Dark Waters(2)

All the time he was speaking Col was pulling Mungo round so they were rolling together on the long wet grass while the rain belted down on them.

Mungo yelled with delight, grabbed a handful of mud and rubbed it over Col’s head. ‘You’re brilliant, Col.’ Now, he was on top of Col, pulling at his shirt, grinding his face into the mud.

They both stopped for a second as the front door was pounded. Another flash of lightning lit up Mungo’s face, eerie in the strange, white light.

‘They’re here,’ Mungo said, breathlessly.

‘You’ve got to punch me, Mungo. Make it look real. Punch me hard.’

Mungo shook his head. ‘Naw, no’ you, Col. I couldn’t hit my brother.’

The pounding grew fiercer.

‘You’ve not got a choice,’ he said, closing his eyes as his brother raised his fist. Mungo, the hardest man in the town, renowned for his fighting skills yet he’d never laid a finger on Col.

Mungo closed his eyes too. ‘Sorry, bruv.’

The blow took Col by surprise. He felt as if he’d been hit by a sledgehammer. He gasped. His nose immediately began to bleed and when he opened his eyes he saw strange, starlike dots in front of him and two visions of Mungo not quite merging into one.

Mungo hauled him to his feet. ‘Come on. We’d better answer that door before they break it down.’

Col staggered upright. He thought he was going to be sick. It was the blood. He could taste it.

They had only just made it back into the kitchen when the front door flew open and his mother hurried in with two policemen looming behind her. A sudden gust rushed through the house, sending curtains flying and dishes rattling, before the back door suddenly hurled itself shut.

‘What is going on here!’ Grace McCann shouted angrily. ‘I come back to find two polis nearly breakin’ my house down. What is going on!’

She threw her bag on the kitchen table and ran to Col. She grabbed him just in time as his knees buckled under him. She lowered him gently on to the chair and glared at her elder son. ‘What have you done?’

‘He was slaggin’ off our team. Taught him a lesson.’

Col tried to talk through a mouthful of blood. ‘They were rubbish. I taught you the lesson.’

That made their mother even madder. ‘I can’t believe you two were fighting over a daft game of football.’

‘No. Neither can we.’ The taller of the two policemen stared straight at Mungo. ‘You’re trying to tell us you’ve been in all night? That your wee brother did that?’ He pointed to Mungo’s swollen face, his cut lip.

Mungo grinned. ‘Sure did. He’s a great wee fighter. But then, he’s a McCann.’

Their mother jumped to her son’s defence. ‘Right. What’s Mungo getting the blame for now?’

The other policeman’s voice was calm. ‘Been a lot of trouble on the edge of the town tonight. Some kind of battle.’

‘Oh, of course, and if there’s some kind of battle Mungo McCann must be to blame.’

‘He was seen running away, Mrs McCann.’

Grace McCann put her hands on her hips defiantly. ‘Who saw him? You?’

His pause told her the answer. ‘No. Not you! Someone else saw him … or says they did. When in doubt blame a McCann. I’ll go and see our lawyer the morrow.’

The big policeman nodded. ‘You probably will, Mrs McCann. You know so much more about the law than we do.’

‘Just as well,’ she snapped. ‘Now, as you can see my two boys have been in all night. So you go and find somebody else to harass.’

‘We’re going. I dare say we’ll be back. We usually are.’ His gaze at Mungo was full of contempt.

Mungo drew himself up arrogantly and stared right back at him.

‘How could you do that to your own brother?’ the policeman said bitterly. ‘He’s only a boy. You really are a McCann, aren’t you?’

He turned to leave and as he did so Mungo was almost after him. His body was ready to spring. Col held him back, shook his head. Mungo relaxed but he was angry.

‘I shouldn’t have hit you, Col,’ he said as soon as the door had closed behind the police.

‘No, indeed you shouldn’t!’ Their mam exploded now with rage. ‘I will not have you turning on your brother, for any reason. Family’s the most important thing in the world. You never turn against your family. Do you hear me, Mungo?’

Mungo shrank back when his mother railed at him. ‘But you don’t understand, Mam—’

She didn’t let him finish. ‘I understand enough to know you don’t ever turn on your brother.’

Mungo stepped back, bent his head, and said nothing more. Neither did Col. They both knew it was better to keep quiet when Grace McCann lost her temper. She was a tiger when she got started. And, anyway, the less their mother knew about this the better.