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Dark Waters(4)

By:Cathy MacPhail


‘I’m too smart for them, son,’ he would tell Col.

Col walked on. The town was well behind him now. He loved how it never took long to leave civilisation behind him here. One minute he would be right in the middle of the bustle, the noise – squabbling children, angry mothers, traffic – and the next he would be deep in the calm of the hills and the bracken and the loch. He loved coming here. He could think, and be quiet and alone.

It was hardly a loch. Not exactly your Loch Lomond, more a very large pond with swans and ducks; but it was peaceful, especially now with a misty, icy fog descending on the January afternoon.

Col squatted on the grass. He was already freezing. He was daft. Mungo, if he knew he had come here, would think he was crazy. He could be sitting by the fire right now, pretending to his mother that his belly ached. He could be home, getting spoiled. Hot broth, chips, his favourite comics.

He’d go in a minute, he decided. And yet, it was so peaceful here on this icy, dark afternoon.

There was a sudden squawk as a couple of ducks slid along the ice. Col laughed. They seemed to be arguing with each other. Man and wife, he imagined, blaming each other for something. He leaned forward to watch their progress and for the first time he noticed another solitary figure at the edge of the loch. A boy, much younger than Col, ten maybe, testing the ice with the heel of his shoe. He was wearing a maroon blazer. St Roch’s. Posh, fee-paying school nearby. Col watched him as he took one tentative step on to the loch. There were signs everywhere warning of thin ice. The boy took no notice, but then ten-year-old boys never did. He took a few steps further, more confident as he realised that the ice was holding.

Col could almost hear him think, ‘Thin Ice? Who are they trying to kid?’ Col had done it himself many times.

The boy was beginning to get cocky. He did a little dance on the ice, then, embarrassed, looked all around him quickly to make sure no one was there to see him. Col darted back behind the bushes, hung with frost. But only for a moment.

The boy, now convinced he was alone, let out a yell of delight and went sliding almost to the middle of the loch. The two ducks squawked in annoyance and slid out of his way.

The ice in the middle held him too. Col could see his confidence growing. To make sure, the boy jumped once, twice, three times.

Col was beginning to think this wee boy was one sandwich short of a picnic. The ice in the middle of the loch probably wasn’t as thick as this boy was.

The boy looked all around him, thinking. Then he turned and began skating back to the edge. Col was almost relieved. This wee fool had taken enough chances. His eyes followed the boy back to the bank, watched with interest as he picked up his rucksack and took something out and stuffed it into his mouth. By the way he began to chew it had to be a caramel. The boy dropped the rucksack and turned his gaze towards the loch. Still deep in thought. There was a determination in his step as he headed back.

What on earth was this idiot about to do now?

Col didn’t have to wait long to find out.

The boy lifted a boulder from the ground. It was almost as big as he was. Still chewing, he hoisted it up in his arms and struggled back on to the ice.

‘I don’t believe this!’ Col muttered softly.

The boy staggered into the middle of the ice again. It was growing darker by the minute and the icy fog was descending fast. He lifted the boulder as high as he was able and, suddenly, he hurled it down on the ice.

Col let out a low whistle. Crazy! he thought.

But it seemed to be all the proof the boy needed. He began to jump wildly up and down on the ice, cheering. As if he and the ice were in competition against each other, and he had won.

The boy was mad.

Col’s eyes were drawn back to the rucksack, lying half open, so close by.

He wondered if there were any more caramels in it. If there was, perhaps there’d be something more than caramels. Money.

St Roch’s. Fee-paying school.

Wee snotrag would be bound to have money. Mummy and Daddy probably gave him lots of dosh.

Col edged towards the rucksack. He was hidden by the bracken and the bushes. No one else was here. No one but him and this boy.

He’d lifted the boulder again. Not content, wanting to test it one more time. He never even glanced Col’s way.

Col moved silently. The rucksack lay open. Col could see books and jotters. He could even make out the tube of sweets.

The sudden crash of the boulder against the ice made him jump. He shot a glance across the loch, but the boy was only interested in the ice and the boulder. He was whooping like a Comanche brave on the warpath.

Col reached the rucksack, crouched down lower and began to finger through the books and jotters. Here, a bookmark; there, yuck, a sticky caramel half chewed. But then!