Sarah

We walked over to visit Paul's Mum and Dad in the end, it only takes about twenty minutes if you walk briskly. Johnnie and Danny always complain about having to walk rather than drive but both were uncharacteristically silent on that topic.Humouring the mad woman I thought, rather uncharitably. Looking back it was more likely down to the fact that I'd asked Paul to come and pick us up later so we only had to walk one way. This had the added bonus of requiring Paul to spend some time with his parents whilst still leaving him a get-out clause.

I love to walk in the winter - Paul thinks I'm mad. Mind you, his idea of bliss is two weeks on the beach in the Costa del Sol so I try not to take his opinions on the weather seriously. Although there is nothing to compare with the flame-coloured beauty of falling leaves in the autumn, it is the transition into winter that intrigues me. That time in between, after the leaves have fallen leaving bare bereft branches, reduced to sticks, that catches me every time.

The trees stand, silently, seemingly inert until spring when green life blossoms from wood you might have assumed was dead. I remember being fascinated by this phenomenon as a child. I never could grasp the concept of life sprouting from the apparently barren, a problem that was compounded in school by the time they tried to teach me about photosynthesis.

I used to wish that I too could choose to shut down for a season, sit in numb silence until a more palatable time of my own choosing came around. I never did manage to develop the knack of hibernating but my daydreaming skills came on no end.

That afternoon Danny, Johnnie and I took the path that runs along the canal. It takes a little longer than going down the country lanes but the scenery makes up for the added distance and I had judged that Danny was less likely to fall into the canal than he was to get run over by one of the boy racers who use our country lanes as impromptu rally courses.

The boys ran ahead, Danny pausing to jump in every puddle he could find and trying to drag Johnnie - more fastidious by far - in with him. I watched Johnnie trying to avoid the plunge but Danny's persistence won through and soon the pair of them werestreaked with mud and laughter. I promised myself I wouldn't get maudlin but that scene encapsulates it all for me, my biggest emotional investment but enough of that, back to events.

The boys stopped by one of the old brick bridges to wait for me to catch them up. I could just hear their conversation over the chill air, Johnnie trying to explain the intricacies of the canal bridge-numbering system to a thoroughly disinterested Danny who was far more concerned with throwing anything he could lay his hands on into the canal. To feed the ducks form what I could decipher although I can't imagine the ducks appreciated an afternoon tea consisting of chunks of rotting wood.

I quickened my pace to catch them up, scanning the ground as I went for tree roots hidden in the mud. We'd had a lot of rain down in recent weeks and the grass had flattened into the earth, forming a slick mat that caused me a few problems heading uphill. I reached the bridge in time to help Johnnie remove a fairly substantial piece of tree from Danny's arms, panting,

'Hey you, what are you doing with that? The lock-keeper won't be happy with you if you brain the ducks you know.'

'Not braining, feeding them.'

We've been trying to encourage Danny into imaginative play, always difficult for him but I do sometimes wish we hadn't.

'I brought some bread with me. How about you and Johnnie feed that to the ducks instead?'

'Yeh, come on Johnnie. Let's feed the ducks. With bread.'

'I heard what Mum said squirt. Why don't we stand on the bridge and throw the bread in? But first you've got to put your hat back on. It's cold today and you've not got enough hair to keep your head warm!'

'Oh!'

Danny can at least do melodramatic exceptionally well.

'Come on then. Steve is waiting for us on the bridge. We'll feed him too.'

'OK, do dogs like bread?'

I should explain that Steve is Danny's imaginary pet dog. He appeared several months after we started to encourage imaginary play and in the aftermath of yet another rejected request for a real puppy. As imaginary pets go he's no trouble, in fact he only ever makes an appearance whilst we're out walking and demands very little apart from the occasional stroke or throw of a stick.

Whilst the boys fed the ducks I leaned back against the chipped bricks and absent-mindedly picked at the flaking mortar. It's a bad habit of mine, unconscious, as if my fingers have a mind of their own. I felt empty after the trauma of the previous day. Mind you, it's often the way, you survive on adrenaline, it carries you through for a while but there's always the flip side, the feeling of melancholy that follows. I had found it difficult to shake and was beginning to wish I had left Johnnie and Danny to go visiting alone.

I get on well enough with Paul's parents although I'm well aware that I was never their first choice for him. They're gracious enough but the entente is fragile. One wrong step from me and things would, I imagine, change quickly. They also fuss. Uncontrollably, excessively and in a most frustrating manner. I had half-seriously given consideration to the possibility of hiding my burn from them but decided on reflection that the chances of success were slim and failure would result in evenmore questions. I was not looking forward to a relaxing afternoon.

When the boys had finished throwing bread to the ducks, we carried on up the canal path until the next exit took us back onto country roads. Paul's Mum and Dad live in a complex of bungalows miles from anywhere. Hardly practical now as they're both getting older. Paul worries about what would happen if one of them became seriously ill. Wasted energy if you ask me, they're perfectly capable of deciding for themselves and selling a house really isn't that difficult if it came to that. I'll bet those bungalows would make a decent profit now.

There are about ten of the bungalows grouped within walking distance of each other along a twisting access drive. It's an impressive sight with proper English hedgerows and oak trees flanking the drive. There aren't many places around here that can boast that kind of backdrop. God knows what they think of our house, it's the antithesis of their taste and preferences. Not that we've got the money to be able to indulge our own preferences.

Danny was flagging by this point,

'I'm tired. My legs don't work anymore. Piggyback?'

'No one is picking you up lazy! You're far too big to be carried now and you know it. We're nearly there anyway. Look, you can see Grandma andGranddad's house up there through the trees.'