The Toll Bridge (15 page)

‘You'll need a bit of extra cash then,' Dad said. ‘I'll send you something.' I suppose I knew he would and had subconsciously hoped he would. So didn't refuse, but felt a twinge of failure as well as guilt for exploiting him while talking about Mother's trouble.

4

Half past ten, Bob Norris appeared. We were busy clearing stuff out of the living room to get it ready for painting.

‘Come outside,' he said to me while giving Adam a close inspection. ‘Want a word with you.'

He took me to the middle of the bridge and leaned on the parapet, looking down at the water.

‘What's this I hear about a friend staying with you? Is that him?'

‘He's a good help. I need it if we're to get done in time.'

‘How good a friend?'

‘He's all right.'

‘Known him long?'

‘Long enough.'

‘In other words, not long enough. You should have asked.'

‘I only decided last night. There hasn't been time.'

‘Look, son, you've done all right so far. Don't go and spoil it.'

I didn't reply.

‘It's a position of trust, you know, yours. There's money involved.'

‘We're hardly taking ten quid most days!'

‘Ten quid is ten quid, and I've only your word about how much you take.'

‘Are you saying I fiddle the books, Mr Norris?'

‘No, no! Just the opposite. I trust you. It's this other lad. You're sure he's all right? It's not just money. There's property as well, and the bridge to keep an eye on. And with all this other business, these sackings and plans to sell, it's getting difficult, that's all. I'm having to be extra careful. There's a lot at stake.'

I recognized his tone of voice. The breathiness of anxiety. I'd heard it in my own voice only a couple of hours ago.

I said, ‘I'm sorry. I didn't think. Is it OK?'

He stared down at the water and thought for a while before
saying, ‘All right. But you'll have to answer if anything goes wrong. So remember, he's your responsibility.'

That word again! Another cold grey regretful realization. But I'd talked myself into it and pride wouldn't let me back out. At least I had enough wit left to say, ‘While we're at it, Mr Norris, is there any chance there might be a camp bed or anything going spare somewhere? He's sleeping on the floor.'

It was the only time he smiled. ‘I'll see. Might be something in the scout hut.'

‘Thanks.'

His smiled faded. A few days before he'd have been joshing me now, but since B-and-G he'd become solemn, bad-tempered even.

‘Sure you can manage, two of you, on your pay?'

I shrugged. ‘We'll get by.'

He glanced at the toll house, his brows furrowed, lips pursed.

‘Everything has its day,' he said.

‘Sorry?'

He shook his head. ‘Nothing. Just get on as fast as you can. The agent says there's a lot of interest. Wants to start showing the place as soon as things have settled down after New Year.'

He turned away and walked back to his van.

‘There might be a sleeping bag as well,' he said as he climbed in.

5

‘What did he want?' Adam asks.

‘To know if I could trust you.'

‘What did you say?'

‘Yes.'

He smirks. ‘And do you?'

‘No.'

‘Lied, then!'

‘Yes.'

‘Why?' He's serious now.

‘Because I'm an idiot.'

He says nothing for a moment. Then he undoes a silver chain from round his neck and holds it out to me. ‘Here, take this.'

‘No. What for?'

‘Because I want you to. Go on. It's worth a few quid. Real silver, nothing fake.'

‘No. Why should I?'

‘It's OK. It's mine. Didn't nick it, if that's what you're thinking.'

‘I don't want it.'

‘Wear it. Insurance.'

‘Don't be stupid.'

‘I mean it.'

‘No.'

He moves towards me. I step back.

‘Take it, craphead!'

‘No!'

He lunges at me, grabs my shirt. I try to push him away but he pulls me to him and tries to get the chain round my neck. I knock his hand away, sending the chain flying across the room. We struggle, saying nothing, wrestling, not half-hearted, not playful, but using all our strength, meaning it. A contest. I am heavier, but he is stronger. The first time I feel his strength. It takes me by surprise. And he is so much tougher than I, harder muscled, and practised, knows what he's doing, where to hold, how to shift balance, when to move. And whereas I am tense, his body stays relaxed, supple all the time.

I feel trapped, become desperate, flay with my hands, swing and punch and strain against him and push. He easily dodges and absorbs and deflects and uses my movements to his own advantage, which makes me feel even more trapped, more a victim.

Soon I'm breathless. And Adam begins applying a painful force, a frightening violence that I don't know how to deal with except in the end by giving in, going limp, allowing him to put me down and sit astride my waist, his knees on my upper arms, like kids do in playground fights.

I stare up at his flushed face, on which a sheen of sweat has broken out, smiling, his eyes full of the pleasure of the fight.

The chain lies within reach. He leans over, causing me to cry out as his knee digs into my bicep, picks up the chain, slips it round my neck, and sits back again, regarding me now with that absent stare which turns his face into a mask.

For two, perhaps even three whole minutes we remain there, silent, unmoving, staring at each other, until able to bear it no longer I say:

‘Have you done?'

The Grin then. Adam again. Pushes himself up. I too, dusting myself off. My arms ache from the bony pressure of his knees, and other bruises burn on my body.

6

A car horn tooted. I went out and took the toll. When I got back Adam was busy Polyfilling cracks round the fireplace. Neither of us said anything, not then nor later, about the silver chain. I went on wearing it simply to prevent another bout of wrestling. Or at least that's what I told myself. Every morning as we passed each other on the way to and from washing at the sink, he'd make a show of checking it was still there, and grin and nod, until this daily inspection became a routine, a ritual we would only have noticed had it not been performed.

I still wear his chain, never take it off, now as a kind of talisman, a memento, a charm against the evil comfort of forgetting. Insurance after all, though not of the sort Adam had in mind. Not that it was Adam who gave it to me, as I should have known from that mask-faced absent stare.

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