Charlie pressed through the undergrowth. Brambles caught on his jacket; nettles brushed against his legs. The earth underfoot was dry and powdery. He slipped. There was nothing to grab hold of except clumps of tough grass which cut into his palms or came out in lumps, roots and all. Only cutting, prickly, stingy, itchy things grew here; forests of gorse, acres of blackberries, deep beds of nettles, three foot high.
Below the cliff, the sea sparkled blue. He could hear children shrieking on the narrow beach. The tide was coming in. They’d be leaving soon. Then, there’d be only him.
Him . . . . .
. . . . . and Ed.
Ed - not far behind.
The terrain changed. It was now a more open landscape of tall, reedy grass. The going would be easier here, with badger paths tracking the way through hillocks of ants' nests and mole mounds. He'd be able to run faster - except the tracks led upwards and he would be more exposed. He stopped to listen and think. Grass, gulls, dunnocks, and occasional outbreaks of laughter from the children on the beach, one lark. No foot-thuds.
He let out a sigh of relief and took a bottle of water from his pocket, unscrewed the cap and swigged three mouthfuls. The more he drank, the lighter the bottle. It distracted him, the way it banged against his side as he ran. On the other hand, he didn't want it empty; not on a hot day like this.
He was pretty certain Ed would be expecting him to make for the safety of the beach where the adults were always watchful. He could hide himself amongst the bathers.
But where was the fun in that?
He didn't want to go home yet either.
Urgent risk assessment needed.
If they fought and pushed and shoved on the edge of a fragile cliff . . . . .
Charlie risked a glimpse over the edge. Safe-ish. Lumps of earth and multiple ledges. Each season claimed another piece of land and the grassy top narrowed. If he tumbled here, it would be uncomfortable, but the debris left by landslides could certainly break his fall and he'd roll to a stop. The only danger would be in slipping to the left. Then, he'd end up on an almost vertical slope and be tipped over a sheer-rock drop to the boulders below.
Fatal.
The safest thing would be to make his way to the right - which meant going further up.
Ed was a laughable thug. But he was also the 'power' in the street. He had only to stand perfectly still, looking faintly interested in the contents of your pockets - and you'd run. You learnt to do this when you were very little. The first day you came out to play in the street, he'd take your bricks, your balls, your plastic animals, your dolls, your skipping rope, your teddy, the knights that lived in your plastic castle, the biscuits your mum had given you only a moment ago, your half eaten packet of crisps, anything you had. The smaller it was, the better he liked it; if he could drop it down a drain, it saved him the bother of chucking it over a wall. He didn't want your things, he wanted to annoy you.
There was no indignity in getting out of his way. Everyone did it. Result? One heavyweight and a street full of athletes. Ed must have been exceptionally bored and lonely today. Charlie couldn't remember him bothering to give chase before, not like this - not right out of the street and onto the cliffs. This was different.
It frightened him a bit.
But as long as he couldn't hear Ed directly behind him, he reckoned he was the one in control. He'd be setting the pace. He'd be deciding the route. He'd be leading Ed for a change, taking him into places he didn't know, tiring him out and, best of all annoying him.
He imagined Ed puffing away behind. He imagined him getting red in the face; hot, cross and mad. It was a good feeling. He sucked it in with the little breeze that came ahead of evening.
There would probably be a mist following soon. Even if the tide hadn't been creeping up the beach, the bathers would turn now and set off for home, before the air grew chill.
At the top of the cliff he found a place in the tall grasses to crouch down and listen.
He thought he was safe.
He thought he was safe.
But he was wrong.
Ed was almost upon him.
And he knew Charlie.
He knew Charlie would keep going.
He knew Charlie thought the short-cut climbs were bound to give him an advantage.
They didn't.
Ed might know only one path - but that didn't matter because it was the only path he needed - the one that would cut across Charlie's secrets ways.
Ed was paying Charlie out like a kite. He might be on a long string but Ed only needed to give it a jerk and Charlie would fall straight into Ed's waiting hands.
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Charlie Hiding Behind Reeds
