'Hi.' Peter was standing inside the small hallway, seemingly oblivious of the draught from the door, which hadn't latched properly. Short and stocky, his features had a squareness about them, a ruggedness that Janie had once described as a bulldog-look. But now his appearance was spoiled by the long sandy hair that curled around the collar of his open-necked shirt and the worn and faded jeans. She wore jeans, too, but had always prided herself in being immaculate, even out here. Not a strand of her long golden hair was out of place, (its natural colour was dark brown but Peter had a preference for blondes), and the matching denim jacket showed no traces of the household chores she had done throughout the day. She had put on make-up because she felt undressed without it. That was the difference between the two of them, the formal and the informal, a blend of oppo-sites that had somehow worked out. Until now.

'Where's Gavin?' She tried to peer past him through the open door. It was almost dark now and she could only just make out the outline of the rickety front gate.

'He's probably gone up to the granary to look for the cat/ Peter replied. 'This place'll give him a good chance to get used to animals, something that's been lacking in his life before. The most you could hope for at Perrycroft was a hamster and a goldfish. Dogs and cats had a high mortality rate.'

'Well, he ought to come inside. It's almost dark.' She couldn't keep the edge of nervousness out of her tone. She wanted to push past her husband, rush outside and shout for Gavin to come in quickly. With an effort she controlled herself. 'Go and call him, please, Peter.'

'In a minute.' He paused, looked down at the floor as though he had something to say which was best said in the boy's absence.'Janie, there's something he's not happy about. Something at school. I don't know what it is, but he'd probably tell you whereas he'd clam up if I asked him.'

'Oh!' Janie stiffened. 'What makes you think that?'

'The way he was in the car coming home; didn't say a word, just sat staring out of the window. You know how kids get fears, little things that they keep to themselves and blow up out of all proportion. It's probably nothing much but we'd better sort it out. There's no rush, though, there's a whole-weekend in front of us before school starts again.'

'It was wrong to disturb his schooling.' A reprimand. 'He was getting on OK. Now he's got to start all over again.'

'That's rubbish.' Peter could feel the friction building up between them again; it never used to be like this. 'He'll be better out here. There's more time, less pupils, and things aren't rushed through like they are in big schools. It's what he needs.'

'Maybe and maybe not.' She was edging nearer the door, trying not to make her fears obvious. She didn't want Gavin playing outside after dark. Til talk to him tonight when it's bedtime. But first—'

A movement in the darkness outside had her tensing, almost crying out; a shape that could have been anything materialising out of the encroaching gloom, wraith-like, featureless. The scream was forming in Janie's throat. Just in time she recognised the features of her own son, the familiar pallid freckled face, the tousled red hair. Thank God!

'You're to come inside straightaway, Gavin.' She sounded almost on the verge of hysteria. 'I don't like you outside after dark.'

The boy's questing gaze by-passed her and focused on his father; a look that said, 'What the hell's got into Mum?'

'You'd better stay indoors now, Gav,' Peter spoke slowly. He knew he had to cool this situation before it blew up into a major family row. 'Tomorrow's Saturday. You'll have all weekend to play outside.'

Silence; an atmosphere that all three of them felt; that words were being held back deliberately.

'I can't find Snowy, Dad. He's nowhere around but I can hear something running about in the rafters of the granary. If I had a torch . . .'

'Probably rats.' Peter regretted the words the moment he had spoken them. Oh Jesus Christ, Janie was terrified of most small creatures. It was a miracle she hadn't heard those mice last night.

'Rats!' Her expression, her posture, were rigid with revulsion. 'Peter, you don't mean to say that we've got rats in the place!'

There's always the odd rat and mouse to be found in old property.' Play it right down. 'Maybe one that was just sheltering for the night. Gavin might have been mistaken, but if he wasn't then Snowy's probably taking care of it.'

Janie pushed the door shut; the latch jumped and it swung back open. Almost flinging herself at it she slammed it back with a vibrating crash and struggled to shoot the rusting bolt home. Oh please God, let me shut the night out!

'Tea's almost ready.' With a supreme effort she managed to speak calmly, hoping that the other two couldn't hear the way her heart was thumping. At least they were all safe inside and nobody was going out again tonight.

In a way it was claustrophobic security.

Janie had expected to find Gavin already in bed when she went up to his small low-ceilinged room at half-past nine. The place had a musty smeli about it and large areas of plaster had crumbled off the walls. She wrinkled her nose as she opened the door, and stared in astonishment at what she saw.

Gavin was sitting on the edge of his bed, still fully dressed, just looking blankly at the wall.If he had been playing with his war games or reading it wouldn't have been so bad. But he wasn't. He saw her but there was no greeting on his freckled face, no smile. Just an expression that could only be interpreted as—fear.

Janie caught her breath and felt her heartbeat speeding up again. 'What's the matter?' She moved forward, seated herself on the bed beside the boy and slipped an arm around him. Suddenly she wanted to burst into a torrent of tears but she knew that for his sake she had to hold them back.

'Snowy's missing.' His voice was husky but somehow unconvincing. Everybody was trying to cover up by lying.

'He's probably off hunting rats and mice.' She shuddered at the thought. 'But there's something else worrying you, isn't there, Gav?'

Silence, except for a stifled sob. They'd both end up crying at this rate.

'Come on, you can tell Mummy.' She'd been 'Mum' for the last two years but now he didn't seem as grown-up as she'd thought, a little boy who needed to confide in his mother. They had to go back a few years if they were to get anywhere.

'It's—it's the—Wilsons.' He choked the name out.

'And who are the Wilsons?'

'Big boys at school. They're going to beat me up on Monday.' Gavin was beginning to cry; a couple of tears escaped and rolled down either cheek. They'd've done me over after school today in the playground, only Dad came early.'

This is ridiculous/ She felt her anger mounting towards the unknown village louts. 'Now don't worry about them. I doubt very much whether it's any more than schoolboy threats. They'll have forgotten all about it by Monday. And, anyway, they wouldn't dare.'

'They would!' Almost a shout. 'They blacked Kevin Arnold's eye on Wednesday and they got him down and kicked him at playtime on Thursday.'

'And what did Mr Hughes say to that?'

'He doesn't know who did it and Kevin won't say, else they'll really do him. And Mr Hughes is scared of the Wilsons too because if he caned them their big brothers would slash the tyres of his car or throw bricks through his window. Everybody'sscared of the Wilsons, Mum,'

'Well, there's no need for you to be.' Janie's mouth tightened and she clenched her fists. 'They're just yobbos, as bad as those rioters in London. Anyway, why are they going to beat you up?'

'They say—I'm an English—bastard,' Gavin was beginning to sob now.

'Well, I think they're Welsh . . . ' She stopped herself in time. 'I see, they're copying these Welsh nationalists they've seen on telly. Anything that's English can't be any good. Spray the English road signs with aerosol paint. Set fire to the English holiday cottages. Drive the English back over the border. Good God, it's like the old border skirmishes of years ago. I suppose this boy Kevin Arnold is English?'