Aunty

3

Summer was ending. The trees on the far side of Happ's barley field swam in the chilly northern wind. A blue sliver showed in the grey sky like a child peeking behind a blanket hung out to dry. Impossible game.

I marched on, soaked to the bone. I had left the ox with mum. She'd be smart enough to sell the thing under wraps. Even if I never saw my share of the sale, it'd keep her busy for a while. Keep her from sending her cousin after me. Best not wake old cunt Walt, don't want to end up like the long line of men who pissed him off. Their bodies picked over by the little fishes in the Nene. My stomach wrenched a little remembering his bony fingers working his gutting knife. The knife carved the fish guts almost as well as it carved men's necks. Sinew and scales. Blood and bile. Spleen and tongue. How many knew the contents of Walt's fish stew? Three pence a bowl. "Such delicious broth"! "What's your secret ingredient Walt"? "The cook best not let the diner into his bedroom"! he'd chuckle. Yes, the old cunt was a charmer. Smile like the sun. Face like a brother. His laugh could be heard halfway across Thrapston. Every morning, laughing and slinging stew. Echoing like a church bell. I peered over my shoulder sure he'd be there, grabbing me by the shoulder, rough and close, breath like marrow, "Come now Rupert, you didn't see the first of it. That man attacked me. Unruly, drunk old boy. What's old Walter to do? Lay down like a lamb? Never! You know us river folk don't bend. Now be a good boy and keep your mouth shut", with a grin and squint of his clever green eyes, I could see my will fly off like a moth. Rupert the brave!

I was walking the old willow road. Zadie was a creature of habit. I looked for the faint path, just past the Nene causeway, on the right. Two hours later, the path turned, ending in a small glen. The same brown limestone, stagnant. Same lichen ached. Same broken branches shrugged. I had chased Zadie here when she was just a tot. Her first spiteful runaway.

Rain dripped down my neck. I'd been outside so long water had become my second skin. I turned my ears through the droll whisp on the leaves. Rivulets slid down the hornbeam trunk I leaned on. The breeze teased my legs. I closed my eyes.

A flutter.

I opened my eyes. A starling had landed a branch above. It did not see me.

Another flutter.

Zadie?

She was mumbling to herself. I could hear her sharp hoarse voice. Where was it coming from? I snuck into the glen. No, not there. She must be hiding in the 'hole' as we called it. Through the back of the glen, under an edge of a cliff, a small gulley that provided protection from the rain. I snuck up, careful not to step on any sticks. My shoes poked about like dogs. They were as worn as old mum's frock, holes at the big toes on both. Time for a new pair old Rupert!

"...ran off with nothing.."

"...are you good at anything..."

"...I'll die out here..."

Then a deep voice spoke, startling me. Who was with her?

"...next town is nay too far..."

Horence!

Old boy got himself a girlie. Too bad she was my daughter. Another brow beating for Horence! This man will never like me. Sad Horence!

I charged through the hornbeams with a crash and stomped to the front of the shallow cave. Horence stood up, his bulk bursting out like a seed.

"Hello old friend," I whispered.

Horence grunted, jumping from the cave. His shoulder slammed into my neck at the same time his knee hit me right in the nethers. Rupert the unprepared.