Tell the Story to Its End (17 page)

‘You want me to read for you, or…?'

‘Just put it down, there's a lad,' he said. I threw the book to the floor, where it skidded in the dust and lay in front of him. He sniffed. ‘Wherever did you learn manners, speckle? Books should be shown more respect than that.'

‘Eren,' I said, but stopped. His eyes were keen and wide. He scuttled towards me and I shivered.

‘Oh, say it again,' he asked.

‘Eren.'

‘Yes?'

‘I … I want to know more. Where did you come from?'

‘Aha!' he laughed, and danced on the spot from one foot to the other, a strange, weightless jig. ‘What is Eren, what am Eren? Oh yes, oh yes indeed, tee-hee-hee!' In a rush of wind he stood behind me and whispered into my ear, his hand clasped over my mouth to stifle my shout. ‘Wants to see more?'

He let go, stumbling back to the book, picked it up and started leafing through the pages. I stepped towards him again.

‘Yes!' I said. The book slammed shut with a single, echoing thud.

The world spun.

Everything stopped.

Everything started.

I was standing on a cliff, a swirling, tangled jungle spread out far below. Eren tapped my shoulder and pointed with one claw. ‘Down here,' he said, ‘is something terrible.'

‘Terrible? What?' I asked.

He shook his head, tutted, lowered his eyes and kicked at the dirt. ‘Death,' he said, quietly. ‘Death of so many things.'

‘Who died?' I peered down into the trees, but we were too far away. In the air, insects droned, bird cries echoed and died, strange croaks and high screeches swam and bubbled.

‘Come on,' he said, and the air shimmered. We were standing in amongst the trees, the warm, damp soil sinking beneath my feet, the tropical air hot and wet and sticky. Something tiny bit at my hand and I slapped it away.

‘
Look
,' said Eren, his voice barely a whisper. He shuddered. ‘I so rarely come here, any more,' he said. I followed his eyes and gasped. A man was lying on the ground, his chest rising and falling slowly, too slowly. He was naked, staring up at the sky, wide, blood shot eyes staring and scared. His fingers trembled as he grasped at the soil.

‘What's wrong with him? We have to help!' I said, moving towards him.

‘Please, child,' said Eren, loud as thunder. ‘Don't you get it? He's been dead for longer than you can imagine.'

‘Who is he, then?' I said, looking away, looking back. He looked pathetic.

‘Oh, he's the last,' said Eren. ‘The last of his people. All the others are gone, already. He thought he could run, but no. No. Got him too. A virus,' he explained, seeing my face. ‘Wiped them all out. He'll be bones, and then less than that. And no one …
no one
 … wrote anything down.'

And then I understood. I saw Eren's face, pained and angry, and watched the dead man as he lay dying in Eren's dreams. ‘Stories…' I said. ‘It's their stories that are dying.'

‘He's the last!' said Eren, pointing at the man, moving forward and looking down at his face. The man didn't change, didn't blink, stared at the sky and waited to die. ‘He is the only one who knows his entire world's worth of treasure. You know what he's thinking right now? You want to know?'

‘Eren, I don't—'

‘He's thinking that he's scared, and that he doesn't understand.
That's
what fills his head.'

‘Please—'

‘He has completely forgotten,' he continued, his voice filled with rage, ‘everything else that he learned, that his
people
knew, and now, in a second, it will all … be … lost.'

The man gave a shudder, closed his eyes, and finally, his fingers grasping at the earth, stopped breathing.

‘Death,' said Eren, and looked at me.

‘Monster!' I said. We were back in the loft, the cries and heat and smell of the jungle already gone.

‘They didn't die 'cause of me,' he said. ‘But I mourn what I miss. We all do.'

‘So that's what you are, then? Memories and whispers and selfishness.'

He looked at me silently. Outside, a fox screamed.

‘You think that,' he said, ‘but you come back, eh? You and me, lad. We've got a lot to give each other. You know what I like about you? You're really very interesting. You remember that, eh? Eren thinks you're interesting.'

I shivered. ‘Am I really … special?' I asked.

‘You are,' he said, holding his hands together like a saint, raising his head. ‘And you have no idea what I could show you if you agreed, if you
stayed
here with me.'

‘I could stay?' I said. The words felt wrong and dark, a secret I'd just dared to whisper.

‘Yes!' Eren shouted, a tooth-filled grin splitting his face. ‘Yes! You'd be so … so…' He stopped and sighed happily. ‘Ah, but what times we could have.'

‘If I stayed. Here. With you.'

‘If you stayed here with me!'

‘How…?'

‘Questions, questions!' said Eren, swatting the air in front of his face. ‘No time for those things. Just time for stories and fun and games and hope and wanting things.' He looked down at me. ‘What're your hopes, spotling? What're your wantings? Think about
that
. Mark
those
things, Oli, boy.'

We were quiet for a while, not looking at each other.

‘You're special, y'know,' said Eren. I snorted and sniffed. ‘No, no, you are,' he said. ‘Your mind. Your heart. I don't play with just anyone, you know. Not just any. But you … you're my kind of boy.'

‘I'm rubbish at these stories,' I said, almost sorry for it. He laughed with bright, wide eyes.

‘Ha! No, oh, no, no, no you are
not
. Your friend, little Emma, she's good – could be great, one day, with the right little push – but you're better. A natural, all ready for the plucking. She's pure and light and … innocent. You have the fire. The
mark
. I see it. I know it. There's nothing
rubbish
about you, lad.'

‘Hers are better. Her stories,' I said, more hesitantly this time. Eren shook his head.

‘Nope. You have the sight to see the darkness in the tale, boy. You're one of the ones I can use. Yup, you're one of 'em. Really!'

‘Are there others?' I asked. The things he said made me happier. I smiled at him for a second and he puffed out his chest. He shrugged.

‘There have been. Some are special and some aren't. You get to see me, you lucky pup! I had another friend, y'know, years back, way back when. Right here. She's gone now, though. Too long ago. You know how it is.'

I didn't. ‘What?'

‘This same house, you know. Years ago. Hundreds. She saw me and knew me. She wrote in her diary and the stories danced and we played together and laughed in the moonlight. She's gone now.'

‘Why?'

Eren laughed. ‘Hundreds of years, Oli! She died, for sure. I stayed. Sometimes I meet people who are like you and are … are …
fun
.'

‘What was she like?'

‘No,' he said. ‘No dwelling on the past. It pains me, my child. Ha! But you read some of her diary, little spud! She used to write for hours in her diary, telling stories and sharing secrets. It's how I got in, how I met her. You even read some of the pages when I huffed and puffed and blew them. You plucked them from the air … and then I knew – oh, boy! – I knew another player had arrived.'

‘The pages in the street, that blew around the car?' It was crazy to think of it, but it made so much sense, and as he nodded I just smiled again.

‘Her diary. And it found you. A nice link, no? All very neat. I was pleased with that.'

‘Tell me about her!'

‘No,' he said, holding up his hand with such speed I stepped back, and knew, without question, he wouldn't say any more. ‘The past is gone. It's
you
here now. Oh, yes. You and me, mouse. Good times, eh? You're the one who's here now. You tell the stories. Go on with you, now.'

Dust and silence filled the space between us. My mouth was dry, or too filled with old words. I nodded, spat, and climbed down the ladder.

 

EIGHTEEN

His eyes are close to mine. He's chuckling, I think. He's breathing in my ear.

‘I can leave this place,' he says. ‘In the end, time gets hold of everything. You know what an animal has to do, to get out of a trap? It has to wait. In the end, springs rust, bricks crumble, walls fall, and all you have to do, to escape any trap, is exist longer than it does.'

‘I—'

‘When I first met you,' he says, holding up an arm to stop me, ‘you asked me why I didn't just leave this place. Why I didn't go and do things for myself.'

I'm nodding, but he doesn't seem to care.

‘Well, we'll have our answers soon enough,' he says, and smiles. He leans back and lets me continue.

T
HEY KNOCKED
on the door while we were eating lunch. Mum was playing with her salad, moving the fork around the bowl and resting her head on her hand. Uncle Rob turned his head in surprise, and Bekah's eyes moved to his.

‘That scratch,' said Mum in a distant voice, still leaning on her hand, ‘when did that happen?'

She ignored the knocking. I looked at her, smiled. ‘Just playing. With Takeru.'

‘Oh.'

Three more knocks sounded. Bekah put down her tea.

‘Wonder who that could be…?' she muttered, then stopped as Rob stood up. I watched him, chewing on my bread. The room was tense suddenly, as if we were hiding from the world. Rob went to the hall, shutting the kitchen door behind him.

‘Probably selling something,' said Bekah into the silence. I nodded. Mum scratched her fork against the bowl and fiddled with her hair.

Uncle Rob's voice, loud and angry, sounded from the porch.

‘What on earth…?' sighed Mum, but as she stood she froze, her eyes fixed suddenly on Bekah, shaking her head. Rob's voice was muffled but he was talking fast, almost shouting, and then the door was closed with a slam that shook the frame.

‘Oli, stay here,' said Bekah and she ran to the corridor.

Pushing my chair back I followed her, then turned, went over to Mum, put my hands on her shoulders. ‘You all right?' I asked.

She turned to face me, smiling weakly. ‘Tough times, Oli,' she said. ‘Tough times.'

The kitchen door opened again. Uncle Rob came back in, followed by Bekah. He was breathing hard.

‘From the papers,' he said, quietly.

‘I knew it!' said Mum. ‘I bloody knew it. It was always going to happen.'

‘Judy, please,' said Bekah. ‘No need to worry – Rob sent them away, and they don't have the right to just—'

‘Vultures,' said Uncle Rob.

‘They'll just wait. They'll just –
damn
it. Sorry, Oli.'

‘What's going on?' I said.

‘You can
stay
,' said Rob. ‘You've done nothing wrong; they can't harass you like this. I'll call my lawyer.'

‘We've been stupid,' said Mum.

‘What's going
on
?' I shouted, and my voice echoed on the tiles. They all looked at me in surprise. ‘Why are there reporters here now? It's about Dad, isn't it? Come on, I'm not dumb.
Tell me!
'

Mum fell into her seat again and looked at me with an empty face. ‘You don't need to worry,' she said. ‘You don't need to know about it all.'

‘You keep saying that but it isn't true!'

‘I just—'

‘You can't
pretend
any more! I don't need protecting!'

Mum had tears in her eyes. She sniffed. ‘Your dad…' she began.

Uncle Rob raised a hand and put it on the table. ‘Judy, perhaps right now isn't the best—'

‘Shh, honey,' said Bekah, taking his hand in hers.

Mum fixed her gaze on mine, her voice just a whisper. ‘Should I have told you right away?' she said. Her voice caught in her throat and she stopped for a second. Uncle Rob stared at her, barely moving, barely blinking. Bekah leaned against him.

‘It's so complicated,' she said. ‘So big. Reporters, yes. Asking about your dad. Wanting to know what we know.'

‘Em's dad. A couple of others … they knew. All along they knew how bad this was. But you kept it a secret.'

‘If they follow the news, and they saw us, they'd work it out,' said Mum. ‘George, Emma's dad, he already knew. He and your dad have argued for years. George always hated your dad's success.'

Rob snorted and Bekah hushed him again.

‘Your father's not coming here. We might not see him for some time. And now the papers have found us…'

Her voice trailed off. I looked at her. I didn't say anything.

‘I'll phone my lawyer,' said Rob, again. ‘They can't badger you and get away with it. I won't allow it.'

Mum nodded and picked up her fork again. She looked frail.

‘You should have told me,' I said again. ‘From the start.'

‘Oli,' said Rob, ‘this whole thing—'

‘You're not my dad, Rob,' I said. ‘You're not. Stop acting like you are!'

‘Oli!' said Mum.

‘You should have told me! You shouldn't have lied!'

Mum's eyes were watery, her voice all soft and strange. ‘Maybe,' she said. Then, ‘Yes. I shouldn't have lied.'

‘Dad might need me,' I said.

Mum gave a strange, shuddering sigh.

‘I know about it,' I spat. ‘About the pensions. I know, even though you don't think I do. I'm not stupid! I worked it out.'

The kitchen was quiet. Rob coughed, opened his mouth, but said nothing. I glared at him. Bekah was fidgeting with her hair.