Perry Scrimshaw's Rite of Passage by Chris Hannon

remembered his father taking him here for the first
time and teaching him the names of the plants and flowers on the
way. A man who taught his son such things was surely a good one,
deep down, wasn’t he? Perhaps once this business with The Sick died
down, he would go and see his Pa, find out a bit more about it
all.
    Joel blew a high-pitched
whistle.
    ‘ What the-’
Perry covered his ears and saw Joel had a slingshot ready-loaded
with a stone. Before he could stop it, the startled birds exploded
from the trees like black fireworks. The stone spat, sliced the air
and cannoned harmlessly off a branch.
    ‘ What are you
doing? Put that thing down, you’re not firing at cans on a wall
Joel. They’re birds, living birds!’
    Joel pulled a face. ‘So what?
We’re about to go guddlin’ for livin’ fish, what’s the
difference?’
    ‘ There’s no
purpose to it. Fishing is for us to eat. We aren’t about to eat
blackbirds are we?’
    A sly smile appeared on Joel’s
face. ‘Thought you were a tough ‘un but take you out the town and
it’s all birds and flowers. It was just a bit of sport is all, but
if it gets your dander up then I’ll put it away.’
    Perry didn’t know what to say
to that. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment and turned to
face the river.
    ‘ Come on, we’re
nearly there.’
    They traced a few more bends of
the river and came to a flint bridge.
    ‘ Here we are,’
Perry scurried down the bank and rolled up his sleeves, ‘I swear
this is the best spot in Hampshire, I always do well here,’ he
leant over the bank. ‘In summer I just get in the water, I used to
do it in springtime too, don’t know how I did it - the water’s too
cold now.’
    ‘ What do I do
then?’
    ‘ Hold on tight
to my legs, then just do what I say,’ Perry dropped to his knees
and leant over the edge. Pebbles speckled the bottom and shadows
lurked under the ledge of the bank. Joel held his
ankles.
    ‘ Hold me
tighter,’ Perry said, and dangled upside down from the bank. He
plunged his hands into the icy water,
    ‘ Oh it’s
freezin’! A bit lower, don’t let go now,’ he sunk to the elbow,
then deeper still until he felt his hair flopping into the stream.
He felt underneath the bank’s overhang. He stayed still, leaving
his palms open and cupping his fingers. The Itchen trickled past,
numbing his arms with cold. Blood thumped in his head. His palms
tickled, he didn’t flinch. This was the hardest part. He began to
whisper:
    ‘ What are
you-’
    ‘ -Shhh,’ Perry
hushed, and slowly moved his forefingers until they made contact
with slick fish skin. He circled his fingers on the trout’s belly,
gradually widening out a touch firmer each time until they were
under the gills.
    ‘ I got him,’
Perry whispered, ‘pull me back up.’
    Joel was pulling him back with
ease; he was stronger than he looked. Perry’s clasped his hands
around the prize.
    ‘ He’s in your
hands!’
    ‘ Pass the
bucket,’ Perry said calmly, getting to his knees.
    Joel grabbed it, ‘Right o’, put
him in.’
    But Perry threw the trout onto
the ground where it writhed and flicked.
    ‘ It woke up,’
Joel said, ‘why didn’t you…’
    Perry snatched the bucket from
Joel and smashed it down on the trout’s head, once, twice,
thrice.
    ‘ Oh.’
    The trout gave a final twitch
of the tail and was still.
    ‘ We’ll load up
the bucket at the end,’ said Perry.
    A trickle of blood ran across
the brown sheen of the fish and mingled with the wet mud of the
bank.
    ‘ How do you
make em sleep?’
    Perry smiled mischievously.
‘I’ll show you. Want a turn?’
    ‘ Too right I
do. Looked easy to me.’
    Poor fool had no idea.

    The sun warmed Perry’s back on
the walk to the Inn. They passed old cottages and spied farms in
the distance. He glanced at Joel, struggling with the weight of the
bucket, but smiling. He wished they lived out here and didn’t have
to go home to Southampton.
    In the village he took a
different