Chapter Two

“Weir weir weir, she hasn’t shut up about it all day.” Alexander says as we walk down the nettled footpath on our way to meet Rosie. I know for certain that Alexander has extrapolated this from Rosie’s brief allusions to this weir visit earlier. This is his attempt to justify his presence. “I mean, I’m surprised everyone hasn’t turned up” he says, picking a thin plant of some kind and twirling it in his mouth. “I’m almost positive that dog urine is all over that.” I say.

“Nope, can’t taste any”

“You know the taste of dog piss, do you?”

“Salty”

“What?”

“Let’s just say Fluffy isn’t so cute when she wakes up excited and on your face.”

“She didn’t”

“She did”

“In your mouth?”

“I’d rather move the topic on to a less harrowing subject if you don’t mind”

We walk in silence for nineteen-minutes-thirty-three-seconds. Alexander, as anyone may have guessed, loathes physical activity and makes a point of taking a break every fifteen minutes. He therefore insists on making time checks repeatedly. I find this ironic, as he has probably burned more calories from raising his arm up and down to check his watch than actually walking.

“You know you didn’t have to come” I say

“I do like spending time with you, Tom. It’s just I would rather spend it indoors… Away from all this.” He chews the thin plant in his mouth and gestures to the nearest object with leaves.

“Right, well I’m meeting Rosie whether you like it or..”

“Yes yes, I know.” He grimaces and spits out the plant.

“What?”

“Salty.”

We walk onwards, dirt sticking in the treads of our shoes as time, trees and hills pass us by. Alexander takes two more breaks and I make quick sketches of pigs and cows in the surrounding fields with the small chewed pencil in my back pocket and a pad of tattered paper.  Eventually the sound of the babbling water makes its way to our ears. Alexander and I look up simultaneously and see Rosie sitting on the withered wooden bridge, serving as a crossing over the stormy water below. Although the glade has been struck by nightfall, the remaining light flocks to light up her pale legs swinging to and fro above the frothing water… I throw my pencil at her. I regret it immediately.

“Did you think that was charming?” Alexander whispers as the HB whistles through the air.

“My arm just did it, okay. She’ll think it was cute.” I reply, pencil still completing its arc

“People don’t think it’s ‘cute’ when you throw pencils at them.”

“F*****g hell.” A beautiful voice screeched like it had no business doing. It was like Julie Andrews farting and then not washing her hands.

“Told you.”

Rosie’s red hair swirled around as she whipped her head to face me.

“Tom, why did you throw a pencil at me?”

“Good question” I reply.

“He thought it was cute” Alexander interjects

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did”

Rosie sits and removes the pencil that had lodged itself in her mane. She looks at it solemnly and then glances up immediately. She quickly curves her lips into a smile.

“Sorry he’s here.” I say, elbowing Alexander. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer”

“He’s not the one who threw a pencil at me.” I look at the floor and wish that I could kick myself without looking like a schizophrenic.

“They haven’t cut it down yet.” She gently places the pencil on the ground and gestures to the large weeping willow overhanging the water. We take our seats either side of her and look over to the swaying branches.

“It is rather beautiful.” Alexander states as fact.

“It is isn’t it Alex?” Rosie replies. I see Alexander’s jaw clench.

“I overheard my father talking about cutting it down soon” she whispers.

“Your father’s going to cut it down?” I ask.

“Him and a few others. Some men came to our door and asked if he’d help. I guess they knew he’d just moved in”

“Why’d he say yes?”

“I guess he wanted to do his part for the community. These villages and their communities… Why can’t I just eat a meal without everyone knowing the exact food I have, where it was bought, whether it was organic or not, and which hand I prefer to hold my fork in?”

“Right” I say with a smirk

“Stalker” Rosie flicks me with a branch she has been fiddling with.

The three of us sit in silence and I think about Mr Dawson cutting down his daughter’s new favourite tree. Rosie moves her hand slowly towards mine and kicks affectionately at my legs overhanging the water below. Alexander cuts through the quiet with his usual regimented word formations.

“Have you told your father you don’t want him to cut it down?”

She stops. “Yes.”

I can tell Rosie wants to let the subject lie. My eyes blink, squint and flick about as if I’m haemorrhaging. Alexander usually requires this amount of signalling before he realises that he should stop talking.

“Look at this.” I jump down from the bridge and land in the water, soaking my canvas shoes and jeans. It was a rather flamboyant distraction technique, but Rosie now seems entirely focused on my stupidity rather than whatever was troubling her. My lower half decides to give way beneath me, and I find there is no other choice than to begin swimming in the dark water. Rosie is laughing.

“You’re crazy!” she shouts down to me

“And you’re missing out!” I shout back, fighting the current with broad arm strokes. It brings back memories of swimming lessons in year 6. Except with less chlorine, vomiting and verrucas.

“I can’t swim, Tom!”

I swim to the bank and hoist myself up on to the muddy ground. “I’ll teach you.” My voice is hoarse, but imploring.

“Maybe another time”

“Yes, a time that isn’t 9:30” Alexander chirps from behind his wrist.

“Exactly, Alexander!” Rosie winks at me. Alexander beams at Rosie’s recognition and then raises his eyebrows at me, disapprovingly.

“Okay you two, please don’t make me sit on the naughty step.”

“Out. Immediately!” Rosie shouts jokingly

Alexander scurries over to help me up, tripping over roots and rocks as he does so. He tuts like a disapproving grandfather clock. “You’re soaked.”

I walk around to where Rosie is laughing and just stand there. Alexander shouts from behind me. “I forgot about Connelly’s work. I’d better get back. You two really ought to… especially you…” his voice trails off as he scampers back home. It has suddenly become very late.

Rosie looks at me. “So are you going to draw anything?”

“Alex did have a point, it is quite late… My mother and Clara will be worrying about me. I can just come back here…”

“You could draw me.” Her voice cuts through the twilight... Then into my bowels. My stomach starts to rumble. I have a habit of ruining romance with intestinal based noises.

“I suppose I could. Stand here.” I position her so that her porcelain face is lit by the drowsy moonbeams. She rests her hands on the bridge and moves so that the willow is just visible behind her. I begin to sketch.

“Won’t your father be worrying about where you are?” I ask timidly from behind my sketchpad. Rosie kicks a small pebble into the water. “Yes, probably.” She pauses. “Since my mother died, he’s not let me out of his sight.” Her green eyes look up at me. The tree quietly rustles.

“Oh…I’m sorry.”          

“I was wondering when and how to tell you, and… just now I thought I had better get it over with.” She takes long pauses between words. “She died when I was very young. I barely remember her.” I look at my drawing, unsure what to do with myself. “You know it’s strange when someone dies who ought to be important to you. I sometimes imagine what she would be like if she were alive. Usually she’s perfect. Her face is beautiful, she sings me to sleep, brings me breakfast in bed and so on. But right at the back of my mind, I wonder what would have happened if she wasn’t perfect. Then I begin to think that maybe it’s better how things turned out. Then I get all depressed and start writing poetry and looking out windows on rainy days.”

“Right” is all I manage to say.

“You only live with your mother; did your father leave you?”

“Yes, he left with another woman. Now he lives in Prague.”

“I imagine that’s worse than my situation”

“Really?”

“Of course! You knew your father before he left, so you have something to miss.”

“I suppose.”

“Why Prague?”

“Huh?”

“Why choose Prague over all the other places. Why not go to Paris or the Bahamas?”

“I think she was from Prague.”

“Oh… well that makes sense.” We look into each other’s eyes. I can’t decide which one to look into, so mine flick back and forth like I’m watching a tiny tennis match on her face. After match point, I decide to stop pratting about and focus on the left one. I notice the little golden ring around her pupil, and the constellations of brown flecks swimming in the sea of green. God, I hope I’m not drooling.

“Are you done yet?” Rosie asks

“Um yep.” I look down at what I have drawn. Rosie stares back at me from the paper. She is smiling and the willow stands behind her. Nothing special, just a sketch. Rosie peers over my shoulder and I become acutely aware of the fact that her hands are on my back.

“It’s beautiful!” she says.

“Well it didn’t take very long, It’s just a tiny…”

“Can I have it?” I immediately tear the piece of paper out and hand it to her.

“There’s something poetic about this, Tom.” She says. “I’m not sure what, but it’s definitely poetic.”

“Right, well I’d better be heading off.”

“Stay a bit longer”

“No I really think I should be…” She is looking at the ground.

“Okay.” She says

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Rosie”

“Can I meet you here after school?”

“Sure, I can teach you how to swim” I laugh.

“Okay.” She is quiet. “I’ll see you then”

“Yeah, see you” I look at her for a while and then we turn and walk our separate ways.