This week's picture challenge is of a lake with a rock and small hut. The story takes place by Matthew's bed as he recovers from the operation to save his leg.
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Dr Blake dozed in the chair next to Superintendant Lawson's bed, dreaming of a time long ago, when they were just boys:
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The early morning mist hung like a soft blanket over the reds, greens and golds of the trees, and the mirror like surface of the lake. There was no sound, no bird song, no shuffling of the wind through the leaves, all was still, until...
CRASH!
RATTLE!
"Last one in's a wombat!"
"Blake! Wait!"
SPLASH!
Aargh!
SPLASH!
Wow!
Two boys, one with wild, blond curls, the other with thick, almost black, waves, laughed and splashed, swam and dived in the cold water.
This had to be the best thing about coming home from boarding school, meeting up with his mate, Matthew, and being here, where they were free to just be boys with no responsibilities and no worries.
There was a rock, someway from the shore, that stood above the water line, atop of which stood a small wooden hut. Their aim, each time, was to swim up to and around the tiny island without being seen by the occupant of the hut. Nobody seemed to know who he was. He had built the hut himself, a simple, neat shelter; half of which was an open verandah; and the whole thing balanced on a smaller, but solid, base. The only way to get to the shore of the lake, if you wanted to stay dry, was by the small canoe, secured to the side of the base. The short flight of steps, which must have taken some carving out, was the only way down to the water.
The blond boy, Lucien, was first to the rock, laughing as he waited for his friend to catch up.
"Bit slow this morning, Matthew," he grinned, before diving down then coming up on the other side coughing and spluttering.
"I'm not planning on drowning myself," Matthew scoffed, "and I don't think mum will be too happy if I go home without you, or your dad."
The boys, deciding they were not going to get a reaction from the man they had dubbed Hermit Harry, swam back to the shore and rubbed themselves down with rough towels, then skimmed stones before investigating the picnic Mrs Lawson had kindly packed for them. Knowing they had healthy appetites she had packed sausage rolls, biscuits and sandwiches, all homemade. Lucien knew Matthew's family were not well off, but somehow his mother could always send them off with a good supply of food and a flask of tea.
"This is the life," Lucien sighed, flinging himself onto the grass, "wish I didn't have to go back."
"You'd be on your own, then," his friend laughed, "I go to school as well, y'know."
"Yeah, guess so," Lucien huffed.
They lay like that for a while, musing on what life would be like when they were grown and had responsibilities.
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Lucien leapt up, having decided they had lain about for long enough, "come on, lazybones, race you to the rock!"
"You'll get cramp!"
"Nah!" Lucien crowed and ran into the water, squealing as the cold enveloped him.
Matthew stood and watched, shaking his head. "Idiot."
Lucien disappeared below the water line ... Matthew waited ... and waited.
He swore and ran into the lake, diving down to see where his friend was, sick with panic, he couldn't hold his breath that long.
There he was, struggling, a stray piece of rope round his ankle, his blue eyes wide with fear. Matthew pushed down and grabbed his leg, holding it still while he forced the rope to slide off his friend's ankle and over his foot. It seemed to take an eternity but he managed it and they burst up coughing and spluttering, gasping for air. Matthew, less breathless, but only slightly, pulled Lucien to the rock and dragged him up to lie on it and they lay there sucking in lungful after lungful of life giving air.
"Shoot!" Matthew gasped, "don't ever do that again, please."
"No," gulp, "worries," gulp, "mate," Lucien gasped, his chest still heaving. "You saved my life, Matthew," he held out his hand, "one day, I'll repay you."
"Oy!" a shout from the hut startled them, "you stupid idiots!"
The boys scrambled to their feet and stared at the owner of the voice. He was tall and thin, with a shaggy, greying beard and untamed hair, in need of a cut. His clothes, a shirt and trousers of khaki canvas were old, badly mended in places and they hung off his bony frame.
"Sorry, sir," Lucien coughed, "I got stuck, some rope... I just need a rest, then we'll be gone."
"I've been watching you," the man snapped, "taking risks, stupid risks, jumping into water when you can't see the bottom. You wouldn't be the first to be dragged out, dead!" He put some force into the last word, aiming to scare them. "I don't want the police and whatnot snoopin' round here. Now, hop it, and don't let me catch you near here again. This is my rock..." he left the threat hanging in the air.
Matthew tugged his friend's arm, it wouldn't be just the police snooping round, it would be Lucien's father, he was the police surgeon.
"Think you can make it back, Blake?" he whispered, "if we go slowly."
"Yeah," Lucien was still staring at the place the apparition had been standing, "yeah," he turned, "come on, let's go."
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A moan woke Lucien from his dream. He looked towards the hospital bed where Matthew lay, the frame holding the blankets off his smashed knee. Pushing himself stiffly out of the chair he went and stood over his friend, "How're you feeling?" he asked softly.
"Dreadful," Lawson lifted the covers and looked under the frame, "still there, then?"
"Done my best, old friend," Dr Blake patted his shoulder, "up to you now, but..."
"Yeah, gonna be crook for a while," Matthew sighed and flopped back onto the pillow. "Thanks, for what you did."
"Well, I did say," Lucien smiled, " I owed you my life, perhaps bit by bit..?"
"Blimey, that was a long time ago."
"It was, wasn't it."