It was a little blue plastic dinosaur.
“And this,” he said.
He pulled a tiny toy car from his pocket. No wheels, dried dirt clogging the inside, the paint all flaked away.
“And money!” he grinned, showing a five-pence piece.
“Great,” I said. “They’re lovely, Mouse.”
He was always digging for things, collecting things. His room was filled with his discoveries, cleaned up and laid out on his shelves and floor. He said the earth was filled with objects from the past and that one day he’d find real treasure, something really precious in the cold dark earth.
January cursed.
“Come on,” he said.
“Take me with you,” said Mouse. “I know you’re going away.”
“We can’t,” I said.
“Please, Erin.”
“It’s dangerous. We’re going on the river. We might bloody drown.”
“Please, Erin.”
January tugged my arm. He cursed again.
“Get lost!” he hissed at Mouse. “Come on, Erin.”
We turned away and continued heading down. Mouse followed, close behind. We walked over great piles of rubble, all that was left of the warehouses and workplaces. We walked over cinders and blackened earth where kids’ bonfires had been. The ground was ruined, cracked, potholed. Crows hopped across the debris. A rat scuttled across our path. There was barbed wire. There were signs telling us to keep out. We scrambled across the fences and kept on walking. “This way,” Jan kept saying. “This way. This way.” We walked quickly. We swaggered and swung our arms. Soon we had left Mouse behind. We picked up half-bricks and bits of broken concrete and slung them high into the air and heard them crashing down again. The sun sank further. The distant moors were outlined darkly against the sky. We could hear the river now, a hundred yards away. It splashed and gurgled against the ancient quays. It caught the falling sunlight. It was like hammered metal, gleaming, with long slow swells that surged toward the distant sea.
“This one,” said Jan at last.
He crouched at a pile of broken bricks and splintered timbers. He started pulling the bricks and timber away.
“Come on,” he said, and I started digging, too.
“There she is,” he whispered.
We saw the corner of a door, the raft’s edge. January giggled.
“Come on, my beauty,” he said.
We dug. We threw the rubble aside. We lifted the edge of the raft and tipped it so that the last of the rubble just fell away. Then we hauled the raft free and let it fall with a crash to the earth.
January laughed with joy. He brushed away the dust with his hands.
“Isn’t she beautiful, Erin?”
The raft was made of three doors laid flat and nailed down onto planks. On the doors were written the words, in cracked gilt lettering:
ENTRANCE DANGER EXIT
Right across the raft, January had painted a curse in red:
“Isn’t she beautiful?” he said.
“Yes,” I said. I turned my head to the darkening water. “Yes, she is.”
THERE WAS A LONG TETHERING ROPE fastened to one corner. There were two paddles carved from window frames. We carried the paddles across our shoulders. We hauled the raft across the broken ground. From somewhere in the ruins, kids appeared. They stood on the heaps and watched. The raft squeaked and cracked as we dragged. The sun fell. My heart thundered. We came to the quays and looked down at the churning filthy river.
“Hell’s teeth,” I said.
January grinned.
“Scared?” he asked.
“No. Petrified.”
He giggled.
“We just drop it, then we jump. Then we go. Easy.”
“What if it sinks?”
“You can swim?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then.”
“Hell’s teeth, January.”
His eyes were devilish.
“Hell’s teeth, Erin.”
He laughed. He kicked the raft.
“Look at it. Solid as a rock. This thing won’t sink.”
I didn’t know if I could do it. I looked downriver, saw the mist rising as evening approached.
“We could just walk,” I said.
“Walk! Where’s your spirit of adventure?”
We crouched close together. He stared into my eyes.
“What we got to lose?” he said.
My life, I thought.
“Nothing,” I said.
“And we’ve got each other. We’ll be in this together.”
“Yes.”
“Well, then.”
I took deep breaths.
“Okay,” I whispered.
Then Mouse was beside us.
“Take me,” he said.
“Go home,” said January.
Mouse pulled his sleeve back. He showed us his tattoo.
“Please,” he said.
I looked at Jan.
“Hell’s teeth, Erin,” he said.
“Can you swim?” I asked.
Mouse shook his head.
“Please, Erin. Please.”
“Jan,” I said. “What d’you think?”
He cursed. He spat.
“Hell’s bloody teeth,” he hissed.
He grabbed Mouse by the collar.
“What you brought?” he said.
“Brought?”
“Food. Money. Clothes. A knife.”
Mouse showed the dinosaur, the car, the five-pence piece. He took out the cracked photograph of the men in overalls from his back pocket. He held Squeak in his loosely closed fist.
“Eek,” said Squeak. “Eek, eek!”
“Fantastic,” said Jan. “These’ll all come in very handy when the going gets tough.”
He shoved Mouse.
“Go home,” he said. “You’ll just be in time for one of Kev’s ghost stories.”
“Home?” said Mouse. “I’ve got no home. I’m just like you. I’ve got nowhere. I can go anywhere. Please.”
“You’ll drown,” said January.
“I don’t care. I don’t blooming care. Please. Please.”
He held out the five-pence piece.
“I’ll pay you,” he said.
“Pay!” said January, laughing.
“Go on,” said Mouse. “Take it. Please. It’ll be my fare. Take it and take me with you.”
Dusk was coming. The sun was a huge orange ball sliding down behind the moors. The sky over the city was starting to burn. The mist downriver thickened. We stood there on the quay in silence, lost in our thoughts.
“The raft’s big enough,” I whispered. “Three people. Three doors.”
I touched January’s arm.
“I’ll look after him,” I said.
“Hell’s teeth, Erin,” he said.
Then he shrugged. He took Mouse’s five-pence piece and grinned. He stooped to the raft again.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s do it. All aboard.”
We slid the raft over the edge. It balanced there, then crashed down into the water. Jan held on to the tethering rope. The raft disappeared while the water seethed above it. Stay down, I thought. Don’t come up again. Then it rose and rested bobbing on the water.
Jan grinned and squeezed my arm.
“Go on,” he said.
He laughed at Mouse.
“Go on. Go on. You as well. All aboard.”
WAS IT THE SCARIEST MOMENT OF MY LIFE? No. That was the moment when Mum closed her eyes for the final time and left me all alone. But my head reeled. My heart thudded. My legs trembled. As I stepped over the edge and climbed down the rotting timbers of the quay, I thought I was climbing down to my death. Mouse climbed beside me. He gave me strength. “Come on,” he whispered. “Come on, Erin.” January watched us from above. He hauled back on the tethering rope, keeping the raft close to the quay. But there was still a three-foot gap between us and the edge.
“Jump!” yelled January.
“Go on. Jump!”
Mouse went first. He landed facedown in the center, with his feet dangling back into the water. He laughed. He turned.
“Come on, Erin!” he called.
“Mum,” I whispered. “Mum. Mum!”
I closed my eyes and leapt. I skidded on the varnish, on the water that was slopping across the doors. I squatted at the center with Mouse. Jan threw the paddles down. Then there was a scream and he came hurtling down on top of us. The raft lurched, slewed sideways, was caught by the current, and we were dragged away.
We goggled at each other. We gasped and yelled with terror and excitement. The raft spun out toward the center of the river. The sky was vivid red. The river was like running molten metal. The massive bridge arched over us. We were drenched in seconds. We clung to each other. The water quickened, dragging us down toward the thickening mist. Suddenly January leapt up. He stretched his arms toward the sky.
“Aaaaahhh!” he yelled. “Aaaahhh! Freedom!”
The raft rocked and toppled him back onto us again.
His eyes were wild with joy. His face burned like the sky.
“Freedom,” he whispered. “Freedom, Erin!”
THERE WERE EDDIES AND SWIRLING CURRENTS. There were little waves whipped up by the breeze. The river didn’t take one single course. We were dragged out to the center, then back toward the bank. We tried to control the raft with the paddles but they were skinny things, almost useless. At one time we were dragged upstream and it seemed we’d be heading to the distant moors rather than toward the distant sea. But then the current turned again and took us down again. We were bitter cold. We were sodden. Soon it was like the river had soaked through to our bones. All the time the evening darkened, darkened. The city started to glare: brilliant lights outside the pubs and clubs on Norton Quay. Music echoed across the water. We saw the people gathering there in bright skimpy clothes, out for the night. A group of girls pointed out to us. They danced a jig and yelled out “Bobby Shaftoe.” Others watched, serious, maybe worried about us. Jan yelled “Bobby Shaftoe” back at them. “Nice night for a paddle!” he called. The girls squealed. The river dragged us toward them, then spun us back into the center again. We waved, trying to reassure the worried ones, trying to reassure ourselves. “Hell’s teeth,” Jan kept saying. “Hell’s teeth,” I answered. “Hell’s teeth,” whispered Mouse. He held me tight, wouldn’t let go. His teeth were chattering, his voice was quivering. “It’s going to be all right!” he said. “It is! It’s going to be all right.” Tears poured from his eyes. “Erin!” he yelled in terror. “Erin!” We plunged onward. We seemed to catch the main current and it drew us relentlessly away from the lights, away from the voices, toward the mist, toward the night. The moon appeared, a white ball that brightened as the sky around it deepened into black. Stars glittered, first a handful, then a skyful. We passed the city’s dark outskirts, the dilapidated quays: more ruined warehouses, broken wharves, massive billboards showing how this place would be once the demolishing, building and developing started. Huge gaps of blackness where there was nothing. The river stank of oil and something rotten. There was the scent of salt and seaweed. We passed the stream called the Ouseburn and hit more eddies where the currents of the stream and river mixed. Then the mist, thin at first, still allowing the moon and stars through to us. But it thickened, deepened. Soon there was nothing but us, the raft, the churning water and the mist. Our voices boomed and echoed back to us. We stared at each other, held each other, in terror that one of us might be lost to the others, in terror that we’d all be lost, in terror that this journey was nothing but a journey into death. We muttered bits of prayers, we called out for help, we forgot about the paddles and we drifted, rocked, lurched and spun. And then we slowed and the raft jerked, shuddered, and we stopped. Just water gently slopping, the gentle creaking of the doors beneath us. Just the gasping of our breath. And silence all around.
MUD. BLACK, STICKY, OILY, STINKING MUD. It was January who dared to lean out of the raft first. He dipped his hand into what should have been water. He touched mud, black mud. It oozed and dribbled from his fingers. The raft settled, and mud slithered across its surface, onto our clothes. It seeped through to our skin. It seeped through the tiny gaps between the doors. I took my flashlight out, switched it on, saw the doors disappearing as they sank, saw the gilt words and the red curse obscured, saw the mud rise, saw that we were being slowly sucked down into the sodden earth. “Hell’s teeth,” we hissed. “Hell’s teeth.” We crawled to each other, clutched each other. Our feet, our heels, our knees were caught in mud.
“The Black Middens,” said January.
“What?”
“The Black Middens. We’re grounded on the bloody Black Middens.”
I shined the flashlight into his eyes.
“Got to get out,” he said. “It’ll suck us in.”
We leaned out, tried to shove ourselves free. The raft just sank deeper.
“Hell’s teeth,” I hissed.
I shined the flashlight into the mist. Water behind us, black mud in front, impenetrable mist.
“There’ll be dry land further in,” said January.
We reached across the mud, searching for this dry land. Just mud. Wet black lethal mud. We goggled at each other. We gasped and sobbed in fright.
“Somebody’ll have to go, Erin. Somebody’ll have to take the rope and get to the dry land.”
We stared into each other’s eyes.
“Me,” said Mouse.
I didn’t turn.
“You can’t even swim,” I whispered.
“You’re lighter than me,” said January.
“I know I am.”
I put the flashlight between my teeth. I took the end of the rope. I slid across the edge of the raft. I stretched my arms and legs wide. I crawled. I kept moving. I slithered forward. I felt how at any moment I could stop and be taken down into the Black Middens. I whispered for my mum. There was no answer. Mouse and January spoke my name from behind. I couldn’t speak. I grunted, whimpered, groaned. I slithered forward. There was no dry land, no dry land. My head filled with the mist and darkness. I cried. At one point I just stopped moving. I told myself that this was what I had come out on the raft for. I was following my mum downriver. She waited for me deep in the Black Middens. I began to let myself be taken down. I felt the mud gathering around me. I felt the great contentment that might come if I just let go, if I sank here, if I just let myself go down to her, if my mouth was filled with mud, if my eyes and ears were filled with mud, if there was nothing but mud surrounding me, encasing me.
And then I heard her: “Erin. Erin.” I felt her hands holding me, preventing me from sinking. “Erin,” she whispered. “Keep moving. Don’t let go.” She helped me drag my body free. She held me up as I continued. I stretched forward as I slithered and crawled. And at last I touched drier, firmer ground. I hauled myself onto it. I knelt there and sobbed and couldn’t speak. The others called for me. I heard the terror in their voices. I pulled on the rope. It tightened. “It’s all right,” I called. “I’m all right.” I told them to come after me, to follow the rope. And when they gripped the rope and hauled themselves, they too slithered through the mud and darkness. We shined our flashlights onto each other. We were black glistening trembling things, like creatures formed from water, earth and blackness a million million years ago. We clutched each other, held each other tight. An age might have passed before we came out of our horror and released each other. Then January spat and cursed.
“The bloody raft,” he said. “Got to drag it in.”
He glared at us.
“Didn’t make it to lose it on the first bloody trip. And didn’t make it to get no further than the bloody Black Middens.”
So we pulled on the rope. We grunted and cursed. We slowly slowly dragged the raft back to us. We hauled it onto the dry land. We lay there, exhausted.
Then I felt her hand on my shoulder. I heard her voice. I turned and saw her face for th
e first time, her pale beseeching eyes gazing into mine.
“Is you my sister?” she asked. “Is these mine brothers?”
THERE WERE WEBS stretched between her fingers. Her face was moon-pale. Her eyes were moon-round, watery blue. Her voice was high and light and yearning.
“Is you? Is you?” she said.
Mouse squealed. January gripped his knife in his fist. We backed away. We stepped back into the black wetness. She reached out to us.
“Do not go back into them Middens, my long-lost sister, my long-lost brothers.”
We felt the mud sucking us into itself.
She wept.
“Do not go back again!”
“Oh, hell,” sobbed Mouse. “Oh, hell. Oh, hell.”
I slithered back to the dry land. Mouse and January slithered back. We crouched together. January and I shined our flashlight onto her.
“You must come with me,” she said.
She rested her webbed fingers on my arm again.
She sighed.
“What is your name?” she said.
“Erin.”
“Ah. Such lovely naming of a sister.”
She beamed with delight.
“I has waited that long, Erin. Now you must come with me to Grampa. I did tell him I did see you. Now you must come and show yourself to him.”
We didn’t move. Mist flowed through the flashlight beams.
“He is waiting,” she said.
“Who?” said January.
“Grampa. My Grampa. Look.”
She turned and the mist lightened. The flashlight beams showed the figure behind her, watching. He was tall, black as the night and the mud. He wore shorts and heavy boots. He carried a bucket in one hand, a huge shovel in the other.
“Here they is, Grampa!” she called. “Didn’t me tell you? Here is my treasures come out of the black Black Middens.”
His eyes glittered as he watched us. He coughed and spat.
“Push them back into the runny water, my little one,” he said.
“Oh, Grampa.”
He took a step toward us with his shovel raised.
“Let me dig them back into the mud,” he said.