Читаем The Hunter полностью

“Well, fancy meeting you here,” Johnny says happily, when he gets close enough. “I’m after bringing Mr. Rushborough to see Mossie O’Halloran’s fairy hill. God almighty, the excitement; he was like a child at its first panto, I’m not joking you. He’d a bottle of cream with him, and a wee bowl to put it in, and he was fussing about like an aul’ one with her doilies, trying to pick the perfect spot for it. He wanted to know what side of the hill would be traditional.” Johnny gives an extravagant, humorous shrug and eye-roll. “Sure, I hadn’t a notion. But Mossie said the east side, so the east side it was. Mr. Rushborough was all for staying out there till it was dark and hoping we’d get a sound-and-light show, but I want my dinner. I told him we’d be better off coming back another day, so we can see did the fairies take the cream.”

“Foxes’ll eat it,” Trey says. “Or Mossie’s dog.”

“Shhh,” Johnny says, waving a finger at her reproachfully. “Don’t be saying that around Mr. Rushborough. ’Tis a terrible thing to crush a man’s dreams. And you never know: the fairies might get to it before the foxes do.”

Trey shrugs. “Have you been down there yourself?” Johnny asks Cal.

“Nope,” Cal says.

“Ah, you oughta go. Regardless of what you think about the fairies, ’tis a beautiful spot. Tell Mossie I said you were to get the full tour.” He winks at Cal. Cal suppresses the urge to ask him what the fuck he’s winking about.

“So I’m after dropping Mr. Rushborough home,” Johnny says. “He’s had enough excitement for one day. I saw the two of ye out and about, and I thought, since I’ve the car”—he waves an arm at Sheila’s beat-up Hyundai, whose silver roof shows over the roadside wall—“I’d save my wee girl the walk home. Make sure you’re in time for whatever feast your mammy’s cooked up tonight.”

Trey says nothing. She switches the camera off.

“Here,” Cal says, handing Trey the camera case. “Remember to charge it.”

“Yeah,” Trey says. “Thanks.”

“What’s this, now?” Johnny inquires, cocking his head at the camera.

“Taking a lend of it,” Trey says, fitting the camera carefully into the case. “Summer homework. We’ve to photograph five kindsa wildlife and write about their habitat.”

“Sure, you can use my phone for that. No need to be risking Mr. Hooper’s lovely camera.”

“I’m gonna do birds,” Trey says. “The focus isn’t good enough on a phone.”

“Holy God, you don’t make life easy for yourself, do you?” Johnny says, smiling down at her. “Would you not do bugs? You could find yourself five different bugs in ten minutes, just out the back of the house. Job done.”

“Nah,” Trey says. She loops the camera strap across her body. “Everyone’s gonna do bugs.”

“That’s my girl,” Johnny says affectionately, ruffling her hair. “Don’t follow the herd; do things your own way. Say thank you to Mr. Hooper for the lend.”

“Just did.”

Cal discards his earlier ideas. Whatever Trey is planning to do with that camera, she doesn’t want her father knowing about it. He has no idea what the kid is up to, and he doesn’t like that one bit.

At least there’s no longer any urgency about explaining to Trey how he’s mixed up in all this, if she’s not going to be at the river to see him. Cal’s instinct, in terrain as misty and boggy as this, is to take as few steps as possible. He might still need to have that conversation at some point, but he’s considerably happier leaving it till he can pick up some sense of where Trey stands.

“It might be a while before you get that back, now,” Johnny warns Cal. “Theresa won’t have as much time for the aul’ carpentry, the next while. She’s going to be giving me a hand with a few bits and bobs. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Trey says.

“I’m in no hurry,” Cal says. “I can wait as long as it takes.”

Trey whistles for Banjo, who comes lolloping over with his head cocked at a goofy angle to manage his bone. “Seeya,” she says to Cal.

“Yup,” Cal says. To Johnny he says, “See you round.”

“Ah, you will,” Johnny assures him. “Sure, in a place this size, you can’t escape anyone. Are you ready, missus?”

Cal watches them head across the field towards the car. Johnny is yakking away, tilting his face to Trey, gesturing at things. Trey is watching her sneakers kick through the grass. Cal can’t tell whether she’s answering.

—

In the dark before dawn, the men don’t look like men. They’re only snatches of disturbance at the edges of Trey’s senses: smudges of thicker shadow shifting on the riverbank, flickers of muttering through the rush and gabble of the water, which is raucous in the silence. The stars are faint enough that the surface of the river barely shimmers; the moon is a bare cold spot, low on the horizon, giving no light. The tiny orange glow of a cigarette butt arcs out over the water and vanishes. One man laughs.