The Fearful (9 page)

Sarah smiled coyly, tried to insinuate herself into a cuddle. ‘I'm your friend.'

He stepped back, more interested in having her grasp what he was struggling to say. ‘Yeah, of course. I know. But everybody downstairs—'

‘They're not really
friends
friends,' she said. ‘They look up to you. As the Mourner.'

Which only made Tim feel worse. ‘Exactly. They're only my friends because of that. They might not even like me as a person.'

‘Of course they do.'

‘But what you've just said is that they only want to know me because I'm going to be the Mourner. If I decide I don't want to be the Mourner then they'll all hate me. It's not the Tim bit of me they want; it's the Milmullen part.'

Sarah shook her head in distaste. ‘You're being funny again.' Her nose was crinkled as though his words smelled bad.

It was enough to convince him to shut up.

He stood at the window that looked towards WetFun in the hope of spotting Jenny and the two students. Only one small sailing boat was out on the water this morning; even so he could guarantee his sister wouldn't be sitting in it. A jet-ski buzzed back and forth and he reckoned it was probably Gully showing off. There was a large colour-coordinated group of people milling around on the shore, all wearing orange and yellow life vests. He saw a dark coat that he thought might be Jenny's, and if it was her she was keeping well away from the water's edge. Like Bill had always instructed.

‘Can you see Jenny?' Sarah asked, stepping up to the window. ‘Is that her?'

‘Think so.'

‘What will your dad say if he sees her?'

‘He'll not be happy about it, that's for sure.'

‘She'd never go out in a boat, though. She's too Fearful.'

‘It's not just that, is it? It's because Dad can't stand Vic Stones, while Vic Stones purposely winds Dad up. Dad's always forbidden us from going anywhere near the place. And now with this hotel and everything it'd be worse, because it would feel like she was being a traitor.'

‘That's silly. She'd never be a traitor; she's more Fearful than anyone. It's only because she fancies Gully.'

‘Yeah. Suppose. But what's so special about Gully?' He looked at Sarah, who shrugged. ‘Do you think he's good looking?'

‘In a way.'

‘But he's a nob-head.'

‘It doesn't stop him from being good-looking.'

Tim pulled a face. Who was he more jealous of? Gully for his careless freedom and attitude, or Jenny for having the guts to break their parents' rules? And what was the point in taking the risk of going to WetFun if you weren't going to thrash about on a jet-ski or roar across the lake in a speedboat? It was true his sister was far too much of a believer to even think about going out on the water, but if Tim was over there, then just maybe
he
would.

‘I tried phoning last night,' Sarah said.

Here we go
. ‘Yeah. I'm sorry. It wasn't that I was avoiding you on purpose. I just . . . You know.'

‘I was worried about you.'

‘I'm okay. I'm always okay.' He was using the same smile on her as he'd used with everyone downstairs. ‘When am I ever not okay?' He forced the smile as wide as it would go.

She wasn't convinced. ‘What about us? Is everything okay with us?'

And suddenly a split-second window of opportunity opened for him to admit he didn't want to see her any more.

But: ‘Of course.' He lied because he couldn't tell her to
her face. Over the phone would be better, easier. Maybe even get Jenny to tell her instead.

He was still trying hard with that smile and hoped she couldn't see the awkwardness he felt with her. He wondered whether he should kiss her, but realized that might just make her stay longer. It wasn't her fault, he wanted to tell her. It was him. But that was crap and tacky and clichéd. And not wholly true either.

She was playing with the buttons of her cardigan. ‘I can stay over. If you still want me to.'

It threw him for a second.

‘You asked me to stay over, remember?'

‘And you're allowed?'

‘It's what we both want, isn't it?'

‘Yeah, definitely. It's just that . . .' He saw her face change from irritated to annoyed; a subtle tilt of her eyebrows, a slight shift of her mouth. ‘It's just great.
Really
great. When?'

‘It has to be tomorrow night. I told my mum Jenny and I had a project to finish and that we were already late with it. She had a go at me for not doing my schoolwork properly, but it's worth it if I can stay the night with you, isn't it?'

He was concerned that he'd only asked her because he hadn't believed she'd go through with it. Never in a million years did he think . . . Then, at long last, his mind caught up – like a car changing gear, or an arrow hitting a bull's-eye. And he thought about what might happen. Alone for a whole night. With her.

‘It's really great.' He nodded hard, grinning despite himself because he realized he actually meant it. Because
spending a night meant sex, didn't it? He forgot about everybody and everything down in the kitchen for the time being. Because he was a boy. ‘I'll find us a free room. There's plenty not booked.'

There was a worry. It was risky; could they get away with it without getting caught? Mr Gregory might well kill him. It was a big worry.

But he couldn't help letting his fantasies come first. He let his eagerness show through in his smile. A smile that was real for the first time all morning.

She giggled and came towards him, wanting a hug. He gave one willingly. ‘But can we talk too?' she asked.

‘Yeah.'

‘About everything?'

‘Promise,' he said, even though his mind was somewhere else entirely. Maybe life was good after all.

Although Sarah seemed determined to spoil things. ‘Jenny said you've not told your mum and dad.'

‘What about?'

‘About yesterday. Roddy.'

He didn't like the sound of this. He stepped backwards out of the hug.

‘About what happened at lunch time.'

He took another step away from her. ‘I didn't see the point. I mean, there's not much they can do about it, is there? Not really.'

‘I told mine.'

‘What?' His good mood vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The world came crashing in. ‘Why?'

‘I thought it was important. He shouldn't be allowed to do things like that. Why didn't you—?'

He was shaking his head. ‘Your dad will tell mine.' He swore: ‘Shit.
Shit!
'

Sarah tried to come to him again, but he wouldn't let her this time.

‘I never tell my mum and dad anything like that. Nothing about Roddy Morgan or any of the other arseholes at school.'

‘Why not?'

‘I just don't, okay? I just don't.'

‘But maybe they could—'

‘What could they do? Come on. What? They couldn't do anything. I can handle it myself. I always have.'

She shrugged, pulled her usual trick of looking down so she could hide her face behind the fall of her hair. And for some reason the gesture hit a nerve in him.

‘If you've got something to say, just say it. I hate it when you do this. It's like you've got something really wise and wonderful to say, but don't want to tell me because I'm a whole month younger than you so couldn't possibly be expected to understand.'

She was shocked by the sharpness of his voice. ‘I didn't mean . . .' But she couldn't say what she hadn't meant.

‘It pisses me off.'

She wanted to leave. ‘I'd better go. My mum will be wondering where I am.'

‘I never tell my dad what happens at school,' Tim said again. ‘Do you know how embarrassing it'd be? Do you know how bad it'd make him feel?'

Sarah didn't have an answer.

‘My dad thinks I'm the most popular kid in school because of what he does. He doesn't get it that everybody else thinks it's just a big joke. He thinks I get red carpets and rose petals to walk on, trumpets played in the background—'

‘No, Tim. I don't.'

Neither Tim nor Sarah had heard Bill coming up the stairs. He stood in the doorway, frowning, disappointed. He tugged on his beard. ‘I may be a little hard of hearing now and again, but I'm not blind to what goes on just yet.'

Tim's face said it all. The surprise and guilt and embarrassment were easy to read. And he knew it, so he turned his back to stare out at the lake through his windows. There was a conversation coming that he didn't want to have.

BILL WAS FIRST
to break the silence. ‘Maybe you could help out downstairs,' he said to Sarah.

She dithered for a second or two, then said goodbye to Tim. He didn't answer.

Bill sat down on the edge of the bed. Tim watched him over his shoulder. His back was rounded, his chin close to his chest. He looked slightly deflated, as though he'd lost some air. ‘People are asking for you downstairs,' he said.

‘I'm not feeling very well.'

‘Yes. Too ill to keep your room tidy by the look of things.' He tutted at the mess.

Tim didn't like his father being in his room, felt uncomfortable with him finding fault. This was
his
room,
his
retreat. Bill picked up a discarded jumper from the floor and folded it neatly before placing it on the bed next to him. Tim recoiled slightly at his father's intrusiveness.

‘Are you going to start or am I?' Bill asked.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Are you going to explain what happened, or should I tell you what Colin Gregory told me?'

‘It was just Roddy Morgan being Roddy Morgan. It's
what he does.' There was still part of him that didn't want to admit how bad it had been yesterday.

‘Is he the lad Stones has got working at WetFun?'

Tim nodded. ‘I'm not the only one he likes to have a go at. I'm not worried about it.'

‘But more often than not, it's you who's on the receiving end when he does decide to have a go.' Bill sighed. He steepled his fingers and stared at them. ‘There were a couple of Roddy Morgans when I was at school, a couple of people who knew how to make life tough for me. I can't count the number of times I got it in the neck from some mean-spirited bugger or other.'

Tim had never heard his father talk like this before. It surprised him, but intrigued him more. ‘Was it bad?' he asked. He'd always imagined everybody in Moutonby to be Fearful in those days, and that the town's disregard for the legend was a particularly recent feeling.

‘It was, when I was younger. Younger than you, I mean. The town still paid the Monster Tax back then, but no one was happy about it. The government taxed them enough; they didn't like giving up extra pounds and pence for something that, even then, they thought of as just an embarrassing folk story. I can remember the kids at school picking fights with me because
their
mum and dad had to pay for
my
mum and dad. At least, that was the reason they gave. I always thought most of the insults they threw in my face in the playground were the things they'd heard their parents complaining about over the dinner table. I had my fair share of black eyes and bloody lips. And the problem was, you
see, that there were one or two of the teachers who agreed with them.'

‘Didn't they try to stop the other kids from having a go at you?'

Bill raised his eyebrows. ‘Maybe not as much as they could have done. But I was thirteen when the vote to abolish the tax went through, and over the next couple of years things slowly got better for me.' He tugged on his beard; a line in his brow creased and deepened. ‘Didn't get much better for your granddad, that was the pity.'

Tim knew the story. Granddad Arthur had been so sick with worry when the Monster Tax was abolished that he'd eventually become bedridden. Granddad's Underbearer should have been the one to take on the responsibilities of the Feed, but Bill had stepped in to become the Mourner a year early, at the age of fifteen.

‘It was your Uncle Doug who had the big idea of turning us into a guesthouse,' Bill continued with a small, private smile. ‘And he was only twelve at the time. I wasn't having any of it at first; just another of his wild notions – he was full of them even back then. But your granddad said it could be the best solution to our problems. Well, it certainly didn't solve
all
of them, but it's kept us going ever since.' He chuckled to himself. ‘Not that he's ever been seen as the hero, eh? If there's ever a black sheep in the Milmullen fold, Douglas certainly does his best to fit the bill.'

Tim smiled too, but he'd heard his uncle labelled as such before. He was, however, still intrigued by his father's
confession. Maybe they had more in common than he'd thought. ‘Did Uncle Doug get bullied too?'

Bill thought about it. ‘Yes. Yes, he did. Though maybe not as much as me.'

‘Because he wasn't going to be the Mourner?'

‘Maybe. But your uncle gave as good as he got. He was bigger than me, more reckless than me, and he knew how to hit back.' He saw the thought that crossed Tim's face. ‘But that was
Doug
. As you say, he wasn't going to be the Mourner. Even if I had been as big as him I couldn't have gone around fighting everyone. What's the point in having someone to protect the town from the Mourn only so he can harm or hurt them himself?' He caught Tim's eye. ‘You see what I'm saying?'

Tim nodded. It was as direct an order as he'd ever really been given.

‘I knew there'd be people who'd make life hard for you. But because you never talked about it I thought you were handling things well enough. I guess I was wrong – and I'm sorry for that. Sorry for you. I should have remembered a bit clearer what happened to me.'