.

‘Strangled, he was. His neck was so badly bruised we coundt tell if we’d cleaned off all the mud or not. My lad jus kept scrubbing away at him with soap and water to get all the marks off, like. I had to tell him to stop before he rubbed all his skin off too. And what I want to know is, who could do that? Who would have the strength? And who would want to? Motive, you see.’

‘I think I can smell your meaning but I want you to speak to me directly. Ask me.’

‘And it’s a strange thing. A strange way to kill a man, even a boy. Round these parts men are shot or stabbed, or beaten so badly they die of their wounds. Bleed slowly to death. They’re not strangled, like. First off, it would take strength, like I said. He wandt small. Tall, strong lad he was. Played all those posh-boy sports up at his school. Rugger and that. Squash and what have you. He woundt have gone down without a fight. Not unless the man who did for him was exceptionally strong. Second, there’s something so tender and sly about it. Why not keep your distance and clobber the man? Why not kick him when he’s down? Why not stick a knife in him, or cleaner still a bullet so as you don’t have to touch him at all. Why get up close and put your hands around his neck? Strange.’

The dogs were still moaning. Quieter now but keeping up the game. Setting each other off. Goading each other. Speaking to each other. Mimicking the conversation at the door.

‘Was it by your hands, John?’

‘You believe that it was.’

‘I’m asking you. Now answer.’

‘These hands did not throttle the boy.’

The dogs followed the silence of the men. I heard Daddy move to motion them out the front door then their paws pad and scrape on the slate then the gravel and earth, then fade as they followed his command and loped off down the hill.

‘Do you believe me?’

‘I do. But it don’t matter what I believe. Their blood is up, John. Price and his men. They’ve decided it were you, and they won’t hear owt different.’

‘What proof do they have?’

‘None. And they won’t get any. You know they won’t involve the police. There won’t be any kind of investigation. They’ll just decide.’

‘I know. I know the game. I know how it works around these parts.’

‘You do. And you know they have a convincing story. The story’s the thing.’

‘The fight was won. I won Cathy and Danny’s land for them. I had the paper in my hands. Signed by Price and me and the lawyer. It was witnessed. It was all secure. Why would I kill Price’s boy now? Why would I disrupt everything like that?’

‘Because—’

‘Because what? Because I can’t control myself? Because I’m little more than an animal?’

‘Because of your daughter, John. Because they were seen together. Because the lad had been sniffing around her for months.’

Daddy was mute. I could feel him recoil, shift his weight, step back gently in surprise.

‘What?’

‘Were you blind to it? Such an attentive father, John, in so many ways yet you dindt see that?’

‘What was there to see?’

‘Him and her. Him mainly. Coming over to talk to her whenever he could. But not in a friendly way. Not in a trying to get to know her kind of way. In a trying to get her away from the crowd kind of way. Sometimes his brother too. Him and his brother together. They were after her. Only she wandt keen, was she?’

‘Of course she wandt.’

‘No, no, she wandt.’

‘She’s too young.’