The Village

THEY woke early and ate the last of the meat. In the light of morning the Grey Man seemed less frightening, little more than an apparition trapped in the world of dreams, unable to reach through to this place of decaying leaves and biting southerlies. Colin didn’t mention him, and neither did Dougal, although he made them bury the last of the bones before they moved on.

They headed back inland, through the thickest bush Colin had seen so far. Although it was plain Dougal’s leg was hurting, he didn’t mention it, and if anything went faster than the day before. They climbed directly up to a new ridge, and then to Colin’s surprise, turned left.

‘This is taking us back the wrong way,’ he protested. ‘We should be going that way, where we saw the sea yesterday.’

‘Already told you, sea’s everywhere.’

‘So why are we going this way?’

‘Cos it’s the right way.’

The right way was thirsty going, and exposed to the wind once they were above the bushline. Despite the cold the day was clear and Colin could see that Dougal had set a course for the highest peak in the range.

‘You’re just trying to make me suffer aren’t you?’

‘So why don’t we go round it?’

‘Cos that’s not the way.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I know it cos I’m smarter than you. I know it cos you don’t know nothing.’ Dougal’s favourite argument.

‘What say I stop following then?’

‘Can’t. Blood brothers.’ His new favourite.

Colin had a favourite argument of his own, silence, and he stuck to it, dropping back now and then and forcing Dougal to wait, to make his point.

‘That’s it. That’s where we’re going.’

Colin followed the line of Dougal’s arm. On the other side of the ridge the land fell away steeply. They were only a mile or two from the coast, close enough to make out a collection of buildings, houses maybe, but square and basic, clustered on a small piece of flat land at a point where a split in the hills widened to a tiny valley.

‘Looks steep.’

‘Be all right.’

‘Who are they?’

‘Dunno. Fishermen probably. Look, there’s a boat.’

‘They might call the police if they see us,’ Colin said, surprised that Dougal, who had more to fear, hadn’t thought it himself.

‘They won’t. There’s no phone.’

‘There’s a truck though. They could say something, when they go in to town.’

‘They won’t.’ Dougal’s gaze didn’t shift from the village, and an open mouthed smile took hold of his face, like he was looking down on the promised land. Colin looked back on the buildings just as a shadow of a cloud swept across them. One by one they darkened in warning.

‘I don’t think you know anything at all. I don’t think we should go down there. I don’t think it’s safe.’

‘I’ve got a feeling, that’s all,’ Colin said.

‘A feeling eh? Well I had a dream. Come on, we can get down this way.’

The way down was as steep as it had looked from above. They were forced to back their way down drops of sheer rock, faces to the cliff, hands soon bleeding and fingers aching from grasping at holds too small to spread their weight. Five times they were forced back, to choose another route, and once Colin was sure they were stranded, stuck on a ledge with no way back or forward. But Dougal hardly seemed to notice. His usual edgy energy had been replaced by an even more annoying calm. Colin had no choice but to follow his lead. Colin let his mind go numb and the emptiness was soon filled with the sounds from below; the growing roar of the ocean, the shrieks of seagulls searching out a meal, the knocking of a boat’s engine as it worked its way towards the horizon.

After two hours of false trails they reached the head of a steep gorge, where a small clear stream ran down through a shute of sharp stones and boulders. They followed it and after only ten minutes rounded a bend to their first close-up look at the fishing settlement, the view of it framed by cliffs on either side. There were ten buildings altogether, huddled close beneath a massive outcrop of rock, its sharp triangular profile like a dark sail set against a storm. The buildings were indeed houses, but not a type Colin had seen before. Each was little more than a low rectangle of weatherboard, with a flat corrugated roof and small close-framed windows. Their squat shapes, crouched low against wind and sea spray, seemed at once both fragile and resolute. There were no yards, or boundaries marked, with the greatest distance between any two no more than ten yards. Long clumps of coarse grass, more brown than green, grew high around them, broken up by the smooth twists of driftwood and bare patches of large rounded stones. Two tractors, bright with rust, were parked up at the top of the beach. Beyond, the only thing visible was the sea, grey-blue and cold. The rest of the world, the curve of the coastline, the snow-capped peaks of the South Island they had seen from the tops, had disappeared. The air was salty wet with ocean, and carried the smell of kelp and dead fish. Colin looked behind to where they had come from and knew there was no going back. They were here now, even if it was nowhere at all. They had arrived.

‘Well then?’ he said to Dougal.

‘Well what?’

‘Shoudn’t we go and see them?’

‘Who do you think? The people in the houses.’

‘Yeah, I’m just getting my breath back.’

The man was bent down with his back to them, his hands working through the knots and tangles of a fishing net, blue checked shirt sleeves rolled high on his sun-darkened biceps, and there was something about him Colin recognised immediately. In the way he was whistling, as they approached, the way he stopped, as soon as he heard them coming, and turned and smiled. That look he gave the world, even at its most surprising moments, like nothing could knock him from his path. That sparkle in his eyes, like somehow the world looked better from there.

‘Careful,’ Dougal whispered at Colin’s ear, but there was nothing to be careful of.

‘How does he know your name?’

Gino stepped forward and took his old friend in a warm embrace that smelt of salt and fish and a hard day of working.

‘Ah, Gino, this is Dougal.’

Gino wiped his hand across the front of his shirt and offered it to Dougal. His hair was longer, his face darker with the sun, and roughed with stubble where before a beard had been.

‘Hello Dougal.’ Gino smiled, looking them up and down, from their bare feet to their filthy faces.

‘So, how did you find me then?’

‘I don’t know,’ Colin confessed. ‘We just got lucky I suppose.’

‘Don’t tell Mary that,’ Gino replied. ‘She’s not one to believe in luck.’

‘Who’s Mary?’ Dougal’s voice bristled with suspicion. Colin wanted to tell him there was nothing to worry about, that seeing Gino made everything all right.

‘She’s the woman who’ll decide whether or not to let you stay.’

‘Never said we wanted to stay here,’ Dougal replied.

‘Course we do,’ Colin said.

‘You can then,’ Dougal said. ‘I’m not.’

‘Blood brothers.’

‘Your timing’s good,’ Gino shrugged, as if there was no argument. ‘There’s plenty to do right now. I will tell you what. I will go and find Mary, and while I’m away you can decide if you would like to stay. Is that fair?’

He turned and wandered off before they could answer him.

‘Who’s that?’ Dougal demanded.

‘I know. But how do you know him?’

‘I met him up north, during the war. He was my friend. And then again on the boat. He was a stowaway. The Welfare Officer said he’d been caught but he must have been lying. And now he’s here. I met him in my dreams too. Don’t you see? This is good. We’re meant to be here. You did know where you were leading us. You were right.’

‘Dreaming people is soft,’ was all Dougal replied.

‘But we can stay though, if they let us?’ Colin pushed.

‘Just for one night, to get some rest and some food.’

Colin wanted to argue, and plead for something more, but Dougal was immune to both, and often his mind shifted without being pushed.

Gino returned without Mary, but with his smile still shining.

‘She must still be out getting shellfish. Doesn’t matter though. You can help me now, with cleaning out this net, and we can swap our stories, and when we’re done she’ll be back and we’ll see what can be sorted out.’

‘I’m not working for nothing,’ Dougal told him.

‘You’ll be working for your dinner then,’ Gino replied. ‘I’ll feed you tonight, either way. You must be cold like that. Come with me and we’ll find you some clothes.’

Gino led them back to the first building they had walked past, the least impressive of them in what was a close competiton. The light blue of the walls had faded to a sort of invisibility. The front door was buckled and had to be kicked before it would open. Inside held no surprises. Along the far wall was a bench with a single tap over the sink, and a window showing not much more than the rock face which was less than twenty yards away. To the left a black cooking range, to the right a canvas hammock slung across the corner. There were two chairs, old and comfortable looking, some clothes spread about, and not much else. A single room dressed up as home, but after the nights in the bush, a mansion too.

‘Here, you can wear my coat. It’s warmer than nothing.’ He handed it to Colin. ‘And somewhere here there is a jersey I think. Here, here it is.’

Dougal took the jersey. It was light brown with dark stained sleeves and smelt of smoke and fish. Dougal pulled it on over his head and Colin was surprised to see it was slightly too small, its sleeves finishing before Dougal’s wrists began, the rest of it stretching about his thin frame, making him appear awkward. Colin wondered who it belonged to — Gino was far taller than either of them — and smiled at the sight of Dougal trying to move his arms.

‘It doesn’t fit,’ Dougal complained, his face showing he thought little of the joke.

‘But it is better than being cold,’ Gino replied. ‘And you can keep it. Here, come on, there’s work needs doing.’

Gino led them back outside, and Dougal grabbed Colin’s arm, holding him back at the doorway, so he could whisper without being heard.

‘I don’t like him.’

‘That makes no sense. You don’t even know him.’

‘There’s something strange about him.’

‘You can’t know that yet.’

‘I don’t want to stay here,’ Dougal told him.

‘Let’s just wait and see. Please.’

Colin looked at Dougal but Dougal looked to the ground instead and shrugged.

‘Come on then.’

There were two nets, each stretched from the beginning of the stony beach down to the water’s edge where two empty boat trailers waited, their wheels half buried in the thin strip of sand at the sea, a distance of over thirty yards. Gino was working halfway along the first of the nets, and it was easy to see from the progress he’d made what his task was. Ahead of him the net was fouled with driftwood and seaweed, crabs, fish deemed too small when they were first cleared, and knots where the last struggles of larger specimens had taken place. Colin and Dougal watched him work and then mirrored his efforts on the second net. Although Gino worked quickly, using short efficient movements which spoke of practice, by combining their efforts the boys were able to keep pace with him. And as they did they talked, or more they listened, because Gino was happy to tell his own story first.

‘You won’t believe it boys, but it is like Mary says, some things are so unbelievable they have to be true.’

‘Who’s Mary?’

‘You’ll meet her soon enough. She runs the village. Ron thinks he does, but that’s just the way Mary is. Now, back to my story. Mary likes a good story. So that would be my advice to you. Tell a good story and she’ll find a way of letting you stay here. We get a lot of drifters here, but not all of them can tell their story well, so not all of them are welcome.

‘You remember how it was on the ship Colin. I was without my tickets, and so the only way to shore was with swimming. The night before we were due to land, as we came in to the harbour, I sneaked out to the back of the ship, where Henry was waiting for me. I had a small bag, with my clothes and a few other things beside, and that was all. Henry told me he had done this before. There was a point, which could be found by lining up certain lights on the shore, and if I jumped just when he told me, the tides would help carry me in. So what I did is I paid Henry with the last of my money, and I climbed up on the railing and waited for his instruction.’

‘How did you know he wasn’t lying?’ Dougal asked.

‘He hadn’t turned me in.’

‘Because he wanted the money,’ Dougal countered. Apparently, it wasn’t just Colin who Dougal thought was stupid. Dougal knew better than the whole world. Not that Gino seemed to mind being challenged. He just smiled and shook his head.

‘Ah, you see, now that should have been obvious. But I am not that kind of thinker. I trust people. I trust life. I could hear the water rushing by the side of the boat, far far below me in the darkness. Jump, Henry shouted, and so I jumped, as far out and as high as I could, just the way he told me.

‘And you will never have jumped off a ship before, so you won’t know this, but the sound is terrifying. The booming of the engines, it fills your head, and at night there is no up and no down, either way is black. So I felt a little bit of dying, but a little bit of living too, because some things are not meant to happen, and that night I was not meant to die.’

As Gino became more excited by his story his hands worked the net more furiously and Colin swapped a grin with Dougal as they struggled to keep up.

‘So I did the only thing I could do. I relaxed, and put my arms out, and let God decide. And he took me to the surface. There was air, the most wonderful air I have ever breathed, like kissing a beautiful woman. The ship has gone ahead, and the police and the city will have to wait, and I thank God, but too soon. Because the harder I swim towards the lights, the smaller they become, and I know then that the tide is carrying me back out to sea. Henry was mistaken, or like you said my new friend, Henry was just interested in my money. So, I think to myself, I will not drown quickly tonight. Tonight, I will drown slowly instead.

‘But it is like I say, the road to this place is complicated. They have, in the harbour, a buoy, and I cling to it, thinking that if a tide can run one way then it can run another, and all I must do is wait. But it is freezing there. The wind is knocking my teeth together and below my waist I feel nothing at all. I think of sharks and snakes, but also I think of a beautiful beach, in a picture in my wallet, which now is full of water.

‘Then the next strange thing, in the list of strange things that become this story. I feel myself falling asleep, and I try not to let it happen, because if I sleep I let go of the buoy, and if I let go of the buoy I drift out to sea and end my time in no place at all. But sleep is strong you see, and you know why it is strong? Because it feels safe boys. Even when you are clinging to your life in the middle of the night, and you know falling asleep will kill you, sleep feels safe.

‘So I would like to say I fought all night, but I gave up before the dark did. And the funny thing is, and Mary says this is the most important part of the story, so I leave it in for her you see. The funny thing is I remember the dream, floating out into the night, better even than I remember being awake. Does that make sense?’

‘It does,’ Colin told him, and waited for Dougal to say something sarcastic, but instead he asked the question Colin wanted to ask.

‘So what did you dream?’

‘I dream I am on a beach. A beach in a picture. And maybe you don’t believe this but I dream you are there too. And we are swimming and the sun is hot, and then I catch a fish, and then I wake up, and you know what?’

‘What do you mean we were there?’ Dougal demanded. ‘You’d never even met me.’

‘No, I hadn’t,’ Gino replied, as if this hardly mattered.

‘So you can’t have seen me in your dream can you?’ Dougal continued, determined to make his point.

‘It’s a dream,’ Gino reasoned. ‘I can see whatever I like, can’t I Colin?’

It was possible, Colin knew that, but he could also tell it wasn’t that way for Gino. Gino was a teller of stories, nothing more.

‘You didn’t recognise me, when you saw me earlier.’

‘Ah no, well that’s the thing about a story,’ Gino smiled. ‘It is not like any other thing that gets used up a little every time you use it. A story grows a little instead doesn’t it, every time you bring it out to look at it. Mary will like this new bit, when I tell her. And it isn’t finished yet, so listen, and try to keep up with the net. There are two of you, it should be easy. Now, when I wake up from my dream it is the earliest part of morning, and I have become the fish. People are pulling me up on to a boat, and I think maybe this is a part of the dream too, or maybe this is dying, and God is happy to be a fisherman, like they say. But it is real. They tell me they are bringing in their net and there I am, and they think I am dead but I am not and this makes them happy, but it makes me happier.

‘They are good people. They don’t ask many questions, or mind that I don’t want to stay with them, when they bring their boat back in. I rest a day and a night and then I walk along the road, waiting for a ride. And the ride I get, just outside the biggest city this country has, brings me all the way here to the smallest town of all. Yes, this is true. It is Ron, and his truck, that one over there, and he stops and tells me he is going south, and I tell him so am I. There is someone with him, a boy not much older than you, and smaller. That is his jersey Dougal.

‘His name is David and Ron is his father, and David has run away and Ron has followed him all the way to Auckland, and is taking him back home. But then we stop for petrol, and David runs away again, and Ron is so sad that I stay with him all the way, to keep him company. He thinks this is strange so I take a risk and tell him my story, and that is when he tells me he is a fisherman, and with David not wanting to be a fisherman too, there is work for me if I would like to stay.

‘So, I am here now, catching fish in a net, and there is no other place I want to be, because I am meant to be here. And maybe, so are you.’

‘So, which parts of the story are true then?’ Dougal asked, eyeing Gino suspiciously. ‘I think you made it up, all of it. I think you were running away from something when Ron found you. I think you knew he was a fisherman, you could smell it in his truck, and the rest you made up. You’re a criminal you are. That’s what it is. And this Mary and this Ron’d have to be daft to believe you.’

‘So what’s your story then?’ Gino asked, unmoved by the accusation. ‘What will you tell Mary brought you here?’

Colin looked at Gino, at the two deep wells of possibility beneath his eyebrows, and at the scene behind, where the waves beat out a steady rhythm on the steep shore, and he knew he wanted to stay here.

‘It’s the dreams that brought me here,’ Colin announced. ‘I dreamed of you first, on the ship, and then, in the bush, it was Dougal’s dreams that brought us to this place.’

And although Dougal scowled at the invention, he didn’t contradict it.

‘It’s a good story,’ Gino smiled. ‘Good enough for both of you.’

‘They’re just soft dreams,’ was all Dougal said, when Colin looked to him, to thank him for the chance.

‘It is all right for you to think that Dougal,’ Gino told him. ‘But never ever say it to Mary.’

Mary was a big woman, almost as round as Ron, who was her husband, and when they walked together along the beach they wobbled in time, swaying from one side to the other as if the next step might be the one to topple them forever. They were King and Queen of the fishers; their palace the orange bach nearest the sea and their kingdom the coastline as far as a day’s walk could take you in either direction. Their subjects numbered thirty-four, Gino and children included, and that night, after the boats came in, they gathered around a huge bonfire under the stars and drank beer and told stories, and insisted Colin and Dougal share stories of their own.

Colin was nervous. It was a long time since he’d had so many eyes upon him, and he tried to say he had no stories to tell.

‘What about when you met me?’ Gino suggested and there was a murmer of approval from around the fire, to tell him there was no getting out of it. So Colin told the story the best he could, but he knew it wasn’t as good as theirs had been. He couldn’t be as clever, or as funny, or even as loud. And he didn’t know the words they knew, or did but had always been taught not to use them. But still they listened, as he told of the meeting on the boat, and the picture Gino had shown him, of the beautiful beach that had visited him in his dreams. And then, with the heat from the fire lifting his words, he told of how he had sneaked up to the deck, on the night Gino had jumped, and how later he had crept into Henry’s room and stolen back the money Henry had cheated from Gino. And with each invention the story felt more real, and his presence amongst them more fated. Nobody questioned him when he finished. They just called out their approval, and raised their beer bottles in welcome.

It wasn’t until Colin sat down, with the sweat from the telling still beaded on his forehead, and the circle’s attention turning to Dougal, that he saw her.

Colin had never seen beauty before. He had seen plenty of women, pictures and real ones, and had heard people say some of them were beautiful, but he had never seen it himself. Not in the way he saw it now. He had to stare, even though he knew how he would blush with embarrassment if she was to look back. He couldn’t even blink, despite the heat and the smoke stinging in his eyes. She had long dark hair that blew across her face, and high white cheeks that glowed in the firelight, dark eyes that were full of dancing shadow, and a wide mouth made to smile. He imagined he saw sadness too, in the way she sat alone and looked away from the group, out to sea. He would have imagined other things too, if Dougal hadn’t pulled his mind back, tugging at his shoulder.

‘What story shall I tell them?’

‘It’s my turn. What shall I tell them?’

Colin looked to his friend and was surprised by the nervousness on his face. Dougal, who made every remark a story, who never hesitated in sharing an opinion.

‘You’ve lots of stories,’ Colin whispered, while the crowd and their bottles shouted encouragement.

‘I don’t,’ Dougal replied, desperation in his voice.

‘Well, what about the sheep we tried to catch? That was funny.’

‘I don’t know.’

Someone had dragged him to his feet and Dougal looked back to Colin for one last expression of encouragement, and then he began.

‘Well the thing is, my friend Colin here and me, we were mighty hungry. So I said to him, what food is it you feel like? And he told me he longed for a roast of lamb …’

The first burrs of nervousness in Dougal’s voice quickly disappeared. Not that Colin was listening well enough to notice, or watching close enough to see the way people leaned forward to better enjoy his tale. The girl across the fire had stood and was walking back along the beach, and Colin followed her with his eyes, until she had gone farther than her reflected light could travel. Even then he stayed concentrating on the last spot he had seen her, waiting for her return.

The stories must have worked, because before the party broke, and the embers were kicked over, Dougal and Colin were given their invitations to stay. It came in the form of an official edict, issued from the grandest piece of driftwood at the fireside, which tonight had served as a throne. Ron was the one who did the talking, but it was obvious from the way Mary watched carefully the shape his mouth formed, that the decision was mostly hers.

‘Well Colin and Dougal, a friend of Gino’s is a friend of ours, and a body who can follow Gino as far as this should not be turned away. So if you’re happy to sleep on his floor for now, and do the work we ask you to do, then we’re happy to have you here. And if you break any of my rules, you will be gone. Do you understand?’

‘What rules are they?’ Dougal asked.

‘You’ll know when you’ve broken them,’ Ron replied with a chuckle that quickly spread through the group. Despite warnings of an early start, Colin and Dougal stayed awake well into the morning, questioning Gino’s stories, and the embellishments he had remembered since, and then chronicling their own escape from the valley. It was Dougal who did most of the telling, and most of the interpreting too, but Colin didn’t mind. He lay back beneath the heavy blanket Gino had borrowed for them and listened as if he had heard none of it before. He noticed the way Dougal avoided mentioning the Grey Man, and the way Gino asked so many questions every time the dreams were mentioned, but he didn’t dwell on either of these things. Instead Colin enjoyed a new and wonderful feeling; the three of them under the same roof, his new friend by his side, an old friend he’d only just met swinging above him.

The smells of that night were instantly familiar, as if somewhere in his memory this place already existed. The smoke from the driftwood fire, the salty air, the crumbling concrete floor and the oilskin hanging at the door, these were the smells of home. When he did finally feel himself falling asleep Colin tried to think of the girl again, as a way of inviting her into his dreams, but it didn’t work. Or it did, but he didn’t remember.

A storm came up in the night, and by sunrise had washed the settlement clean of its welcome. In its place was an angry low-swirling sky. A bitterly cold wind ripped white-frothed tops off dark waves and blasted sand against the side of the bach. Colin huddled low and ran sideways like a crab, his back to the worst of the weather, as he hurried in from the outhouse.

‘A southerly,’ Gino told them, swinging down from his hammock and almost landing his foot on Dougal’s face, who still hadn’t stirred despite the rush of cold that swept across the floor every time the door opened. ‘You’re lucky you’re not still in the bush. Or maybe not. It is no day to be starting out. They won’t be putting you on the boat I don’t think.’

‘Come on then,’ he kicked Dougal in the side. ‘Time to be up. You need to start well, or they will think Gino told them lies about you.’

‘What did you say?’ Dougal asked through half-closed eyes.

‘I told them you were hard workers.’

‘You told them lies then.’

‘Not today I didn’t,’ Gino replied with another kick before pulling the blanket from him. Dougal was curled up like a baby, and still wearing his clothes from the night before.

‘I knew you would like that jersey.’

‘I’m cold, that’s all.’

‘Breakfast is eggs.’ The pan on the range was already spitting fat, and the smell of burning driftwood filled the room.

‘They’ll be knocking on the door soon, so you should eat quickly.’

It was Mary who did the knocking. She came in without being invited and took Gino by the arm, leading him across to the window so their backs were to the boys. The two of them spoke in whispers and Colin thought Gino was protesting about something, but with the noise of the wind he couldn’t be sure. The consultation finished abruptly and Mary turned to the boys.

‘Morning. It’s not a good day to start you on the boats. Gino has a net that needs mending. Dougal, you will help him.’

‘What about me?’ Colin asked, when nothing more was said.

‘Oh, you’re coming with me,’ Mary replied. ‘Have you got a coat?’

‘There’s one Gino gave me, if he doesn’t

‘Take it,’ Gino said.

‘We’ll need to find you some boots then. Come on, don’t keep me waiting.’ She lurched for the door, like one of the boats fighting its way out past the breakers, and Colin followed without question, as had become his habit.

Mary led the way back to the orange palace and left Colin waiting huddled in the porch while she disappeared inside, re-emerging with two pairs of Wellingtons to choose from, two large sacks and a pair of long serrated knives. Colin chose the boots that were the nearest fit, only two sizes too large, and followed her back out into the storm. They walked down to the beach, where the boat trailers stood already empty, and then turned left, so the wind was behind them. Despite her size Mary moved quickly and when Colin looked back twenty quiet minutes later he could no longer make out the baches, or even the point where the stream broke the cliff face. Mary had stopped and was considering the sharp rocks which ran like a jaw of broken teeth ahead of them, at right angles out into the sea.

‘Tide’s not quite right, but it’ll do,’ she told him. ‘Do you know what paua look like?’

‘Are they fish?’

Mary laughed, and her head bobbed up and down on broad shoulders, as if connected to her body by a spring. She had a woollen hat beneath the hood of her black coat and a scarf that came as high as her chin, so only the middle of her face was visible. It was bright red with the cold, or the exertion, or just amusement.

‘You don’t know much do you?’

‘That’s what Dougal says.’

‘Well, there are some things that need saying. Come on then. Take your boots off or they’ll fill with water.’

She did the same and led him into the pools that formed amongst the rocks.

‘How deep are we going?’

The waves spilled over the rocks, filling the pools, then sucking them shallow before the next one came. Colin could feel the sharpness of the small black shells that clung to the rocks beneath his feet, and the thick slimy weed that twisted its way past his legs. Apart from that he was numb.

‘Just here’ll do. If you see a big wave coming, grab on to the rock like this. But don’t let go of the knife. Look, come closer. See this, this is one. No, wait for the wave to pull back and you’ll see it. There’s plenty here. You want the big ones. Go on, see if you can get one off.’

Colin bent forward, plunged his arm into the icy water and felt for the large light-coloured shell Mary had pointed to. It had a coarse surface and it was easy enough to get a firm grip, but try as he might he couldn’t twist it free.

‘I think this one’s stuck.’

‘Well that’s a surprise.’

‘What should I do?’

‘Why do you think you have the knife?’

Mr Sowby would do the same thing, and his teachers back home too. Ask questions that could only be answered by a person who didn’t need to be asked. But at least Mary was smiling.

‘For cutting it?’

‘Here, like this. Dig it in, underneath the shell, then twist it see? One paua for the sack. The trick is to be quick about it, before they suck on properly. You get the rest on this rock, I’ll just be over there.’

It was hard at first even finding them, and harder still prising them free of their holds. Twice he dropped the knife and could only find it by feeling about with his hands, bent over so the water crashed about his ears. Another time he was knocked to his backside by a wave he didn’t see coming, but with practice it became easier and concentrating on the task kept the cold at bay. Whenever he looked across at Mary she seemed to have her head down, interested only in her work, but still Colin was sure she was watching him. After no more than an hour she came back over, her sack already full, and inspected the state of his.

‘Not too bad I suppose. You cold?’

‘A little bit,’ Colin admitted.

‘Come on then. We’ll go back and get something hot inside you.’

The journey back took longer, because of the weight of the sacks they carried, and the icy resistance of the southerly, which if anything had become stronger. With the sound whistling about their ears it was impossible to talk, and that suited Colin. He wasn’t ready to forget all that had happened since he first saw the ship. Better to watch and listen, better to be careful.

So he opened his mouth only to sip at the large mug of soup Mary provided, or to tear at the slab of bread that accompanied it, while she sat on the other side of the narrow table and watched him carefully, her own food untouched. It was clear she was waiting for him to say something but Colin was well used to silence, and knew how to hide amongst it. He looked past her, absorbing the details of her home. It was the same size as Gino’s, but a closed door in the far corner suggested other hidden spaces. The floor was covered with a dark red lino, and at the doorway it was worn back to reveal wood beneath.

‘You’re the one with the dreams aren’t you?’ Mary finally said, when it became obvious Colin wasn’t going to help with the conversation. She leant forward on the table, so her ample bossom was in danger of toppling her soup, and stared into his eyes. Colin stared back, and was surprised to see how small her eyes were, and how deeply dark. Not in a way that was menacing, but it was difficult to look away.

‘We all have dreams.’

‘Yours brought you here.’

‘No, not really. It was Dougal. I just followed him.’

‘That’s not the truth you know,’ Mary told him, shaking her head without letting her gaze waver, so it was as if the eyes were commanding the rest of the body to move around them. ‘You’re no follower. I can tell these things. I have spoken to Gino. He was meant to come here, but not in the way he thinks. I think maybe it was his job to bring you here.’

Mary reached across the table and took Colin’s hand, and the cold of it and the hard calloused skin reminded him of the Sowbys. He tried to pull away, but gently, because this wasn’t the Sowbys, and being careful meant watching out for friends as much as dangers, but she held him tightly.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Yes you do,’ Mary replied, the corners of her mouth hinting at the smallest of smiles. ‘I saw you watching her, last night at the fire.’

‘Who?’ Colin asked, already feeling the burn of embarassment on his cheeks.

‘My girl, Veronica.’

‘I wasn’t, I…’

‘Are you a Christian Colin?’

‘What? I sort of am, I suppose,’ Colin shrugged. He’d been inside a church plenty of times, with school.

‘So you believe in God?’

‘Yes,’ Colin said, and it was another of those things which wasn’t true and wasn’t untrue either.

‘Let me give you a warning Colin.’ She came even closer, using his hand as an anchor as she pulled herself forward, her body folding around the mug which miraculously did not fall.

‘Some people see more than others Colin. You might call that a gift, or you might call it a curse. Either way, you have to be careful. Even the things that are meant to be must be fought for. You must be careful of Ron, he does not have our understanding. I’ll help you, if I can. But sometimes, things get dangerous.’

Colin had no idea what she was talking about, and while a part of him wanted to ask, the greater portion was more interested in escape, now that she had finally let his hand go.

‘Um, thank you for the food. I was wondering, do you need any more help here, or should I see if Gino needs me to do something for him?’

‘You’re a good boy really, I can see that,’ was all she said in response.

‘Right, well, goodbye then. I’ll be seeing you later I suppose.’

‘You certainly will.’

Colin stood and backed his way to the door, his stare still locked to hers, and a chill down his back colder than any southerly wind. He had decided before the door was closed behind him. They wouldn’t be staying here long.

But leaving would be difficult. Colin knew that as soon as he opened the door of Gino’s bach and saw the two of them sitting cross-legged on a blanket laid out on the floor, a game of cards in progress. A game Colin recognised from his time up north, when Gino and his fellow prisoners had taught it to him in exchange for smuggled food and cigarettes. He recognised the look too, the complicit smiles on the faces that turned up at his intrusion, like there were years of shared secrets between them, layers of closeness that couldn’t possibly have been built in only twenty-four hours.

‘Have you finished with the net then?’ Colin asked.

‘As far as anyone can tell,’ Gino replied, turning to wink at Dougal who flashed back a smile. ‘How about you? Has Mary finished with you?’

‘I hope so. She said I could come back and help you.’

‘Well then,’ said Gino, ‘so you can. You know the rules I think, and Dougal is getting tired of losing all by himself. It will be better with two of you to beat. Have a seat.’

Colin settled next to Dougal and Gino got up to stoke the range.

‘Isn’t it brilliant?’ Dougal whispered. ‘I told you I knew where we were going.’

‘You never knew this place existed. It was just luck.’

Good luck or bad luck, Colin wondered, but there was no saying that here.

‘It’s brilliant though isn’t it? And Gino, he’s brilliant too isn’t he?’

‘Did I hear my name?’ Gino asked, walking back to the game.

‘Nothing you need to know,’ Dougal told him; the old Dougal again, laird of every conversation. ‘Come on, deal out those cards. I have an eye for the game now. You’re both of you in trouble.’

Dougal played with more confidence than skill, and Colin, who struggled to recall the rules, but didn’t want to ask and appear the outsider, survived on luck alone. But it was a good time, a time of warmth and laughter, where the battering of the southerly’s thickening rain and the icy draughts swirling beneath the door and bending around the window frames only deepened Colin’s feelings of belonging. To play, and laugh, and forget, was a feeling so old it felt foreign. Like being back in London, running the streets with Gwynn, finding trouble and calling it fun; not ignoring Dad and the problems, just finding a way of not letting it matter. And now, on the other side of the ship and the Sowbys and the dreaming, the laughter touched him more deeply, and Colin decided not to think about Mary, or the decision he had made, at least not that afternoon.

The card game lasted two hours, and ended with Gino remembering his promise to collect more driftwood for the fire. The storm had become worse, but the job was hard and kept them warm. With three working together they were able to bring in some of the bigger logs, too heavy for lone combers, but not big enough to be worthy of a trip with the tractor. They dug away the sand that waves and wind had built up and then dragged the awkwardly shaped branches back to a place behind the baches, where Dougal and Gino worked a double-handed saw and Colin used the axe. With the heaviness of the work and the fury of the weather there wasn’t much space for conversation. So it wasn’t until that night, after Gino had cooked a dinner of potato and pork from a pig Ron had traded with a hunter for fish, that Colin and Dougal had a proper chance to talk. They had just stoked up the fire for the night and were settling beneath the blanket the boys shared, when Gino announced he was just ‘popping out’.

‘What do you mean?’ Dougal asked. ‘Where are you going?’

‘There are things need doing,’ Gino replied.

‘We can help,’ Dougal offered, ‘if you like.’

This provoked from Gino a round of laughter, powerful enough to cause him pain, and when he recovered there were tears needed wiping away.

‘I am sure you could, both of you. I am sure you could. Don’t wait up for me. I’ll be quiet when I come in.’

‘Where do you think he’s gone then?’ Dougal asked, as soon as Gino had left.

‘Do you like it here?’

‘What do you mean maybe? Of course you do. It’s grand here. You must think it.’

‘Like I said, maybe I do.’

‘Well, you can walk back to the Sowbys any time,’ Dougal told him, sounding suddenly offended. ‘Would you rather be there?’

‘Of course I wouldn’t.’

‘Good then. You’d have to be soft in the head, not to like it here.’

‘Aren’t you worried, that they’ll find us? We haven’t come so far.’

‘The police. Someone from here will talk, in at the pub, say there’s two young boys here, people’ll hear.’

‘I’m not a boy. I’m a man now.’

‘So aren’t you worried?’

‘Course I’m not. We’re not worth worrying about. We’ve gone, that’s all that’ll matter to them.’

‘But,’ Colin stopped and measured the words inside his head before he spoke them. ‘You killed someone.’

‘I never said that.’

‘Someone died, I saw it.’

‘You dreamed it.’

‘That’s the other thing. Mary scares me.’

‘She’s a big fat woman, that’s nothing to be scared of,’ Dougal scoffed. His mood had darkened now, and Colin knew he was being blamed for it. But you couldn’t ignore it. You couldn’t just pretend.

‘She says she has dreams too, and she says that I came here for a reason.’

‘Then she’s crazy as well as fat, cos that’s just crazy talk.’ Dougal fixed him with a black stare, even darker in the dim light, daring him to disagree.

‘I know that. I know it is. But I’m scared of crazy people. And she said something about being careful of Ron. I don’t know what it meant, but it is frightening.’

‘It’s only frightening if you’re frightened,’ Dougal replied, like that was enough to end any argument.

‘So you think we should stay here?’

‘Of course we should.’

‘For how long?’

‘As long as we like. Gino says they’ll let us go out on the boats soon. Imagine that. I’ve never been on a fishing boat. It’s gotta be better’n milking cows doesn’t it?’

‘I’ll do you a deal then,’ Colin proposed.

‘What sort of deal?’

‘Tell me what happened, back in the valley. Tell me about the Grey Man, then I’ll stay with you.’

‘You’ll stay with me anyway,’ Dougal replied. ‘You’re too soft to leave by yourself. Anyhow, there’s nothing left to tell.’

With that the lamp’s wick drew off the last of the oil and the room spat and flickered into darkness. As Colin’s eyes adjusted the window above the bench glowed an eerie grey.

‘Don’t worry.’ Dougal spoke softly now, as if he could read Colin’s mind. ‘He won’t follow us here. We’re safe now. Blood brothers.’

‘Blood brothers.’

For the next two weeks it felt to Colin as if Dougal might have been right after all. Perhaps life in this little fishing community was brilliant. The weather cleared and the short days remained bright. The hours were packed with quickly established routines. Colin and Dougal were taught how to mend nets and fillet fish, stack wood and clean gear, collect shellfish, sing songs and drink beer. It was hard work, but not like the Sowbys had been hard. Here the warm glow of exertion never got to burning, and although Colin and Dougal kept mostly to themselves, the other people were friendly enough and never ignored them.

Colin watched for warnings, trying to read any signs that might appear, but hard as he looked there was nothing he could see, or at least understand. The only vehicles to pass their way, over the narrow track that was half bogging-down sand and half axle-shattering rocks, belonged to the farms further around the coast, or their own truck, returning from its daily run to the fish market, laden down with fuel or groceries, or late at night on a Saturday, an hour to the minute after the pub had closed its doors. Colin felt as far from the world as he could be, and he began to see the cliffs that rose up above the baches as friends, their bulk protecting far more than it threatened.

There was something interesting happening with Gino that Colin couldn’t quite explain. Although he was always happy, and always looking for a way to shortcut a job, or turn it to a game, he wasn’t as popular as Colin expected. It wasn’t that people were unfriendly to him exactly, but there was a look in their eyes that Colin caught sometimes, when they watched Gino walk by, and a coldness in their voices when they talked of him, if they didn’t think Colin was listening. It was men mostly, especially the younger ones. There were four of them, all strangely similar in appearance given that Colin had been told they were not related. Not big, but strong; hard-looking, chiselled by the same cold wind. ‘We’ll look like that too,’ Dougal joked, ‘if we stay too long.’ Glen, Alan, Scott and James. And if Colin thought some of the others had reservations about Gino, there were times he would have said these four hated him. But if Gino noticed it he didn’t seem to care, and so it joined the procession of facts that are allowed to slide by, without snagging on comment or significance. Like the continuing night-time disappearances. Twice in the next fortnight Gino slipped out without explanation, and both times Colin heard him creeping back in some hours later, and settling into his creaking hammock.

Despite the promises they weren’t invited out on to the boats, although Gino got more time on the water now the boys were able to do many of his other chores. Ron and Mary continued to run the entire operation, and although people often swore and tempers rose quickly, Colin never heard anybody disobey either of them. He couldn’t tell if it was fear or respect, or even if those two things were different in a place like this. Mary would always smile at him when they passed, and ask him how things were going, but there were no more strange conversations, which Colin was most glad of. No more dreams either. It was as though they belonged to another time and another place, and the more Colin came to believe that, the more he relaxed, just like Dougal was relaxing, and began to believe that this was a place where a man could grow to be happy.

But empty spaces never stay that way for long and while Colin’s sleeping dreams had disappeared, his waking dreams became all the more insistent. Much of the work was repetitive and it lent itself to such diversions, and every dream he constructed was built about the same simple idea. Her name was Veronica.

Veronica, who had entered his head that very first night by the fire, and would not leave. It was a new feeling for Colin, strange and a little uncomfortable, and not the sort he would choose to tell anybody about. The way he felt himself blush every time she walked past, and would have to turn away. The way his speech changed whenever he knew she was listening, even though he tried to stop it happening. The feelings that played in his stomach when he imagined being close to her, the way every other priority in his life had shifted down one place, to leave a space at the top for her.

And it was stupid, he knew it was. To start with, she was the daughter of Ron and Mary, and you would have to be stupid to do anything that might upset them. And she was older than him, three or four years at least, and at least three times as beautiful too. And it wasn’t as if she was without choices, because Colin watched her closely enough to realise that when she walked across the beach his weren’t the only pair of eyes she took with her.

Once Dougal caught him staring and teased him about it, but Colin denied it, and refused to talk to him for the rest of the afternoon. This was his secret alone, his own painful, impossible excitement.