The children stand for a moment. As they look around, they see the second gate and start to walk towards it. Rex sees the water pump on the far side and thumps the gate with his head. It needs opening. He barks and barks and barks. Soon the four children are looking at him; Billy’s sobs have subsided.
“You want some water, Rex?” he says. “Hold it a second.” Billy’s breathing is shallow. He reaches to the clasp on the gate – it’s a bit rusty and needs a little nudge, but eventually he unclasps it. Billy pushes the gate. It swings away from him, making creaking noises.
Rex scampers ahead to the water pump – the water bowl needs filling – and whines back at the four children.
Daisy runs in, unhooks the old pump and fills the bowl for Rex. It must be the best water ever as he laps it down with abandon. The four children look around the field; the grass is green and slightly mossy – some bits are filled with clover and in other parts, it’s more like scrub. It’s a pretty normal field really. There’s a shovel standing against the water pump. In the distance there are sheep, lots of them, black heads, white fluffy-looking wool. They are bleating, just a bit.
Rufus plonks down on the ground. “I am pure knackered,” he says. “I’m sitting for a few minutes anyways.”
The bell in Billy’s bag starts to tinkle. Billy takes the backpack off and tumbles everything that’s in it out onto the ground. The bells rolls and tinkles non-stop. There’s the collar, the tin box, the soldier, the marble – they are all there.
Daisy and Peter join Rufus, and they sit down on the grass.
“What next?” Peter asks.
Billy says nothing.
Rufus says, “I’m hungry.”
They feel the wolves before they see them. They amble towards Billy, his friends and Rex. The skinny wolf sits beside Peter, the more muscular one sitting down beside Rufus. The one that’s fond of scratching nudges Rex and laps a bit of water himself. The final two split up; the one with the streak of white hair prods at Billy’s leg and the last wolf sits down beside Daisy. It starts to lick its paws fastidiously.
“Eh, this is weird,” Peter says. “Jenny never mentioned this.”
“That’s cause Jenny only knows about werewolves Peter, honestly,” Daisy mutters.
“Yeah, this is like typical wolf behaviour,” Rufus says. “Now, we’re all like a pack.”
Daisy gestures at all the stuff that’s been upended from Billy’s bag.
“What were you going to do with all of that Billy?”
“Find my dad,” he says.
“But Billy, that’s just stuff,” she says. “You don’t need stuff to find your dad. Anyways, he’s right there,” Daisy taps at her head.
“I can’t feel him, Daisy,” Billy says angrily. “I can’t even remember him.”
Rufus says, “Sure you can, why don’t you just bury all that stuff first? You don’t need it.”
Billy looks at Rufus like he has just turned cracked altogether.
“Yeah, that’s what you should do,” Peter says, and Daisy nods in agreement.
“Fine,” Billy says. He gets up, picks up all the bits and pieces and carries them a few metres away from his friends. Then he picks up the shovel and starts digging. The ground is hard but once he has broken through the crust, it gets easier. Soon the hole is deep enough. Billy gently places the collar, tin box, marble and soldier in the ground.
“Don’t forget the bell,” Peter says.
Billy hesitates, then he picks up the bell and adds it to the other items. He stands back up and covers in the hole.
He sighs, “That’s it then.” He rejoins his friends and sits down.
“What happened that day, Billy?” Rufus asks.
Billy looks at his brave friend.
“Dad wanted to take me looking for treasure. People are always chucking stuff into the quarry.”
The children chat about Billy and his dad. Not so far away, Gunner Sharpie rolls on the ground. The fire has dwindled and he is just smoking now. Darkness surrounds him.
“It’s very dark,” he says to himself, to the silence. Nothing, no one responds. He puts his head in his hands and feels very sorry for himself. “Why me?” he says to himself. The darkness remains, no one answers.
Billy says, “Dad had his metal detector – he made it himself, with magnets and bells and things. He was really good at making stuff, you know?”
Peter nods.
“My mum’s the same; she’s very creative,” he says seriously. “Like last week, she got some stuff in the dump and is making an installation. It’s very artistic.”
Rufus says, “Yeah I saw that Screech, pongs a bit, dun’t it.”
Peter sighs, “Yeah.”
Billy tilts his head.
“Dad’s chin was like sandpaper; he’d always scratch it when he was making stuff.”
His three friends exchange glances.
“He’d call me, ‘Billbob, that blunt chisel11 thing, can you get it for me?’ He wouldn’t look at me cause he’d be just staring at his new object,” Billy’s face takes on a bemused expression.
“Oh yeah?” Daisy says. “My dad always has his head in a book, spends a lot of time thinking,” she finishes.
“And when we’d be having tea, he used to drive Mum mad cause he’d always ask for the salt. She’d go get it; he’d wink at me, like a really big wink, and then he’d smile and use hardly any of it, an throw some over his shoulder for luck,” Billy says.
“The odd time he’d read me stories in bed, he’d sit in beside me and I’d have hardly any room. He’d put his arm around me and get me to turn the pages. He smelt of freshly cut wood, an he’d get bored with the story and he’d make up other bits, with monsters,” Billy starts to smile.
Rufus says, “My dad never reads me stories.” He pauses. “He’d be crap at it anyway; his voice, see, only gets funny when he’s talking about…” Rufus has to think for a second, “football, an football is boring.”
“Your Dad can be a right pain, Rufus,” Daisy says.
“Hmmm, he never says but I figure he really misses my mum,” Rufus replies, by way of explanation.
“You think football’s boring?” Screech says.
“Big bunch of babies, even Rex doesn’t complain as much an he’s a right wuss,” Rufus says. Rex barks in indignation.
“An Dad would always put the shopping away for Mum, and he’d, you know, turn the tins the wrong way round, an then Mum would be looking for them later and she’d yell, ‘Harry!’ an he’d run over to her and give her a cuddle, tight like, around her waist and he’d say, ‘a bit o’fun, love’ an then they’d both start laughing. She’d half hit him on his chest. They laughed tonnes.”
Rufus says, “What did his laugh sound like, Billy?”
“Kinda like this… har har har; you know, deep but funny.”
The four of them all look at the ground. Rex paws at the upturned dirt, where Billy has buried all the stuff.
“Was Bugsy his?” Daisy asks.
“Kind of, I guess. Bugsy was old, since ever, wheezed a lot and always wanted to lie on top of Dad when he’d be on the couch, like. He had the smelliest, quietest farts – used to drive Mum mad. Dad’d just say, ‘sure, he’s only warming up the room poor ol boy’, and then Bugsy’d want to go for a pee.”
“What was he?” Rufus says.
“Dunno really, bit of boxer in him I think,” Billy replies.
Daisy says, “I remember the day he came into school and he stole Miss Beetle’s lunch, put his head in her bag, ate all her lunch he did, an then he got sick.”
“Yeah, dodgy tummy,” Billy says. “Dad came and got him, rubbed his tummy an said to Miss Beetle that she shouldn’t be making such rich sandwiches for her lunch, an she laughed and Dad carried Bugsy the whole way home.”
“See?” Daisy asks. She pats Billy on his arm.
Billy looks at her, smiles and nods slightly.