I close my eyes.
‘Your father had been gone most of the day,’ I say. ‘I’d seen his car heading past our house on the dirt road that morning. I waited until Martha was busy before heading out to find you. I’d been waiting for a chance to get back to you since Martha caught me peeping through the window. It must have been a week at least.’
‘I remember.’
‘You were by the well, throwing stones in when I found you, and I told you why I hadn’t been around. You were mad that I saw what I did, I think. You were bruised around your face, dark and purple. I hated your father then. I sat with you for a long time, and we shared a bag of crisps I’d pinched from home. And we talked, or I talked really, and I told you I was going to find a way to help you.’
‘You said that maybe I could be your brother,’ he says.
My throat tightens. ‘And you?—’
‘I kissed you,’ he says. Low. ‘It was all I knew of affection, the physical side. I didn’t understand it.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I’m still forever grateful you weremy first kiss.’
He takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of my fingers.
‘Then he came home and found us.’ I feel sick when I remember the way his dad had looked at us. He’d seen the kiss, I think. It made me feel sick. ‘He grabbed me, and you bit him.’
‘I couldn’t protect myself, but I knew I couldn’t let him hurt you the way he hurt me.’
‘And after he punched you, he came after me, and I ran, and he was faster than I expected, but he caught me when I circled back. Right next to the well.’
‘I tried to hurt him again, hitting him with a loose branch. But I wasn’t strong enough, and he laughed. When he hit me again, he let you go. I still remember how much the kicks to my ribs hurt.’
‘I started running to get help, but when I looked back, there was blood all over your face. I thought that he’d kill you if I left.’ I take a breath. ‘So I ran at him, and I pushed him over the wall of the well.’
‘I still can’t believe all it took was a shove for him to die. I thought about killing him so many times.’
‘There was that terrible crack, and then silence. Nothing but birdsong and our perfect forest. If someone was there, they had to be in the trees. But I can’t remember seeing or hearing anyone.’
‘There are so many spaces where someone could have hidden.’
‘Exactly.’ I look at him. ‘But how did they get there?’
He’s still for a moment.
‘My dad had to have brought him back to the cottage,’ he says. ‘A child to make me play his games with.’
Despite him being long dead, I hate his father with renewed energy.
I think about the cottage. The boys were in the middle of that terrible room, and the men were around the edges with their drinks.
‘It’s possible,’ he says. ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember anyone.’ He looks at his hands. ‘I tried so hard to forget.’
I grip his hand. ‘It’s okay.’
I was there too.
‘Martha didn’t send them, and my parents never knew. It has to be either one of your dad’s friends or one of the kids. But why would they want to hurt me?’
‘Revenge,’ he says.
‘But why? They couldn’t have known me. I was just some kid who shoved your dad in the well. If it were an adult, you’d think they would have told the police if they cared this much. And if it was a kid, you’d think they wanted your father dead too.’
‘Martha knew what was happening in that cottage, maybe others did too. She was protecting my father’s reputation and her position. She feels guilty over not helping. Maybe this person does too. Or thinks I should.’
My head aches.
