Sleepwalkers (8 page)

‘No.’

‘You’re lying. This is a lie. You are too. The kids, Jesus.

‘Ben—’

‘But I remember it all so clearly.’ My voice is cracking, my chest is heaving, but I have to get this out. ‘I remember holding Joe in my arms the minute after he was born. Remember the smell of the room. And I love him. I love my little boy to death, with all my heart. But he’s not real. Is he? The dreams I have, they’re not dreams, are they? They’re real, they’re the real things. But not Joe, not Emma. Not you.’

‘Let’s go see someone. Please. Anyone. You choose.’ She reaches out a hand to me. But I don’t take it and she starts to cry. ‘Please, baby, please. Don’t listen to yourself, you’re just run down. We can fix you. Please, I just want the old Ben back again.’

She glances at the front door. It’s a tiny glance, but it’s a tell.

‘Why did you …?’

I go to the door, peer out of the spyhole. ‘Are you expecting someone?’

She doesn’t bother to deny it.

‘Is someone coming? Carrie?’ Her lip crumples. ‘Carrie? Is this right? What’s happening?’

I lunge for her. Angry. I grab her and pin her against the wall.

‘What’s happening to me?!’

She screams – but not to me. To the room, to the house. To others.

‘Help me! He knows! He knows! Help me for God’s sake!’

Her screams stun me and I let her go. She doesn’t move, doesn’t run. And when her eyes meet mine I see guilt and shame.

‘Who were you talking to?’ She doesn’t reply. Another glance to the door. ‘Carrie? What’s about to happen? Hon?’

And then suddenly she pulls me to her, holds me tight, then whispers in my ear.

‘Throw away your shoes, your clothes. Throw everything away. Never answer the phone. And run.’

I pull back, scared by the words, by the lips that speak them, so close to me. She looks at me fearfully. Her hands grab mine.

‘I love you,’ she whispers so quietly that I almost can’t hear her.

A key turns in the lock and I turn, surprised. Suddenly three men charge into the room. They grab me before I can resist. I see a syringe. I try to avoid it but they are too fast, too strong.

Carrie screams. The syringe hits my arm hard. I feel its tiny sting and the darkness rises up and over. I try to call her name. Carrie.

Carrie.

Carrie …

Each day, Michael would drop Toby off at the school gates, leaving him only a few minutes to make it into class on time. Today, however, a series of red lights had delayed them and Toby was late. As he hurried in, the corridors were quieter than usual. The bell had already rung and there were only a few stragglers left. He glanced in at other rooms as he passed, saw teachers arguing happily with pupils, heard a violin being played badly. He felt the sting of his socks as they rubbed against the cuts on his feet.

He pushed open the door into his classroom and kept his head down. Anna Price was standing at the blackboard. He glanced at her, muttered an apology and shuffled to his place. Anna watched him, pausing momentarily to express her displeasure but continuing so that the class couldn’t make it an issue.

They were reading
Macbeth
. Toby found his book and sat quietly at the back of the class, turning pages when required. He looked up as Anna encouraged Raj and Paulette to read together in front of the class. Paulette was embarrassed, not
wanting the public exposure, and as Anna tried to encourage them the whole thing quickly descended into chaos. Toby watched everyone laugh. He felt like he was seeing it from behind a cracked window. Anna finally got some control and Raj began to read in a quiet, slurred voice, massacring the old words as the class sniggered quietly and Anna watched with pursed lips and folded arms.

As Toby sat there, watching them, a memory jolted him. A sucker-punch to the head.

Thrashing about in dark water, freezing cold, unable to see, fighting to reach the surface.

The memory flashed and faded. But it left Toby short of breath. He looked around, jolted, but Paulette was still stumbling over the verse and the class was laughing at her.

Then another memory came crashing in.

Screaming under the water – the air from his lungs bubbling away from him. Screaming and screaming, but unable to pull himself up to the surface.

‘Shit!’ The word burst out of him involuntarily. It stopped the rest of the class dead and suddenly all eyes were on him. Someone started laughing. But Toby could still feel the burning in his lungs.

‘Toby?’ Anna came forward, surprised and annoyed by the outburst. Toby looked up. He could feel the horror of the memory tapping at the back of his neck.

‘Nothing.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Nothing, Miss.’

‘Well, I’m sure it was something for you to interrupt the lesson like that.’

Toby just stared at his desk. He didn’t normally get into trouble and he could tell that the class was thrilled to watch this. Much better than Shakespeare.

‘Toby?’

‘No thanks.’

‘I insist.’

‘Look, can we, can we just get on with the sodding play?’

A few gasps, then a lad called out, ‘Hey, Toby’s finally grown some balls!’ and the class roared in approval.

‘Right. That’s enough!’ Anna snapped. ‘Toby Mayhew, detention after school. Raj and Paulette get on with it – and if I hear a word from anyone else then there will be big trouble. Do you all understand?’

The class murmured and grumbled, but no one really gave a shit. Paulette carried on reading, and soon everything was back to normal. Anna glanced at Toby, she caught his eye and her expression softened – what’s happened? she asked silently. He looked down and didn’t look back up for the rest of the lesson.

*

He continued to avoid her gaze during detention at the end of the day. Anna watched him from her desk, looking up between doses of a celebrity gossip magazine, but the boy remained sullen and withdrawn. Eventually, she’d had enough and got up, standing over Toby, waiting for him to give in and look up at her. But still he didn’t move.

‘So, what happened, Toby?’

He just shrugged.

‘It’s not like you.’

Again, nothing.

‘I rang your father. He seemed, well, not that surprised.’

‘Yeah, well …’

But he shut himself off before he could say any more. Anna leaned against the neighbouring desk and waited, exploiting the silence. Just as she thought she’d failed, Toby finally looked up at her.

‘Is everything okay at home?’ she asked, grabbing the moment.

‘How do you mean?’ He seemed genuinely confused by the question.

‘Well, sometimes, when you’re having trouble at school, it’s actually because things aren’t … going so well … at home …’

She raised her eyebrows to make her point, but Toby stared at her blankly.

‘I saw you were limping, when you came into class.’

‘It was my fault.’ A pause and then he muttered, ‘apparently.’ It was said under his breath, but it was a shared whisper.

‘What was?’ Anna asked, leaning forward.

‘Nothing.’

‘But you don’t think so?’

‘Dunno.’

‘If it wasn’t your fault, then whose fault was it?’

He just shrugged, eyes down again. Anna’s hands gripped the desk a little more tightly.

‘If it wasn’t your fault, Toby, then was it … your father’s?’

Another shrug.

‘Toby, is your father—?’

‘I don’t know!’ he blurted out. It wasn’t a shout and it wasn’t aggressive. ‘I don’t know anything! It drives me mad, never being able to be sure about anything. I’m always told things
and I believe it if they say it, but there’s stuff in me as well, you know? Stuff that’s not stupid, but I can’t prove it. I mean, how do I get proof? All the things they say …’

And then the frustration ran out. A wound-down toy.

‘Just drives me mad,’ he repeated. He ran a hand through his short hair. It was the act of a much older boy. Anna stared at Toby and remembered the way Michael led him away from school. A hand on the back of his neck.

‘Toby. If you’re saying … what I think … then you need to talk to someone professional.’

‘Done that. They just move me to another city, another school.’

‘What?’

‘I’ve been to four schools in five years. Didn’t you check my report?’

‘Well, no, I—’

‘Never bothered.’ It was said matter-of-factly, without accusation; an acceptance of the rules. ‘No one checks. No one believes me.’

‘I believe you.’

‘No, you don’t. Sorry, Miss, no offence, but …’

‘I do.’

‘You’re nice, a bit concerned, just like the others, and I think you’re a really good teacher too.’

‘Thanks.’

‘No worries. But you won’t actually do anything.’

‘Yes, I will.’

Something prickled within Anna. She had a thing for the underdog.

‘What are you going to do?’ Toby continued. ‘Talk to the Head? Social services?’

From his mouth, the suggestions seemed specious.

‘Well,’ said Anna, bristling, ‘what would you want me to do?’

Toby’s sad eyes stared at her with doubt, but he was looking at her properly for the first time that either could remember. Maybe the first time since he walked into her class six months ago.

‘Find me proof,’ he said.

‘Of what your father did to you?’

‘Well, if it was him.’

‘Okay …’ she said warily, not sure where all this was leading. Toby seemed brighter-eyed all of a sudden and Anna was disquieted by this enthusiasm.

‘You know how to get proof?’ she asked.

‘I guess. If you can take me there, so we can see it for real.’

‘See what?’

‘The place where it happened, of course!’

He stood up, overexcited, and Anna’s stomach lurched.

*

Toby sat politely next to his teacher as her car squealed out of the gates. The further they got from the school the more he relaxed, and the quieter Anna became.

He pointed to the old railway bridge near the edge of town and Anna parked the car nearby as requested. He walked quickly along the narrow footpath that crossed the bridge next to the railway lines, his teacher following. The bridge was tatty, with crumbling paint and puddles in the corroding concrete potholes. He looked down at the river, twenty feet below. Its dark water swelled, choked with mud. The wind picked up and the dark clouds above threatened rain. He could feel the moisture in the air.

Toby stopped when he reached the middle of the bridge, looking around. Yes, he thought, this is the place. He closed his eyes.

And there he was. Stood in the exact same spot. Laughing as a train hurtled past behind him. The lights from the carriages illuminated him like a strobing disco.

‘Toby,’ Anna called, pulling him back.

‘I’ve been here before.’

‘But we’re miles from your house.’

‘Yeah.’ He looked around him. The footpath was deserted. He closed his eyes again.

And he was laughing on the empty footpath too, but then he noticed a large camouflaged backpack that leant against the railings. And somehow he knew that it was for him. He peeked inside; it was filled to the top with rocks. He kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks and then hoiked the heavy bag onto his shoulders. Then he tightened the straps around his arms.

Toby took a step towards the edge of bridge.

Although he was swaying under the weight of the backpack, he still was able to pull himself up and stand on the edge of the railings. He teetered slightly, staring up at the sky. It was a clear night. The stars were out.

‘Toby. Come down, please,’ the anxious teacher’s voice broke through again. He opened his eyes and stared out at the dull water below. But he didn’t step back down to safety.

He just laughed.

‘Toby, please, it’s not safe.’

No one saw him jump. No one heard the whoop of joy as he fell. No one was there to watch him sink. And sink. And sink. The rocks pulled him down. And as he sank, he continued to giggle.

Toby watched the water from the bridge. It offered up no clues.

Deeper and deeper. The light soon snuffed out.

Toby stared down and felt tears welling in his eyes. He felt hot, his breathing shallow.

Soon he needed air. He struggled to loosen the arm-straps. But they were too tight and the bag was too heavy. He hit the bottom hard. Glass and jagged rocks attacked his bare feet.

He blinked the tears away and was scared to close his eyes again. But he forced himself onwards. Downwards.

And then there was no air left. He writhed and struggled, finally getting one arm free from the anchoring backpack. But it was too late. He screamed, the bubbles rising and vanishing above him. He fought as the cold began to close him down, suffocating him with its cruel, clinical strength. The backpack finally fell from his trapped arm. Too late. As he pushed upwards, the cold and dark took him. His head spun, his lungs burned, and the darkness sucked him in.

‘Toby. Please. Come down. You’re scaring me.’

He was surprised to see Anna there. She seemed so out of place with the things in his head. But he liked her for that and she had a kindness about her that he felt he could trust.

‘I get these nightmares,’ he said. ‘Well, I think they’re nightmares, but sometimes they’re so real, so real, I’m not sure. Sometimes I wake up and I still think I’m dreaming, like I can’t even remember who I am. Mum says lots of people are the same. Is that right?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe …’

‘Do you ever dream?’

‘Of course.’

‘Dream like it’s so real that, you know, that it can’t not be true. Do you ever?’

‘Sometimes. Maybe.’

He nodded. She was not like him. Okay.

‘I was here. I was down there and then …’

He took a step back to safety. Anna, clearly relieved, went to him.

‘Miss, what’s the longest you can stay underwater? If you held your breath and, you know … How long?’

‘I’m not sure. A minute? Maybe two. Three?’

Toby considered this. Nothing made sense.

‘Impossible. Dream. Must be.’ He saw how concerned she was and it only made him feel worse. ‘Sorry, Miss. I’m, we’ve wasted … sorry.’ His head fell. She pulled him to her and he was grateful for the contact, muttering ‘sorry’ over and over.