Twitch Page 2

  He selected a packet of Fruit Gums because they wouldn’t melt and put them on the counter beside Billy’s newspaper. He glanced at the headline Robber Ryan on the Rampage! Below it was a picture of a person with a shaved head. Billy paid Mr Bettany, whilst chatting amiably about the weather and the state of the roads.

  “See you tomorrow, Twitch.” Mr Bettany waved as they left.

  Outside, Twitch thanked Billy for rescuing him from Jack and for the Fruit Gums.

  “You going to be OK getting home?”

  Twitch’s heart jumped; he knew he should be guarded about where he lived. “I’ll go home the back way. Mum’ll be looking out for me,” he lied, glancing at Billy between blinks. He wasn’t going home, but he wasn’t about to admit that to a stranger.

  “Smart thinking,” Billy tapped his head. “Listen, I’m going to check out this Aves Wood – maybe take a few walks, look at the birds. I’m travelling in my camper van. I was wondering, is there somewhere near by, out of the way, that I could park? You know” – he leaned down and said out of the side of his mouth – “somewhere I won’t have to pay.”

  “There’s the bottom field of Patchem’s farm, off Briddvale Road,” Twitch replied, frowning at this furtive request. “He lets people park there sometimes.”

  “Patchem’s farm. Cheers, that’s very helpful.” Billy winked conspiratorially. “See you around, Twitch. Mind you stay away from those worms.” He chuckled, lifted his hand in farewell and sauntered off down the road.

  Twitch stared at Billy’s back, watching him go. He felt a flash of guilt for being suspicious of the man, then grinned at the packet of Fruit Gums. The school holidays hadn’t got off to a bad start. He turned, going in the opposite direction to Billy, heading straight for his secret hide in Aves Wood.

  The Aves Wood Nature Reserve was built on an old fly-tipping site. Rare plants grew there because fly ash from the coal mines had made the soil alkaline. And, despite the name, not all of it was woodland. Some of it was meadow and a large part of it was wetland. It was a city for insects, a fine dining experience for birds, and Twitch’s favourite place in the whole world. You never knew what bird might visit the banks of the River Bridd or choose to nest around the pond in the boggy swamp of the wetland.

  Twitch entered Aves Wood through a kissing gate beside the canal, which ran almost parallel to the river. Immediately stepping off the footpath, he glanced about, checking no one had seen him, then dashed through the undergrowth, making his way towards the pond, inhaling the heady scent of pine resin and smiling to himself as he trod carefully over tree roots and badger setts, trying not to leave footprints that might lead anyone to his hide.

  As the ground became mushy and sodden, the trees thinned, and he saw the pond stretching out in front of him, its surface shimmering like a mirage in the heat. He heard the mouse-like squeak of an oystercatcher and scanned the reeds for the black and white wader with the long orange beak. But the barking of dogs broke his concentration and he dropped into a squat. Peering through a tangle of brambles, he saw two police officers being tugged along by a pair of excited Alsatians on leads. They were ten or eleven metres away, off the footpath. Twitch was surprised. It was unusual to see the police in Aves Wood, and he’d never seen them with dogs. He sniffed the air, wondering if some of the college kids had started a fire, but detected no smoke, just the comforting earthy fragrance of the woods.

  Circumnavigating the pond, wary of the deep pools of water around the bulrushes that masqueraded as solid ground, Twitch picked his way across a clearing towards a thicket of trees, relaxing now he knew he was hidden from the public paths by dense foliage and distance.

  A bone-shakingly loud fffddd-fffddd-fffddd drew his eyes to the sky as a police helicopter flew over, surprisingly low. Alarmed birds, flushed from their nests in the tussocks around the water’s edge, called out in distress. Feeling exposed, Twitch sprinted, ducking as he pushed his way into the shadowy copse, ignoring the scratch of whip-thin branches. He glanced about nervously, his pulse galloping and his breath short. What were the police looking for? It was a shock to see people here. It was a secluded part of the reserve because of the dangers of the waterlogged land. He stood stock-still, watching the helicopter pass, waiting for the peaceful chirps and buzz of the woods to return.

  Reaching down into a green mass of unfurling fronds, Twitch released a coat hanger that was attached to a thin rope looping up into a tree. As he pulled it, a flap of ferns lifted, revealing an opening low to the ground. Hooking the hanger over a branch, he dropped to all fours and crawled inside his hide.

  To the left of the door was the watching window – a wide rectangular panel that could be propped open for birdwatching. Twitch opened it and peered out. On the far side of the pond he saw three sailing boats and officers in uniform aboard, wearing life jackets, poking about in the reeds with long sticks. He thought about the headline on Billy’s newspaper.

  Sliding his rucksack off, Twitch sat down on a blue plastic milk crate that served as a chair or a table and waited for his eyes to adjust to the shadows. In the middle of the floor, directly below the apex of the tepee, was a fire pit encircled with flints. One of the roof sections between the apex and the tree branch lifted up and flipped over, making a hole to let smoke out. But Twitch hadn’t yet dare light a fire, for fear it might attract attention.

  In the beginning, Twitch’s hide was just a tepee of sticks, built against an ancient beech that grew in a ring of coppiced hazel trees whose roots had woven together to make firm ground. He’d constructed it to watch the wetland birds. Last summer, the tepee had expanded into a wild fort as Twitch’s building plans grew more and more ambitious. Beyond the tepee room was a second space that he’d made watertight, so he might camp out here some night. It was the shape and size of a triangular two-man tent and constructed from a sheet of plastic thrown over a bough of the beech tree. It was walled in with branches, wedged into trenches in the ground and tied where they criss-crossed at the top. He’d filled the trenches with soil, banking it up to keep out rivulets of rain. Gaps were stuffed with leafy sticks and he’d woven fern fronds through them, plugging any holes with moss, until the hide had blended in with the forest on all sides. Unfortunately, the plants Twitch had used to camouflage his den had turned brown and crumbled. So, at the end of last summer, he’d brought his spade to Aves Wood and dug up ferns, teasels, thistles, nettles and brambles, replanting them around the hide. In the spring, as the brambles shot tendrils along the forest floor, he’d woven them into the external walls. The teasels shot up, the thistles fanned out, the nettles multiplied. Together they created a line of defence, spiky foot soldiers that kept away the curious with their arsenal of thorns and stings.

  Everything appeared to be as he’d left it last Sunday. Sweeping his hands across the earth floor, he moved a layer of dirt, exposing the top of a buried storage box. He popped off the lid. Inside was his birdwatching kit and an assortment of useful objects, including a red tartan cushion, dry kindling, an umbrella, a torch, a pair of gardening gloves and a box of matches in a sealed sandwich bag. He put the Fruit Gums from Billy into the box and lifted out his most prized possession: the battered leather case that held his grandad’s binoculars. The heavy spyglasses evoked memories of quiet hours sat beside the kind old man he thought of as his dad, being taught the names of plants whilst learning to be patient. “Patience,” his grandad always used to say, “is the silent call that brings the owls, the hawks and the falcons.”

  Twitch hung the binoculars around his neck and crawled into the triangular room. Going to the back wall, he slid aside a stumpy branch, as if shooting a bolt, revealing a hole the perfect size for his spyglasses. He slotted the binoculars into the gap and moved the dial between the lenses until the distant footpath came into focus. Something was happening in Aves Wood and he wanted to know what it was.

  His view was patchy, obscured by tree trunks and thorny scrub, but there were three sections of the footpath that he could see clearly. He waited, calm and patient, and was rewarded by the sight of a woman in a suit, followed by a troop of officers in uniform. She was pointing, giving orders. The troop divided and dispersed.

  Twitch felt a lurch of alarm. The police were searching for someone or something in Aves Wood. What if they came here, and discovered his hide? The summer would be ruined! He had made plans. Tomorrow he was going to begin training his squabs, Squeaker and Frazzle. He planned to take them out on their maiden homing flight, then spend the rest of the day here, watching the wetland birds, updating his field journal and making improvements to his hide.

  A flash of yellow caught his eye and he retrained his binoculars. He blinked, surprised to see two girls hiding in the undergrowth, peering over a fallen tree trunk at the footpath. The elder one had a waterfall of tight dark curls down her back and brooding elfin features. She was wearing jeans, a rainbow T-shirt, and carrying a plastic bag. The other girl, who looked a few years younger, had honey-brown curly hair scraped into a puffball ponytail on top of her head. She was wearing shorts with a yellow net skirt over the top and a pink vest under a powder-blue criss-cross cardigan. She looked frightened, huddled up against the older girl. The two girls were alike enough for Twitch to guess they were sisters. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could tell the older girl was reassuring the younger. Their expressions were serious, and their gestures were animated.

  Could the police be after them?

  There were too many people stomping about Aves Wood to watch birds, and Twitch was curious to know what was going on. Why were so many police officers, dogs and a helicopter in the nature reserve? Keeping his binoculars around his neck, he covered the storage box, sweeping the dirt back over it to keep it hidden. Pulling on his rucksack, Tw
itch left the hide, making sure it was secure. He decided to make his way round to the rabbit track that wove a thin path through the nettles towards the girls’ hiding place and see if he could find out what they were up to.

  By the time Twitch reached the end of the rabbit track, the girls had gone. He felt deflated. Now he’d never know why they were hiding or looking scared. He didn’t think they were local. He’d never seen them before and Briddvale was a small town. Most likely they were early summer tourists.

  Going over to the fallen tree trunk, Twitch crouched in the same spot the girls had, and peered over the top. He had a clear view of the main footpath. At the distant crossroads stood a squadron of police officers with stern faces. Whatever was happening in Aves Wood, Twitch realized with a thrill that he shouldn’t be here.

  He crawled backwards, and his eye glimpsed the shimmer of a violet ground beetle scurrying under leaf mulch, hunting for slugs to eat. It scuttled over a string of blue and green beads, half hidden in the leaves. He picked it up between thumb and forefinger. It was a bracelet with a tiny silver bird dangling from it: a kingfisher. It felt like a sign. He slipped it into his pocket. If he saw the girls again, he’d use the bracelet as an excuse to talk to them and find out why they’d been spying on the police.

  Thinking it best not to look suspicious, Twitch marched upright and noisily through the trees to the main footpath; and, sure enough, before he got there an officer had called out to him.

  “You, young man, come here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Twitch obeyed. “What’s going on, Officer?” he asked. “Why are there so many police here?”

  “We’re combing the woods,” the officer replied. “Are you on your own?”

  Twitch nodded.

  “Birdwatching?” He pointed at the binoculars around Twitch’s neck and smiled.

  Twitch nodded again.

  “Seen anyone around here that you don’t know?”

  Twitch thought of the two girls but was already shaking his head. The girls had looked scared of the police and he didn’t want to get them into trouble.

  “OK, well, I need you to exit that way and go straight home.” He pointed in the opposite direction to the way Twitch needed to go. “We’re clearing the reserve.”

  “Yes, Officer.” Twitch turned, then paused. “Is it a bad crime? I mean no one’s been murdered, have they?”

  “Nothing like that,” the officer reassured him. “Yesterday, a dangerous prisoner escaped from Dovelock Prison. They’ve been spotted in the area, and we’ve reason to believe they are coming here.”

  “Why?”

  “To collect something,” the officer said with meaning.

  “Is it Robber Ryan?” Twitch asked, recalling the name in the headline.

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” the officer said, nodding. “Now, please, go home. And tell your parents they should lock all the doors and windows tonight. All right? Off you go.”

  Twitch hurried away down the path. Robber Ryan was in Briddvale! He pictured a tall figure dressed like a highwayman with a black mask and carrying a pistol. The thought of a gun made him pick up his pace. Exiting the reserve through the east gate meant going all the way round to the road bridge over the canal to get home. He shoved his hands in his pockets, felt the bracelet and looked about. Where had those two girls disappeared to? He was curious about them. He wondered if they needed help.

  A noise knocked him out of his thoughts and stopped him in his tracks. He’d heard someone cry out.

  Every muscle in Twitch’s body was rigid as his heart hammered against his ribs and he listened. He looked about, hoping to see an officer, but they were all behind him, up the path. Should he run and get help? What if it was nothing? What if it was the girls? He decided to take a look. If he saw Robber Ryan, he’d run back shouting the alarm.

  Dropping to a crouch, Twitch stealthily made his way through the trees, pausing when he heard voices.

  “Shut up, you wuss,” said a mean voice.

  “I’m sorry,” came a whimper.

  “The police are everywhere,” the mean voice hissed angrily. “You trying to get us in trouble?”

  “No, I swear.”

  Arriving behind a broad oak, Twitch rose, pressing his body against its trunk. Steeling himself, he peeked out. To his surprise, he saw Jack Cappleman about five metres away amongst the trees, facing two notorious bullies from Briddvale College: Richard Peak and Tom Madden. Peaky and Madden, as they were known to all in Briddvale, were dressed in blue tracksuits and wearing white headphones around their necks like jewellery. Madden, the bigger of the two, had his baseball cap on backwards, as if to proudly display the acne that accentuated the fury in his tiny eyes. Peaky was lean, with dark, greasy hair and a cruel smile. He held a lit cigarette and was blowing smoke in Jack’s face.

  “You’re going to find us that money.” Madden grabbed Jack by the scruff of his T-shirt. “We want it.”

  “I don’t know where it is,” Jack squealed, looking terrified.

  “The police reckon Ryan’s here. Stands to reason the money’s here too,” Madden said. “You don’t break out of jail and come to a dump like this unless it’s to get your loot.”

  “Nah. You’d get on an aeroplane to Barbados.” Peaky sucked hard on his cigarette, nodding as if he knew about these things.

  “You’re going to look for that money,” Madden ordered, “and when you find it, you’re going to give it to us, or else!”

  “But the police are everywhere,” Jack whispered, looking like he desperately wished they’d appear.

  There was a certain amount of satisfaction in seeing Jack being bullied, only an hour after he’d tried to force Twitch to eat a worm, but these were older boys and they had a reputation for hurting people. Twitch considered creeping away and leaving Jack to his fate, but he knew his grandad wouldn’t have approved. He used to tell Twitch that if he found himself in a situation where he didn’t know what to do, he should do whatever would make him feel proud later, even if it was difficult. Twitch knew that if he left Jack in the hands of Peaky and Madden, they would hurt him.

  “So do it tomorrow morning,” Peaky said. “Round up your gang of plebby schoolmates and search the woods.”

  “But what if they don’t want to?” Jack whined. “It’s the summer holidays.”

  “I don’t care.” Madden shook Jack. “This is five million quid we’re talking about. You’re going to search every inch of this place till you find that money, or I’ll break every one of your fingers.”

  Peaky laughed cruelly. “I hope some of your friends can swim.”

  “Yeah, look in the pond and the river,” Madden said, letting go of Jack, who stumbled backwards.

  “Unless you don’t want to help us?” Peaky threw his cigarette on the ground and stamped on it, looking at Jack as if he was next.

  “I do,” Jack whimpered. “I will.”

  It was the smouldering stub that spurred Twitch into action. It was one thing for Peaky to suck toxic smoke into his body, but to dump the butt on the ground and poison the soil, or a living creature, was too much.

  As Twitch hurried back to the path, he heard Jack begging.

  “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll find the money.”

  “Yes, Officer,” Twitch called out loudly, cupping his hands around his mouth so his voice would carry. “I heard voices this way. Over there, through the trees. Do you think it could be the escaped robber?” He crashed towards them making as much noise as possible, grabbing a stick and whacking at the undergrowth.

  By the time he reached Jack, Peaky and Madden were gone.

  Jack stared at Twitch, then looked past him for the police officers before realizing there were none. His expression changed from shock to confusion that Twitch had helped him. Then he scowled, realizing that Twitch must have seen him being bullied by Peaky and Madden.

  Twitch thought Jack was going to say something, perhaps thank you, but instead he turned and ran away through the trees.

  Picking up the cigarette butt, Twitch wondered if he was going to regret helping Jack. He hadn’t looked grateful. He’d looked angry.