"Hi."

Ten minutes later, I was still wondering what the problem was. It had just been a simple word. Not even a word. Why couldn’t I be free to say ‘hi’ to whoever I wanted? She was a nice girl; it wasn’t as if she was the Fengals’ daughter or anything. Mum says Dad needs to have ‘a word’ with me when he gets in. I’m not worried, more curious.

She said her name was Ruth. Somehow she already knew mine.

"Shaun! How’s my boy?" Shaun Bird’s father, Joe, stepped out of his small car.

"Same. Mum wants to see you," replied the lad.

"Oh. Fine. That doorstep must be comfortable."

"Nope. Warm, though."

"Just as good." Joe wandered into the house.

5... 4... 3... 2... 1...

"WHAT?! That fool! I must’ve told him a hundred times! Ooh that boy! Right."

Shaun waited for his father to emerge from the council house in which he lived.

Joe stopped on the step, and paused for a moment, studying the artificial horizon created by the houses on the other side of the road. "Shaun, I need a word."

"Whatever, Dad."

Joe sat down beside his son. "I hear you spoke to a girl who happened to be passing through the area."

"Yes. I know you’ve told me not to talk to strangers, but she’s only my age."

"Do you know who she was?"

"She said her name was Ruth."

Joe laughed loudly, but without humour. "Ruth. Ruth Cameron-Powell. Only daughter of Edwin Cameron-Powell, richest man in this corner of England." He chuckled. "Who spoke first?"

"I did. I didn’t recognise her, and I was trying to be friendly. She seemed quite nice."

"She’s been taught to be nice. She goes to Calder’s Private School for Girls. Let me tell you, she didn’t speak to you because she’s naturally an outgoing person. She has been brought up believing that anyone who lives in a council estate is a drug-dealing knife-wielding yob. And she ‘knows’ the best way to avoid confrontation is to be polite."

"But we’re not all bad. It’s just the Fengals."

"There’s a little more to it than that."

"It doesn’t matter, Dad. I think if we got to know each other, we’d be friends."

I heard that sung somewhere - and I know it’s true. I suppose the heat’s keeping me awake as well. I hate summer. Too hot all the time. And so much of this clear sky.

And then there’s Ruth. I can’t get it out of my head, what Dad said to me this evening. And it’s stuck in my memory.

The stars pass over my head, I’m watching them go. Another four hours and it’ll be morning.

Days drag. Collectively. I think that’s a word. Connor tells me that was something they learnt when I was fishing. I caught quite a few ‘collective’ fish that time. And I put them ‘collectively’ in my basket. Collectively. The more I think of that word, the stupider it sounds.

Today has to have been the longest day ever. I suppose it must be somewhere near the 21st of June. Or is it July already? Of course it is. School’s out.

Baking heat. It’s baking me, anyway. The one downside to eating lunch at twelve: no one comes out for ages after I’ve finished. Sat on my step as usual.

"Shaun, I’m going to town. You coming?" Joe strode to his old coupe, and held the passenger door open.

"Guess so."

What a nice town. Mum says I shouldn’t be capable of such dead-pan sarcasm. I suppose the other end’s nice, but it’s too expensive down there. And the lads in their brand new jeans stared at me when I went. They bought them, I think. Can’t imagine they’ve the talent to nick them. Idiots, all of them.

Car after car after broken old car line the road. Somebody owns some of them, but half of them are just dumped. Hard to believe the differences between the two halves of town.

"You want to stay in the car while I just talk to Canada about a new back axle for this baby? Good lad." Joe shut his door and left.

"Suits me, I guess," replied Shaun, to nobody in particular.

I like sitting in the driver’s seat. I’m almost sure I’m being childish, but it feels nice. Is that Shaun F?

"Shaun!" Shaun stuck his head out of the window.

Shaun F looked over and grinned. Crossing the road, he came to talk to his friend, Shaun Bird. "Hey! How’s things? Not seen you for a while."

"Been busy, Fingers."

"Flinders. Like the poem."

"What poem?"

"The one about Polly."

"Polly who?"

"Flinders."

"What?"

"Never mind. What you doing here?"

"Dad’s talking to Canada."

"Long distance?"

"What?"

"Never mind. What’s he need?"

"Axle."

"Front or back?" asked Shaun Flinders.

"Back. Why - you got one?"

"Yeah, we got one. But it’s attached to our car, so I don’t think you can have it."

I wonder if he remembers it’s my birthday tomorrow. Last year it was only Mum, Dad and little Kate down the road said ‘Happy Birthday’. You know, every now and then I get this curiosity about what it must be like for those kids on the other side. Having all those things forced on them, that they don’t even want anyway, given under the name of birthday presents.

I think it’s tomorrow, anyway. I’ve been counting the days since end of term, but I think I may have missed one or two, or skipped ahead somewhere. Might’ve been today. Still - what difference does it make, knowing what day I was born on?

"Right-o. You ready to go into town proper?" Joe leaned in through the car window.

"The posh bit?"

"Yeah. Got to get some wonga out of the bank."

"Okay Dad."

"You want to move over?"

It feel strange coming here. I never thought I would again, since last time I was here. But now I’m walking with Dad, it doesn’t feel so alien. Alien. I never knew that meant anything other than them zappers from outer space. Connor has his uses, even if he is the class swot.

The streets are clean, the hanging baskets that line the road are watered. Hey - we don’t even have baskets.

I don’t know how Dad stands it, coming here every day. Everything’s so... straight.

"Just wait out here for a second, will you?" Joe entered the bank.

"Whatever, Dad."

It’s kind of funny, the way Dad just asks me something, and knows I’ll do it. I keep seeing kids around posh ends, and they forever argue with their Mum and Dad. I suppose it means I have a better relationship with my Dad than posh people do.

Uh-oh. If that’s Ruth...

I’ll not talk to her. I’ll make out I didn’t see her.

"Hi Ruth!" Shaun called out a friendly greeting.

Ruth, and the two other girls who were with her looked round.

"Hi," said Shaun, again.

Ruth’s two friends laughed, and Ruth herself turned away with a snooty look on her face.

I think that was in some foreign book called the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám. Well Omar Thing obviously wasn’t thinking of me when he wrote that - you have to be asleep to become awake. Still, it’s morning at last.

Why didn’t she say hello? She seemed friendly enough when I saw her the other day. Maybe she wasn’t feeling well. What Dad said can’t be true - people aren’t like that.

Are they?

"Morning, Mum." Shaun addressed his mother, Kelly.

"Mm. Breakfast in the pan if you want."

"What’s there?"

"Bacon. Couple of ‘shrooms left, I think. And there’s eggs by the side if you can be bothered. Bread’s there."

Shaun went and collected together his daybreak meal, then made his way to the step at the front of his house.

59, Stoke Crescent. Sounds nice that name. Not like where the Cameron-Powells live. Arval Dean House, Fairgrove Park. Pretendous. Pretentious. I don’t know.

So hot, even though it’s early. Still, won’t get burnt till noon.

I think Mum’s forgotten my birthday. She does that. Dad always remembers, somehow. He’ll probably say something when he leaves. I wonder what time it is.

"Hi Shaun. Up early. Hm?" Joe came through the front door, and passed his son.

"Mm. Just woke up early." Shaun filled his mouth with the remainder of his breakfast

"See you after work, then, eh."

I was sure it was going to be today. Unless he’s forgotten. No, he wouldn’t do that. Would he? He did forget a couple of years ago, when I was... how old was I?

"Hi Shaun. How’s life?"

At first, Shaun Bird didn’t even recognise Ruth Elora Cameron-Powell. "Ruth?"

"Yeah. Sorry - am I standing with the sun behind me? You can’t see me." Ruth moved round, then, as an afterthought, sat on the step next to Shaun. "So. You okay?"

"Guess so. You?"

"Fair to middling, as my Dad would say."

"What?"

"Affluent snobs’ joke."

"What’s effluent?"

"Affluent. Rich."

"Mm."

"You understand the term ‘snob’, though."

"Yeah."

"Hey, you doing anything special today?"

"Well it was going to be my birthday, but I keep forgetting, and no one’s reminding me. Other than that, I suppose not."

"Come on then." Ruth rose. "Let me show you a beautiful place."

Walking along with a snob’s daughter, my hand in hers. Not how I’d pictured my day. I can’t believe how today is going. But is it good, or is it bad? I feel like I’m walking around in a daze. Can’t even remember if Dad said anything to me when he left.

"How far did you get?" Ruth suddenly snapped Shaun out of his ramblings.

"What?"

"You seemed rather far away. I wondered how far you’d gone into wherever you were."

"Oh. Just thinking."

"Well think no more, because we’re here."

"Where?"

"Look around." Ruth let go of Shaun’s hand, to make a sweeping gesture with it, indicating the attractive setting in which they were stood.

The pair were stood on a low hill situated in the middle of a cornfield. The panorama around them, however, lent itself to the impression that they were stood high up on a mountain, overlooking the whole world. The town was behind them, and in front was only hills, grass and fields for miles. The corn brushed lazily back and forth, as the soft, gentle summer zephyrs winged their flights across the tips. Shimmering waves of heat glistened in the sky, and somewhere nearby a bird whistled half-heartedly.

"So what do you think?" Ruth asked.

"It’s... " Shaun couldn’t find words to finish.

"Isn’t it. I love this place. Still, it’s not the same, just on your own, if you know what I mean. I think the whole place must be here purely to be shared with others."

There was silence for a few minutes.

"Come on, let’s go through it." Ruth took Shaun’s hand again.

"Through what?"

Ruth grinned. "The field."

Where is this? It can’t even be Earth, it’s so beautiful.

"Do you know the way back?" Shaun asked.

"Who wants to go back?"

"You might. It’s going to be cold tonight. And besides, your parents will worry about you if you’re late back, won’t they?"

"Yes, they will. But that’s a long time away. Come and sit down."

"Where?"

Ruth led Shaun along what appeared to be a small path, which took them to a fair-sized crop-circle. "Feel free to take a seat," she invited.

Shaun sat down near the edge. "This is amazing," he told Ruth, as she sat next to him. "How did you know it was here?"

"I came last evening, after I saw you in town."

"Oh, you remember that?"

Ruth squinted slightly, and looked in the general direction of the sun. "Thing’s aren’t as simple as maybe they appear, or as maybe some of us would prefer them."

"Yes, ‘Dad’."

"Yeah, okay, I’m well aware I’m a snob like my own dad, and I must sound as lofty as yours. Let me tell you a story. I hope you understand the reasoning in this. Last summer, I was at dancing class, for a display. I wasn’t in it, because I was training for another one, but anyway - it finished at about five o’clock. I wanted to be in town later, and because of this, my parents had decided to go out, assuming the display would finish late enough for me to easily go from one to the other. Unfortunately, what I was going to next didn’t start till eight. I was just randomly chatting with one of my friends, and happened to mention where this party I was going to was at. Karen, the mother of a girl I kind of know overheard, and offered me a lift.

I’d been thinking that I could walk round to the house, which would take me an hour or so, and just turn up an hour and a half to two hours early. But now, if I accepted the lift, I’d be there far too early." Ruth paused.

"So you said no."

"No, I didn’t."

"She’d have understood."

"She would. However, it wasn’t going to put her out in any way at all."

"So you accepted the lift because you didn’t have anything else to do."

"Not at all. It would have been easier for me to walk, really. More convenient, at least."

"So why did you accept?"

"Because it was nice of her to offer. Listen, the point is this: I don’t always do things because I see gain in it. Sometimes I do things because it seems ‘right’. I’m sorry if I hurt you by it." Ruth laid her arm across Shaun’s shoulder.

"Image, then."

"No, not that. Think about it. I’d have been grounded if I’d waved to you from outside the bank my father owns. That mirrored wall you were stood near is his office. And If I’d been grounded, I couldn’t have come to see you today. Happy Birthday, by the way."

"Thanks. I’m pretty sure it’s today. Maybe yesterday or tomorrow, though."

Ruth laughed gently.

"It’s getting dark," sighed Ruth resignedly, several hours, and a great deal of talking, later.

"You’re right. Will I see you tomorrow?" asked Shaun, tentatively.

"No." Ruth stood up, and Shaun did the same. "Well, I guess we’d better both be getting back." Looking Shaun straight in the eye, she continued. "You understood the analogy, didn’t you. The story I told you about the lift."

"I think so."

"Well think about it until you know so." She leaned towards him, and kissed him for a moment.

Shaun turned away, and took a couple of steps out of the circle. He looked back over his shoulder. "Are you coming back?"

"Yes," she replied. "But not with you. I have some thinking to do."

Shaun nodded. "See you around, then."

"Goodbye," returned Ruth meaningfully.

And Shaun at last understood the analogy.

"Happy birthday, son." Joe Bird spoke to Shaun on the way out of the house early the next morning. "You’re up early," he said, slightly questioningly.

"Mm."

"Well?"

"Oh, I went for a walk."

"Anywhere nice?"

"Well... I was looking for a place I’d heard of. It’s really quite nice. They say. I went to see if I could find it."

"And did you?"

Shaun chuckled. "I found somewhere that looked vaguely similar, but I don’t think it was the actual place. There’s supposed to be a kind of hill, in the middle of a cornfield. I’m not sure what I found was it. In fact, I’m fairly sure it wasn’t."

"Oh. Nice walk, though?"

Shaun smiled. "You going in to work?" he asked.

"No. Got today and tomorrow off. You want to come to town and we’ll get you a new sweater from the posh end?"

Just a song. So here I am. Yesterday... seems so long ago. And now it’s today, and isn’t going to be yesterday ever again.

It only took five minutes to get to town today. Traffic seems to be light. New sweater. Was almost sure it was my birthday yesterday, but I don’t mind.

Oh no... I might see Ruth in town. Not that I’d mind seeing her, but what would I do? I can’t just act like nothing’s happened.

"Okay, we’ll start at the other end of the street, and work our way down. Okay?"

"Sure, Dad. This is great."

THERE SHE IS. But she’s on her own.

"Canada! Don’t often see you over these parts." Joe struck up conversation with the car-parts salesman, who happened to be passing.

As the talk continued, Shaun became deeper and deeper entrenched in that faraway place where time stands still, just long enough for you to weigh up a situation.

Should I wave? What if she sees me? What if she she doesn’t? What if she doesn’t. She’s crossing the road... she’s going to walk right past me. She hasn’t looked at me. It’s like she doesn’t remember. She must remember! I need to know myself that I didn’t just dream it. Please... say something.

Ruth Elora Cameron-Powell drifted as if in slow motion along the pavement towards where Shaun Bird was standing. As she drew level, she looked right into Shaun’s eyes.

So do you? Please... a sign. Tell me you remember. Don’t just walk past. Should I say something? That’s the only way I’ll really know. I will. I’ve got to.

Ruth broke the gaze, only a fraction of a second after first contact. She continued down the street... and Shaun let her go.

Song

Adapted from:

John Keats (1795-1821)