The Sheep Who Lived On The Roof

She looked mournfully through the window of the bedroom she would now call home for the long, furious, months of summer, her immaculate, fragile, eyes growing slowly colder as she searched for a hint of her parents on the lonely horizon stretching vast and strange before her. Finding nothing there, she rested her head in her hands, leant on her elbows which were a little red from the irritation, and sighed.
She looked about her empty room. It was quietly gathering beautiful galaxies and systems of dust in each of its slow, dream-like, corners and crevices, upon its shelves and also on the windowsill where her elbows were. The only things that existed in the room, but for her (and she was histrionically thinking to herself at that moment that she hardly seemed to exist at all, at least to those she cared about), were an old and tatty crimson lamp, which dripped with history and desertion and ill-taste, and her small suitcase. It lay unopened and sad at the end of the bed but at least it served to remind her of home. She sighed again, wondering if there really was anything here, in this village, poised, as it seemed to her, on the very edge of the world and apparently containing nothing except the quaint, postcard, station where her mother’s friend had met her barely an hour previous and that wretched and half-abandoned park she saw between the station and this room. She had barely even noticed the rest of the house and had not taken in a word her mother’s friend had said to her. To Gretchen, the village had seemed poor and rundown, like those areas of the city her mother told her about and warned her away from, because of the threat of violence and danger that, she said, loomed large. It had none of the bucolic charm and romance that her mother had suggested as though (or so Gretchen thought) she were some deranged travel agent trying to sell a holiday or a retreat. No one would retreat here, she thought, only the village does the retreating. And she was pleased with the thought and smiled for the first time in two days. Then she sighed again and watched as her pristine and elegant reflection rose and fell slightly in the mirror with the same delicacy that was in her face.
"Why can’t I have an aunt or an uncle like ordinary people!" She said to herself, but a little loudly, and she began to pout and frown and sulk using the window’s mirror as a guide to how she looked and she soon settled on a look that pleased her. She did not notice the small, thin, figure standing obediently in the doorway, as if he were waiting for something.
"Hello. You must be Gretchen? Aren’t you?"
He was a small boy, a little smaller than she was, even though his huge, certain eyes betrayed that he was at least the same age as her.
"Yes," she replied coldly, scowling at him. Her eyes didn’t move and that pleased her. She wished she had seen it in the window and was dismayed that she had turned to face him. "And what are you supposed to be?"
He looked at her and his eyes and countenance were confused and he had begun to tilt his head to the right. She had only spoken one sentence to him, but he had never been more puzzled by anyone, or anything, in his entire life and he had a sickening and anxious feeling inside of him that he had never felt before.
"My friend Emmanuel says you are going crazy if you talk to yourself."
Her face grew a violent look of disgust and she snarled.
"I’m Joe," Joe added eventually.
"Joe?" She said, the effortless purr of her well-constructed lava-voice faintly rising as she uttered his name. "Well, Joe," she began. Her voice was serious and earnest. "I know you will be in love with me by the end of the week, if not the day, but don’t think that I have to spend any time with you just ‘cause I’m staying in your Mummy’s house."
"Mum says she loves Dad all the time, Dad doesn’t really say it. Then Mum hits him. I mean, she doesn’t really hit him. Only with the newspaper, not like with a bat or anything," Joe said. He was grinning wildly and regarding her with a look that appeared to be hoping for approval. Gretchen merely stared back at him with an unchanging, impassive, expression, but he didn’t seem to care. "Anyway, why will I be in love with you?"
"‘Cause all little boys fall in love with me and I’ve never known it to take more than a week."
"How long are you here for?"
"6 weeks."
"Oh dear," he said flatly and his eyes had grown a little frightened. "That’s a long time." He turned and walked pensively out of the room.
Gretchen sat aghast on the side of the bed next to the window and her beleaguered face, which resembled his a little, revealed that she had not got the reaction she had been expecting. She decided to return to sulking and gazing poetically out of the window. After a few minutes had passed, she began to long for the call to come to supper, when the company of men would again drench her vivid beauty in the proud simplicity of their tameless words. She lay on the bed and began listening to the strange sounds she heard emanating from the room next door, sounds she instantly knew were produced by that odd little boy who had disturbed her perfect tranquillity and loneliness with his rustic stupidity.
Between the time that Joe left her and when she was called for dinner, Gretchen unpacked, dusted her room with some tissues (which she did quietly and almost on tiptoes so as not to alert anyone to what she was doing) and, when she was finally satisfied that the room was as pristine as she could get it, collapsed on the bed. The mattress gave way easily to her slight form and it felt a little lumpy, but she liked the soft and cosy duvet which had a lacy border lined with small red flowers and she spent a few minutes wrapped up in it. Then she took the small romantic novel her mother had given her from her suitcase and lay reading it on the bed, waiting for her arms to go numb, changing positions, then repeating the motion over and over until Joe’s mother’s voice came up the stairs to her. She had read almost half the novel. She sighed and tucked it deliberately and neatly back into a corner of her suitcase.
She walked down the stairs, creaking beneath her feet, which had green and red sandals on them now, and entered the kitchen. She was met by a fragrant wave of warmth, which came from the garden through the open back door and tickled the candleflames lining the table. She smiled at the family, who were gathered around the large wooden table, waiting expectantly for her.
"Sit anywhere you like, Gretchen."
"Thank you Mrs Blake."
"Call me Molly, otherwise it sounds like I’m at school. I think Jean’s daughter is allowed to call me by my first name!" Her voice was playful and friendly and Gretchen smiled at her. Joe was watching her and, the first chance she got, when she knew that no one else was watching her, she glared at him.
"Your Mum’s told us all about you," Molly said. Gretchen smiled again and nodded.
"Yes, and you must call me Peter," Joe’s dad said. He was sitting next to his son, opposite from the place she had taken and he had a can of beer in front of him. He took the white can up in his large right hand and swigged from it. Gretchen did her best not to look disturbed but the feathers of her frightened and sweet eyes looked ruffled. She took the beige napkin which was in front of her and laid it carefully on her lap.
"Help yourself to water, Gretchen."
"Thank you."
The air smelt of lavender and there was an immense hush throughout the house which neatly complemented the warmth. Gretchen looked out into the beautiful, quicksilver, light of early evening, where a plush, occasionally ornamental, garden stretched back to a line of still, silent, trees and there was just the faintest murmur of running water coming from somewhere.
"Any idea where Sebastian is? He said he’d be in for tea."
"He’s probably still at Arsehole’s."
Gretchen’s expression startled.
"Can’t you call him by his proper name while we have a guest?"
"Arsehole is his proper name," Joe said sullenly. His mother shook her head.
"Boys," she said to Gretchen, who nodded again. She watched Peter Blake take another swig of beer straight from the can. He was in his mid fifties, but young looking and handsome. He still had a full head of hair, even though he kept it short. Although it was greying, it suited him and his blue eyes. He was thin, much thinner than her own father, Gretchen thought, at least when she had last seen him, and quite tall, perhaps six foot. He sat a little rigidly and rarely stopped smiling. Gretchen took to him instantly.
The front door suddenly slammed, interrupting her train of thought, and it was followed by the sound of heavy, rushing, footsteps on the stairs.
"Sorry I’m late, won’t be a sec!"
Molly Blake raised her eyes and tutted.
"So, Joe, what did you do today," Peter Blake asked.
"Nothin," Joe said.
"Been spending time with your brother?"
"No," he shot back sharply. "He’s always busy!"
"Well, you have a new friend to play with now." Peter Blake turned back to Gretchen and smiled warmly at her without any hint of it having to be forced. She replied in kind, but her smile had a touch of sadness in it. She started to fiddle with the corners of her napkin.
"The food smells delicious, Mrs Blake," she said eventually.
"Molly."
Joe’s older brother Sebastian, who was tall and thin like his father, burst into the room full of energy and dashed the short distance to the table. Gretchen thought he was a little taller than Peter Blake and guessed that he was seventeen or eighteen by the way he carried himself and the way he spoke. He hadn’t inherited his father’s good looks. He had a long, pointed, noise and long brown hair which didn’t suit him at all. He sat next to Gretchen and she was overcome by his stench, a mixture of grass, stale sweat and the sun.
"Gretchen?" he said, extending his hand to her.
"Yes," she said. She took his hand softly and shook it without smiling or frowning.
"I hope you’ve washed, Sebastian."
"Nope," he replied simply. "What’s for tea?"
"Soup and bread for you, lamb for the rest of us," his father said.
"Alright, Nemo?" Sebastian said, turning to Joe.
"Don’t call me that!" He replied shortly and his eyes turned a little towards Gretchen. Gretchen emitted a soft giggle.
"He likes it really," Sebastian said and he winked at Gretchen.
"No I don’t!"
"Leave your brother alone and eat your dinner."
"You’re Mum’s friend’s daughter right?"
"Yes," Joe replied, interjecting before Gretchen had a chance to answer for herself. "And she’s staying here for six weeks."
"Cool," Sebastian said languidly. He had an infectious, warm, manner that made him difficult to ignore, or leave out of the conversation for long, when he was around. "You’ll have someone to play with all summer then Nemo."
Joe looked at his brother angrily out of the corner of his eye and Sebastian winked at him, but Joe ignored it.
"This is very nice, Mrs Blake. Thank you," Gretchen said.
"Molly and thank you Gretchen but, actually, Peter made it."
"Oh," she muttered in response and, for the first time since he had laid eyes on her, Joe saw that Gretchen had grown a little flustered and her cheeks had turned slightly red in her uncertainty over whether to repeat the compliment.
"I know he doesn’t look it, but, actually, he’s quite a good chef. I’m hoping it will rub off on these two before long."
"Fat chance," Sebastian muttered.
"Why’s that, Seb," his father continued, "think it’s woman’s work do you?" It was Sebastian’s turn to scowl.
"Been listening to his grandfather too much…" Peter said, turning to Gretchen.
"I like cooking," Joe said.
"So you do. He made us breakfast on our anniversary, Gretchen. He was very proud."
"Did you hear about Prismus?" Sebastian said, changing the subject.
"What now?"
Sebastian stopped piling food hurriedly into his mouth and turned to Gretchen who looked slightly disgusted at his manners and could not avoid showing it in her eyes.
"Gretchen, there’s this guy in the village, an old guy, about 85, who swears all the time. He’s got Tourrette’s. It’s always getting him into trouble because people who don’t know him don’t know what he’s like. Anyway, last night, this lad came to Hempstowe to meet some of his mates in the pub but he got lost. He stopped the car and, as luck would fucking have it, ran into old Prismus out for his evening walk. So he asks him where the pub is and Prismus replies ‘motherfucker fuck motherfucker’."
Gretchen almost jumped out of her seat.
"Sorry. So then the lad says ‘what did you say?’ and Prismus said ‘motherfucker fuck motherfucker go up the motherfucking street’. Then the lad totally lost it and went mad, giving as good as he thought he was getting you know, and Prismus started hitting him with his stick. Mrs Prismus had to come and drag him away. No one calls the police anymore because they know about Prismus. The lad was well pissed off, swore revenge and everything. Idiot. Arsehole saw it all, said it was hilarious."
"So, you think it’s hilarious to make fun out of people with a disability?" Molly Blake said coldly.
"No," Sebastian muttered.
"Would you make fun out of someone in a wheelchair?"
"No, it’s not like that…"
"And I’m sure David wouldn’t either. And in front of a guest."
Gretchen sat silently, her face awash with a look somewhere between abject horror and utter bewilderment and her eyes were wide and she had some strands of hair over the front of her forehead that had gone out of place.
"If anyone ever swears at home, Mummy sends them to bed without any tea," she said.

*

The darkness in her room was fearsome. If, when she was on the train to Hempstowe, she had hoped that the silence of the empty countryside would rock her to sleep like a lullaby, all she found instead was loneliness and fear. She pulled the soft duvet right up to her eyes and lay there in the warmth looking up at the bare ceiling and the quaint paper lampshade that had small flowers on its design. She thought about home and her mother and the school she had left behind for the summer and all the friends she had there.
After some time (though she had no idea how much had passed) her attention was drawn to the faint hum of the television from downstairs which seemed to be irredeemably linked to the narrow column of light from the landing she saw coming under her door. She looked at the fluorescent hands of the clock that told her it was now past midnight and drawing on to one. She got out of bed and decided to creep downstairs to see what she could find there, though she pretended to herself that she had no reason for going except boredom. After carefully negotiating the creaking stairs and thinking all the time that they would hear her coming, she reached the cold tiles of the small entrance passageway downstairs that fell into the living room one way and into a small toilet the other. She crouched in the doorway to the living room without any door and looked up at the old, decorous, beams above her and thought how beautiful the house was, despite its size. She dropped to her knees and looked into the living room, taking care to be as quiet as possible. She saw, there, Peter and Molly Blake cuddled up to one another on the sofa and fast asleep, Molly lying on top of her husband. She thought about creeping forward and turning off the television in the hope that it would wake them and then pretending it was stopping her from sleeping, but, instead, she withdrew from the doorway and begin to weep at the foot of the stairs.
She was completely unaware that Joe - for obvious reasons - had not been able to sleep either and had heard her creeping discretely out of her room. He stood, also sheltering behind a wall (it was next to the stairs and led to his room), watching her in pure fascination and adoration. He heard her beginning to cry and saw her desperate attempts to keep it quiet and he grew sad and made a vow to himself that he would make sure she never had to cry about anything ever again. It was the most beautiful, and the most horrifying, thing he had ever seen and he could not take his eyes from her. The image of her there, hunched by the wall, her slight sniffs and sobs coming up the stairs to him in bullet-like waves, would not leave his mind all night (and for the rest of the next day). When he saw her turn, dry her eyes and begin the seemingly endless (for her) ascent to her duvet and whatever safety she found there, he withdrew and tiptoed back to his room (he had left the door ajar, so she would not hear him return and realise that he had followed her). He waited for a moment (he did not know why) before getting back into bed then lay there, all night, with his pillow against the wall, where Gretchen’s also lay, barely an inch or two the other side of the thin wall, and listened to her, still crying at first, then, eventually, asleep. It pleased him that her battle to fight back her tears had finally been won and it reminded him of the time he hadn’t been picked for the football team at school, despite having spent all last summer practising, and he wondered if she felt like that. He decided that was probably the worst he had ever felt so he hatched a plan to try to cheer Gretchen up. For the rest of the sleepless night he became acquainted with a fascination within himself, which he would never quite shed, about the curious sounds that came from sleeping girls rooms and he hoped that his Mum would let him spend a night in there with her, like she was just another of his friends stopping over.
"Actually, I don’t think Gretchen would like that at all," he said to himself.

*

The next morning, Gretchen was violently awoken by Joe, accompanied by an equally loud smell, crashing into her room without knocking. She rushed to pull the duvet up to her eyes, which peered above it now, an odd mixture of fury, tiredness and beauty. Her scattered mass of chestnut curls raced and trembled all over the white pillow and Joe almost dropped the tray he was carrying. Every time he saw her she seemed to him to have grown even more beautiful than she was the last.
"I wouldn’t touch the eggs, but the bacon looks okay. There were sausages but I dropped them all on the floor so I wasn’t sure if you’d want them. I can go and get them if…"
"No!"
"I’ve only ever cooked that one time and everyone else is out," he said and he was looking at her blankly.
"First of all you break into my room without knocking and then it’s to bring me this revolting plate of ‘food’ that looks like it has been cooked with a blowtorch. Yuck! You really are a disgusting little boy."
Joe, who had worked tirelessly on the breakfast for well over an hour, had every right to feel bruised, but he brushed it off as lack of sleep and, of course, he hadn’t forgotten what he had seen and heard the night before, so he just smiled warmly at her and it took her completely by surprise.
"Enjoy!" He said cheerily and he left, shutting the door firmly behind him.
"Silly little boy," Gretchen said to herself.
She slowly drew out of bed once she convinced herself that he would not burst back in again and walked over to the tray, which Joe had left on the dressing table. She sniffed the plate of mostly burnt food and it smelt good so she tried a bit of bacon, and, to her great amazement, it was warm, soft and tasty. She gobbled it down quickly and even ate most of the blackened eggs that had garnered the taste of bacon and a sweet oil amidst their charred remains. She was hugely grateful for the breakfast and watched herself in the mirror as her characteristic glow returned warmth and delicacy to her eyes, cheeks and mouth. Little did she know that it had never gone away. She even caught herself smiling and was glad that it had happened in the privacy of her own room and not downstairs. She reminded herself to be more careful in future.
She finished eating and took a little time getting ready and perfecting herself. She didn’t wear any makeup but liked to make sure her hair was just as she wished and that her jewellery (which she treasured more than anything because her father had bought it for her) was hanging perfectly. She put on a white vest top and a long white skirt with a green border at the hem and she wore some pink sandals on her feet. She liked to dress as though she was much older than her age, but she carried it well and it formed one of the many reasons why she was so popular and had so many boys to choose from for school dances and for that seat next to her on the bus on excursions and at the table for lunch.
Satisfied, she went downstairs and Joe listened to the clickedy-clack of her flip-flops on the unvarnished old wooden stairs as she came. She turned and went into the kitchen and found Joe over a sink filled with blackened pans and a turgid brown water, which had bits of food and gristle floating on it. He had filled the handsome Belfast sink too full and brown rivers of muck ran down the front of it to the floor. There were egg yolks everywhere and an unearthly oily residue was sliming down the side of the black cooker.
"Goodness, do you always leave the kitchen this tidy when you cook?"
Joe turned to her and began to laugh, but, as he did so, the large mixing bowl he was carrying slipped through his wet hands and smashed into four large pieces on the floor. He stared at Gretchen blankly and she liked him looking like that and she smiled.
"Oops. Now Mum’s really going to kill me, that’s her favourite bowl."
Gretchen picked up the pieces and turned them over. The mark on the bottom read Tescos. She smiled kindly at him as she saw that he suddenly carried genuine worry in his eyes.
"Don’t worry," she said softly. "I think she’ll be able to get another one just like it."
"You think?"
Gretchen nodded and Joe watched her curls as they bobbed about on the sunny ocean of the warm morning. Gretchen sighed.
"What are we going to do with little boys like you?"
"I’m no littler than you. Mum said you were only a few months older!"
Gretchen pouted again and made some dissatisfied noise she had copied from a girl at school who she otherwise thought was hopelessly spoilt.
"In age only," she finally said smugly, then went on "well, we better get started on your little disaster here."
Joe had not expected her to say that and he smiled with delight.
"Stop smiling," she snapped. "I don’t like it when boys get distracted by me. It’s off-putting. Get to work."
"You’re a lot like Mum," Joe said innocently. Gretchen made the same noise she had made a moment ago and grabbed a dishcloth.
"Let me know if you ever open a restaurant," She said, "‘cause then I can emigrate."
Working together it took them an hour or so to get the kitchen sparkling again. They were pleased with themselves, though Molly Blake would later spot that something was amiss by the more discreet stains they had missed and would smile to herself and tell her husband that she thought Joe had done something sweet for their guest.
"Look at me! I’m disgusting!" Gretchen said. Her arms had been discoloured by the washing up water and her hair was flecked with parts of eggshells and other grime. She had, at least, managed to save her top and skirt by putting on one of Molly’s aprons which was too big for her. She kept tripping over it and had to furtively recover her balance and hope that Joe wasn’t watching her. He was, of course, but the spectacle was totally lost on him as his only thought was how perfect she looked in the long, plastic, apron as she glided delicately around like the ice dancers he sometimes saw on television.
"What are you staring at! Get me a towel. I need a shower."
The look in her eyes was now beginning to scare him a little so he rushed off to fetch her a towel. He turned on the shower on his way back down to her.
"Shower’s on," he said.
She thanked him, begrudgingly.
Joe watched a programme on television about tigers until she re-emerged, about half an hour later, coruscating like the surface of a river under a summer sun. Her hair was damp and the water brought out its colours even more profoundly and, when she came close to him, he noticed how sweet and feminine she smelled, much more so than any girl he had ever come across at school.
"So," she said forcefully. "Now I’m perfect again you’re going to tell me what we’re going to do today."

*

As the walked down the main street of the village, Joe considered, at least three times, asking Gretchen whether he could hold her hand but had thought better of it as his fear of her would not let go. He was watching her (he thought discreetly) as she bounced down the pavement. To Joe, she had a very strange walk; as if her head were set in one single position from which it was completely unable to move, her legs some independent part of her that flowed along in the natural current of the pavement. Everything she did fascinated him now, even the way her head suddenly jerked violently to the side to look at the leaves on the trees, to where the sun lay on lawns and in bushes, or to where there was birdsong and it was becoming a great effort for him to keep his eyes off her.
The breeze was a little stronger than it had been yesterday and it was welcome because the mid-morning summer heat was already quite intense and it reflected the dry, parched, grass, which had that almost yellow colour it takes on when it hasn’t rained for some time. And the pavements made that crackling sound of dust colliding on the souls of their flip-flops as they came. What clouds there were were scattered about the morning like twigs on the ocean.
Few cars passed them on the road and the village was quiet. Joe showed Gretchen the shop and the pub, which he didn’t really understand, until Gretchen told him what it was and he immediately grew a resolute fascination to go in and see this mysterious world of the adults which she spoke of. He tried to persuade her they should smuggle themselves in and travel through this unknown kingdom but she told him it was against the law and that, if he tried it, he would be sent to prison and never see her again and he shut up about it after that. The only hint of life they saw was children, younger than them, running and screaming in an old, dilapidated, playground, which had a mouldy and rusted climbing frame, some swings, a see-saw, two small goalposts and a disused roundabout that lay on its side and had a steaming surge of longgrass protruding from its middle.
"What an ugly little village this is," Gretchen commented. "Where I live, the playgrounds are well kept and the equipment isn’t faulty. I bet there’s all kinds of horrible things over there, like broken glass and the smell of tramps."
Joe said nothing and the something that had been in his eyes withdrew a little and he wasn’t smiling. Gretchen looked at him and her eyes looked angry with the frustration of not having him agree with her.
She kicked him.
"Ow!"
She smiled and she looked beautiful and Joe couldn’t help the feeling that was inside of him and he wondered how she managed to do all these things and whether she thought about doing them, like a chess player might, or whether they were instead just some neutral reflection of her and of how perfect she was.
She tried to tread on his toes, but he ducked out of it and the dust and the tiny pebbles crackled on the pavement as he moved away from her.
They turned right off the main road and headed through an estate. At the far end of the estate, about five minutes walk from the main road, were a row of small terraced houses, painted grey, which backed out onto fields. They stopped at the last house and knocked on the door. The street was quite empty, as most people were at work with their cars but there was birdsong and other fuzzy sounds of summer coming from the bushes to their right which stood, a darker green than the dried grass, sighing slightly in the breeze. The house itself was unpretentious but pretty and the owners had a row of lavender lining the edges of the small front lawn.
"Lavender is so beautiful," Gretchen said. "I wished we could grow it at home but we don’t have any garden."
"Never noticed," Joe said dismissively.
"You never notice anything, do you!"
Just then they heard footsteps and the door crept gently open. A tired, but friendly, face peered out towards them.
"Hello, Joe. How are you?
"Fine."
"And who’s this?"
"This is Gretchen."
Gretchen held out her hand.
"Hullo," she purred. "Nice to meet you."
"Hello, Gretchen. What a pretty name. How are you?"
"I’m fine," Gretchen beamed, "thank you very much, how are you?"
"Very tired, I’ve just got back from work, but I’m fine."
Gretchen looked confusedly at her and Joe shuffled awkwardly on the doorstep.
"Oh, sorry, I’m a nurse at the hospital."
"Wow," Gretchen said. "I want to be a nurse and help people."
Arsehole’s mother smiled and she invited them in.
"They’re upstairs," she said. "Go on up."
They began to climb the stairs that were straight in front of them and Gretchen whispered to Joe,
"When someone asks how you are, you’re supposed to ask them how they are too, you rude little boy!"
Joe scowled at her but said nothing.
They passed a door to their right and walked down the corridor to the second room. The carpets of the house had been pulled up revealing beautiful wooden floorboards throughout, which gave the house a feeling of extra space and of romance. Gretchen liked the way her feet sounded on them as she walked and it reminded her of being at home.
Joe knocked twice on the white door. There was an old, black and white, picture of an imposing man with a huge beard sitting in a chair, but neither of them knew who he was, and a few quotes sat dutifully below it but they didn’t stop to read them.
"You can only come in if you’re a single girl, or single girls, with red hair," a tantalising, smoky, voice called back.
Although neither of them had red hair, they entered the room to find two faces looking with a confused expectancy at them. One of them was Sebastian and the other belonged to a boy of Sebastian’s age who had contorted himself so that he was sitting, bending over the back of his chair and looking backwards. A cigarette hung listlessly from his mouth and the room smelt musty and close and there were piles of books everywhere.
"This hurts," the other boy said.
"That’s Arsehole," Joe said.
Gretchen looked disgusted and said.
"And why do they call you Arsehole?"
"A good question," Arsehole said. "A very good question. Why do you think?"
"Well, I’m not going to call you that, it’s disgusting. I’m going to call you by your real name."
Arsehole was surprised by that response and his eyes glowed. He sat up and looked at her, a little suspiciously, but with friendliness and pride as well.
"Hmm," he mused. "Interesting. Okay, I’ll tell you my theory. Then Sebastian can tell you his, if you’re not fucking bored."
Joe looked at Gretchen and noticed that she was now fully just as shocked as she had been the night before.
"It stuck at school. The boys don’t like me. They don’t like me because I’m clever and I come from a poor family, and I’m a little fucking weird and do weird things and they can’t handle that because I’m not what they expect me to be so they call me Arsehole. They feel threatened by me and they don’t like it and they say I act like an arsehole so they call me Arsehole and it just stuck. But I don’t mind. I’m not the one who goes around calling people names, you dig?"
For some reason, Gretchen found herself turning to Sebastian.
"He’s right. He does do weird things," and Arsehole glared at him. "But he’s not the arsehole."
"So why do you call him that then? If you’re his friend?"
Sebastian shrugged and had a strange expression on his face. Arsehole looked at him knowingly and then smiled.
"And you too!" She said, turning to Joe, who suddenly looked ashamed, more so than his brother.
Arsehole’s real name was David Armstrong and much of what he said about himself was correct. He was clever, in fact, he was very clever. He had done very well in the A-Levels he had just taken and would find out the results for later on in the summer. He could have gone to Oxford or Cambridge, but his parents could not afford the extra fees, so he was looking forward to going to Liverpool instead and he knew, anyway, that it made no difference because it was just a name and degrees were just numbers and he had no resentment about it at all, and it was actually rather the opposite, something like relief. He was the kind of person who did, and said, things that could easily be misinterpreted or misread, which is why his nickname stuck, but he was kind and loving, though he didn’t like to show it openly and in public, and he did a lot for his parents, and for his grandfather, who was very sick and who he loved greatly. His grandfather had been the proud son of James Armstrong, who had played a very important role in organising the General Strike of 1926, and David prized that legacy more than his father did and in this (and in many other ways) was far more like his grandfather than his father. He spent a great deal of time with his grandfather, and slept there at least one night a week, but he never told anyone except his parents and Sebastian, who kept it to himself as well. He had many odd quirks which he employed largely to make himself unattractive to girls, who he feared immensely.
"And," Gretchen continued with an air that suggested she had been waiting to say it from the moment they had entered the room. "What is wrong with girls that don’t have red hair."
"Not too much," David said. "It’s what’s not right with them that bothers me. Do you have any older sisters with red hair?"
"No!" She replied sharply. "I have two brothers and they both have brown hair."
"Shame," David said and he turned back to the computer. "I don’t mean ginger hair, by the way, though that’s okay, I mean red hair, real red hair. Dyed hair. Like this."
He turned the monitor towards Joe and Gretchen.
"Wow," Joe said and Gretchen pretended that she hadn’t noticed but the pretended passivity caught on her nose and her expression became out of place.
"How fake," she said. "Real beauty is natural and doesn’t have to be tampered with."
"Don’t worry Gretchen," Sebastian said. "It’s his latest thing, he’ll be over it by next week."
"You don’t get over red hair that easily you fool!"
"I was never on it. Doesn’t matter to me."
"Ignorant."
"Excuse me, arse-boy, but have you actually ever met any girls with hair like that?"
"Arsehole’s barely met any girls at all!"
"Quality…not quantity."
"Sure, but you can’t have quality without any quantity can you?"
Sebastian winked at Gretchen.
"I have, actually, met one girl with hair like that. In town. But she ignored me."
"Why are we here anyway?" Gretchen said impatiently to Joe.
"I thought you’d want to meet Arsehole."
"Well I certainly don’t want to meet him, especially now that I’ve actually met him. I’m going, I’ve got better things to do than talk about girls with silly hair." And she turned and walked elegantly out of the door.
"I’d better do what she says," Joe said sweetly. "She’s quite scary."
He followed Gretchen out of the door, not noticing that Sebastian and David were sharing a knowing smile across the bedroom.
Gretchen was waiting for him on the landing. She was looking at an old picture of David playing with his Mum and Dad.
"What stupid friends you have."
"Don’t you ever smile?"
That took her aback a little and her bottom lip quivered slightly.
"Not unless I’m with some gorgeous boy with whom I’ve fallen madly in love," she said eventually.
"You seem to know a lot about love."
"Course I do, ‘cause I’m a girl and girls know everything about love."
"I’ll show you something," he said, and, not thinking about it, he grabbed her hand and rushed her down the stairs, and out of the door, shouting a quick thank you to David’s Mum as they left.
Outside, the air had grown hotter still.

*

Joe led her out away from the village towards (what seemed to her, anyway) endless flat fields of beautiful sunwrapped nothingness, some of which had golden herds of corn soughing rhythmically in the breeze. The footpath died when they passed the sign with the village name and they had to walk on the grass verge, which was overgrown and, in places, lined with thornbushes and skeletal, limby, branches.
They walked for about ten minutes and they felt the hot sun on their skin and Gretchen liked the way it made her feel, happy and safe. They soon came to a cast iron gate, which gave way to a dirt track, and Joe mounted the gate exuberantly. Gretchen followed him, complaining, with more grace and care than he had employed.
A further five or so minutes down the dirt track, the road pulled off to the left and Gretchen could hear the faint trickle of running water. They walked down the track, which cut between two fields, until they got to the river, which was bigger and deeper than most rivers you find in villages.
"Oh great, a river. Like I’ve never seen a river before!"
"We’re not here to see the river."
"Then what are we here to see?"
"Fitzroy Horsehair."
Gretchen looked aghast at Joe and her mouth drooped open.
"What?!"
"Fitzroy Horsehair."
"And what is that supposed to be?"
"Shh, you’ll frighten him."
"Must everyone in this stupid place have the most stupid names, say the most stupid things and play the most stupid games imaginable!"
She had grown a kind of genuine bewilderment now, but it was strange and it didn’t really suit her. But Joe wasn’t paying any attention to her. His eyes were transfixed on the small, otherworldly figure, who was peering at him delicately from behind a fencepost.
"I’m bored."
"You’ll scare Fitzroy Horsehair."
"I’m bored."
"Shhhh."
"I’m still bored."
The sad figure was slowly waving at Joe with his left hand but he wouldn’t come out from behind the fencepost. They were in a kind of clearing, at a bend in the river. People dumped rubbish there and there was ash and a black and grey scar on the land where someone had had a bonfire. The water went murmuring by and Gretchen watched to see if she could see a fish rise, but none did.
"Don’t be scared, Fitzroy Horsehair, she’s not that scary really…"
"Who are you talking to? There’s no one there!"
"I come to see him every day in summer when I can. He lives here and never goes away because he’s afraid."
Gretchen was standing beside him now and caught herself looking down at the fencepost where Joe’s eyes were transfixed. The sad figure moved out a little.
"He had to come here, he had to flee. He’s a refugee. They are hurting people like him where he comes from, so he had to come here, where it’s safe. He’s very sad and he misses his home. I try to keep him company. But it’s not the same. He’s safe here, but he wants to go back. Do you see him?"
"Where do you get this from?" Gretchen said and she was looking straight into Joe, who looked back at her. She was haunted by how sad he looked and she was frightened by where it had come from, as the carefree small boy she had only just met had suddenly vanished. He saw that she looked sad too and he remembered the previous night.
"Don’t be sad," he said. "He’s okay. Look he’s smiling now."
Gretchen watched as the figure came towards them. His short legs were out of proportion with the rest of his body and, as a result, he moved slowly and awkwardly, as though he were gliding just above the ground. The grass rustled slightly as he approached. His light-brown fur was worn and patchy and he had two night-black circles for eyes and he sat down in front of her and looked up at her sadly and she brushed a curl out of her eyes.
"You see him, don’t you? He loves the river."
"I think he’s dreaming," she said.
Fitzroy Horsehair blinked slowly and the expression of his eyes floated over into sadness and went out into the cold, afternoon, light.
"He likes to do that," Joe said.
"I think we should leave him to it."
"Yes," Joe said languidly. "He’s pleased to see us but he doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s dreaming."
"No, I don’t think anybody does."
"But I’m glad you’ve seen him. He hasn’t seen any of my friends before. And I think you’re glad you’ve seen him too."
With her meandering green eyes on him now, Gretchen took his hand and they walked together back towards the cast iron gate and the road. They heard a car passing in the distance.

*

She lay there, her hands behind her head and her eyes wide awake, listening to the soft, welcome, rain coming onto the window. She saw that plastic stars had been stuck onto the ceiling above her and she wondered why she hadn’t noticed them the night before, since they looked nice and came towards her and she even thought she heard a little music there.
As the rain slowly emigrated away into the deep, muggy, night, she quietly pulled open the curtains and sat looking out into the garden from her bed, which lay right up against the window. She liked the dark figures of the tall trees at the end of the garden as she thought they looked like ancient guardians, keeping the home safe, and small puddles of moonlight formed occasionally around the garden and she could make out the kind of discreet things she cherished.
Then she lay back down and returned to the stars again and began to dream about the day that had just passed. Even though she had been drained by her day and the hot, relentless, sun which had presided over it, she soon began to curse the fact that sleep would soon take her away from the violent and audacious appearance of the thing inside of her which she could not begin to explain, or even understand, and snatch her from those dreams she was dreaming about all that swam and sparkled around her.
Before she eventually fell asleep, Gretchen thought to herself that this small village in the middle of nowhere was possibly the strangest place, and was home to the strangest people, she would ever come across in all her life and, although this strangeness was immediately enchanting and compelling, she still felt somehow threatened and alienated by it and by the emptiness she found in her room and the ethereal darkness that hung all around it. She eventually consoled herself with the thought that at least all this could not possibly get any stranger.

*

Joe’s sudden entry into her room was even more violent and unexpected than it had been the day before. He used so much force it nearly caused him to topple over with excitement and he almost crashed straight into the bedside table. Exactly as she had done the day before, Gretchen immediately dragged the duvet up to her face so that only her frightened eyes and the top of her face were showing.
"Quick, quick, get dressed, get dressed!" He was breathless and he started picking up Gretchen’s clothes and throwing them towards her. A green vest-top landed on her face, and she threw it off angrily.
He was in such a frenzy that he hadn’t realised he had picked up a pair of her white pants and, when he saw, he went red and guilt flashed across his eyes and he was afraid that he had made her feel embarrassed or ashamed. He dropped them quickly and apologised.
"Should I expect this to happen every morning I’m here?" She said cuttingly.
"Something amazing has happened," he said. "You won’t believe it."

*

He wouldn’t let her pause to have breakfast, or to put her dirty washing in the machine, and she moaned about it constantly as they scampered down the road as fast as they could run.
"I don’t run!" Gretchen shouted, but Joe ignored her.
They came to the brow of a hill and hurtled down it. On the left was a picturesque, country, church enclosed by a flint wall, whose mottled colour was enriched further by the archipelagos of sunlight coming from the trees above. The bank on the right was covered with dense, spiny, thickets, some of which had blackberries on them. Joe said they were in too much of a hurry to stop and eat some and that Gretchen would thank him when they got there.
"I doubt that," she protested sullenly.
As she slowed, Joe grabbed her hand again and forced her to run even quicker.
"Ow!" She said and she tried to stand on his toes.
Finally they approached a long gravel driveway.
"Here it is!"
And he led her down, over the variegated gravel, towards a large ornate house which was surrounded by massive, overgrown, lawns. A huge crowd had gathered and a macabre chorus of excited chatter lumbered down to Gretchen and Joe as they approached.
"Hardly worth me missing my lovely breakfast for," Gretchen said. "And I was going to have eggs. Why have you brought me here?"
But Joe was ignoring her again and she was angry and her face began to contort and look sour and she kicked moodily at the gravel which splintered off in all directions. Then she began drawing circles with her other foot and did all she could to ignore Joe.
Just then, the noise of the crowd suddenly died in one of those exemplary moments of fate and a voice could be heard saying.
"I reckon it’s shimmied up the drainpipe."
The crowd laughed excitedly at that. Then the man next to the voice said that he thought it just lived there.
"No, no chance," another anonymous voice in the crowd protested. "They aren’t farmers here. Anyway, where are the owners? Does anyone know?"
No one seemed to know and the gossiping crowd went about it’s excited business.
Gretchen punched Joe in the arm.
"Hey," she screamed softly. "What are we doing here you silly little boy!"
Joe turned to Gretchen and saw her furious, burning, eyes and contorted mouth and he watched as she moved her head a little and the curls on the right hand side of her face swirled again on the surface of the soft morning light. He reached out and put his hand on her head. She looked radiantly disgruntled, but didn’t move his hand, and he turned her head gently to the left and put his other hand under her chin and raised it.
"Oh my goodness," she cried.
She was looking at a sheep strutting arrogantly around the roof of the massive house.
"What…" But the sentence died within the awe of the moment and she turned fully. Joe smiled and she didn’t see it.
There was a flat part at the roof’s edge which formed a kind of ledge. It had gullies so that rainwater, which would come down the grey tiles behind it that stretched in slanted layers up into the sky, like rows of seats at a stadium, could run off into the gutters. The sheep owned this part of the roof and was able to walk around the entire house in complete safely.
"See," Joe said triumphantly. "It’s amazing, isn’t it?"
"How on earth did he get up there?"
"Yes, it’s really quite arcane isn’t it?" The man standing next to them, who they hadn’t noticed, said, looking down at them. He was tall and upright and his voice sounded pompous and overdone. He was wearing brown corduroy trousers and a blue shirt and he was very bald.
Joe turned to Gretchen and he looked utterly bemused.
"He means it’s mysterious."
"Yes, quite mysterious. No one really knows what’s going on, how he got up there, where the owner’s are, et cetera et cetera."
Gretchen rolled her eyes furtively.
"Well, I suppose this sort of thing happens all the time here," she said.
"There’s a sheep on the roof, Gretchen."
"And!"
"Sheeps don’t live on roof."
"Sheep!"
"What?"
"Sheep!"
"Oh. Sheep."
Gretchen purred with frustration and then let out an enormous, out of place, sigh.
Just then, a group of three men and a woman approached the house with a tall ladder. Apparently they had had to go and fetch this longer one as their previous one had not been tall enough. They were arguing consistently amongst themselves and the woman’s face was flushed with anger and frustration. She was shouting and gesticulating wildly at the youngest man, who looked to be in his early twenties.
"I wouldn’t want to meet her on a dark night," the pompous sounding man said and he winked oddly at Joe.
Gretchen rolled her eyes furtively.
After much bickering, the group got the ladder upright and the red-faced woman began climbing it. She was trying to put on the sweetest voice she could manage and she was talking to the sheep softly and was calling him Oscar and beckoning him over, as though he were a cat being called for dinner. The watching crowd was silent now and Gretchen and Joe could hear everything.
Just as the woman approached the edge of the roof, the sheep turned and charged suddenly at her. The woman shrieked and scampered back down the ladder taking ugly and vast and uneven steps.
"Oh dear," Gretchen said.
"Quite," the pompous sounding man said. "That’s the fifth time he’s charged them now. I think they’re going to give up."
A woman from the crowd, who seemed kind and sincere, walked over to the red-faced woman, who was now out of breath and panting.
"Why don’t you call the RSPCA," she said to the red-faced woman.
"Oh what good will that do!" The woman snapped back.
"Does the sheep belong to that woman?"
"It would appear so. Yes."
"And no one knows how this sheep got up there?"
"No one," the gentleman said. "No one at all."
"I don’t believe it."
"I’m not sure I believe it either," he replied and his voice was suddenly kind and friendly and he smiled at Gretchen, who smiled back.
It was not long before the red-faced woman, who looked increasingly exhausted and exasperated, agreed reluctantly to phone the RSPCA. She shouted at them down the phone when they didn’t believe that there could be a sheep on the roof of a big house.
"What if the owners come back?"
"I don’t know," Joe replied.
Joe and Gretchen could not bare to take themselves home for lunch, so they went to the local shop to get some crisps and some sweets with the two pounds Joe’s mum had left them as a treat. Gretchen wolfed down her sweets and Joe liked that she enjoyed them so much and he was sure he saw a thin stream of red drool creep discretely from her mouth.
"Mmmm," she said and she offered Joe one of her sweets.
By the time they came back, two men from the RSPCA had arrived and were standing in absolute disbelief at the bizarre situation they found in front of them.
"I’ve never seen anything like this," one of them kept repeating and he was continually shaking his head.
The same man, who was around twenty or so years older than his excitable and idealistic younger colleague, would not accept the explanations of the crowd or the increasingly hostile red-faced woman. The older RSPCA man wore an anguished expression and he looked tired and gaunt and run-down. He had the air of a man who has fallen completely out of touch, and out of love, with a job he once worshipped and cherished and he didn’t have the same care for the well-being of the sheep that was apparent in his younger colleague, who spent much of the afternoon taking statements from the crowd.
"No, I’ve never seen anything like this."
It was not until much later in the afternoon, around three, when a sharp shower came, that he finally accepted the protestations of the crowd that no one had put the sheep on the roof as a joke.
"How could anyone put a sheep up on a roof like that, Tom?" His younger colleague said. "You’d need a crane."
"Well, tell me how a fucking sheep is supposed to climb up there by itself."
The two men clearly disliked each other and the oddity of the situation they were confronted with, and their different approaches to it, only added to their estrangement. By the end of the day, their contempt for each other was barely disguised and it had only be augmented by David, who arrived after lunch and had delighted in playing one off against the other, much to the amusement of himself and Sebastian.
"Well, I’ll give you one thing," Gretchen said. "You certainly can’t call this place boring!" And her voice had a new tone to it and Joe liked it. He smiled at her and she made sure that she scowled back at him as terrifyingly as she could manage.

*

The RSPCA men disappeared around five. They had accomplished nothing, except for delighting the crowd with their perpetual bickering and growing hatred. Everyone hoped that they would come back tomorrow. They made some excuse about not thinking that the thing was serious so they hadn’t brought the proper equipment but would bring it tomorrow. Someone asked it they had a special kit for getting errant sheep down off roofs and the crowd laughed raucously and the older RSPCA man swore at the joker under his breath.
And still the sheep stood, towering over the excited crowd, on top of the roof of the huge house.
Theories on how the sheep had managed to get up there soon began circulating, and it was not long before someone suggested the inevitable. Aliens. Then someone else claimed that the village had a solid history of UFO sightings and that they would be bound to see one tonight if the aliens returned to rescue the sheep and/or perform further tests on him.
Some were completely uninterested and told the others that they were stupid, but the believers went to set up tents in an empty field which rested, unkempt and fenced off, to the left of the house.
"Could be interesting…" David said.
"Could be…"
And it was not long before they had decided to set up camp and Sebastian asked Joe if they wanted to join him. Joe looked at Gretchen who looked unimpressed.
"I suppose we could," she said. "But I want dinner and a shower first."
"Surely, you of all people, you don’t believe any of this stuff about aliens," Joe asked her.
"No!" She sniffed. "But I find the ignorance of your village captivating all by itself."
"We’ll go home and ask Mum, then."
"Tell her that we’ll look after you… And get my tent. You can borrow it, I’ll share with Arsehole."
"Well I’m not going to share a tent with you. I’m going to sleep out under the stars and dream."
Joe shrugged his shoulders and Gretchen looked perplexed at his reaction.
"Unless it rains. Then you can be the one to get wet."

*

Joe’s mum said it was okay providing that they take her mobile phone and she phoned Sebastian to make sure that he would take care of Joe. Sebastian reassured her and told her that Joe was old enough to do this kind of thing now and his mum told him to watch out for Gretchen too. Joe and Gretchen both looked pleased with the result and, after dinner, scampered back down to the small field to set up their tent.
"I hope you know how to set up a tent ‘cause I’m not supposed to do things like that."
"Sebastian will do it for us. He’s going to teach me."
Mr and Mrs Blake watched them go and they poured a glass of wine each and sat outside in the garden and they breathed in the smell of the lavender they had watered and Molly Blake felt sad about how her young son was growing up and Peter Blake took her and kissed her and they laughed and joked together. Then they both grew worried about the children when they thought about what had happened to Molly’s sister when she and Molly were young and they talked about how they had tried not to let it affect their parenting but now they worried that they had overcompensated too far in the opposite direction. But Sebastian phoned and said that everything was all right, and that they were having a great time and that Joe was fine and that Gretchen was fine and Molly and Peter Blake felt better. And they sat and patiently watched the darkness come and nightsounds appeared all around them and the lavender smelt fresh and deep and they sat and were glad that it was a night full of stars.

*

The day died slowly and the sun’s sinewy fingers clutched on to the clouds and dragged them quietly back to the distant horizon and it was the time of redlight now and the sky was a mixture of reds and pinks and purples and was orange and yellow on the heels of the fading clouds and the dusk came and went quickly. And the most beautiful time of day passed without a trace and was usurped by a wide sky embroidered with flickering and ebbing stars and a hush came over the lawns and the fields and the birdsong faded. A few people began to light fires and the smell of barbecues and food cooking came intermeshed with that of dry, burning, wood and the smoke rose up decadently into the night sky. It was warm and there was no breeze and the atmosphere was lively and full of friendliness.
"Things like this don’t happen enough," David said.
"So you do say sensible things," Gretchen added.
"Rarely."
David was sitting high in a tree and was smoking something that smelled strange to Joe and Gretchen and not like cigarettes.
"Why do you smoke," Gretchen scalded him. "It’s so common."
"And what’s wrong with being common?" he replied and his voice was steady and serious and he was watching her face in the campfire and he watched her struggle and her eyes went flat and odd, like he hadn’t seem them before, and she said nothing. She was watching the campfire flicker and spit and David was looking down on her and he knew that she had no answer and he knew also that it was a good thing that was happening and he blew out some smoke and he looked at peace and serene. Joe was gazing up at him in awe. Gretchen threw a twig into the fire and Joe turned to her and saw that she looked serious and pensive and she shuffled her feet a little.
"What a day, eh, Nemo?"
"Don’t call me that."
"Sorry, Joe, Joseph. Think they’ll get that thing down tomorrow?"
Joe looked at his brother and, smiling, shook his head.
"Gretchen?"
"I don’t know," she said vacantly.
"I don’t think they will," David interjected. "Those two clowns couldn’t fucking rescue a fly from a window, you dig."
Gretchen looked up at him and smiled. Joe watched her and felt jealous.
"I just want to fucking know how it got up there," David continued. "How does a sheep get up on a roof like that. That dude was right, you’d need a crane. Can’t see any cranes round here."
"Aliens."
"Aliens fuck off."
"C’mon man, you’ve gotta believe in aliens."
"Sure, I believe there’s intelligent life in the universe apart from our own, if you can call us intelligent that is. But we’ll know about it when it happens, believe me. There will be no room for fucking conspiracy theories, no missing fucking cows, no sheep on roofs, no fucking crop circles, no fucking x files, the aliens’ll just be there, just like you and me, right in front of us, a normal part of the world, you dig."
"So, you believe in aliens?"
"Sure. Look up there…"
Gretchen looked up past David into the sky which was still cloudless and full of stars.
"Cast your eye around. You see?"
"See what? I only see beautiful stars."
"Sure but look at them all. Look how many there are. Look how wide and infinite the universe is. The scary thing would be that there’s not anyone else out there. It would truly scare me to think that we’re all alone, you dig."
"Maybe," Gretchen said absently. She was looking up and her eyes were frantically searching the wide open sky.
"But I think the sci-fi dudes have it all wrong, with their talk of spaceships and that shit. I think the aliens will teach us all about true intelligence, moral intelligence, how we should act towards one another, how we should govern, they’ll show us about compassion, about understanding and about friendship, that kind of thing. That’s what intelligences greater than our own can show us. That’s what I believe anyway."
"He’s a real idealist this one Gretchen."
"No, man, it’s true. For real. Think about it. Mathematics and shit is only a part of intelligence. There are at least seven forms of intelligence, but they never tell you about that. Emotion is a form of intelligence and we lag far behind in that, when you compare it to how far we’ve come scientifically."
Gretchen was looking up at him now but he was puffing on his cigarette and looking out into the darkness. There were some lights on in some houses at the far side of the gardens, a few hundred yards away from them through some trees and David was looking over towards them, then up at the sky again.
He blew out some smoke again and laughed in awe of the universe.
Sebastian, who was still on the ground opposite, intimated, by drawing an imaginary circle in the air with his second finger, that David was crazy and Gretchen smiled. Joe was saying nothing and looked jealous and sullen and he didn’t really understand the conversation, even though he liked it.
"If there were aliens here man, they’d be worried about greater things than fucking sheep. It’s still interesting though. No fucker seems to know."
Sebastian opened another tin of beer and began to drink from it.
"Hey, throw me one of those."
Sebastian threw a beer up into the tree but David missed it and it fell to earth with a dull thud. Joe went over to it, picked it up and handed it up to David.
"Hey, thanks man," he said to Joe, then, "Learn to throw!"
"Learn to fucking catch!"
Joe sat back down next to Gretchen and she nudged gently into him with her shoulder.
"You’re very quiet, Mr angry." She whispered gently and the words fell into his soul like a snowflake hitting the dark, far, surface of a still pond.
"Not," he mumbled.
"I’m cold," she said. "Come." And she took his arm at the bicep and pulled him towards her and he was rigid and trying to give way and he couldn’t look at her and it made her smile. He drew as near to her as he had ever been before and he smelt that gentle feminine smell up close for the first time and she laid her head on his shoulder and her curls plunged and surged down his upper body. He shivered ever so slightly and put his hands on his lap.
It was not long before she fell asleep and before Joe was more wide awake than he had ever been before. He looked down at her and saw the side of her pretty face soaked in firelight and she stirred a little and brushed something away from her small nose.
Joe watched David get down from the tree and wander slowly over to Sebastian, where the two of them lit another cigarette and smoked it together. They were talking seriously about a girl they knew at college and whether Sebastian would see her at the weekend then they were talking about what he could say to her.
All the while Joe sat rigid and uncomfortable, thinking, and not moving and watching first the darkness and the stars that Gretchen spoke so much about and then the breaking of the dawn and the light coming again, still and grey and soulless. He was a little cold, but the air was warm and the fire helped and it was already quite hot when dawn came and the sun began to rise and the lawns and the fields became hazy and dreamy and he could watch the grass swaying lullaby in the new light. He thought about what it would be like to be older and whether this kind of thing would happen all the time and he thought about how perfect his life was and how it would be impossible to ever be this perfect again and the thought of growing older made him sad, until he thought about Sebastian, and the kinds of things he did, and that made him envious again. Still, it was the strangest night he had ever spent and he knew it had all to do with the girl who was still sleeping quietly on his shoulder and he knew that he would never be the same again and he was happy again.
For all the others who were camped out in the coarse field, the night was a huge disappointment. Except for an exciting and lively game of football that had continued long after it had got dark, nothing happened, no aliens appeared and the sheep barely stirred, except for a period around dusk when he bleated violently for over half an hour. With anticlimax in everyone’s eyes, one by one, the fires went out and the rustle of tents closing could be heard in the warm night air and everyone fell asleep, gently wondering what on earth they could do about this strange, wild, sheep who was living on the roof.

*

Gretchen woke early for the summer holidays, around nine, as the improvised camp was coming to life. She sat up from Joe’s shoulder and blinked gently. He looked at her then and immediately gave up the idea of trying to talk sense to her and she had some dirt and twigs in her hair and it made her look even more perfect and he sighed.
"I’m disgusting," she purred. Joe just looked at her and said nothing.
She looked to her right and saw David. He was lying, face-down, into the dusty grass and was surrounded by beer cans.
"My goodness," Gretchen said. That stirred David and he slowly rolled over before letting out a huge belch and he let his eyes scavenge around.
"Shit," he exclaimed and then he fell back to sleep.
It was already hot again and Gretchen could feel the sun on her. She looked over her skin and saw that she had caught the sun and she smiled. Joe copied her.
"Now, where can I get some breakfast," she said. "I just hope you’re not cooking it."
They trotted back home, took some breakfast and had a shower and saw Mrs Blake to reassure her that everything was okay. She inquired about the sheep and they told her and she said she would go down and look at it after she had finished work. They told her they were going straight back there after breakfast and she smiled at how well they were getting on together and at how much they enjoyed each other’s company. She watched them leave, bickering, before she got ready to go to work.
By the time they got back to the house, a lot of people had left, clearly fed up with staring at the same, albeit strange, sight for the past 24 hours. An hour or so later, the RSPCA men turned up, drank tea and said that it was too dangerous to fire a tranquilliser at the sheep as he might fall off the roof. They tried seven times to climb a ladder to secure the sheep but he charged them every time and, at the last attempt, he managed to kick the ladder clean off the roof before anyone was even able to start climbing it. Later in the afternoon, Prismus turned up and started swearing at the sheep, who took exception to it and started kicking tiles off the roof with his back legs. Prismus shook his fist hurriedly but the sheep just grew an even more arrogant swagger and strutted around the roof all day proudly surveying his flock below. His eyes had taken on the look of long dead kings and queens, filled with graceful vitriol and violence.
That aside, the day was quiet and passed without incident and everyone who had been there the entire time went home around dinner time. Only one girl stayed. She had heard about the sheep from a friend and, sure that aliens were involved somewhere, had travelled some distance and she pitched up her tent in the field and settled in for the night. Gretchen called her a weirdo and said they should stay clear of her, but David seemed to like her and he thought about staying and trying to talk to her but he was too shy and soon abandoned the idea. Sebastian teased him about it as the four of them walked back for dinner. There had been rumours that some reporters from the local news would show up, but they never did. Joe wondered if they might come tomorrow and he hoped that they would as he liked the idea of being on television.
Over dinner they talked about the sheep and about Prismus and the RSPCA and then they got sick of it and they talked about how hot is was and about tigers and about the world cup. England were playing in a couple of days and everyone was excited. David said that they’d lose but the others thought they would win. Gretchen hated football and didn’t join in, choosing instead to play with her leftover food with a fork. Molly Blake then asked her if she wanted to go into town at the weekend to look at the clothes shops and she said she’d love to and she smiled. Joe asked if he could come too and they both said yes and he smiled. Then Sebastian and David got into a serious discussion about whether the girl in the girl in the field, who David was attracted to, was pretty and then everyone teased him about it.
After they had finished eating, Peter Blake opened a bottle of wine and offered some to David and Sebastian. David gratefully accepted, but Sebastian said that he hated wine and took a bottle of beer instead. Joe asked if he could have some wine but Peter Blake said no and, then, when he wasn’t watching, Joe smuggled a sip out and his face contorted and he said it was disgusting and Gretchen smiled.
"Stupid little boy," she beamed.
They were out sitting on the old, rusted, climbing frame now, each of them curled around one or another of it’s cold, flaky, limbs. The warmth was deep and close again and the darkness felt like a soft, cottony, sheet on Gretchen’s skin and the sky was cloudless and blanketed with stars again.
"Wow, a shooting star!"
"Fuck it! I always miss them," David exclaimed.
"Well I’ve seen lots of them. I sit on the roof of my house at home and look for them."
"I thought you couldn’t see the night sky very well in the city," Sebastian said.
"Well, you can on some nights and we live quite far out where there’s less noise and stuff so it’s okay."
"Do you like London?"
"It’s amazing. There’s so much going on there, so much to do. I love it, I would never leave it. If mummy and daddy moved away I’d stay with my grandmother."
"Not like here."
"No," she said flatly.
"I like it here," David said softly. "It’s quiet and peaceful and calm and the countryside is beautiful and empty and there’s lots of rivers and lakes and stuff like that, you dig."
"There are a lot of rivers and lakes in London too! And why do you talk like that?"
"Like what?"
"Saying ‘you dig’ all the time. You sound stupid."
Sebastian thought that that was hilarious and he laughed raucously. Gretchen was sat across from David and she was staring at him now and her eyes were challenging and serious and still.
"He speaks like his hero. He thinks it sounds cool."
"Who is your hero?"
"Mr Sidney Poitier."
"Who?" Joe asked.
"He’s an actor," Gretchen said dismissively and quickly.
"The greatest, man. The absolute fucking greatest."
"And does he speak like that and sound so stupid all the time?"
"In The Heat of the Night, man," and he started singing the theme-tune by Ray Charles and his voice sounded out of tune and awful.
"Well even if he does I’m sure he doesn’t sound as stupid as you do ‘cause he’s just acting anyway."
"I’d like to see that film," Joe said. "What’s it about?"
David turned to him.
"It’s about a murder. Sidney Poitier has to solve it. But it’s about more than that you know, it’s really about racism and prejudice and belonging. It hits you hard, you know, right where it should. It’s my favourite film of all time."
"Cool."
"My favourite film is Casablanca. I like any films about love and that’s the best one. Ingrid Bergman is so beautiful."
"She’s right about that," David said.
"Course I’m right about that."
"But Sidney Poitier is a very handsome man, you dig." And he smiled sweetly.
Joe was looking up at the vast sky above him, at the stars that were meekly plummeting towards him as silvery celestial raindrops.
"I’ve never really noticed the stars before," he said through the silence that had fallen and a sweet breath of the lawn came up and it smelled fresh and verdant because it had rained earlier.
"You’ve never really noticed the stars before? How sad. All the boys who fall in love with me take me out at night and tell me how beautiful the stars are and how I remind them of them then they name one after me."
"It’s interesting what Arsehole said yesterday."
"Hey, thanks man. I thought so."
Gretchen tutted.
"I wonder if that girl’s looking up at the stars right now," he said.
"I wonder…"
"I wonder if she has a boyfriend. They all have boyfriends. What do you reckon Gretchen? Think I’ve got a chance with her."
"Well she was a weirdo so yes. Definitely."
David laughed.
"But I doubt that she’ll be quite as strange as you are."
"I think she’ll like you Arsehole," Joe said.
"What do you think, Seb? Shall we take a trip down there to see that fucking sheep?
"Why not. I’ll grab us some beers for the journey."
He leapt off the climbing frame and skipped over the lawn into the house.
"I think you’ll chicken out of it," Gretchen added smugly.
"You’re probably right there."
Then they fell silent and were all looking up at the stars again. David was thinking about the girl on her own in the field and Joe was thinking about Gretchen and Gretchen even started to think about Joe. She reached over and punched him on the arm.
"Ow," he said quietly.

*

The scenario of the previous mornings was played out again. Joe burst into Gretchen’s room and Gretchen hurriedly pulled the duvet up to her nose and let her startled and soft eyes peer out above it.
"Get dressed!" He yelled excitedly and she drew the duvet down again.
"What’s happening this time?"
"I don’t know, something…"
"Well, of course something."
This time, however, Gretchen won and they stayed to eat a very quick breakfast which was cooked by Joe’s Mum. Gretchen thanked her and Joe didn’t and they rushed out of the door.
"You really are a rude little boy!"
"I’m no littler than you," he said back to her.
They ran down the road, past the church and the flint walls and the berrybush thickets and soon arrived at the long driveway and they could hear the excited bubble of chatter coming from the house again but this time it was different. A new, strange, noise was with it.
Joe let out a small, effeminate gasp when he saw it and Gretchen chuckled. He looked at her in amazement and she looked a lot calmer and more at ease than him and her face didn’t have much of an expression.
There was now a herd of sheep littering the driveway of the huge house. They were all facing different directions, though some were looking upwards towards where the sheep on the roof was, and were bleating hurriedly. They had also surrounded a large black car that shone and glistened in the morning sun and the heat.
"They must be the owners," Gretchen said, pointing to a man, a woman and a girl of about Gretchen and Joe’s age who were standing near the car and looking completely perplexed and overcome.
"I guess it’s not everyday you come home to find a sheep living on your roof."
The owners seemed to be oblivious to the fact that half the village were on their driveway and another large crowd was watching from the field where Gretchen and Joe had camped two nights ago.
No one had any idea what was going on and the red-faced woman, who had been directing operations to get the sheep down off the roof, was nowhere to be seen. After an hour or so, the man, who was one of the owners of the house, grew frustrated and started shouting at people. Some left in a fit of pique complaining about the arrogance and lack of hospitality of the wealthy and Joe watched them go. He was fascinated by the sheep and watched them constantly. He loved the way they stood eating the ornate and worldly flowers and how they defied the efforts of the owners to move them off and would just let themselves be chased from one flowerbed to the next, carry on munching, then repeat the performance and he loved the way they had just settled there, on the lawns and on the driveway and he loved the satisfied sound they were emitting. Not long after the shouting, there was a bit of commotion and some people suddenly sprinted off looking determined and purposeful.
Joe watched them as they went up the driveway and then he saw Gretchen again. She was shuffling her left foot in the gravel and listening to the music it made and she wasn’t concentrating on anything and her hair was jogging a little in the morning wind as she moved. The leaves were on the trees, there were songs in the clouds, sweetness in the stars and the sun was hot. It was summer, there was a girl by his side and he would never be twelve again.
He leant over to kiss her and he felt the breeze swim into his mouth and dry his lips and he felt it like that for the first time. He closed his eyes and waited to be embalmed by the sweetness of her cheek.
"Move! Move! No time for that now!" A voice that came from behind him said. Gretchen jumped and Joe turned and somehow managed to avoid her realising what he had tried to do (though he worried about it until later the next evening in the garden again).
"My goodness," she said as she watched an old man on a huge sit-on lawnmower hurtle past. He was waving his fist comically and shouting violently at the sheep, who began to scatter in all directions except back up the driveway. At the excitement, the sheep who was on the roof began to charge up and down and displace a few more roof tiles, one of which almost fell on the owner’s car.
"Bastard sheep!" The old man kept repeating. "Bastard sheep! No end of bastard trouble. Bastards."
Worried about the zigzagging sheep, Joe took Gretchen’s hand and led her away, to the shelter of a tree and a few sheep flashed past as they went. There must have been fifty of them in total, Joe thought.
The old man increased the speed on his yellow and green lawnmower and it was going fast now and the engine was making an unhappy clattering sound. He was still shaking his fist, and he leant sideways to try and grab one of the sheep that was near by. The sheep let out a terrifying sound and moved away and the old man lost his balance and slipped down the side of his lawnmower, somehow managing to grab on to something and not fall off completely
"For Christ’s sake, look out!" The owner of the house screamed, but it was too late. The old man was unable to pick himself up and, with one last anguished cry of "Bastard sheep!", the lawnmower crashed headlong into the front door of the house and knocked it down. They did not hear the lawnmower come to a stop until at least thirty seconds later.
Gretchen and Joe ran forward and soon got a good look into the expansive entrance hall of the house. The old man was sitting, breathless, on his lawnmower in the middle of it. He dismounted slowly and crept forward, back into the daylight and the heat. He saw the owners and the shocked looks on their faces.
"Sorry about yer door," he said. "S’pose we better get these bastard sheep off yer loverly lawns."

*

But, despite the furious efforts of the old man, the owners and many interested onlookers, no one was able to remove the sheep all day, even with the involvement of a tired old sheepdog who, in the event, spent more of his time sleeping under a tree than trying to round up the sheep. The old man yelled expletives at him throughout the day but the blinking old dog paid no attention and sat yawning provocatively under his favoured tree.
Gretchen and Joe left the driveway, as they had become quite afraid of the owners (more so than the sheep) and joined the expectant crowd in the small field. As the afternoon drew on, they discussed putting up a tent again, if Mrs Blake would allow it, and they took to nagging Sebastian and David, who had just turned up, to stay with them, otherwise they said they would not be given permission. David was easily persuaded as he had not given up on the girl he had seen yesterday, even though he had not found the courage to talk to her last evening. He took to watching her longingly from a distance and, once, she caught him doing it and she smiled and he didn’t know what to do so he pretended to wave to someone behind her and regretted it immediately and not just because he looked stupid.
"As long as we have beer," he said eventually. "I won’t do it without beer otherwise I won’t have the courage, you dig."
Sebastian soon relented as well and they went home to get the tents and some dinner (and a lot of beer).
When they returned a misty, blue, twilight had fallen and the air was gentle but hot and Joe found himself wiping some sweat from his brow. He looked out over the house and the lawns and everything seemed beautiful and sweet-smelling and he breathed deeply and tasted the scorched grass in his throat. He could still see the lawn beneath the gloaming and it was trampled and half-eaten and drawn with scars and many of the pretty flowers had been chewed and uprooted. Most of the sheep were sitting down now, on a lawn in front of them and before the house and the sheep on the roof was still marching restlessly up and down and bleating occasionally.
The small field was full again and another football game had started up with talk of revenge from the previous night. Sebastian and David joined in and Joe and Gretchen watched and clapped and cheered them on. They were the youngest ones there.

*

Inside the house, a young girl is talking to her mother about their recent move to the village and how she had found it difficult to make friends and how she is afraid of next year at the local school and how she had seen a boy and a girl about her age in the crowd earlier and now in the field next to the house. And her mother holds her close now and tells her not to be afraid and tells her to go out to the boy and the girl and talk to them about the day and the strangeness of it all and she says why not take them some hot chocolate to break the ice and as a way into the conversation and she holds her close again and says how proud she is of the girl and of how she has endured this great change and she says everything will be okay and tells the girl to be strong.
Then they are in the kitchen and the mother is making some hot chocolate and the girl is looking out over the lawn, past the sheep, to the field and she is listening to the shouts and cries and laughter through an open window and she sees the boy again and she smiles expectantly. Her mother hands her three mugs of hot chocolate on a tray and she kisses her gently on the forehead and tells her she loves her and opens the door for her and watches as her daughter then goes on her way through the darkness and towards the odd light that hanging above the small field in an orange cocoon.

*

After their fire had been going for sometime, they saw a small, thin, figure coming over the lawns towards them (they were right up against the fence with their tents), carefully balancing a tray which bore the silhouettes of three mugs. She came closer and they saw that it was the owner’s daughter and Gretchen noticed how pretty she was and she admired the skirt she was wearing.
"Hullo," she said. "I’ve brought you some hot chocolate, I thought you might like some."
"Wow," Joe said. "Thanks!" And he excitedly snatched one of the mugs from her tray.
"No thanks," Gretchen said coldly and her eyes looked strange and vacant and she flicked a small twig into the fire. "I only drink coffee at night ‘cause hot chocolate’s a drink for little boys and girls."
"My mummy says that coffee is bad for you, especially at night."
"Oh? I’m sorry."
Gretchen turned to her briefly then she looked back at the fire and she threw a small flinty pebble into it. Joe was standing by the fence and he had both of his hands clasped around the mug and was swilling it around. A little bit spilled down the side and he looked happy but said nothing and there was a long pause.
"I have to go now," the owner’s daughter said. She turned and took her foot off the bottom rail of the wooden fence where she had carefully placed it. "There’s an important programme on television that I have to watch. Enjoy your hot chocolate and please leave your cup on this side of the fence, by the bush."
Joe watched her go and he felt a great surge of regret which amplified when he heard a voice call to her and he watched her go along the fence where she met the familiar figure of David. He whispered something to her and they shook hands and she handed him the tray with the other two cups of chocolate and he put out his hand and helped her over the fence. Then he led her away towards the football game, which was continuing despite the best efforts of the darkness.
Joe took a sip of the chocolate drink and he grimaced slightly.
"Not too good," he said and his empty words died on the rustic song of the fire.
Gretchen’s face suddenly grew an unbecoming smugness, which she made sure Joe saw before she effortlessly replaced it and laid it down somewhere within the distance she insisted on keeping between herself and all male company. Nobody was watching her.

*

Joe was the first one to see it and it was the second thing he saw that morning. Gretchen was laying beside a log to the left of him and she was snoring prettily and a piece of bark hung languidly in the tail of a long, misshapen, curl which had fallen across her right eye. It was not long after first light and the morning still had that innocent coolness about it which would soon give way at the first touch of the sun. The sky was scratched with a mouldy turquoise and some clouds ghosted across the horizon. Songbirds could be heard all around and their songs were irritating and disturbing.
Joe shuffled quietly towards Gretchen, making a noise in the dusty grass like sandpaper. When he was close enough, he stopped dead, closed his left eye and concentrated on that piece of bark which was webbed amidst Gretchen’s curls. One side of her face reflected the dust but, on the other, dawn lay and she looked frighteningly imperfect and stunning and he began to blow towards the homeless piece of bark. It did not budge until his fourth attempt, when he blew harder and the tiny emblem twitched like a wasp caught on the very edge of a spider’s web.
It was then that he saw it, past her. The roof was empty and the lawn was full of murmuring sheep.
"Gretchen," he said. "Wake up!"
She didn’t move so he threw a small stone at her.
"Ow!"
"Wake up!"
"Why! What is it!" She snapped back. "I’m dreaming about the stars." Then she opened her eyes for the first time and blinked sleepily at him and he remembered it from two mornings ago and a smile broke through the tiredness.
"Look!" He said and he pointed up past her to the roof and, blinking timidly still, she turned and looked up.
"Oh," she said and her voice was suddenly awake and interested and she sat up.
"What’s happened?"
"How on earth am I supposed to know, you cretin. I was sleeping."
"I was sleeping too," Joe protested weakly.
They sat up together and looked at one another and Gretchen’s eyes were moody and sullen and saccharine and Joe watched as the tiny piece of bark dislodged itself from her curl and meandered to the ground, where it settled softly.
The sheep were huddled together in a huge, spaceless, assembly and, to Joe, their eyes looked determined. Joe recognised one of the sheep in the middle of them all. He had a jet-black face and a black patch towards his rear end and one of his feet was white. He was the sheep from the roof.

*

Less than half an hour later, the sheep had turned and were all heading down the road, away from the village, in one vast, bleating, scrum. They were being followed by Joe, Gretchen, David and Sebastian, who were dissecting the oddity of all that had happened these past days, but none of them could find an answer they were satisfied with.
"Where do you think these sheep are going?" Gretchen said.
"Home," David said.
"Where’s home."
"The old guy’s farm, I guess."
"And why are we following them? Everyone else has given up."
"Fuck knows."
"Does anything normal happen in this place?"
"Rarely."
They drifted on a little further and Joe was behind the other three now, watching Gretchen’s billowing mass of hair hissing and flocking in the stagnant, hot, air.
"So, Gretchen," David said. "Do you think this abnormal town of ours is going to change you at all?"
"I certainly fucking hope not," she said.

*
FIN