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ng in what was then the bicycle…shed （now my shed） when our cousin； who had e to spend the weekend with us along with his parents； decided it would be fun to ride Eric's bike into the soft mud at the south end of the island。 This he duly did while Eric and I were out flying kites。 Then he came back and filled the Flame…thrower with petrol。 He sat in the back garden with it； obscured from the windows of the lounge （where his parents and our father sat） by the washing blowing in the breeze； he lit the 'thrower and sprayed our two hutches with flame； incinerating all our beauties。
Eric in particular was very upset。 He cried like a girl。 I wanted to kill Blyth there and then； the hiding he got from his father； my dad's brother James； was not enough as far as I was concerned； not for what he'd done to Eric； my brother。 Eric was inconsolable； desperate with grief because he had made the thing Blyth had used to destroy our beloved pets。 He always was a bit sentimental； always the sensitive one； the bright one； until his nasty experience everybody was sure he would go far。 Anyway； that was the start of the Skull Grounds； the area of the big； old； partially earthed…over dune behind the house where all our pets went when they died。 The burned rabbits started that。 Old Saul was there before them； but that was just a one…off thing。
I hadn't said anything to anybody； even Eric； about what I wanted to do to Blyth。 I was wise in my childishness even then； at the tender age of five； when most children are forever telling their parents and friends that they hate them and they wish they were dead。 I kept quiet。
When Blyth came back the next year he was even more unpleasant than before； having lost his left leg from above the knee in a road accident （the boy he was playing 'chicken' with was killed）。 Blyth resented his handicap bitterly； he was ten by that time； and very active。 He tried to pretend that the nasty pink thing he had to strap on didn't exist； that it had nothing to do with him。 He could just about ride a bike and he liked wrestling and playing football； usually in goal。 I was just six then； and while Blyth knew that I had had some sort of little accident when I was much younger I certainly seemed to him to be a lot more able…bodied that he was。 He thought it was great fun to throw me about and wrestle with me and punch and kick me。 I made a convincing show of joining in all this horse…play and appeared to enjoy it hugely for a week or so while I thought about what I could do to our cousin。
My other brother； a full brother； Paul； was still alive at the time。 He； Eric and I were supposed to keep Blyth entertained。 We did our best； taking Blyth to our favourite places； letting him play with our toys； and playing games with him。 Eric and I had to restrain him at times when he wanted to do something like throw little Paul into the water to see if he'd float； or like when he wanted to fell a tree over the railway line that goes through Porteneil； but as a rule we got on surprisingly well； even though it rankled to see Eric； who was the same age as Blyth； obviously in fear of him。
So one day； very hot and insecty； with a faint breeze ing in off the sea； we were all lying in the grass on the flat area just to the south of the house。 Paul and Blyth had fallen asleep； and Eric was lying with his hands behind his neck； staring drowsily up at the bright blue。 Blyth had taken off the hollow plastic leg and left it lying tangled in its straps and the long grass blades。 I watched Eric fall slowly asleep； his head gently tipping to one side； eyes closing。 I got up and went for a walk and ended up at the Bunker。 It hadn't assumed the full importance it later would in my life； though I already liked the place and felt at home in its coolness and dark。 It was an old concrete pillbox built just before the last war to house a gun covering the firth； and it stuck in the sand like a big grey tooth。 I went inside and found the snake。 It was an adder。 I didn't see it for ages because I was too busy sticking an old rotten fence…post out through the slits in the pillbox； pretending it was a gun and firing at imaginary ships。 It was only after I'd stopped doing that and gone into the corner to have a piss that I looked over into the other corner where there was a pile of rusty cans and old bottles； there I saw the jagged stripes of the sleeping snake。
I decided what I was going to do almost immediately。 I went outside quietly and found a length of driftwood of the appropriate shape； came back to the Bunker； caught the snake by the neck with the piece of wood and bundled it into the first rusty can I could find which still had a lid。
I don't think the snake had fully wakened up when I caught it； and I was careful not to jar it as I ran back to where my brothers and Blyth were lying on the grass。 Eric had rolled over and had one hand under his head； the other over his eyes。 His mouth was open slightly and his chest moved slowly。 Paul lay in the sunlight curled up into a little ball； quite still； and Blyth was lying on his stomach； hands under his cheek； the stump of his left leg drawn up in the flowers and the grass； sticking out from his shorts like some monstrous erection。 I went closer； still clutching the rusty can in my shadow。 The gable end of the house looked down on us from about fifty metres away； windowless。 White sheets flapped feebly in the back garden。 My heart beat wildly and I licked my lips。
I sat down by the side of Blyth； careful not to let my shadow cross his face。 I put one ear to the can and held it still。 I couldn't hear or feel the snake stir。 I reached for Blyth's artificial leg； lying smooth and pink by the small of his back and in his shadow。 I held the leg to the can and took the lid away； sliding the leg over the hole as I did so。 Then I slowly turned the can and the leg the other way up； so that the can was over the leg。 I shook the can； and felt the snake fall into the leg。 It didn't like it at first； and moved and beat against the sides of the plastic and the neck of the can while I held it and sweated； listening to the hum of the insects and the rustling of the grass； staring at Blyth as he lay there still and silent； his dark hair ruffled now and again by the breeze。 My hands shook and the perspiration ran into my eyes。
The snake stopped moving。 I held it longer； glancing at the house again。 Then I tipped the leg and the can over until the leg was lying at the same angle on the grass as it had been； behind Blyth。 I took the can carefully away at the last moment。 Nothing happened。 The snake was still inside the leg； and I couldn't even see it。 I got up； walked backwards towards the nearest dune； threw the can way high over the top of it； then came back； lay down where I'd been sitting earlier； and closed my eyes。
Eric woke first； then I opened my eyes as though sleepily； and we woke little Paul； and our cousin。 Blyth saved me the trouble of suggesting a game of football by doing it himself。 Eric； Paul and I got the goalposts together while Blyth hurriedly strapped his leg on。
Nobody suspected。 From the first moments； when my brothers and I stood there incredulous as Blyth screamed and jumped and tugged at his leg； to the tearful farewell of Blyth's parents and Diggs taking statements （a bit even appeared in the Inverness Courier which was picked up for its curiosity value by a couple of the Fleet Street rags）； not one person even suggested that it might have been anything other than a tragic and slightly macabre accident。 Only I knew better。
I didn't tell Eric。 He was shocked by what had happened and genuinely sorry for Blyth and his parents。 All I said was that I thought it was a judgement from God that Blyth had first lost his leg and then had the replacement bee the instrument of his downfall。 All because of the rabbits。 Eric； who was going through a religious phase at the time which I suppose I was to some extent copying； thought this was a terrible thing to say； God wasn't like that。 I said the one I believed in was。
At any rate； such was the reason that particular patch of ground got its name： the Snake Park。
I lay in bed； thinking back on all this。 Father still hadn't e back。 Perhaps he was going to stay out all night。 That was extremely unusual； and rather worrying。 Perhaps he had been knocked down； or had died of a heart attack。
I've always had a rather ambivalent attitude towards something happening to my father； and it persists。 A death is always exciting； always makes you realise how alive you are； how vulnerable but so…far…lucky； but the death of somebody close gives you a good excuse to go a bit crazy for a while and do things that would otherwise be inexcusable。 What delight to behave really badly and still get loads of sympathy！
But I'd miss him； and I don't know what the legal position would be about me staying on here by myself。 Would I get all his money？ That would be good； I could get my motorbike now instead of having to wait。 Jesus； there'd be so many things I could do I don't even know where to start thinking about them。 But it would be a big cha