by Mark Tilbury
Tommy hadn’t eaten anything for the three days following Jordan’s visit. Not even a slice of toast. His appetite had joined his memory and absconded, no longer wanting to be a part of his world. Which was fine by him; he didn’t either.
His mother, dear old Rachel, stood by his bed, fingers weaving in and out of one another as if casting a spell to make him hungry.
‘You’re going to get sick if you don’t eat, Tommy. And I mean really sick.’
‘And I’m not already?’
‘Only in your mind.’
Tommy thought about his broken ribs and scars. ‘If you say so.’
She took a step closer to the bed. ‘I’m only trying to help you.’
‘That’s what they all say. But no one can. Not unless you’ve brewed up some magic potion I don’t know about.’
‘Yes, we have. It’s called love.’
He snorted. ‘Oh, yeah, that old chestnut. How about a nice cup of tea and a chocolate muffin to go with it.’
‘Don’t be spiteful, Tommy. I’ve loved you and cared for you since the day you were born. Felt you growing inside me. Every kick. Every hiccup. They might cut the umbilical cord, but nothing can ever break the bond between a mother and her child.’
‘Until someone comes along and steals a year of your life, and all your memories with it.’
She sat on the edge of the bed. Reached for his hand. ‘I know. It breaks my heart. It really does. But we can beat this if we stick together.’
Tommy moved his hand away and put it under the quilt. ‘I know you mean well, Rachel. I really do. But I don’t want to stick together. I want you all to just leave me alone.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I fuckin’ well do.’
Rachel’s lips compressed into a thin line. Her brow furrowed. ‘Please don’t swear.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s not nice. It’s ugly language.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Look, I’m not going to sit here and get bogged down in trivialities. All I want is for you to remember who you are. The beautiful little boy I watched take his first steps and speak his first words. The impish smile that used to light up my heart. Your inquisitive nature. Squealing when I pushed you on the baby swing. Tugging at my hand when you wanted something and couldn’t find the right words to articulate yourself.’
‘I don’t care about him,’ Tommy said. ‘He’s gone forever.’
She wiped a tear from her eye. ‘He’s not. He’s still in there somewhere. Buried deep inside. The inner child stays with all of us, no matter what we do and what we experience.’
‘Sounds like a right load of crap to me.’
More tears spilled down her face. ‘It’s not crap. It’s true. You don’t understand because you’re full of anger at the moment. But—’
‘Don’t swear, Rachel. You’ll get a black mark in your Golden Rules Book.’
Charlie appeared in the doorway, as if summoned by his wife’s sorrow. ‘What’s all this about?’
Tommy looked away before that moustache slipped off Charlie’s top lip and crawled towards the bed. ‘Nothing.’
Rachel stood and stifled a sob. ‘Nothing. He’s in one of his non-negotiable moods.’
Fuckin’ hell, Tommy thought. That’s a funky way of describing the emptiness inside me.
Charlie put a hand on her shoulder. ‘You go on downstairs, love. Make a cup of tea. I’ll have a word with him.’
Rachel shuffled out of the room and pulled the door up behind her.
‘What’s this all about, lad? Why’s your mother so upset?’
Tommy shrugged.
‘We can’t carry on like this.’
‘If you say so.’
Charlie stroked his moustache. ‘It’s not going to help anyone if you don’t eat. Not least you.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘But your body needs food to survive.’
‘Maybe I don’t wanna survive.’
Charlie moved from stroking his moustache to fiddling with his earlobe. ‘It’s perfectly understandable you’re upset. We all are. But we have to stick—’
‘Together? Like one big happy family? Maybe we can have a group hug as well. Invite some of the relatives over to join in. We could play guess the relative. Give clues and stuff. Winner gets to swear without getting told off by Rachel.’
‘Please don’t call her that. She’s your mother. Have some respect.’
‘No, Charlie, you say she’s my mum, but she could be anyone for all I know.’
‘But she is your mum. Please try to remember she gave you the best of everything for fifteen years. And I mean the best.’
‘Well, I don’t need her now, do I?’
‘You do, son. More than ever.’
‘All right. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I can’t help who I am. But I don’t wanna talk to her again ’cos I don’t wanna upset her.’
Charlie nodded. ‘Okay.’
Tommy rubbed his eyes. ‘I wanna be on my own now.’
‘All right. But we need to have a little chat first.’
I don’t wanna talk to you. ‘What about?’
‘Me and your mother have been discussing the possibility of taking you to see a therapist.’
‘What therapist?’
‘There’s a good one in Feelham. Dr Marks. I had a few sessions with him after I lost my job.’
‘I don’t wanna see him.’
‘But he might be able to help you. He’s really good at getting inside the mind and unlocking doors you didn’t even know existed.’
‘So, how did he help you? Get you another job or something?’
‘No. By getting me to look inside myself. Understand the reason I was drinking too much. Not getting up in the morning. Wanting to go to Didcot Station and jump in front of a train.’
Tommy was stopped in his tracks. ‘You were gonna do that?’
Charlie nodded. ‘I don’t know how serious I was about it, but the only thing that stopped me was leaving Mum and you kids on your own.’
Tommy was quiet for a moment. ‘Maybe you shoulda done it.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘Jumped. Done everyone a favour. Splattered your body all over the tracks.’ He held up his hand and pulled an imaginary chain. ‘Choo-choo, choo-choo.’
‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.’
‘What’s the matter, Charlie? Don’t you like a joke?’
‘Telling me I should’ve killed myself isn’t a joke.’
‘Whatever.’
‘You need help, Tommy. You really need help.’
‘That’s what they all say. But I don’t give a fuck. The only help I need is to get away from here. Away from Rachel and away from you.’
‘And you think that’s gonna solve everything, do you?’
Tommy had never been so certain of anything in his life. ‘Yeah. Absolutely.’
‘Why don’t you at least consider seeing the therapist?’
‘No.’
‘Just for a day or so. If you still don’t want to, we’ll forget it.’
Tommy stared at the wall, eyes glazed. His breathing slowed.
‘Tommy?’
Tommy didn’t respond. He was no longer in his bedroom, but in a cylindrical, glass display case. A trapped butterfly. The space only allowed enough room to stand and raise his hands above his head. He was bathed in a cone of light. Naked. Exposed. At the mercy of The Master.
‘Tommy?’
‘Please. Leave me alone. I don’t want to go today. I’m in too much pain.’
‘What one earth are you talking about?’ Charlie asked. ‘No one’s gonna make you go anywhere. All I said—’
‘I went yesterday. It’s someone else’s turn. I’m tired.’
Charlie touched Tommy’s arm. Shook him lightly.
Tommy didn’t acknowledge him. His body shivered in the presence of The Master. Resistance was futile. There were only two rules in Th
e Playhouse: serve and obey. He’d once made the mistake of trying to defy The Master. And with good reason. But that had only led to him being tortured with a high-pitched frequency. The sound had seared into his brain and reduced his thoughts to ashes. By the time The Master had released him, he’d been ready to surrender his soul to Satan.
Charlie walked to the landing and shouted, ‘Rachel? Call the doctor. He’s having another episode.’
Tommy didn’t hear him. He stared into the reptilian eyes of The Master. ‘Please. I don’t wanna go. Please. I’m begging you.’
The Master smiled, but his eyes remained impassive. ‘Do you think whimpering like a lost puppy’s going to garner favour, Number Nine?’
‘I… I’m…’
‘Have you forgotten the house rules?’
‘No, but—’
‘You are here to serve and obey. Anything else is a punishable offence. Remember?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Or do you consider yourself better than the others?’
‘No.’
‘Too precious to dirty your hands?’
‘No, I—’
‘Should I send Number Five instead of you? Would that be the correct thing to do because you’re suffering a little discomfort?’
Tommy shook his head.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Because I can always arrange something else for you.’
Tommy’s insides shrivelled. The mention of something else set off that dreadful, high-pitched frequency in his head again.
‘I’m sorry, Master. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to—’
The Master smiled. ‘No, I don’t suppose you did. But here’s the thing, Number Nine. The thing that keeps me up at night when my thoughts rob me of precious sleep. I don’t care what you did or didn’t mean to do. The fact is, you did it.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘If I drive into town and run over a child, do you think the parents would care whether I meant to do it. No! Of course they wouldn’t. An action can’t be undone by an apology.’
Tommy begged his brain to come up with something to appease The Master. Anything to take that manic gleam out of his eyes.
‘So, since you’ve steered us down this bumpy road, would you care to tell me why you don’t want to carry out your duties?’
He tried to think, but his brain was too full of pain and self-pity to function.
‘No? Nothing to say?’
‘I’m sorry.’
The Master laughed. ‘Well, sorry doesn’t cut it here, Number Nine. It might be appropriate to spend some time alone with Dave and see if he can get to the bottom of it.’
‘Please. No. I won’t do it again.’
‘Ah, the pitiful promise of the proletarian. Have you any idea how pathetic you sound?’
Tommy didn’t. He closed his eyes. Begged God to make The Master go away. He was the bogeyman. The dark entity who stalked kids’ dreams and turned them into nightmares.
Silence. Nothing but his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Kaboom, kaboom, kaboom. He remained this way for several minutes, afraid to look, as if to do so would bring The Master roaring back to reptilian life.
Chapter Ten
Tommy’s dad had made no more mention of therapists in the following three days. A doctor’s visit had resulted in a prescription for a higher dose of Buspirone and a physical check-over. Nothing wrong with his vital signs. Not that Tommy gave a shit about that.
He’d suffered no more blackouts since the medication increase, but he was constantly dizzy, drooled when he ate the occasional slice of toast, and pissed the bed on a regular basis. Rachel had bought a mattress protector. Good news for the mattress; a fat lot of good to Tommy. Especially in the middle of the night when he was too cold to get out of bed, and too soaked in urine to stay there.
At least he was sleeping a bit better. A few hours at a time. Sometimes he’d have nice dreams. Being in the park with Jordan. Using the tennis courts to kick a ball over the net to each other without letting it touch the ground. Fishing at the river. Larking about in the splash pool when the youngsters had all gone home. He wondered if this was a real memory, or something his mind had made up following Jordan’s visit.
But most of his dreams erred on the side of sinister. Being chased along a dark road, the pursuer’s boots stomping on the ground, louder and louder, closer and closer. Or through the woods, weaving between trees, leaves crunching beneath his feet, undergrowth doing its damnedest to trip him up.
He looked at his reflection in the hall mirror. His hollow cheeks and sunken eyes offered a stark reminder of the dangers of not eating. His hair jutted out in wild clumps as if it was a manifestation of his mind.
But nothing mattered anymore. Danielle and his mother had gone to work, and good old Charlie had nipped to the shed, ignoring Rachel’s insistence Tommy was not to be left alone. Tommy had booked a taxi to take him to Chorley Station. If throwing himself in front of a train was good enough for Daddy, it was good enough for Tommy and his fucked-up head.
He ran a hand through his hair. Imagined his mother’s response when she learned her precious son and gone to the land of eternal darkness. Rachel wasn’t a bad person, just a fussy, overbearing fool who thought she was right about everything, and everyone else needed to learn the Rachel way of life. As for Charlie, he seemed to hop from peacemaker to authoritarian in the twitch of a moustache.
A horn tooted. Tommy turned away from the mirror and peered through the letterbox. A dark-green A2B taxi was parked outside waiting to take him to his final destination.
He opened the door and stepped into a sharp wind laced with the promise of winter. Opening the passenger door, he eased himself into the seat. His ribs were still aching like a bastard, and the plaster cast on his arm forced him to use his hopeless left hand for everything.
‘Chorley Station, right?’ the cabbie asked.
Tommy closed the door and nodded. Glanced at the driver. His bloated stomach told of countless years spent sitting behind the wheel and eating crap.
Tommy looked at his weak hand and demanded action. The hand obliged by getting the seatbelt most of the way to the latch, then refused to coordinate as he tried to plug it in.
The driver reached across and finished the job for him. ‘Always the way, ain’t it? The good hand gets fucked when you have an accident.’
Tommy nodded. ‘Yeah.’
‘What happened?’
What’s it got to do with you? ‘Broke it playing football.’
‘Nasty. I broke my leg once. Kept me off work for six months. Bloody nightmare.’
Just drive the fucking car before I change my mind and scurry back to my shitty little room.
‘Done it ice skating at Oxford. I ain’t never experienced nothing like that in my life.’
Tommy tried to imagine the rhinoceros on skates. On ice. It was a broken leg waiting to happen.
‘I stick to swimming these days. Lot less dangerous.’
‘Yeah. Can we go, I’ve got a train to catch.’
The driver started the engine. ‘No school?’
‘Nah.’
‘Where you going?’
Chorley fuckin’ Station. ‘Reading.’
‘Oh.’ He pulled away from the kerb and headed east towards the bypass.
Tommy watched Feelham whizz by the window in a blur of trees and industrial units. The town meant absolutely nothing to him. Simply the keeper of fourteen years of his life. His imprint left in the buildings he’d visited and the places he’d roamed.
They turned right off the main roundabout and headed along a narrow road towards Chorley. Nothing but farmland and fields here, watched over by partially skeletal trees. As they arrived in Chorley village, rows of terraced and semi-detached houses lined the road to greet them.
Tommy imagined the people in those houses. Normal people doing normal things. Unaware of his intention to stand on the train platform and sacrifice his tor
tured body to the next train passing through.
‘My daughter lives in Reading,’ the driver announced. ‘Says she can’t wait to get outta there.’
Then why doesn’t she? ‘Oh.’
‘Full of druggies and gangs. Can’t understand why anyone in their right mind would wanna live there.’
Tommy thought it sounded like the perfect place for him. ‘Maybe they ain’t got no choice.’
The cabbie laughed. ‘Everyone’s got a choice, kid. I blame them bloody computers. No one seems to think for themselves anymore.’
By the time they arrived at the small parking area in the train station, dark shadows were loitering in Tommy’s mind. Dark shadows with sinister thoughts.
‘I’ll tell you something for free, kid. Stay away from all that technology crap. Don’t become a slave to it.’
The car was suddenly filled with cigarette smoke. Thick and cloying, seeping into every pore and suffocating Tommy with toxic fumes.
‘That’ll be seven-fifty,’ the driver said, producing a card reader from a box built into the gear column.
Tommy coughed and put his hand over his mouth.
‘How you paying?’
‘Why do you have to smoke those disgusting things?’
The cabbie glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘You’re not making sense, kid. There ain’t no one smoking in here.’
Tommy stared at the driver, only now the man had a shaven head and dark, beady eyes. ‘I’m fuckin’ sick of you telling me what to do.’
‘You hang on there, Mister. No need to get aggressive with me. All I want is—’
‘How do you sleep at night doing what you do?’
‘What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?’
‘How would you feel if it was the other way round?’
‘I—’
‘How would you like it?’
The cabbie frowned. ‘Are you on drugs or something?’
‘You got any idea how much I fuckin’ hate you?’
The driver reached for his radio. ‘You want me to call the police?’
Tommy laughed. ‘Reckon you’re the big man, don’t you? Swanning around as if you own the place. But you’re every bit as scared of The Master as everyone else.’
‘Ray to base. Ray to base. Come in.’
A static crackle, then, ‘Base.’