The Merman (26 page)

He gave me a glassy look.

‘I've got two free plays,' he said. ‘You can have one if you like.
Double or quits. Then the matter will be settled and Tommy won't need to go and squeal about things that have got nothing to do with him. If you win, the matter will vanish.'

‘I've got to get home.'

‘To Robert?'

I didn't like it when he called him by his name, as if he knew him. It felt more natural to hear ‘retard' or ‘pissypants' coming from his mouth.

‘Don't forget to take the money with you,' he said.

‘Huh?'

‘I don't need it. I mean, you've changed the rules of the game.'

I didn't know what to say. Everything depended on what he meant, but I didn't get it.

‘I'm going to play my free plays,' he said, ‘and then I'm out of here. The next guy who sits down at that table is definitely gonna put it in his pocket, so think carefully.'

It wasn't even my money. Tommy had taken it out of his savings account that day. He'd got his mum to sign a document saying it was okay. And he'd also spoken to his brothers about me. I hadn't a clue what they said to Gerard. I didn't even want to know; I just wanted this to be over once and for all.

‘One more thing, Ironing Board: just because I'm not taking the money, that doesn't mean we're quits.'

‘So what does that mean, then?'

‘You can figure it out yourself. You're good at maths.'

He didn't want it to be over, I thought. He didn't want to lose the upper hand. He tried to get another free play with the last ball every time. And he was going to carry on as long as he could. I took the bundle of banknotes and put them in my jacket pocket.

‘So we're agreed?' said Gerard.

‘About what?'

‘That you still owe me. Because you're keeping the money and I don't want it.'

He gave me a searching look, then looked out of the window.

‘You lied the last time we met, didn't you? When you said you didn't know what was at the mink farm. I realised after you left. I saw it in the way you walked towards the door... people notice that sort of thing. Or I do, anyway. Intuition, it's called. When you just know.'

He couldn't be serious, I thought. He was just testing me again.

‘I'm positive, Ironing Board. I could see it in your walk. A satisfied walk. Like you thought you'd managed to fool me. You know where he is, don't you – the sea monster? You went there and took him away. But there must have been several of you. That's obvious. He weighs a couple of hundred kilos at least.'

He was just rambling. He was making wild guesses. There was no other explanation.

‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

‘I'm sure you do know. Very well.'

He glanced over towards the pinball machine again. The design on the playing surface featured a mermaid, oddly enough. A woman with long black hair, breasts and a fishtail. I wondered why I hadn't noticed it before.

‘I really don't know what I'm going to do with you, Ironing Board. I just don't get you. Have you got any suggestions? How the hell are we going to sort out this situation?'

But I didn't reply. It wouldn't have mattered what I said.

A few uneventful days passed. I stuck around at home with Robert, going out only to shop with our dwindling household budget, and not answering the phone. Time was slowly running out, and it was as if we couldn't bring ourselves to worry about it.

Post came as well, reminders about phone bills and electricity bills Mum hadn't paid, and letters from social services and the headmaster's office. We didn't open them: neither of us fancied taking a peek into the future.

One morning there was a postcard from L.G. in the letterbox. He'd written that he was worried about me and wanted me to get
in touch with the school. It was only a matter of time, I thought, until people from social services came round.

I stayed away from the abandoned cottage. The creature was getting on well anyway. He had food and water, and he was getting stronger with every passing day. Soon, I thought, very soon we would take him back to the sea...

I only made one phone call during that time, and it was to the Professor. He still seemed to be in shock. His voice was hoarse and thick. He spent his days lying on the sofa at his mum's, he told me, and took tranquilliser tablets. The police had sent forensic people out to the scene of the fire, and everything indicated that it was arson. He was terrified, he said: somebody had tried to kill him. I was just on the verge of telling him about Gerard, but I could tell from his voice that it wasn't the right time yet. He needed to recover first. Later, I thought, I would explain everything. I would return the stuffed hare to him and suggest contacting the police. But it was as if I was waiting for things to clear up before then. For time to start moving forward again, for something to happen... For the story to come to an end so that a new, better one could begin.

I
didn't think about anything in particular that morning. Well, except Mum, I have to admit. Mum. I dreamt about her in the night, that she came back home... In my dream I was happy about it. I loved her in the dream, almost as much as I love my brother. I dreamt she came home to take care of us. She was sober. I thought she was pretty, standing there in her red discount-store coat with her keys in her hand, just inside the door. Where was Dad? I didn't know. It was like he wasn't part of the story. Only Mum was back, and she wasn't going to betray us. It wasn't right, she said, for Robert and me to be split up and end up in different families.

I was awoken by noise from Robert's room. He was sitting in there, drawing. I knew he was because he always sings when he's sitting down with his drawing pad, the same tune over and over again. And then he suddenly stopped. He's out of drawing paper, I thought. That's why.

I went down to the kitchen. The fridge was empty. There wasn't even a carton of milk in there. We needed breakfast.

Robert hadn't eaten yet. But he didn't want to bother me about it.

We needed bread, butter and something to put on it, as well as more drawing paper if they had any in the shop. Robert is good at drawing, a lot better than I am. I often told him that – that he might become an artist some day. And then he wouldn't have to deal with any letters or numbers.

I opened the envelope out in the hall. Twenty kronor was all we had left, which would be just enough. I thought I'd nick a few other things while I was in the shop, so we could make dinner that
evening too. But then... what would happen then? This couldn't continue forever.

We'd had a visit the previous day. The doorbell rang early in the morning. We listened to them standing on the front steps talking to each other: a man and a woman, judging by their voices. When nobody opened the door, they went round and tried the garage door and tapped on the windows. They called our names a few times just to make sure. Finally they gave up, got in a car and drove off. The next time they came back they would be accompanied by the police.

I put on my jacket and went out. It was a cold autumn day in mid-November. Unusually, the sun was shining. The streets were empty. All of Skogtorp's kids were at school. The housewives were pottering around their detached houses; the dads were at work. I thought about the dream I'd woken from. Mum in her red coat. Her being home again. And that made me happy.

Everything went smoothly at the supermarket. A packet of spaghetti fitted perfectly into the lining of my jacket. A little bottle of ketchup was stuffed down the side of my boot. Breakfast in the shopping basket.

I paid and left the store. A row of flags flapped in the wind outside the store. I could smell the sea. Some gulls were screeching from a wheelie bin a little way off.

I followed the asphalt path over to the maisonettes. Jerry-built places with junk cars standing in front of the garages. Paint that had already started peeling from the façades. Graffiti on the fence outside. The playground with its broken swings.

The door was wide open when I turned into our street. I wonder if it was me who'd forgotten to shut it. I went in and called to my brother, but got no reply.

He wasn't in his room, either. The bed was unmade. There were some dirty socks lying on the floor. The drawing pad was open on the last page, a drawing of a smiling space alien. It looked like E.T.

I went back downstairs. No Robert there either. I called out again, even though I knew I'd get no answer. His shoes were still in
the hall and his jacket was hanging on its hook. I didn't understand what was going on.

I went out on the front steps and looked down the street. No sign of movement. Silence. Other than the buzz of some scooters in the distance. I started to alternate between sweating and freezing. When I called out again, there was panic in my voice.

I searched for over an hour on my bike, rode into every street named after a flower, checked the community hall and the playing field and asked about him at the newsagent's and in the shop. Nobody had seen him.

I cycled over to the school. The schoolyard was deserted. Lessons were in session. I went over to the Year 7 wing, peered into a couple of classrooms through the windows until I found his class. Nine special-needs lads sat hunched over their books while a teacher wrote something on the blackboard. But Robert wasn't there. I didn't think he would be.

Finally I headed home again. I switched the radio on. Michael Jackson was singing
Billie Jean
.

My brother's smell was still in the air, from his hair and his clothes – everywhere, it seemed like. I started to cry, completely unrestrained.

The phone rang early in the morning. It was still dark outside. I knew it was Robert before I even answered.

‘You've got to help me,' he said. ‘Do as they say, Nella.'

His voice was muffled, as if he had gravel in his mouth. I could hear him making an effort to keep his breathing under control.

‘Try not to panic, Robert. Try to stay calm. Things will work out, do you hear me?'

‘I'm freezing,' he said. ‘It's cold. I haven't got any shoes or a jacket. Not even socks.'

There were voices in the background. It sounded like they were ringing from a phone box; I could hear the wind outside.

‘Where are you?'

‘I don't know. I can't see anything. They put something over my eyes... I'm sorry, Nella.'

‘I want to speak to them. Give them the phone.'

Peder's voice came on the other end of the line.

‘You should see your idiot of a brother, Ironing Board, totally pissed himself and covered in shit. Bloody hell, the state of him.'

He hadn't dared to do anything other than tag along, I thought.

They had come over to our place, got him in his room where he sat drawing, didn't even let him put his shoes on, just set him on the pillion seat of one of the scooters and rode off with him.

‘Okay,' I said. ‘Just tell me what you want me to do. I'm listening.'

‘Wait... '

Peder was talking to someone, but I couldn't hear what it was about. My brother was sobbing in the background until somebody said ‘shut up'.

‘Ironing Board, are you there?' It was a new voice now: Gerard's.

‘I'm listening.'

‘We've got to sort out your debt to me. This can't go on any longer.'

There were some beeps on the line. The money for the call was about to run out.

‘I'll do exactly as you say. Just put some more coins in. I don't want to get cut off.'

‘Please don't natter on so fucking much. Listen instead. Have you got anything to swap for your brother? Money won't cut it any longer.'

‘The merman... ' I said.

‘Huh?'

‘I know what you want. You'll get him. Just don't hurt Robert.'

‘Great. And how are we going to arrange it?'

‘I can't explain. I have to show you.'

‘Don't you trust me?' He started to laugh, a cheerful snorting laugh, as if I'd just cracked a joke. ‘D'you know he gobbed on
me, your brother. Right in my face. I got spit in my mouth. Is that contagious? 'Cos he looks right bloody sick, your brother.'

‘Can I speak to him?' I asked. ‘Let me talk to him, please.'

His voice turned ice-cold again.

‘You have no damned rights in this situation. You're not going to ask me for another bloody thing. The only thing you're going to do now is to say where we're going to meet.'

‘By the old abandoned cottage,' I said. ‘Behind the mink farm near Olofsbo. But you won't find him no matter how hard you look. I have to show you where it is.'

T
he sky had started to brighten. It took on a different hue down by the coast. The light was refracted in the sea, bounced back and coloured the sky a pale pink. I felt cold, even though I was dressed warmly. I had some extra clothes for my brother in a carrier bag at my feet.

Starlings were stirring in the old fruit trees. I'd just seen a fox bounding away over the field. I could sense the creature over in the root cellar. He was asleep.

Water dripped from a hole in the roof, striking the dirt floor of the cottage at intervals a few seconds apart. There were wisps of fog on the field, like eerie, hovering bushes.

I was listening to something without knowing what it was. Time, perhaps, a long-ago time that existed alongside mine, but was seeping into my time by accident.

I peered over towards the overgrown track. That's where they should come from, unless they cut across the fields. I wonder where they'd been with him overnight? Maybe they had secret hiding places, just like Tommy and I did? Their own abandoned cottage with a long-forgotten root cellar...

A tractor chugged somewhere in the distance. Puffy clouds sailed sedately across the sky.

‘Here he is, Ironing Board!'