Dark Night of the Soul

Chapter 5

Bob and Andrew lean back in their chairs after another delicious meal. 'Thanks, Mum,' says Bob, 'Mint Viennetta. My favourite.'

'Only cos she always gives you the biggest slice,' grunts Andrew, glaring at Bob.

'Oh, come on, Andy, let's go outside and play swingball. I might even let you win this time!' 'Could a brother be more annoying,' thinks Bob. He tries to maintain the peace to keep his Mum happy but it's not easy.

They pick up their plastic bats and reset the swingball pole. Bob takes an almighty swipe at the ball. 'I keep telling you. Not like that. That's cheating!' rants Andrew as the ball arcs high into the air then swings round and loops under his bat. 'I hate you, you can't play any game like a normal person.' Andrew throws down his bat, which bounces off the cement-hard grass, hitting Bob on the knee. 'Oh, sorry, Bob, that was an accident. I really didn't mean to...'

'That's it!' screams Bob, biting his lip to stop himself from crying in front of his brother. 'I've had enough.' He goes back into the house, puts on his anorak, fills his pockets with sweets and biscuits and stomps off to the front door. 'Mum, just going round to see Tim,' he lies, slamming the door behind him.

Bob stuffs his fists deep in his pockets and marches up the cul-de-sac, past all of the annoyingly happy families. He glances up at the hills in the distance then returns his gaze to the pavement beneath his feet. One step at a time. Count to ten. That's what Mum always says. She is always full of useless advice. He takes a left turn towards Tim's house, glancing behind him to his home, the setting sun reflecting off the windows.

But this time, rather than knocking on Tim's door, he turns up the lane running alongside his house, up to the hill overlooking the town. 'Just some time alone,' he thinks to himself. 'Mum'll be OK, she thinks I'm at Tim's. I'll be back home before it's dark.' He starts up the hill, steepening with every stride. Bob starts to feel the weight lifting off his shoulders as a breeze ruffles his hair. He puts his hood up and starts running up the hill, smiling gently to himself.

Bob stops to catch his breath once he reaches the top, bending over and resting his palms on his knees. One final deep breath. One last glance at his house, now miniature in the distance. He sits on the gravel path, tossing stones down the hill and enjoying the clattering sound. His sprint has given him a craving for sugar. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slightly melted packet of Minstrels. Serves Mum right for not giving him enough Viennetta, he thinks.

He gleefully stuffs the whole packet of Minstrels into his mouth in one go, savouring the sensation of them melting on his tongue. He empties his pockets out to see what else he swiped from the biscuit tin. 'Hmmm, I wonder if goats like Wagon Wheels?' he sniggers to himself and walks off to the old World War II concrete huts. Last time he was there with Andrew they had seen a small troop of goats, sheltering from the wind. Must belong to those hippies in the caravans up there, they thought. 'Here goaty goaty,' he chants, holding out a slightly-squashed marshmallowy treat in front of him.

Bob stares deep into the goat's eyes, mockingly waving the chocolate at him. The goat comes close, sniffs the gooey mess in his hand and trots off behind one of the huts, her nose in the air. Bob feels as if the creature is taunting him. 'The whole world is against me. I can't be bothered any more,' he thinks. As he gives the animal his meanest stare, Bob is suddenly conscious of a second pair of eyes watching him. Finally, a figure steps out from behind the hut. The girl has a wild look in her eyes, but is strangely familiar, with her dirty face and tangled hair.

Bob stares at her, trying not to show her that his knees are shaking. 'Wha, who are you? Where did you come from?' He steps slowly backwards, keeping his eyes on the strange girl.

'Erm, Bob isn't it? What have you got in your hand? Is that goat food?'

'How do you know my name?' replies Bob, his voice cracking. He turns to run but trips on a protruding tree root and falls to the floor, bumping his forehead on the hard ground.

'It's OK. I've just seen you in the park before. I heard someone call after you.' Kristen slowly walks over to Bob. 'Are you OK?'

'Just leave me alone, weirdo.' Bob can feel his face flushing. 'Yeah, I thought I'd seen you before. You're that girl who just sits on the wall reading a book aren't you?'

'Have you got a problem with that?' asks Kristen. 'I don't know what else to do. Everybody ignores me if I try to join in so it's easier to stick my nose in a book. Half of the time, I am not actually reading. I just pretend.'

'You're a weirdo,' repeats Bob. 'It's not hard to swing on a swing or jump on a roundabout. Anyway, I'd best be off.'

As Bob stands to leave, Kristen picks up the dusty Wagon Wheel that had fallen from his hand. She sniffs it eagerly and then touches it to the tip of her tongue.

'Weirdo,' Bob shouts. 'Here, take it all.' He throws all of the remaining biscuits at her and turns to head home. But his knee is bleeding and he still feels shaky.

'God, that is DELICIOUS' says Kristen, as she takes a small bite out of the Wagon Wheel. 'Bob, what is this?'

'Huh, never had a Wagon Wheel before?'

'No, but I wish I had.' She smirks. 'Oh, your knee looks sore. You'll need to clean that up or it'll get infected.'

'Yeah, I know. I'm OK. Doesn't hurt. I'll sort it out at home.' Bob starts to walk down the hill with a limp, wincing.

'I have some TCP in the hut, Bob. It'll make it feel better. Pay you back for the Wagon Wheel?' Kristen calls after him, scraping up the biscuit fragments that Bob had thrown at her and stuffing them into her mouth.

'Who are you, my Mum?,' shouts Bob. He continues his descent but then a guilty feeling sweeps over him. Slowly, he turns back up the hill. 'I'm sorry I shouted at you. I have had a long day. What's your name?'

'Kristen but my family sometimes calls me Kris.'

'Where do you live? What time are you allowed out until? I can stay out as late as I want.'

'Erm, I live close by. My parents are pretty laid back.'

'So laid back they don't feed you?'

'Yeah, sort of,' says Kristen. Her smile fades as she thinks of her Mum and Dad, probably stirring tonight's stew, worried about what's happened to their daughter. 'Anyway, let's clean that knee up.' She turns and lowers her head to enter the bunker. 'Come on! You're not scared are you?'

Bob walks gingerly behind her and pokes his head through the entrance. The flickering kerosene lamp illuminates the walls, highlighting streaks of graffiti and small scraps of paper with intricate drawings on them. 'Cool den!' he says.

Kristen rummages in her backpack and finds the small first-aid kit she brought with her. She opens the bottle of TCP, tears a lump of cotton wool off, soaks it in the pungent liquid and dabs it on Bob's knee. Bob recoils and digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands. 'That's fine. Doesn't hurt,' he splutters, as Kristen tries to suppress a laugh.

'Plaster?' She asks.

'Yes please. So, what do you do in this den then? Do you play with your friends here?'

'Play?' ponders Kristen, as if she has never heard the word before. She chooses to ignore Bob and busies herself packing up her first-aid kit. She straightens her tarpaulin and neatens her pile of books.

Kristen squeezes past Bob to go back outside. 'I should go,' she says breezily, walking slowly along the path behind the bunker.

Bob looks at the darkening sky and begins to panic. He has never been out so late before. 'See ya,' he shouts as he runs down the hill. He doesn't stop until he reaches the end of his road. The front door is open. 'I'm in trouble now,' he thinks.

Kristen peers over her shoulder until Bob is out of sight, then turns round, back to her concrete shelter. Unrolling her sleeping bag, she picks up her book and reads by the flickering light of the lamp. Soon her eyes grow heavy, her book falls to the floor, and she leans over to turn out the light.