Seven

Eric sits at the table across from the kitchen, playing with his hare. Close up, Edward sees that it is very old; the boy has probably had it since he was a baby. It is tattered and torn, and has obviously been repaired many, many times.

Eric hops the hare across the table one way, then back again, his lips moving wordlessly, as if speaking magic to the toy.

“Yes, I mean it,” Merle says, as she makes tea. “I can’t remember when he was so interested in something. When something made him so happy.”

Happy? thinks Edward.

He doesn’t seem particularly happy, but then, maybe he has his own way of showing it. Doesn’t everyone?

“He said he helped you lift a big stone…?”

“He practically lifted it all by himself. But yes, that’s right.”

“He’s a strong boy, that’s for sure,” she says. “Well, Eric and I accept your thanks, don’t we Eric?” she calls through to the dining room where Eric sits.

He looks up, briefly, and nods. Then he carries on playing with his hare.

“But that’s not really what I came to thank him for.”

“Oh?”

Edward pauses. This is the tricky part. Where he admits he threw away twenty-six years of professional training because an idiot told him where to dig.

Idiot? He hates himself for even thinking the word. Castigates himself.

He looks through at Eric.

Coughs.

“The thing is … the thing is, Merle, that Eric told us where to dig, and we found something amazing. We were having no luck, nothing. Finding nothing, and then Eric told me where to dig this morning, and presto! We’ve hit this incredible find.”

Maybe Merle doesn’t understand what he’s saying, doesn’t get how archaeology works, because she doesn’t seem interested in Eric’s tip-off.

“What did you find?”

“Viking burial. Not uncommon in itself, but this one is very unusual. I’ve never seen anything like it before. In fact, I might be going to make my career here. Finally. I don’t think anyone’s seen anything like it. Ever.”

“Well, then,” says Merle. “You’ll have to thank Eric for that, too. Eric? Did you hear that? You’ve made this nice man famous! Isn’t that good?”

“Thanks, Eric!” Edward calls, laughing, but Eric frowns. He gets up from the table, and hurries upstairs.

“Did I upset him?” Edward asks. “I’m sorry. I…”

Merle shakes her head.

“He’s hard to understand. Don’t worry, he’s fine. He’s like that sometimes. He’s very shy, you see. Very shy.”

Edward wants to ask something, but doesn’t know how to say it. But he is genuinely interested in the boy, he likes him, though he barely knows him.

“What … I mean,” he says, fumbling for the words. “Was he…?”

“You mean why is he like this?” Merle says. She is not offended. “Don’t worry. I’m actually glad that you asked straight out. Most people beat around the bush, or avoid us altogether.”

“Which is their loss,” Edward says, aloud, before he knows what he’s saying.

Merle hesitates. A little light comes into her eyes.

“You’re right, Edward, it’s their loss.”

She touches his forearm, very gently, very briefly.

“He wasn’t born like this. He was born what those other kind of people would call normal. It happened when he was two.”

She hesitates again for a moment, remembering.

“It was this time of year. The hay moon. They had started to cut the hay in the meadow, and Eric … Eric … I couldn’t find him. He was here one minute, and I was putting washing out in the garden, and then he was gone. I couldn’t find him. I got really desperate, you know. As a parent there’s … Well, anyway, the next thing was that I heard shouts from the meadow. I ran outside.

“That was where Eric had been. He’d crawled into the hay. It was long, and he must have been hidden. Someone hit him in the grass with a scythe. It didn’t cut him, thank God, it hit him on the back swing. It hit him in the head. He was unconscious, we thought he was not going to…”

She pauses again.

“I’m sorry,” says Edward. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s okay. Really. I just haven’t told this story in a while. No one is interested, you see.”

“I am,” says Edward, quietly.

Merle mouths the words thank you.

“When he woke up, we knew something was wrong immediately. He was still our little boy, but he had changed. As he grew up, it became more and more obvious.”

“What was he doing in the hay anyway?”

“Who knows? Who knows how a tiny child’s mind works? But, well, I’ve always thought it was because of the hares. Have you seen the hares? On the island?”

Edward shakes his head.

“Well, keep watching, there are lots of them, and Eric was fascinated by them, even when he was tiny. They often sit in the long grass of the meadow, before it’s cut. When the scything starts, you can see them bolt for cover somewhere. I think Eric wanted to be a hare, that’s all.”

Suddenly Merle grasps Edward’s hand earnestly.

“I love him so much. I’d do anything for him, you know? Do you have children, Edward?”

He shakes his head. Thinks about her hand on his.

“I just can’t reach him. Not how a mother should. He goes away from me, as if he’s on a journey somewhere, somewhere I can’t follow. Seeing things I can’t see. I can’t explain.”

She breaks off, then tries once more.

“It’s like loving someone from another world.”

There’s a long pause, and then Edward knows there is something else he has to ask, something that has been unspoken but that has been implied in everything since the moment he crossed the threshold into this quiet house, of son, and mother.

“Who did it?”

Merle doesn’t reply. She half turns, tilting her head. But Edward cannot let it go.

“Who was it, who hit him with the scythe? I mean it was an accident, of course, but who did it?”

Again Merle pauses a long time before answering.

“It was his father. My husband.”

“Where is he now?” Edward whispers, so quietly he can barely hear his own voice.

Merle’s eyes moisten.

“He couldn’t cope with what he’d done to our little boy. He’s … gone.”