Hunter's Heart by Julia Green

Author:Julia Green
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780141926810
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2005-03-30T05:00:00+00:00

They left the tarpaulin and two rucksacks in a hollow at the base of a stone hedge, a field boundary, just off the footpath. He’s almost there when he hears voices. Laughter. Instinctively he stops, takes cover at the edge of the wall, waits to see who it is. Why didn’t I get Johnny to come with me? His hand goes to his pocket, but the catapult isn’t there. Neither is his knife. Stupid.

He knows that sneering voice. His heart thuds against his ribs. Surely not here, this far out from the town? But it is. It’s Rick Singleton and a mate, a big bloke, older than Rick, and it seems they’ve found the camping stuff and are now kicking it around, having a laugh. He hears something metal clanking against stone. Fury wells up inside, but fear too, curls round Simon’s belly. There are two of them. They’re bigger than him. But it’s his stuff. His and Dan’s and Johnny’s. He can’t just let them get away with it. The big bloke has wrapped the tarpaulin over his head now, and he’s whooping and flapping about with his arms outstretched like a demented superhero. They think they are such a laugh. Rick Singleton has set up a line of bottles on a rock and is chucking stones. Simon hears the crack of splintering glass. They’ve got their backs to him at the moment. He could creep away unnoticed, coward that he is. But something keeps him rooted to the spot. The way they kick the stuff around. He remembers the seagull with the broken wing; Rick and his mates in a circle around it. He ran away that time, didn’t he? What does that make him?

Blood pounds in his ears. Something rustles in the wall close to his shoulder. A shrew or something, rushing to and fro in the ivy and moss, hunting out insects. There’s that smell of hot earth, roots. Two buzzards circle high above the cliff. He’s rooted to the spot, paralysed. His muscles ache. What do I do?

Someone else is walking across the field. Simon hears the footsteps. His head spins. Surely they’ll have seen him, will drag him out and it’ll be his head against the rock; he can see it, the way he’ll be crouched in a ball, his hands over his face, while each one takes a turn at kicking his skull in.

Flap flap. Like a sail, or a kite.

But it’s not the tarpaulin any more: it’s a coat, flapping in the wind that’s blowing strong off the sea, over the cliff and on to the fields. Simon looks up.

Mad Ed! It’s that mad bloke, climbing over the next stile and flapping his way over the field towards Rick Singleton. Simon should have guessed he’d be somewhere around, spooking everyone out with his gun and his blank eyes. Nina wouldn’t listen this morning when he tried to tell her.

Rick and his mate stop, look at each other, shuffle closer. One of them says something: Simon can’t hear what.

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