Sleepwalkers (5 page)

At the end of the day, Anna made sure that she was standing outside as the kids headed home. It was getting dark. Most wandered cheerfully out of the gates, either to the bus stop further down the road or into town. Only a few parents waited outside. Toby’s father, Michael, was one of them. In his fifties, he was a tall, imposing man. There was a natural scowl about him. He looked the type who would shout in public places when things didn’t go his way. He waited for his son, standing aside from the others, unblinking. Anna spotted him, then saw Toby trudge out amongst the others, who chatted happily to anyone but him.

Toby nodded at his father, pleased to see him. Michael waited for him and neither spoke as they walked together to the car. Michael put his hand on the back of his son’s neck. From Anna’s perspective, what should have been a caring gesture appeared somehow more controlling. A vice, not a caress.

Michael herded Toby into his car and moved over to the driver’s side. Before he turned a key in the ignition, he hit the central locking. The locks snapped down. No one could get in – or out.

As they drove off, a small cold breeze caught Anna and she pulled her coat tighter around herself for comfort. Toby’s pale face gazed out of the window as they passed. He seemed happy enough. But Anna couldn’t help wondering.

And then Kath was there. Kath was Anna’s only real pal at the school and Anna could tell that people thought they made an odd couple. Kath was loud-mouthed, pushy and desperately single. She’d somehow decided that Anna should be her running mate in the bars and clubs – probably because it would mean that she’d get the fitter males, Anna suspected. Kath did laugh at her jokes though, although Anna didn’t really think she was
that
funny. Maybe it was just that her humour was unexpected.

‘So where are we meeting then?’ asked Kath. Anna looked at her blankly. ‘Don’t you dare, don’t you dare tell me you’ve forgotten.’

‘You mean tomorrow night?’

‘You know damn well I do, I’ve been going on about it all week.’

‘Yes, sorry, Kath. You see, the thing is—’

‘RICHARD JACKSON PUT IT BACK IN YOUR FLIES OR I’LL CUT IT OFF!’

Kath had a shout that could be used for military purposes.

‘Kath, how about we take a rain—’

‘No bloody way. This is what you do, what you always do. You say yes, knowing you’re going to blow me out later. Well, you and I are hitting the town and I’m going to find out what really hides behind that trim little Miss English Teacher bollocks.’

‘I’m really not—’

‘I’m not listening, I’m not listening, I’m not listening, I’m not—’

‘Alright! I’m coming!’ Anna laughed, flushed.

‘Fab. So shall we meet there? No. On second thoughts, I’ll be sat waiting for half an hour before you ring and say you’re stuck on Year Five homework. I’ll come to yours. And if you even think you’re going out dressed anything like you are now then there will be blood on the carpet. You digging me?’

‘I’m digging you.’

‘Good. Now, bugger off home and dust down your Wonderbra.’

Anna smiled weakly.

‘You don’t have a Wonderbra, do you?’

‘Not in the literal term of the meaning of … no.’

‘Lucky knickers?’

‘Lucky for what?’

‘Fucking hell.’

‘Oh don’t look at me like that, you big slapper,’ Anna said, a wry grin on her face. ‘I know how to party. In fact, I think you’ll find I’m pretty groovy.’

Kath sighed. Terry Anderson, a wheezing asthmatic with an industrial collection of doctor’s notes staggered past. Kath pointed at him, and he seemed to wither under her gaze.

‘See him? That’s you unless you buck your ideas up. And if you ever say groovy again, I’ll burn every last one of your Jane Austen books.’

*

Toby’s bedroom was, at first glance, every inch the classic boy’s room. Football heroes adorned the walls (Mum wouldn’t let him put up the poster of the pouting girl in a bikini which Martin Foster stole from his elder brother) and the shelves were stacked with books and Manga comics. But it was also incredibly tidy. You could still see the clean lines where the hoover had methodically done its work.

Toby sat at his desk. School work and books were scattered all around, but Toby wasn’t doing his homework. Instead, he was writing feverishly in a battered diary. He stopped, paused, then started to flick back to previous entries. One page caught his eye – an old drawing of him (a bit stick-man but he’d got his hair right) trying to climb over barbed wire. A black dog was biting his leg. Blood spurted out theatrically from the bite and from his hands on the wire.

He flicked over the page to another drawing – this time a small boy (Toby if you squinted) held his hands up, standing on the top of the roof. Pointing a gun up at him was a soldier.

Below it, Toby had scrawled, ‘And that’s the last thing I remember!’

He flicked through more pages.

‘What Happened Next?’

His writing was scratchy, untidy – written in a hurry.

Another picture showed a line of men and women lying in beds, with straps holding them down. One of them is reaching out towards Toby’s stick figure.

‘Who is the man in the bed?!’

A smudged drawing showed Toby lying on the floor, his leg bent in different directions.

‘Why can’t I remember??!’

There was a knock on the door and the diary was snapped shut and hidden under a school book. It was Michael.

‘Dinner’s going to be ready in five minutes. And Mum’s gone and done her vegetarian lasagne again, I’m afraid, so practise your “it’s delicious” face will you?’

‘No worries, Dad,’ grinned Toby.

‘How’s the maths? Done?’

‘Not quite.’

‘Toby … ’

‘It’s no biggy, I’ll finish it after I’ve gnawed through the raw aubergine.’

Michael smiled. His eyes swept the room.

‘I thought the maths was easy.’

‘It is.’

‘So why’s it taking so long?’

‘Just got distracted. Cos it’s so simple. Boring.’

‘Alright. Make sure you don’t leave it too late, you need your sleep. And—’

‘Wash my hands before we eat. Yes, Dad.’

Michael nodded, fair enough, and left. Toby watched the door close, but he didn’t move. His eyes were trained on the door handle which remained held down for a moment. After a long silence the handle was released and Michael’s quiet steps retreated.

Toby relaxed. Then he pulled a drawer from his desk and turned it upside down. Underneath he’d made a little hiding
place for the diary using tape and cardboard. He slipped the diary into his hidey-hole and put the drawer back in its place.

Then he hurried to his cupboard, and from the bottom of a bundle of clothes he pulled out a plastic bag with the logo ‘Spy Trap’ on it. Inside, brand-new, was a small box. The cover declared ‘Spy Trap Microcam and DV recorder base’. Toby opened the box excitedly and took out a tiny camera, almost as small as a button. He carefully attached the fiddly thing to his belt. He then stepped back and examined himself in the full-length mirror on the door to see how it looked.

His finger shot imaginary bullets and he blew the nozzle clean. A miniature James Bond without the hair, the muscles, the looks, the weapons, the girl, the attitude or the licence to kill. Still, the hidden camera was a start.

A shout downstairs made him jump. Dinner! He hurriedly hid the box away again, then took another look at himself. He grinned, excited.

‘Ready!’

*

Dinner at Toby’s house was always a formal affair, repeated each night in order to ‘maintain standards’. This was a phrase his mother, Laura, would use and Toby wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. Laura was a straight-backed, greying lady who was prone to worrying. She insisted on a carefully prepared, home-made meal each evening, which always looked good but always tasted wholesomely disappointing. Toby glanced at his father as they politely chewed their way through her latest cooking experiment and pulled the right faces for Mum.

‘And how about the history?’ Laura asked, as she cut her food into smaller and smaller pieces.

‘Yeah, good. Mr Philips was well pleased.’

‘Not “well pleased”. “Very pleased”, or “really pleased”’.

‘Pleased as Punch,’ Michael interjected, and his parents shared a satisfied smile.

Toby sighed. ‘Can’t you just notice the bit about me doing really well?’

She placed her hand on his for a moment. ‘Well done. I was going to bake a cake after dinner, but I’m running low on soft margarine. I was wondering if you’d mind, Toby, popping down to that shop on the corner.’

Toby gawped. He looked at Michael, who was also rather stunned. Their surprise meant they spoke at the same time.

‘He’s got maths to finish,’ his father said sternly.

Toby said, ‘What? On my own?’

Laura looked a little pleased by the fuss she’d made. ‘Oh, it’s only a few minutes down the road, five at most. I’ve been on my feet all day, I don’t see why—’

‘I’D LOVE TO!’

‘Darling?’ she said to Michael, and Toby turned eagerly to his father, his head bobbing up and down with excitement.

‘Please, Dad, I won’t do nothing, I’ll—’

‘Won’t do anything, Toby, really.’

‘I won’t do anything, Dad. I’ll finish the maths straight afterwards, it’s dead easy, I’ve got about ten minutes left, honest. Honest. Honest.’

His dad stared hard at him, then glanced at his mum. Then he sagged. ‘Alright. But you come straight back—’

‘Yesssss!’ Toby managed to resist punching the air, but only just. Laura stood up and reached for her handbag, pulled out
her purse. ‘You can get your father some extra-strong mints while you’re down there.’

Toby jumped up from the table. ‘You bet!’

‘And wear your coat.’

‘No problems.’

‘And don’t go wandering—’

‘Mum!’

She waved him off and Toby rushed to the door, where his dad stopped him again.

‘Oh, Toby. Take your mobile. Just in case.’

Toby nodded, stuffing the phone into the coat, hurrying to get out of the front door.

As soon as Toby took a step outside the house, he sniffed the cold, damp air deep into his lungs with relish. He marched down the suburban close and pulled his coat open as a tiny mark of defiance. His feet felt light – as though he could run forever. He spun around a lamp post and caught the attention of a woman walking her dog and waved at her before trotting on.

Further down the road, his mobile phone rang. It took him a moment to claw it out of the deep coat pocket. He checked the screen: UNKNOWN CALLER. Toby didn’t usually get calls, so he answered the phone a little gingerly.

‘Hello?’

He stopped. He didn’t know the man at the other end, but he was happy to hear from him.

‘Yes.’

A long pause, then he nodded again, answering the caller’s question.

‘Yes.’

And then Toby smiled. It was a different smile from the one before which was so carefree and childish. This smile felt more knowing, more relaxed, as though it came from the head, not the heart. He felt warm and calm and happy. He started to laugh and his pupils suddenly dilated – like a drop of black ink hitting still water. He threw his head back and his laugh turned into a wild scream.

*

And suddenly, Toby was awake. He was back in his bedroom, dressed in his pyjamas. It was morning. Standing at the end of the bed were his mum and dad. It took a moment for Toby to register that something was wrong, but then, when he sat up, he winced from the shooting pain that ran through his legs and right arm. Panic began to rise up within him.

‘What …? What did I …?

His mother stifled a sob.

‘Mum. I swear. I don’t … what did I do?’

‘We’re going to be late for school,’ his father said curtly. Toby could feel his anger bubbling within.

‘But, what did—’

‘We’ll talk about it tonight.’

‘But—’

‘And you need to get dressed.’

‘But I don’t remember!’ he shouted.

Laura looked down, hiding her face, and despite the confusion and the throbbing pain, Toby felt guilty. Michael didn’t even look at him as he muttered, ‘We’ll talk about this after school. Your mother’s made you porridge.’

Toby nodded okay and mumbled a faint sorry. Michael put an arm out, guiding Laura away. Toby lay there for a moment,
trying to pull things together in his head. Suddenly he jumped from the bed and ran to the cupboard, pulling it open. Hidden beneath the clothes was the ‘Spy Trap Microcam’ recorder box – a little green light showing that it was still working. Toby opened it up, revealing a small screen. Eager, he pressed ‘play’ and, after a moment of fuzz, a picture emerged: Toby, staring at himself in the mirror, shooting imaginary bullets from his finger.

Toby let out a feathery breath of pleasure, then his fingers pressed ‘fast forward’ and he watched pictures of the camera heading downstairs, then sitting at the table where the picture became dark and obscure. More fast-forwarding, and suddenly he was moving towards the front door, grabbing a coat, heading through the door and out into the night …

Although it was dark, the camera picked out details with surprising clarity. Toby saw the street ahead and suddenly the camera whipped round in a disorientating circle as it recorded him spinning around the lamp post. Toby saw the woman with the dog smile at him. He smiled, just as he had the night before, excited.

The camera stopped moving. Standing still in the road. It just pointed forward, recording the empty street ahead. Toby waited. Any moment now … any moment …

But then the screen went blank. Toby stared at it, confused as it was replaced by grey fuzz again.

He pressed fast forward again. And while the digital counter showed him that the recording was progressing, the screen refused to reveal its secrets. On and on, the mist remained impenetrable, and eventually the recording ended with a tiny electronic beep.

Toby sat back, stunned. His legs were aching. He looked at his feet and saw that they were cut and sore – as though he’d been running barefoot across gravel. Or something. He examined them: the cuts were clean, washed, disinfected. His head fell and he had to wipe the swelling tears from his eyes.