MORNING SERIAL

PIGEON’S cross and so he says I’m stupid, and it’s cos we haven’t been able to use the stones and the rope and the hankerchief gag, or any of the other things. We’re too scared of Gwyn and his crossword and his boring house.

I don’t say anything on the bus, just hold my pockets trying to stop the stuff in them clunking when the bus shakes round the corners and uphill to our town and the blown-up clouds again. I don’t say anything. Pigeon doesn’t say anything either.

I give him another chance when we’re off the bus. “What happened? What happened, Pigeon?” I ask him.

Maybe he’ll say he saw all Gwyn’s knives there, round the back, or he saw lots of babies’ graves or he saw somebody all tied up and kidnapped and saw Gwyn sharpening his knives when he left the crossword in the living room, or that Gwyn saw him and threatened to kill him, that’d be good.

But Pigeon doesn’t say anything. So Pigeon just saw Gwyn and he got a big fright, cos he’s a prissy hogan after all. But I don’t say that. Pigeon’s my best friend.

Cher’s come to meet us on the road, asking in English, “Did you get him, did you get him, Pigeon did you get him?” And Pigeon just mutters, “I will”, with a murderer’s voice and pushes past Cher like he’s storming through a door. And then there’s just me, because I don’t believe Pigeon, not really, and he knows it. And there’s just me, there on the street on my own, and Pigeon’s angry with me. And when he’s angry with me, he just walks away. But I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t follow him. I turn round to walk home to Efa not caring at all. And when I look after him again he’s stomping along the street towards his house and the shed, with Cher running behind, asking him “How, Pigeon, how?” because Cher’s stupid really and will believe anything.

Pigeon’s furious, a cold, frightened fury, as he walks along home. And as Cher trails beside him down the meandering, skinny road, saying, “Be careful Pigeon, someone from school came and told them you weren’t there.”