He tottered down the stairs and out into the daylight. Everything seemed loud and busy and confusing out here: the river roared like a torrent, the trees waved and shivered, a squirrel chattered somewhere like a machine that needed oiling.
He sat down by the river on a big, old log and rested, watching the water as it danced over the rocks and stones. He caught a glimpse of a fish, lurking near a patch of weeds, and wondered if he should fetch his rod.
And then it struck him.
Max.
In all this time, Max hadn’t visited him. James had been so preoccupied with his own health he hadn’t even thought to ask how he was. He cursed himself. How selfish and rude he had been. He was about to get up and go to find Aunt Charmian when she appeared at his side, carrying a basket of freshly cut flowers.
‘Hello,’ said James.
‘You’re up.’ Charmian smiled.
‘Yes. I feel a lot better for it. But I was just thinking –’
‘About Max?’
‘Yes.’
Charmian sat down on the log next to James and took his hand.
‘A long time ago I had to give you some bad news, James. About my other brother – your father.’ Charmian stopped and took a deep breath.
‘He’s dead,’ said James quietly, ‘isn’t he?’
Charmian nodded, tears in her eyes. She wiped them away.
‘It’s not fair,’ said James angrily.
‘There’s nothing much fair about life,’ said Charmian, staring into Uncle Max’s beloved river. ‘Good people die as well as bad. You always think you can prepare yourself for it, and it wasn’t as if we didn’t all know it was going to happen, but when it comes it knocks you for six. Which is why I’m so glad you’re back with us, James. I was damned if I was going to lose the both of you.’
She hugged James and crushed his head into her neck. James put his arms round her and hugged her back. The two of them had shared so much together, and Charmian was now both a mother and a best friend to him.
‘I should have liked to say goodbye to him properly,’ said James, his voice hoarse. ‘We were going to go fishing. He was going to show me how to Spey cast, and I… I lost his torch, I didn’t know how I was going to tell him, and…’
‘In a way you did say goodbye,’ said Charmian, ‘the night before you left to go up on to the moors. I think he knew then…’ She laughed. ‘He wasn’t the sentimental type. He wouldn’t have wanted tears and a lot of fuss and nonsense. You know, in a way, you being so ill, it took my mind off things,’ she said, stroking James’s hair. ‘It’s made it easier to cope. We have to remember that life goes on, eh?’ She pushed his head back and grinned into his face. ‘We’re going to have to look after each other from now on, you and I.’
‘Yes,’ said James. ‘Don’t worry.’
They got up and walked back into the house, where May the housekeeper was preparing breakfast.
‘Mister James, you’re up and about,’ she exclaimed when she saw him. ‘That’s a sight for sore eyes. Will I make you some breakfast?’
‘Yes, please,’ said James, sitting down at the scrubbed, wooden table.
‘I was just telling James about Max,’ said Charmian.
‘Oh, aye,’ said May without turning round from the stove, but James saw from the droop of her shoulders that she was trying to hide her own emotions.
‘When did it happen?’ he said, fiddling with the spoon in the sugar bowl.
‘That first night you were away,’ said Charmian.
‘So soon?’
‘We tried to keep from you just how badly sick he was, James.’ Charmian looked away and took a long, slow breath. ‘I heard him cry out in the night,’ she said quietly. ‘And I went up to him, but when I got there, it must have been about four o’clock in the morning, he was lying with his eyes open as if he could see something. And he cried out again, just one word, your name, James. Just that: “James!” His voice was surprisingly strong, and then his heart gave out and the spirit left him.’
James said nothing. He was thinking. Four in the morning, that would have been just about when he was swimming out through the tunnel of eels. He remembered how he had been about to give up and he had heard a voice in his head, calling his name. He wasn’t a superstitious person; he had no belief in ghosts and phantoms and messages from beyond the grave, but a shiver passed through him, and the hairs stood up all over his skin.
Max had been buried quietly two days after he had died. In his coffin were his beloved fishing rod and the little plaster soldier that James had won at the fair.
Now that James was better, Charmian arranged a small memorial service in the local church, which was packed with people from the village and Max’s many friends. May was there with her husband, and Dr Walker and Max’s fishing pals, grizzled, red-faced men who looked awkward in their formal suits.
Afterwards, as the mourners filed out of the tiny churchyard, James saw Red Kelly and he held back to talk to him as the others went on ahead. Kelly had one leg in plaster and was hobbling about with a walking stick.
‘I didn’t like to come in,’ he said, nodding towards the church. ‘It was family and friends and that, and I didn’t really know him. I thought I might be, you know… in the way.’
‘That’s all right,’ said James. ‘It’s good to see you.’
‘I’m off in the morning,’ said Red with a characteristic sniff. ‘Back down to London.’
‘I shall miss you,’ said James.
‘Yeah, same here. Funny, isn’t it? Us two being friends. What with you being posh and me being just a common oik. But the first time I saw you, I thought, here’s a stand-up bloke. Who’d have known, eh, meeting in King’s Cross like that, what was going to happen? And now… we’ll probably never see each other again.’
‘We can keep in touch,’ said James. ‘I’ll write down my address for you, and you can give me yours. If I’m ever in London I could come and visit you.’
‘I’m not a big writer,’ said Kelly.
‘Nor me,’ said James, and they laughed.
‘Anyways,’ said Kelly. ‘I’m not sure you’d like where I live. Might not be what you’re used to. It’s not exactly a palace. I share a room with three of me brothers. Funny thing is, I miss it. Never did take to the countryside. It’s not for me: too much space. I can’t sleep without Dan and Freddie and Bill snoring away next to me.’
They walked up the lane and on to the road, then along to the dirt track that led to the cottage.
‘Everything that happened,’ said James, ‘will you keep it secret?’
‘Your mate George Hellebore’s kept us out of it so far, mate, and I don’t see as how we need to change that. Luckily, your aunt got you away from there before the police knew what was going on. Useless sods still don’t have a clue.’
‘You know,’ said James. ‘I used to think that George was a coward, a coward and a cheat; but in the end, what he did, standing up to his father, that was the bravest thing in the world.’
‘Yeah, he come good,’ said Kelly.
‘Even as we were rowing across the lake towards the castle,’ said James, ‘I kept wondering if he was leading me into a trap, if he was going to betray me, right up to when he smashed the first rack of serum.’ James stopped and looked at Kelly. ‘We did the right thing, didn’t we?’ he said.
‘If it was me,’ said Kelly, ‘I’d have killed Lord Hellebore with my bare hands for what he done to Alfie. All right, so I done some bad things in my time: robbed houses, picked pockets, nicked from shops, got into some fights and hurt some people, but nothing like that. What Randolph did, what he was planning to do… It was a bloody disgrace. He was a right villain, James. And you stopped him. I’m pleased to know you, mate.’
‘I couldn’t have done it without you, Red. You and George and Wilder.’
‘Ah, Wilder,’ said Red, and he raised his eyebrows. ‘I’ve been trying my hardest with her, but she seems to prefer her horse.’
As if in answer to this, they heard a clopping of hooves and Wilder Lawless came round the corner behind them on Martini. She rode up and dismounted.
‘It’s the terrible two,’ she said.
‘We’ll both be leaving soon,’ said James.
‘It’ll be awful quiet around here without you.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be back sometime,’ said James.
‘Well, who says I’ll still be here? It’s a big world out there, James Bond, and I intend to see some of it. You can’t keep me cooped up here forever.’ She touched the bandage on James’s face. ‘Does that hurt?’
‘A little,’ said James, ‘but Aunt Charmian said it’s healing really well and shouldn’t leave a mark.’
‘That’s good,’ said Wilder, with a smile. ‘We wouldn’t want your handsome face to be spoiled by a nasty old scar now, would we?’ So saying, she gave the two of them a big kiss each, laughed, jumped into the saddle and thundered away, Martini’s hooves kicking up great clods of earth as they went.
James wiped his mouth and looked at Kelly, who was blushing and for once was lost for words.
A few days later, having arranged for Max’s belongings to be shipped down south, Charmian closed up the cottage. The will had been read and, just as he had promised, Max had left his car to James, though James had no idea what he was going to do with it, as it would be a few years before he could legally drive it on any public roads. The car would be brought down with all the other stuff and would have to stay, parked in Aunt Charmian’s garage, for the immediate future.
They said goodbye to May and Dr Walker, loaded Charmian’s Bentley with their luggage and climbed aboard.
Soon they were rattling and bumping down the track, and James turned to watch the cottage disappearing into the trees. He was leaving behind his adventures, leaving behind this extraordinary part of his life, and he knew that, despite what he had said to Wilder, he would probably never come back.
The three-day drive down to Kent was gloomy, cold and dull. The skies remained leaden and James felt empty and deflated, as if returning to reality from a strange, exciting dream. How drab England was, how safe and solid and dull it all seemed. Dishforth, Leeds, Doncaster, Stevenage, Hatfield… a dreary parade of colourless places where nothing ever happened.
Once they got home to Pett Bottom, however, James was plunged into preparations for school, and it was with some excitement that he returned to Eton and caught up with his friends.
They welcomed him back, asking him any number of questions about his illness and the dramatic wound on his cheek. He answered with vague replies and tried to change the subject. They were more than happy to tell him what they’d been up to: the Easter celebrations they had had, the plays they had seen, and all the scrapes they had got into.
George Hellebore had not returned to school. There were all sorts of rumours going round about him and his father, none of them accurate, and James later heard that he had gone back to live with his mother in America.
One morning, James was walking back across Agar’s Plough to Codrose’s after cricket when he was met by Sedgepole and Pruitt, two of George’s old gang. James thought nothing of it, but Sedgepole put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
‘Where do you think you’re going, Bond?’ he asked, trying to sound menacing.
‘I’m going to my house,’ said James casually. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘We’ll make it our business if we want to,’ said Sedgepole, and Pruitt sniggered. ‘You’re becoming a little too big for your boots,’ Sedgepole added. ‘And don’t think that just because Hellebore has gone, things are going to be any different around here.’
James looked from one to the other of the older boys, right in their eyes, and he realised that they didn’t scare him at all. After all he had been through, these two overgrown monkeys meant nothing to him. He had faced up to real terrors and had been in fear for his life. So what were these two to him? In the end, they were just boys. Like himself. A little bigger, perhaps, but just boys, and boys could never scare him again.
He held Sedgepole’s gaze, and the larger boy must have seen something there to make him pause, because he slipped his hand off James’s shoulder.
‘If you ever put your hand on me again,’ said James calmly, ‘I will break it off, and then I will break your arm off, do you understand?’
‘Yes,’ said Sedgepole. ‘Sorry.’
James smiled politely. ‘That’s all right, I just wanted to make sure it was clear.’
James turned on his heel and strode away towards College Field, and the two bullies were left standing there, not quite sure what had happened, how this younger boy had so unsettled them; but they had seen in his eyes something cold and frightening. They knew that this was not a boy who they should tangle with.
Neither of them ever spoke about the incident.
As for the Hellebore Cup, it was quietly forgotten and never contested again. The trophy sat on Andrew Carlton’s mantelpiece, where it was used to hold golf balls.
Charlie Higson, Silver Fin
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