Remember Why You Fear Me (42 page)

The first thing Granny said was, “I haven’t brought you any presents, so don’t expect any.” “Come on in,” said Daddy, laughing, “and make yourself at home!”, and Granny sniffed as if she found that prospect particularly unappealing. “Hello, Mrs. Forbes,” said Mummy. “Hello, Granny,” said Sarah, and she felt the most extraordinary urge to curtsey. Graham trailed behind, unusually quiet, obviously quelled by a greater force than his own. “Can I get you some tea, Mrs. Forbes?” said Mummy. “We’ve got you all sorts, Earl Grey, Lapsang Souchong, Ceylon . . .”
“I’d like some tea, not an interrogation,” said Granny. She went into the lounge, and when she sat down in Daddy’s armchair she sent all the scatter cushions tumbling, she didn’t notice how carefully they’d been arranged and plumped. “Do you like the tree, Mummy?” Daddy asked, and Granny studied it briefly, and said it was too big, and she hoped he’d bought it on discount. Daddy started to say something about how the tree was just to keep the children happy, as if it were really their fault, but then Mummy arrived with the tea; Granny took her cup, sipped at it, and winced. “Would you like your presents, Mummy? We’ve got you presents.” And at the mention of presents, Graham perked up: “Presents!” he said, “presents!” “Not your presents yet, old chap,” laughed Daddy amiably, “Granny first, remember?” And Granny sighed and said she had no interest in presents, she could see nothing to celebrate—but she didn’t want to spoil anyone else’s fun, obviously, and so if they had presents to give her now would be as good a time to put up with them as any. Daddy had bought a few gifts, and labelled a couple from Sarah and Graham. It turned out that they’d bought Granny some perfume, “your favourite, isn’t it?” asked Daddy, and “with their very own pocket money too!” “What use have I got in perfume now that Arthur’s dead?” said Granny curtly. And tilted her face forwards so that Sarah and Graham could kiss it, by way of a thank you.

Graham was delighted with his werewolf suit. “Werewolf!” he shouted, and waving the box above his head tore around the sitting room in excitement. “And if you settle down, old chap,” laughed Daddy, “you can try it on for size!” They took the cellophane off the box, removed the lid, and took out the instructions for use. The recommended age was ten and above, but as Daddy said, it was just a recommendation, and besides, there were plenty of adults there to supervise. There was a furry werewolf mask, furry werewolf slippers, and an entire furry werewolf body suit. Granny looked disapproving. “In my day, little boys didn’t want to be werewolves,” she said. “They wanted to be soldiers and train drivers.” Graham put the mask over his face, and almost immediately they could all see how the fur seemed to grow in response—not only outwards, what would be the fun in that?, but inwards too, each tiny hair follicle burying itself deep within Graham’s face, so you could really believe that all this fur had naturally come out of a little boy. With a crack the jaw elongated too, into something like a snout—it wasn’t a full wolf’s snout, of course not, this was only a toy, and you could see that the red raw gums inside that slavering mouth were a bit too rubbery to be real, but it was still effective enough for Granny to be impressed. “Goodness,” she said. But that was nothing. When Daddy fastened the buckle around the suit, straight away Graham’s entire body contorted in a manner that could only be described as feral. The spine snapped and popped as Graham grew bigger, and then it twisted and curved over, as if in protest that a creature on four legs should be supporting itself on two—the now warped spine bulged angrily under the fur. Graham gave a yelp. “Doesn’t that hurt?” said Mummy, and Daddy said no, these toys were all the rage, all the kids loved them. Graham tried out his new body. He threw himself around the room, snarling in almost pantomime fashion, he got so carried away whipping his tail about he nearly knocked over the coffee table—and it didn’t matter, everyone was laughing at the fun, even Sarah, even Granny. “He’s a proper little beast, isn’t he!” Granny said. “And you see, it’s also educational,” Daddy leapt in, “because Graham will learn so much more about animals this way, I bet this sends him straight to the library.” Mummy said, “I wonder if he’ll howl at the moon!” and Daddy said, “Well, of course he’ll howl at the moon,” and Granny said, “All wolves howl at the moon, even I know that,” and Mummy looked crestfallen. “Silly Mummy,” growled Graham.

From the first rip of the pink wrapping paper Sarah could see that she hadn’t been given a vampire suit. But she hoped it wasn’t a zombie, even when she could see the sickly green of the mask, the bloated liver spots, the word “Zombie!” far too proudly emblazoned upon the box. She thought it must be a mistake. And was about to say something, but when she looked up at her parents she saw they were beaming at her, encouraging, urging her on, urging her to open the lid, urging her to become one of the undead. So she smiled back, and she remembered not to make a fuss, that it was Granny’s day—and hoped they’d kept the receipt so she could swap it for a vampire later. Daddy asked if he could give her a hand, and Sarah said she could manage, but he was helping her already, he’d already got out the zombie mask, he was already enveloping her whole face within it. He helped her with the zombie slippers, thick slabs of feet with overgrown toenails and peeling skin. He helped her with the suit, snapped the buckle. Sarah felt cold all around her, as if she’d just been dipped into a swimming pool—but it was dry inside this pool, as dry as dust, and the cold dry dust was inside her. And the surprise of it made her want to retch, but she caught herself, she swallowed it down, though there was no saliva in that swallow. Her face slumped, and bulged out a bit, like a huge spot just ready to be burst—and she felt heavier, like a sack, sodden—but sodden with what, there was no water, was there, no wetness at all, so what could she be sodden with? “Turn around!” said Daddy, and laughed, and she heard him with dead ears, and so she turned around, she lurched, the feet wouldn’t let her walk properly, the body felt weighed down in all the wrong areas. Daddy laughed again, they all laughed at that, and Sarah tried to laugh too. She stuck out her arms in comic zombie fashion. “Grr,” she said. Daddy’s face was shining, Mummy looked just a little afraid. Granny was staring, she couldn’t take her eyes off her. “Incredible,” she breathed. And then she smiled, no, it wasn’t a smile, she
grinned
. “Incredible.” Graham had got bored watching, and had gone back to doing whatever it was that werewolves do around Christmas trees.

“And after all that excitement, roast turkey, with all the trimmings!” said Mummy. Sarah’s stomach growled, though she hadn’t known she was hungry. “Come on, children, toys away.” “I think Sarah should wear her suit to dinner,” said Granny. “I agree,” said Daddy, “she’s only just put it on.” “All right,” said Mummy. “Have it your own way. But not you, Graham. I don’t want a werewolf at the dining table. I want my little boy.” “That’s not fair!” screamed Graham. “But werewolves don’t have good table manners, darling,” said Mummy. “You’ll get turkey everywhere.” So Graham began to cry, and it came out as a particularly plaintive howl, and he wouldn’t take his werewolf off, he
wouldn’t
, he wanted to live in his werewolf forever, and Mummy gave him a slap, just a little one, and it only made him howl all the more. “For God’s sake, does it matter?” said Daddy, “let him be a werewolf if he wants to.” “Fine,” said Mummy, “they can be monsters then, let’s
all
be monsters!” And then she smiled to show everyone she was happy really, she only sounded angry, really she was happy. Mummy scraped Graham’s Christmas dinner into a bowl, and set it on to the floor. “Try and be careful, darling,” she said, “remember how hard we worked to get this carpet clean? You’ll sit at the table, won’t you, Sarah? I don’t know much about zombies, do zombies eat at the table?” “Sarah’s sitting next to me,” said Granny, and she grinned again, and her whole face lit up, she really had quite a nice face after all. And everyone cheered up at that, and it was a happy dinner, even though Granny didn’t think the turkey was the best cut, and that the vegetables had been overcooked. Sarah coated her turkey with gravy, and with cranberry sauce, she even crushed then smeared peas into it just to give the meat a bit more juice—it was light and buttery, she knew, it looked so good on the fork, but no sooner had it passed her lips than the food seemed stale and ashen. “Would you pull my cracker, Sarah?” asked Granny brightly, and Sarah didn’t want to, it was hard enough to grip the cutlery with those flaking hands. “Come on, Sarah,” laughed Daddy, and so Sarah put down her knife and fork, and fumbled for the end of Granny’s cracker, and hoped that when she pulled nothing terrible would happen—she’d got it into her head that her arm was hanging by a thread, just one firm yank and it’d come off. But it didn’t—bang! went the cracker, Granny had won, she liked that, and she read out the joke, and everyone said they found it funny, and she even put on her paper hat. “I feel like the belle of the ball!” she said. “Dear me, I
am
enjoying myself!”

After dinner Granny and Sarah settled down on the sofa to watch the Bond movie. Mummy said she’d do the washing up, and she needed to clean the carpet too, she might be quite a while. And Daddy volunteered to help her, he said he’d seen this Bond already. Graham wanted to pee, so they’d let him out into the garden. So it was just Granny and Sarah sitting there, just the two of them, together. “I miss Arthur,” Granny said during the title sequence. “Sonia tells me I need to get over it, but what does Sonia know about love?” Sarah had nothing to say to that. Sitting on the sofa was hard for her, she was top heavy and lolled to one side. She found though that she was able to reach for the buckle on her suit. She played with it, but her fingers were too thick, she couldn’t get purchase. The first time Bond snogged a woman Granny reached for Sarah’s hand. Sarah couldn’t be sure whether it was Granny’s hand or her own that felt so leathery. “Do you know how I met Arthur?” asked Granny. Sitting in her slumped position, Sarah could feel something metal jab into her, and realized it must be the necklace that Mummy had given her. It was buried somewhere underneath all this dead male flesh. “Arthur was already married. Did you know that? Does it shock you? But I just looked at him, and said to myself, I’m having that.” And there was a funny smell too, thought Sarah, and she supposed that probably
was
her.

James Bond got himself into some scrapes, and then got out of them again using quips and extreme violence. Granny hadn’t let go of Sarah’s hand. “You know what love is? It’s being prepared to let go of who you are. To change yourself entirely. Just for someone else’s pleasure.” The necklace was really rather sharp, but Sarah didn’t mind, it felt
real
, and she tried to shift her body so it would cut into her all the more. Perhaps it would cut through the layers of skin on top of it, perhaps it would come poking out, and show that Sarah was hiding underneath! “Before I met him, Arthur was a husband. And a father. For me, he became a nothing. A nothing.” With her free hand Sarah tried at the buckle again, this time there was a panic to it, she dug in her nails but only succeeded in tearing a couple off altogether. And she knew what that smell was, Sarah had thought it had been rotting, but it wasn’t, it was old cigarette smoke. Daddy came in from the kitchen. “You two lovebirds getting along?” he said. And maybe even winked. James Bond made a joke about re-entry, and at that Granny gripped Sarah’s hand so tightly that she thought it’d leave an imprint for sure. “I usually get what I want,” Granny breathed. Sarah stole a look out of the window. In the frosted garden Graham had clubbed down a bird, and was now playing with its body. He’d throw it up into the air and catch it between his teeth. But he looked undecided too, as if he were wondering whether eating it might be taking things too far.

Graham had tired of the werewolf suit before his bedtime. He’d undone the belt all by himself, and left the suit in a pile on the floor. “I want a vampire!” he said. “Or a zombie!” Mummy and Daddy told him that maybe he could have another monster next Christmas, or on his birthday maybe. That wasn’t good enough, and it wasn’t until they suggested there might be discounted monsters in the January sales that he cheered up. He could be patient, he was a big boy. After he’d gone to bed, Granny said she wanted to turn in as well—it had been such a long day. “And thank you,” she said, and looked at Sarah. “It’s remarkable.” Daddy said that she’d now understand why he’d asked for all those photographs; to get the resemblance just right there had been lots of special modifications, it hadn’t been cheap, but he hoped it was a nice present? “The best I’ve ever had,” said Granny. “And here’s a little something for both of you.” And she took out a cheque, scribbled a few zeroes on to it, and handed it over. She hoped this might see them through the recession. “And Merry Christmas!” she said gaily.

Granny stripped naked, and got into her nightie—but not so fast that Sarah wasn’t able to take a good look at the full reality of her. She didn’t think Granny’s skin was very much different to the one she was wearing, the same lumps and bumps and peculiar crevasses, the same scratch marks and mottled specks. Hers was just slightly fresher. And as if Granny could read Sarah’s mind, she told her to be a good boy and sit at the dressing table. “Just a little touch up,” she said. “Nothing effeminate about it. Just to make you a little more you.” She smeared a little rouge on to the cheeks, a dash of lipstick, mascara. “Can’t do much with the eyeballs,” Granny mused, “but I’ll never know in the dark.” And the preparations weren’t just for Sarah. Granny sprayed behind both her ears from her new perfume bottle. “Just for you, darling,” she said. “Your beautiful little gift.” Sarah gestured towards the door, and Granny looked puzzled, then brightened. “Yes, you go and take a tinkle. I’ll be waiting, my sweet.” But Sarah had nothing to tinkle, had she, didn’t Granny realize there was no liquid inside her, didn’t she realize she was composed of dust? Sarah lurched past the toilet, and downstairs to the sitting room where her parents were watching the repeat of the Queen’s speech. They started when she came in. Both looked a little guilty. Sarah tried to find the words she wanted, and then how to say them at all, her tongue lay cold in her mouth. “Why me?” she managed finally.