crops – and their grandmother didn’t like them plodging at the best of times; besides which, the icy water was stinging like pins and needles on their bare legs.
Within a few minutes Ruth had had enough and retreated to the bank, laughing and shouting to the others as they searched for crayfish and the little minnows that populated the stream, but although Polly’s feet were numb and the bottom of her dress and her knickers were wet from the gurgling splashing of the water, she didn’t want to miss a minute of playing with Michael.
Eventually, however, they were all sitting on the spiky dry grass on the bank, toasting their frozen feet to the weak rays of the dying sun. It was Luke, noticing how Polly’s teeth were chattering, who said, ‘Here, I’ve a bag of winter mixture, who wants one to keep the cold out?’
‘Me, me, Luke!’
‘An’ me!’
‘Have you got one of the red ones, Luke? I like to suck’em until they’re nowt but a little spike.’
As the others clamoured for one of the sweets in the small paper bag Luke had fished out of his pocket, it was Arnold, his dark eyes on Polly’s bright laughing face, who said, ‘Aye, I’ll have one, man. I like a good sucker that puts fire in your belly now and again.’
‘Shut your mouth, Arnold.’ Luke’s voice was low but weighty.
‘What? I only said—’
‘I said shut your filthy mouth, they’re only bairns. Keep your double meanings for them as appreciate it.’
‘Shut your own mouth.’ Arnold had risen to his feet, his stance menacing, and as Luke handed the bag of sweets to Michael before standing himself, Polly felt a trickle of fear run down her spine.
She didn’t understand the portent of what had been said or why the afternoon had gone wrong so suddenly; she only knew there was going to be a fight in a minute if she didn’t do something to avert it. At fifteen and sixteen years old, Luke and Arnold had the tall, wide-shouldered physiques of lads a good few years older; they didn’t take after their father at all. Michael was the small, slim one who appeared younger than his twelve years. If Luke and Arnold started to fight, it wouldn’t be a bairns’ scrap.
Polly grabbed the bag from Michael and stepped between the two brothers, her voice carrying a shrill note as she said to Arnold, ‘Here, have one. Please, Arnold, have one.’
Arnold continued staring at Luke a moment longer before he lowered his gaze to the slender, chestnut-haired figure in front of him, and as Polly raised the bag a little higher he slanted another quick glance at Luke before he said, his eyes running all over her flushed face, ‘You don’t mind me funning, do you, lass? A bit carry-on never hurt anyone, did it?’
Polly blinked a little. There was something in his manner that she couldn’t put her finger on but which made her want to take a few steps away from the big bulk of him, and she found she had to swallow before she could say, ‘No, no, of course not.’
‘See?’ Arnold was again looking towards Luke, a smile curling his thick lips as he took in his brother’s angry face.
‘I’m warning you, Arnold – ’
‘It’s time to get back.’ This time it was Michael who put himself between the two antagonists and his voice was sharp. If Luke and Arnold had a fight they’d all suffer for it, and nothing must be allowed to interfere with their Sunday visits to the farm. ‘Gran’ll have the tea ready and she’ll go barmy if we’re late.’
It was Arnold, with a little hiccup of a laugh, who reached for his boots and socks first, thereby defusing the situation, but once they were all retracing their steps back to the farmhouse Michael kept close to Polly. He loved the farm. He glanced at the slim, straight figure next to him, and Polly, sensing his gaze, turned her head and smiled at him. And he loved Polly. He kept his eyes on her smooth, silky skin that was like
Within a few minutes Ruth had had enough and retreated to the bank, laughing and shouting to the others as they searched for crayfish and the little minnows that populated the stream, but although Polly’s feet were numb and the bottom of her dress and her knickers were wet from the gurgling splashing of the water, she didn’t want to miss a minute of playing with Michael.
Eventually, however, they were all sitting on the spiky dry grass on the bank, toasting their frozen feet to the weak rays of the dying sun. It was Luke, noticing how Polly’s teeth were chattering, who said, ‘Here, I’ve a bag of winter mixture, who wants one to keep the cold out?’
‘Me, me, Luke!’
‘An’ me!’
‘Have you got one of the red ones, Luke? I like to suck’em until they’re nowt but a little spike.’
As the others clamoured for one of the sweets in the small paper bag Luke had fished out of his pocket, it was Arnold, his dark eyes on Polly’s bright laughing face, who said, ‘Aye, I’ll have one, man. I like a good sucker that puts fire in your belly now and again.’
‘Shut your mouth, Arnold.’ Luke’s voice was low but weighty.
‘What? I only said—’
‘I said shut your filthy mouth, they’re only bairns. Keep your double meanings for them as appreciate it.’
‘Shut your own mouth.’ Arnold had risen to his feet, his stance menacing, and as Luke handed the bag of sweets to Michael before standing himself, Polly felt a trickle of fear run down her spine.
She didn’t understand the portent of what had been said or why the afternoon had gone wrong so suddenly; she only knew there was going to be a fight in a minute if she didn’t do something to avert it. At fifteen and sixteen years old, Luke and Arnold had the tall, wide-shouldered physiques of lads a good few years older; they didn’t take after their father at all. Michael was the small, slim one who appeared younger than his twelve years. If Luke and Arnold started to fight, it wouldn’t be a bairns’ scrap.
Polly grabbed the bag from Michael and stepped between the two brothers, her voice carrying a shrill note as she said to Arnold, ‘Here, have one. Please, Arnold, have one.’
Arnold continued staring at Luke a moment longer before he lowered his gaze to the slender, chestnut-haired figure in front of him, and as Polly raised the bag a little higher he slanted another quick glance at Luke before he said, his eyes running all over her flushed face, ‘You don’t mind me funning, do you, lass? A bit carry-on never hurt anyone, did it?’
Polly blinked a little. There was something in his manner that she couldn’t put her finger on but which made her want to take a few steps away from the big bulk of him, and she found she had to swallow before she could say, ‘No, no, of course not.’
‘See?’ Arnold was again looking towards Luke, a smile curling his thick lips as he took in his brother’s angry face.
‘I’m warning you, Arnold – ’
‘It’s time to get back.’ This time it was Michael who put himself between the two antagonists and his voice was sharp. If Luke and Arnold had a fight they’d all suffer for it, and nothing must be allowed to interfere with their Sunday visits to the farm. ‘Gran’ll have the tea ready and she’ll go barmy if we’re late.’
It was Arnold, with a little hiccup of a laugh, who reached for his boots and socks first, thereby defusing the situation, but once they were all retracing their steps back to the farmhouse Michael kept close to Polly. He loved the farm. He glanced at the slim, straight figure next to him, and Polly, sensing his gaze, turned her head and smiled at him. And he loved Polly. He kept his eyes on her smooth, silky skin that was like
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