Henry and Chris stood on the riverbank, golden summer rays making them both glad they didn't have to go to school on a Saturday. Henry pulled the brim of his Houston Rockets cap down over his brow; Chris wiped the sweat off his with an exaggerated swipe of his forearm.
- Chris watched Henry's folks walk back to the car, hand in hand. They were talking, but he couldn't hear anything. Their words seemed to die in the summer stillness. Henry's father took out a blanket and floated it over a sunny patch of grass nearby. He waved. Chris returned it with enthusiasm.
- “This place do?” Henry set the cooler down on the ground.
- “Yeah.” Chris turned back to his friend and plonked himself on a rock. “That's a pretty bad scratch your dad's got on his face.”
- “Yeah.”
- “How'd he get it? Looks like he was shaving with barbed wire or something.”
Henry shrugged the way kids did when they didn't have anything to say on the matter. “He said mum did it.”
- Chris cast his line into the water and dialed the reel back and forth, a little at a time. His tongue poked out, like a dog catching some heat. If anyone passed by, they would think he knew what he was doing.
- “Why would she do that? Cut your dad, I mean?”
- “I don't think it was on purpose.” Henry threw his line into the river. It slapped the water with a soft ploop.
- “That's nasty.” Chris looked upstream, seeing Henry's mother in a fresh light. Electricity pylons were lined up on the other side of the river like soldiers guarding wet secrets. “I mean, the scratch, not your mum.”
- “I know.”
- Henry's dad was lying on a blanket, eating an apple; his mum was sitting next to him, smiling, playing with the grass and looking out over the water. A swan edged towards them, sensing food.
- They looked like the perfect couple, but Chris was old enough to realise that words could become claws in a heartbeat, and that there was usually a lot going on behind the glass. Married arguments didn't always end with an apology and a kiss. Sometimes they didn't end at all.
- Still, the idea of Henry's mum cutting his dad - accidentally or not - sat uneasily in Chris's stomach, like a bad meal.
- Henry seemed disappointed that he hadn't caught something already. He stuck his rod into a soft patch of earth and twisted it this way and that until it held firm. “Look ma, no hands.”
- “You know, as soon as something bites, your rod's history.”
- “There's nothing in this river big enough to pull that out.”
- “Or in your pants either,” Chris said.
- They both laughed.
- “You want a Coke?” Henry was already reaching into the cooler to grab himself one.
- Chris nodded, but almost before he had Henry had lobbed a can at him. Chris caught it with his free hand.
- “Nice catch.”
- Henry popped the top of his and took a long swallow.
- “Would you ever have a fish as a pet?” Henry asked.
- “I guess, maybe.” Chris shifted on the rock. His butt was taking a nap. “They're quiet, they don't need much looking after, and you don't have to get up early on the cold winter mornings to take them out for a shit.”
- “I wouldn't have one,” Henry said. “They don't do anything. How much fun can it be watching a fish swim around a tiny bowl?”
- “I think it's meant to be relaxing.”
- “Maybe for the fish.”
- Chris stood up to stretch his legs, careful not to drop his rod. He looked at his feet. A ladybird had hitched a ride on one of his shoelaces. “You miss Ben, don't you?”
- Henry didn't answer. He didn't have to.
- “Yeah, nobody humps a leg quite like Ben does,” Chris said, smiling. “I miss him too.”
- Henry looked at his friend as if he didn't realise he was jerking his chain, then he smiled and lost his thoughts somewhere across the river.
- “He might come back.” Chris wiggled his rod back and forth, looking for action. “Maybe he just needs some space for a while, you know, a little time on his own.”
- “He's a dog, you tube.” Henry threw a pine cone at Chris. It hit his foot and the ladybird scuttled off. “Dogs don't need space. He's happy just to find a quiet corner and lick his nuts for an hour.”
- “Don't give up hope, man.” Chris didn't know whether he believed it or not, but it seemed like the right thing to say. “If he doesn't come back you can always get another one.”
- “Maybe.” Henry sighed. “If my dad lets me.”
- Chris looked over at Henry's parents. He was tickling her; she was laughing. “Doesn't he want another one?”
- “I dunno.” Henry was halfway towards the cooler again. “Want a sandwich?”
- Chris's line had snagged on something but with a little delicate wrist-work he managed to set the line free. He pulled it straight up out of the water to see if it was anything worthwhile.
- “Hey, Chris - any food?”
- “What? Uh, yeah. You got any cheese and pickle?”
- “One cheese and pickle coming up.” Henry buried his face in the cooler, digging down to the bottom.
- Attached on the end of Chris's line was a small circle of red material. Hanging from it, a silver tab glinted in the summer sun.
- “What you bagged?” Henry asked, coming up for air.
- “Don't know.” Chris reached out and unhooked it. “Looks like a kid's belt.”
- “Could be. I found a gym shoe last week. Just about the same spot too. Right one, I think. No wait, it was a leftie.” He laughed sharply. “Maybe some kid jumped in, got himself drowned.”
- The leather had deteriorated in the water over time and was slimy to the touch. Chris had a bad feeling right away, even before he saw the name embossed on the metal tab.
- “Hey Henry, you want to go do something else?”
- “Huh?”
- Chris put the rod down on the grass. “I don't feel much like fishing anymore is all.”
- Henry shrugged. “Sure, whatever.”
- It was at that moment that Henry's dad approached, on feet that didn't make a sound. “You boys caught any whoppers yet?”
- His voice made Chris jump. “No sir.”
- “What's that you've got there?”
- “Nothing. Just junk.” Chris tossed it back into the river like a discus.
- Henry's dad's curious eyes followed it through the air, and for a finger-snap there was recognition in his lingering stare. The collar splashed in the water, and then both it and the moment were gone.
- “Nice throw.” Henry brought in his line. “Empty again.”
- His dad clapped him on the shoulder. “Henry, how about you go and help mum put the stuff in the car, hmmm? I want to talk to Christopher for a minute.”
- Henry screwed up his face, but said okay and ran along anyway. Chris looked after him for what seemed like forever, not wanting the moment to end, and when he turned back, Henry's dad was standing with his back to the water.
- The scratch on his face stretched from one corner of his lip to just below his eye. Around it the skin was white and smooth. Up this close it was an ugly wound.
- “What happened to your dog, Mr. Barclay?”
- He looked at Chris and smiled, causing the scar on his cheek to tighten. He reached up and traced its length with two fingers. The new skin looked like it was about to burst at the seams.
- Chris waited for the truth to fall out.
