Alice and the Fly (25 page)

What really gets me, though, is the silence. All I can hear is my pen, scratching the paper. The steady rasp of my breathing. In and out. In and out. It’s far quieter than I ever remember. I’ve been trying to put my finger on why all morning and it wasn’t until just before, when I went up to check on you, that I finally realised. It’s the grandfather clock in the hall. It’s stopped, forever reading five to twelve. Forever losing its steady tick.

I’m sitting in Herb’s armchair. It’s the first time I’ve ever sat here. We’d never use the armchair, Nan and I – we’d share the couch, hunched together with our necks straining so we could see the TV. That’s how we sat every night, watching those old movies. It seemed wrong, once Herb was gone, for one of us to switch to the armchair, just for the sake of comfort. The house is freezing again. The heating must have given out. I hope you’re OK up there. I wrapped you as snug as I could, using Nan’s old sheets, as well as my Snoopy duvet. ‘Happiness is being part of the gang’. I put you in Nan’s room. I thought it’d be safer, what with all the parcel tape.

Nan and I spent vast amounts of time and resources securing this house, barricading
Them
out. We went to such extremes that Mum feared we’d seal the place completely, that it’d become some sort of airtight tomb and the two of us would suffocate in the night. Mum banned us from parcel-taping downstairs so Nan and I concentrated our efforts on her bedroom, taping the walls and windows and Herb’s old wardrobe, transforming it into a pretty-much-impenetrable parcel-taped nest. For the last few months she was taping pretty much constantly, buying the entire stock down at the post office each time she went to pick up her pension, stockpiling. All she ever talked about was the Great Influx. That and the Devil. I think Nan knew what my parents were planning. Somewhere deep in the jumbled logic of her brain she knew I was moving back to Skipdale. She knew about Golden Pines. She was sealing off her bedroom from her own versions of
Them
.

The snow’s started up again. I went out before, to the shed, to get more boards. The shed, the plant tubs, the back wall, they’re all iced in whiteness. I doubt we could leave today even if you were up to it. The buses are probably all cancelled. I doubt we could even get through the front door, with the snow.

My tongue-hole feels wider than usual. I must have chewed it pretty badly up in the bathroom. My hand keeps bleeding too. I’ve still got your tights wrapped around it. I should find a new bandage. I keep meaning to. I keep finding bloodied prints everywhere and wondering whose they are and realising they’re mine. I just can’t seem to focus on anything.

I’ve boarded the back windows. I figured if we’re going to stay a while I’d better secure the place. We need to at least try and keep
Them
out. It’s hard, hammering the boards with my hand messed up. I have to hold each board in place with my shoulder or my elbow and the boards keep slipping and to be honest I could really do with your nail gun. I boarded the gap in the lounge window too. Sorry, Mr Robin. Whatever it was you wanted, I hope you find it somewhere else.

I checked Nan’s wardrobe and there’re still rolls and rolls of parcel tape up there. The stockpile. I’ve counted it out: twenty-seven rolls. It should hopefully be enough. It’ll have to be enough.

I’ve just been up to check on you. You look better now, in Nan’s room, all wrapped up. I hated seeing you like that, in the bathtub. You were so silent, so still. The water had settled over you and your hair had settled in the water and you looked frozen. You looked as if you were frozen in glass. There was no sign of
Them
,
of course, by then. No chipped plaster or tiles missing from the walls. They crawl back to their holes once the fitting’s over and then everything’s back to normal. I can still feel that chill as I reached into the water. The cold sting. The splashing and trickling as I lifted you. You were stiff and your stiffness made you hard to carry but I carried you anyway, across the hallway to Nan’s room, the only safe room left in the house. I lay you on Nan’s bed. I wrapped you up. I wanted to keep you warm but also to cover you, to cover those scratches, the marks I must have made when I was fitting. I kissed you once on the forehead and sat there for a while, beside you, on the bed. I felt as if I wanted to say something but I didn’t know what, so that’s when I came downstairs.

I just retrieved my
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
video-case. I emptied it, laid out our money, the feather, the button-eye of Mr Snow. I laid out all the entries of my diary. There’s so much writing, all those words, even more than I thought. Poor Miss Hayes, she never even got to see it.

I took the journal upstairs, read you a few extracts. Only short ones. I just wanted to break the silence – I can’t stand it. I read the parts about you and the parts about Nan and the parts about Finners Island. Then I got distracted – I told you all about Finners Island, about the birds and the church and the beach. I told you about the opportunities for an artist there, the beauty of the landscape. I told you that maybe we could get another dog, call it Scraps II or something. Then I realised how insensitive that was and apologised and assured you we could never replace Scraps, we’d have to think of a new name, or get a different animal altogether. Maybe the animals that already live on Finners Island could be our pets instead – all the different birds, the exotic ones and the regular ones. The ducks. They could all belong to us.

Then I told you about the eagle. I’ve never told anyone about that. I promised Nan I wouldn’t.

After that I tried to sleep. The throb in my hand wouldn’t let me. Maybe you were right, maybe I left it too long and the tetanus set in. Maybe it’s working its way up my arm to my brain. Sorry to bring that up again. I don’t blame you. It just hurts, you know? Maybe I need a doctor or something.

I haven’t taken my medication today. I forgot my pills, can you believe that? I brought my clothes and my toothbrush and my money and deodorant, but somehow forgot my pills. I hate to think what Mum’d have to say about that.

It’s kind of gloomy here, in Nan’s nest. It got bad near the end, with Nan. It got to the point where I was the only person she’d let enter her parcel-taped bedroom. I’d bring her meals and medicine and more and more rolls of tape, picking up what I could on the way home from school. The two of us would watch our movies. She’d even let me sleep in here, sometimes. She always called me ‘Fly’. Even when she’d forgotten everyone else, when she was calling Mum ‘Ellie’ and my father ‘Herb’ and Sarah ‘Mr Saunders’, she’d still smile when she saw me, she’d still say, ‘Hi, Fly – fancy a movie?’

The sun’s just about risen over Crossgrove Park, the snow glittering in its glow. I peeled some of the parcel tape from the window so we could see. Not a single person’s passed in the last two hours, by car or foot, the snow remaining clean, untouched. It’s impossible to make out your house from this side of the park, or your garden, or even what’s left of the shed, but each time I press my face up to the window I can detect that singed scent in the air. A hint of barbecue-char from the fire we made.

Your hair’s dry now. It seems to have faded since last night. Perhaps I shouldn’t have washed it. You probably have some special kind of shampoo, to keep the colour in. It’s strange, I’m so used to watching you on the bus, your head rocking against the window and it’s amazing how peaceful you look, laid out on Nan’s bed. How calm. It makes me feel calm just looking at you.

I’m going to try and sleep again. That’s all I really want, to lie beside you and sleep. That’s all that’s really left to do.

Extract of interview between Detective Sergeant Terrence Mansell (TM) and Gregory Hall’s father, Dr Howard Hall (HH).

TM: Thanks for coming in.

HH: That’s OK.

TM: I realise this is a difficult time.

HH: I just want to get it over with.

TM: Understandable.

HH: Whatever this is. What is this, a follow-up?

TM: I just want to clarify a few things. That’s all we’re doing today.

HH: Right.

TM: About that night. January third.

HH: OK.

TM: About Greg.

HH: Right.

TM: How is Greg?

HH: They’re looking after him.

TM: He hasn’t said anything?

HH: Not yet.

TM: And Deborah?

HH: She’s … it’s hit her hard. I don’t think it helps, seeing him like this. She’s been through rough patches before, but she’s struggling to get through this time.

TM: Right.

HH: The whole thing’s just … it’s a mess. You know?

TM: It’s a terrible situation.

HH: It’s a mess.

TM: For all of you.

HH: Yes, but especially for her. I mean, I haven’t always been the best father. I haven’t always been there. But her …

TM: Shall we get this over with, then?

HH: I guess.

TM: Then you can get back to her. To them.

HH: What is it you want to know?

TM: Well, as I’ve said, I’d like to start with that night, January third.

HH: OK.

TM: Why don’t you talk me through what happened.

HH: I did make a statement at the time.

TM: I’ve read the statement. I know what’s in the statement. I’d just like to hear it first-hand, if that’s OK.

HH: I guess.

TM: I just want to go through, step by step. See if there’s any stone … you know … unturned.

HH: Right.

TM: So, January third. What happened?

HH: Well, we went to the house.

TM: We?

HH: Yeah, the two of us. Miss Hewitt and I.

TM: And Miss Hewitt is?

HH: My secretary.

TM: And the reason for your visit to the house?

HH: Is that important?

TM: I don’t know, is it?

HH: Not really, it was just I was showing her around. She was thinking of buying the place.

TM: Buying it?

HH: Yeah.

TM: OK …

HH: Why?

TM: It’s not exactly a show home.

HH: She wanted somewhere with potential, she said. Somewhere to renovate.

TM: So you took her for a viewing?

HH: That’s right.

TM: At a time when your son, Greg, was missing. Had been missing for three days.

HH: No. I mean, we didn’t know he’d gone missing. Not for sure. Deborah was freaking out, obviously, but I thought he was probably staying at a friend’s or something.

TM: A friend’s?

HH: Yeah. I mean, I know it was unusual, for him to stay away like that, for a couple of nights. But it was the school holidays. He’d been to a party. He’d been drinking, according to Sarah. And then there was the snow. Snow brings everything to a halt. I was sure he was staying with someone. I was sure he’d show up.

TM: You weren’t worried?

HH: Not like Debbie, no. And may I remind you that’s exactly what your people said too, when she called them. ‘He’ll be at a friend’s.’

TM: Right.

HH: Plus we didn’t know about her then. About the girl, I mean. Her father hadn’t reported it.

TM: No.

HH: Anyway, look, this isn’t important, OK? Jo wanted to see the house and so I took her. So we were there. I mean, that’s what’s important right? That we were there? That we found him?

TM: What time was this?

HH: Half-nine, maybe?

TM: And I’m guessing you expected the house to be empty?

HH: Well, obviously. It has been for years.

TM: You hadn’t considered the possibility Greg might go there?

HH: It makes sense now. Why he’d go there. It was his home, once. I hadn’t considered it at the time, otherwise I’d have gone and got him. I obviously wasn’t expecting … that.

TM: And so when did you realise the house wasn’t empty?

HH: Well, I knew something was wrong when the door wouldn’t open. I mean, my keys worked, the door unlocked, I just couldn’t get it open. I tried kicking it. Barging it.

TM: He’d sealed it.

HH: Right. So then I went round the back. I still didn’t know it was Gregory at that point. I didn’t know what it was. I thought maybe the cold had warped the frame or something. So I got this shovel from the shed. I figured I could pry it open. The door, that is. That’s when I noticed the extra boards, at the back of the house.

TM: Extra boards?

HH: I’d put some up over the windows years back, the ones that were broken. But there were more now, even on the unbroken ones. That’s when I started to panic. I cut my hand climbing back over, see? Just there? There’s all this glass on the back wall Deb’s mum put there, probably to stop trespassers, but I’d forgotten all about it, hadn’t realised until it was too late. Anyway, I managed to climb back over and went back round the front and wedged the shovel under the door and pried it. That’s when I knew something was really wrong. Because that’s when I could … well … smell it.

TM: What was Miss Hewitt doing at this point?

HH: Freaking out.

TM: She was suspicious?

HH: She wanted to wait for the police.

TM: So this was after the 999 call?

HH: Yeah. She rang straight away. While I was still in the shed.

TM: She no longer wanted to buy the house I take it?

HH: She wanted to get back in the car. She wanted to lock the doors and wait for the police.

TM: But you didn’t?

HH: No. I probably should have. I mean, I still wasn’t sure it was Gregory in there. But I knew I had to find out what was going on. I ended up hacking the door to pieces with that shovel. The smell was terrible, he’d sealed that place up pretty good it was all … festering … you know? And I could see him, over in the corner, head down. I could see him and I thought … well, I don’t know what I was thinking really. I mean, he wasn’t moving. I saw he wasn’t moving. And then the adrenaline took over.

TM: And you got inside?

HH: Eventually. It seemed to take forever, but I tore my way inside. There was all that tape …

TM: The parcel tape.

HH: Right. He’d sealed the place up pretty tight.

TM: And what kind of state was Greg in?