Bebo

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	the tar in the pipe (the start of part two of Plying the devil with gin)
	I don't know what is was about Mother she had this way of saying things without saying them. I watched her watch the others loading up the truck and heading over the field, she seemed to gaze further up the track, to the place where the morning sun was peeping through the hills, I knew she was thinking of my Father because I was too. She turned and looked at me then turned away. I really was going to have a challenge of a day. Just then I spotted Raven, she threw herself into her granny's skirt and heaved heavy sobbing sighs. She looked nothing like the cocky little tyke who had appeared to me in the lane, just a small crying child seeking reassurance. Seems she had been caught dumping her breakfast and my brother had said she was to stay behind. So now there were the three of us and with Raven there I felt perhaps Mother would refrain from asking too much of me, then again this was mother and if there was something needing saying she would be sure to find a way. I wandered off a little to allow Raven the comfort of her Granny to herself, not that she was much aware of me being there anyway, but I didn't want any stones cast in the path of me and that small child. The small rabbits were darting into the hedges and darting out again, I could smell the dew in the grass, it seemed out of season to me, I had never known so much wildlife in my young days, certainly not when we were at the hole, it was perhaps late tatties or maybe early, I had no one to ask, not now and maybe not ever. I sniffed to myself and caught a tear bleeding onto my cuff. What a mess it all was. Climbing the dyke I headed towards the burn, I really should have brought a water jug another look from Mother on my return no doubt, but I couldn't turn back, I wasn't thinking the way our people thought, I was now an outsider and had lost my ways. The water was clear and lay low, I could see the boulders and rocks jutting just below it, I thought of Simon and his smiling face and wished that time could run back the way, back, back, back, but where would I stop it and start all over again. Would I stop back to me and Kirk before it began, would I stop after Sam was born or would I go back to that day with Simon and the swing, could I somehow have changed things. Could I live through them again, just to smell Samuels soft downy head one more time, caress his soft sweet body. Blinded by fast heavy tears I threw myself down onto the damp grass and cried for what seemed like an age, I don't think I had cried like that since the time of the swallow, no not losing Sam and nor when Kirk was gone, yes I silently wept in sleep and sometimes I cried out but I never faced it in daylight, it was after all what I deserved.. was it not, 'the tar in the pipe' Something caught my eye it was swaying hair like in the soft breeze of the morning, I could smell the delicate hint of vanilla in the air, wiping my eyes I moved further up the bank to the edge of the stone dyke that ran for miles up the hill to the sheep fank and around it, I smiled a little as I gathered my arms full of the beautiful scented meadowsweet, perhaps today I would do something right.
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