Man Of Few Words

Chapter 15

As I said, Emily was gagging for it. I didn't realise it at the time because, of course, I didn't understand women at the age of ten (as if I understand them now...), but believe me, she was. As I found out the following day.

I don't remember what I was doing when I heard that loud rap on the front door – probably watching TV – but I do remember being very surprised to see Emily standing there when I opened it. Even more surprisingly, she was smiling. I must've looked at her tits three times before she even spoke,

"Hi! Is Cameron here?"

"No, he's..."

"Good. Comin' out?"

I hesitate, glance at her tits a couple more times, then say,

"Ummm..."

"Come on."

I turn my head towards the interior of the cottage,

"Mum! I'm just going out."

"Who w..." I just about hear my mum call out as I close the front door behind me and stride past Emily, looking shiftily up and down the lane as I open the garden gate, step through, then completely neglect to hold it open for her.

As I turn right towards the village she bossily, but not too forcefully, says, "This way," and without a moment's hesitation, I spin on my heels and follow her towards the pond at the end of the lane.

We walk in silence for a minute or so, me still looking suspiciously about the place. Partly because I suspect this whole thing of being some kind of trap, and partly because even if it isn't, I don't want to be seen walking around with a girl.

"There's no frogspawn left," I say eventually. "Me and Cammy got it all weeks ago. Richy put a load of it down his pants. It was rea..."

"Who's Richy?"

"Oh... he's, errr... I don't really know him."

"Why did he put frogspawn down his pants?"

Because Cammy and I had offered him twenty football stickers each from our respective collections of swaps for doing it. And it was well, well worth the price.

"I don't know," I say.

"Cheap thrills probably."

"Yeah."

I had no idea what she meant.

"Anyway, we're not going to the pond."

"Where we going?"

"You'll see."

"Alright," I shrug.

And we walk on past the pond in silence. I peer around its edges as we pass, just in case Cammy and I missed any frogspawn. We didn't (we were always very thorough) but I do see a crumpled, muddy sheet of bubble wrap caught on the reeds on the far side. I kinda want to fish it out in case it hasn't all been popped already, but Emily is ignoring the pond and clambering over the low stone wall at the end of the lane, so I just make a mental note regarding the bubble wrap and hurry on after her.

"Are we going to the woods?"

"Yeah."

The woods was a little shapeless, pointless area of grubby woodland wedged in among a handful of awkwardly shaped fields, including the one we were now crossing. This one sometimes had a few cows lazily grazing in it, but not today. You still had to watch out for their pats though, so I stop looking shiftily about, and start looking intently at where my feet are treading.

"Pat roullette" was yet another sport – in which players took turns to jump two-footed onto cow pats that were, on the surface at least, dry – that Cammy and I would play with Richy. I don't mention this to Emily, even when I spot a classic "Pat roullette" pat – big, with a thick crust, but also with a small, oozy crack on one side indicating to a keen observer such as myself that there is still a whole heap of juicy, splatty, possibly even warm cow crap under that crispy outer surface. Richy would never notice that crack. Another mental note taken.