Ghost Wall(27)

They’re insane, she said, no way, they’ve completely lost the plot. You’re not doing that, no way. And I’m sorry, Silvie. I’m sorry they thought they could ask you. She put her arm round me. I didn’t cry. I rested my head on her shoulder, breathed her in. Stay with me, OK, she said, just stay near me and I won’t let them do anything, I promise. She stroked my hair. Don’t, I said, it’s filthy, I probably smell. You don’t smell, she said, anyway everyone smells a bit in this heat. You told them you won’t do it, right? I shook my head. I can’t, I said, Dad would be furious, you have to see that, I can’t. Silvie, she said, you can’t let them tie you up and pretend to kill you either, you do know that, you either have to say no or you’ll have to go through with it, and you’re not doing that so you have to tell them. Just say you changed your mind. Say you talked to me and I told you not to, they won’t do anything to me. I can’t, I said, I’m sorry Molly, I’m sorry but I can’t. Shaking came from deep inside. I can’t. Dad—Your dad’s not God, she said, he can’t do anything he likes to you. I know, I said, he’s not, it’s OK, I’ll be all right, they did ask. Oh Silvie, she said. Oh Sulevia, goddess of the groves.

Mum had rescued the flatbreads and cooked the mushrooms, but I couldn’t eat. Filled yourself up with bubbles, Mum murmured, you’ll be hungry again before bed. The boys, presumably sobered by the stream and the bread, finished everything, and after some goading from Molly went to wash the plates. The sun came down into the trees. I’ll come with you to tell them, said Molly, or you go rest in my tent and I’ll say you changed your mind, you can’t do this, it’s ridiculous and stupid and wrong in every way. I shook my head. It was too late. They’re not going to hurt me, I said, I know that, I just wish – I couldn’t even say it. I wish I didn’t have to be tied up in front of everyone. I wish my father didn’t want to put a rope around my neck. It doesn’t matter, I said, it will all be over by morning. Maybe it will be interesting after all. No, she said. No, you can’t do this, they’re insane.

Mum was putting the turfs on the fire and I went to help her. Thanks, she said, is summat up, seems Molly’s in a bit of a taking? I knelt up. There was no point, I knew, there was nothing Mum could do, no point in telling her. I remembered her arm, the marks you get if you resist when someone’s trying to hit you, if you make him have to hold you down. Better just to take what’s coming to you anyway. Not that I know of, I said, you know she gets a mood on when she thinks the lads aren’t pulling their weight.



And come the moment, Molly wasn’t there. The Prof appeared with a camera strung around his neck – we might want to publish on this later, he said, I don’t think anyone’s done it before – and Dad laid a skein of rough rope around mine. We made it, he said proudly, it’s what we were doing yesterday, turns out it’s not hard to reach a fair breaking strain. It was heavy on my collarbones, itchy on my neck. He tied it behind me, somewhere between my shoulder blades, and caught some of my greasy hair in the knot. Not the hangman’s knot, said the Prof, it wasn’t meant to break the neck, remember? A slow dying, strangulation, in the end. We won’t tie her hands yet, the Prof said, don’t want you falling over on the way, do we Silvie?

I couldn’t look up. With a rope lying around my neck, I couldn’t meet his eyes. He took a picture of me. As I looked away I caught Pete’s grin.

Silvie, said Dan, Silvie, are you really OK with this, are you sure about it? Of course she is, said Dad, she knows we won’t hurt her, she’s not stupid.

Silvie, said Dan.

I nodded. Yeah, it’s OK.

You lead her, Bill, said the Professor, after all I suppose she’s your sacrifice.



The shadows were long in the grass, the whole moorland low and still in slanting yellow light. In the east the trees stood dark against the sky and all the colours were fading. A late flight of birds winged the air, homeward bound.

Dad walked in front of me, so that the rope pulled and loosened on the back of my neck and was always before my eyes. I could feel my hair catching and tangling around it but when I tried to gather my hair in my hand I lost my balance and stumbled. That’s what’ll happen if you don’t watch where you’re going, said Dad. Silvie, said Dan, you all right? Yeah, I said, fine.

When I could stay in step with Dad, the rope’s loop swung between us, but mostly I couldn’t and it tautened and fell, its shadow scribbling over the heather along the path. When we got to the bog, I thought, they – Dad, probably – would tie my hands behind my back, and the rope would be scratchy. The bog people didn’t struggle, went with dignity. Don’t fight, don’t panic. I remembered then Dad saying the blindfolds and gags were to protect the killers from the dying, but I didn’t know any curses and I didn’t think they, Dad and the Prof, would be scared of what was behind my eyes.



Behind me, Pete and Dan began to beat their drums, a rhythm slower than my heart but too fast for my feet.



We came to the bog. The sun was still above the rocks, there was still time. Strip her, said the Prof. Dad turned me to face the darkening water while the others watched him tie my wrists behind me. I held them back-to-back for him and immediately regretted it; my fingers would have liked the comfort of each other’s grasp. The boys were drumming still, the beat spreading across the dim moor, pulsing through marsh and reed, under the small shelter of the heather towards the mound on the horizon. There, said Dad. It was too tight, but perhaps any rope around your wrists is too tight. I found myself standing straighter, shoulders back. A wind came licking over the cotton grass, lifted my hair. And her legs, said Dad. Not yet, said the Prof, that comes later. Unless she tries to fight. Turn her to face us.