The Levels by Peter Benson

The woman spoke with a very clear voice, like she was asking someone to pass the tomatoes at a picnic. The boss shoved the boy in the back.
    â€˜It was my fault madam, I didn’t see the edge of the ramp,’ he pointed. ‘I stepped back, lost my balance.’
    â€˜Afraid we’ve damaged it,’ said the boss. ‘That’s what he’s trying to say.’
    The woman stared at the cupboard, and the piece of splintered wood. She picked it up and handed it to the boy.
    â€˜Never mind,’ I heard her say. ‘Worse things happen at sea,’ and she walked back to the front door. ‘Keep up the good work.’ She had a mane of hair, piled on her head, some strands had come loose, and flew behind her. Her dress, which looked the wrong size and fifty years out of date, blew around as she disappeared into Drove House.
    â€˜I’m going,’ said Dick.
    â€˜Where?’
    â€˜Kingsbury?’
    â€˜There’s nothing there.’
    â€˜I can sit on the wall.’
    â€˜It’s a nice wall.’
    â€˜There’s other places.’
    â€˜So there are,’ I said. He got up, let out a long, high whistle, and walked up the hill, kicking at the ground. He was almost out of sight when he called back.
    â€˜Hey, Billy! Come here!’ I was thinking about getting up, following him. ‘What?’ I said. He pointed the way we’d come, and when I reached him, looked and saw someone, walking our way.
    â€˜Want another?’ he said, passed a fag, and sat down.
    â€˜Thought you were going.’
    â€˜I’m watching.’ He was bored. The person came nearer, a girl, brown hair, shirt, trousers. ‘Who’s that?’ ‘I don’t know.’ She walked with a straight back, her head up and a deliberate step. She didn’t see us, reached the orchard, wound through the trees, stopped at one and put her hand on its trunk. She rubbed the bark and put her head against it.
    â€˜Nutter,’ he said.
    She went over to the woman organizing the removal men and said something; we were too far away to hear what.
    The men finished. They stood with the woman and the girl.
    â€˜We should have stayed down there,’ I said.
    â€˜Why?’
    I didn’t reply.
    The boss shook hands with the woman while the other two loaded some sheets onto the lorry. They closed the ramp, climbed into the cab, and after reversing by the foot in the yard, missing the orchard wall, the lean-to twice, and the front porch, drove off, down the road to Curry Rivel.
    It was quiet a moment, as we sat on the hill, and I watched Drove House and beyond; Dick, bored.
    â€˜Now what?’ he said.
    I was very angry, ‘How should I know?’ I shouted. ‘Why’d you want me to tell you what we should do! It’s all the time!’
    â€˜It isn’t.’
    â€˜It is. You know it is. Ever since, I don’t know ...’
    He got up. ‘I’m going to Kingsbury.’
    â€˜Go on then.’
    â€˜I will.’
    He set off up the hill, I walked down and when I looked back he was gone. When I reached the hedge, I walked through the trees myself, until I found one with a long, low branch, screened from the house by a pile of stones, where I could sit, lean back and not be seen. Nothing happened until the woman and the girl came from the house with a tray of tea, to sit in chairs in the garden. The girl put the tray on the lawn and sat down, let out a sigh I could hear, a sigh high and breathy, like a bird. Neither said anything, they looked straight ahead, the air was filled with the sounds of singing insects, cockerels crowing, back and forth, far away, the gentle hum of bees, the noise of tractors in the lanes, and passing cars.
    â€˜It’s so quiet,’ the girl said, suddenly.
    â€˜Yes. Strange, at first,’ the woman said, ‘shall I be mother?’
    They drank their tea, it was getting late. They hadn’t said much, just tat