MOVING A LITTLE FASTER

(Another piece from Port Brokeferry. Am well into the writing of this project. Approaching the hundred mark, a hundred PB pieces written. So I am posting them at a slightly faster rate. Expect one every two days at least.)

A FEW WORDS WITH KERRY

Kerry hadn’t wanted to stay in the house. ‘Could we just walk?’ she’d said. And so they were walking. Helen’s arm linked in hers. Out past the fair and towards the red sandstone cliffs beyond the village. There’s a path there that takes you to the highest point so you can look down over the whole of Port Brokeferry. Then a little further, on the downward slope and out of view of the village, there stands a derelict cottage. Just the four walls and no roof. Crushed beer cans in the fireplace and cigarette ends stubbed out in the grass that carpets the floor.

They walked without saying much at the start, without even having agreed on where they should walk. Slow and slow their steps, not in any hurry to be anywhere. Kerry avoided meeting the eyes of people they passed in the village. Helen nodded and made some small comment on the brightness of the weather and smiled to everyone they met.

When they left the fair behind, they were almost alone. Up ahead the boy from Berlie’s was out walking the three dogs and Mad Martin was with them, running here and there in just the way that dogs do, with no heed of the energy they were using. Mad Martin running too and calling after Col.

‘Edwin says he’s missed you the last couple of days. On The Silver Herring. Keeps a seat for you, he does. Held the boat back a little yesterday in case you were running late.’

Kerry did not reply. She looked away from Helen and out across the sea. She understood that this was why Helen had called, why they were walking arm in arm. Edwin had put her up to it.

‘It’s not like you, Edwin said. And I agree. It isn’t. And so we thought maybe something was up.’

Still Kerry kept quiet. They walked on. Mad Martin came running towards them. He was excited and out of breath. One of the dogs followed him part of the way and then ran back to join the boy.

‘Have you seen Col?’ said Mad Martin. ‘Have you seen him?’

Helen ignored the question. ‘Are you out with the dogs, Martin? Is that what you are up to today?’ Her voice was loud and there was space between the words as though she was speaking to someone hard of hearing.

Mad Martin turned tail and ran back to Kelso and the three dogs. They crested the hill and disappeared from view. Then Kerry and Helen were alone again and it was quiet except for the wind moving through the grass.

‘Just, if there’s anything we can do? To help, you understand.’

Kerry stopped, pulling Helen to a stop, too.

‘It’s Ward,’ she said.

‘What’s that bastard up to now?’ said Helen. She was not someone who swore easily and the word ‘bastard’ sounded strange in her mouth, like she was speaking something foreign, something French or Spanish.

Kerry was surprised at Helen swearing. Helen was surprised herself.

‘Whatever it is he’s done we can deal with it, Kerry. That’s what friends do. Please let us help. He’s just no good and you were well shot of him when he left.’

‘He’s dead,’ said Kerry.

‘Fuck, no,’ said Helen and then realised what she’d said. The tone of her voice changed, like the wind when it drops suddenly and everything is quieter than before. ‘Oh Kerry, I am so sorry.’

Kerry did not know exactly what it was Helen was sorry for.