by Mark Tilbury
Tommy shrugged. ‘Sounds a bit mushy to me.’
‘Do you wanna have a look through some old photos?’
Again, Tommy agreed, just to be nice. ‘Yeah. Okay. But I don’t even remember you, so…’
Jordan didn’t seem bothered. He switched on his own phone and started scanning through his pictures folder. Showed Tommy one of the school team before the inter schools’ cup final. All decked out in red shirts, black shorts, and black socks.
Tommy recognised himself in the centre of the back row. Grinning at the camera, squinting into the sun. ‘Christ, I look so different.’
Jordan held the phone so they could both see the screen. He pointed out each player in turn. Gave names to the faces.
‘You were pretty good mates with Sandy Carter, the goalie,’ Jordan said.
Tommy didn’t recognise him or any of the other boys in the picture. ‘Oh.’
‘You used to wind him up when he let a goal in. Say a mop could’ve saved it.’
‘Was he any good?’
Jordan nodded. ‘Yeah. He had a trial with Reading a few months ago. One of the scouts picked him up.’
‘Are Reading in the league?’
‘Yeah. They’re about mid-table in the Championship.’
‘What’s that?’
‘The league below the Premier League.’
‘Hope he makes it,’ Tommy said. ‘I could do with some good news.’
‘I reckon he will. He’s doing loads of training, and his old man used to be an amateur goalie, so he’s getting a lot of tips off him, too.’
Tommy grinned. ‘Fingertips?’
Jordan shook his head. ‘Your jokes ain’t got no better. Do you want me to ask Sandy to come and see you?’
‘There’s no point. It’ll only be awkward. It’s not as if we can talk about the old days, is it?’
‘I suppose not.’
A knock on the door interrupted the conversation.
‘Who is it?’ Tommy asked.
‘Danielle. Can I come in?’
Tommy was already tiring, but it might give him an excuse to get rid of Jordan. ‘Yeah.’
She entered the room, her hair now a dark shade of pink. She smiled at Jordan. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Not too bad. Just wish I could get buggerlugs to remember me.’
Tommy self-consciously touched his ear. ‘You saying my ears are big?’
Jordan grinned. ‘Put it this way, I’ve seen people tuning their tellies off smaller dishes.’
‘Ha, ha, very funny.’
‘I think so,’ Jordan said. ‘Anyway, I’d better get off. Don’t wanna be late for training. I’ll pop by tomorrow after school, if that’s all right?’
Tommy nodded. He didn’t see the point, but he liked Jordan enough to put up with it.
Danielle waited for Jordan to close the door. ‘You’re looking a bit brighter.’
‘I don’t feel it.’
‘Would you like to come downstairs for a bit?’
‘Not really.’
Danielle took a deep breath. ‘There’s someone I want you to meet.’
‘Who?’
‘Dean.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘The guy who asked me out in Waitrose.’
Tommy’s heart jolted. It was one thing seeing a friend, but another thing altogether meeting a stranger. ‘Can I give it a miss? I’m feeling pretty shit at the moment.’
‘It might do you good to get out of the bedroom for a while. Have a cup of tea with us.’
‘Where’s Mum?’
‘In town.’
‘Dad?’
‘In the shed.’
Shit. All reasonable excuses out the window. ‘Have they met him yet?’
‘Dad has.’
‘And?’
‘He seemed to like him. So, do you wanna meet him? Ten minutes tops, then you can go back to your room. I’ll even read you a bedtime story later.’
‘You and Jordan ought to team up and go on a talent show as the world’s worst comedians.’
Danielle smiled. ‘Good idea. I might just do that. So, are you coming down?’
‘Okay. Give me a few minutes to get dressed.’
The minute turned into twenty after Tommy spent a short while on the toilet with stomach cramps. By the time he walked into the lounge, Danielle and Dean were sitting in the conservatory smoking.
They both stood as if in a courtroom and Tommy was the presiding judge.
Dean held out a hand. ‘Hello, Tommy. It’s really good to meet you at last.’
What do you mean, at last? You’ve only known my sister for five minutes. Tommy shook his hand. ‘So, you must be Dean?’
Dean smiled. ‘That’s what it says on my birth certificate.’
Tommy thought Dean was a decent-looking fella. Tall, thin, tousled dark hair and intense brown eyes. He let go of Dean’s hand, which was quite sweaty for this time of year, and sat on a wicker chair close to the door.
Danielle and her boyfriend took this as a cue to return to their seats opposite.
‘I’ve really been looking forward to meeting you,’ Dean said. ‘Danielle’s told me a lot about you.’
Tommy shot his sister a glance he hoped was full of contempt. This was no one else’s business.
‘I’ve only told him you went missing for a year,’ Danielle said. ‘And you turned up in the hospital with amnesia.’
Dean shook his head. ‘I’d hate to lose my memory. It must be really scary not knowing where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing.’
Tommy shrugged. ‘Shit happens.’
‘So, you don’t remember nothing at all?’
‘No.’
Danielle pulled her pink hair into bunches. ‘But he’s been seeing a therapist who’s trying to unlock his mind.’
‘How?’ Dean asked.
‘Using hypnotherapy and taking him back to the past.’
‘Wow! That’s pretty cool,’ Dean said. ‘I’ve always wanted to have a go at being taken back to a past life to see if I was anyone famous like Henry the Eighth.’
‘I bloody hope not,’ Danielle said. ‘He used to chop off people’s heads.’
Dean laughed. ‘Only his wives’.’
‘That’s not exactly reassuring, Dean.’
‘I don’t believe in reincarnation,’ Tommy said. ‘Why would you have to keep coming back again? As far as I’m concerned, we live and we die. End of.’
Danielle released her bunches and let her hair cascade onto her shoulders. ‘Anything’s possible. There’re too many accounts of kids who claim to have lived before.’
‘Kids have big imaginations,’ Dean said. ‘They probably get their heads filled with all sorts of stuff off the telly and the internet.’
‘But some of them seem to know intricate details of places hundreds of miles away they’ve never been to.’
Tommy adjusted his position on the chair to ease the pressure on his ribs. ‘I’ve got enough trouble getting through this life, without bothering about all that mumbo-jumbo.’
‘Agreed,’ Dean said. ‘Especially with what’s happened to you.’
‘Do you wanna tell Dean about Bella?’ Danielle asked.
Tommy shook his head. ‘What for? He ain’t gonna know her, is he?’
Dean stroked his nose. ‘Who’s she?’
‘Some bitch who keeps turning up in his head.’ Danielle said.
Tommy was tempted to clamp a hand over his sister’s mouth. He didn’t want to discuss Bella or anyone else who might be associated with his missing year. Although the Buspirone had stopped the creepy visions, he didn’t want to bring Bella roaring back to life by talking about her.
‘Weird,’ Dean said. ‘And you don’t know who she is?’
‘Don’t wanna,’ Tommy said in an attempt to end the conversation before it escalated. ‘She’s probably just a figment of my imagination.’
‘What does she look like?’ Dean asked.
‘Long blonde h
air,’ Danielle said. ‘And a dirty mouth.’
‘Sounds like a nice girl!’
Tommy tapped his fingers on the side of the chair. A headache rolled across his forehead. ‘She’s a stupid little slut who’s not worth talking about.’
A silence, as if inspired by a silent fart, fell across the conservatory. Outside, the sound of a lawnmower as Charlie embarked on the final cut of the autumn.
A brief flash of memory: Tommy riding across the back lawn with his father pushing him in a wheelbarrow. Tipping him out on the grass. His dad tickling him and telling Tommy he was going to put him on the compost heap.
Danielle broke the silence. ‘Tommy?’
He didn’t hear her. In his mind’s eye, he watched himself walking towards the shed. But this version of Tommy was only a small child of six or seven. His hair blew in the wind, and his red wellington boots stretched right up to his thighs.
He stopped a few feet in front of the shed. The door swung open, creaking loudly on its hinges. The child’s fear tingled along his spine.
A woman appeared from inside the shed. A blonde woman with painted red lips. A woman he knew only too well.
Bella smiled. ‘Come inside, Tommy,’ she said. ‘You can sit on my lap and I’ll read you a bedtime story about The Three Little Piggies.’
Tommy watched his younger self shivering in the cold air, a hand clamped over his mouth, a wet patch spreading out from his crotch and staining his red tracksuit trousers crimson.
‘And this little piggy went wee, wee, wee all the way into his wellingtons,’ Bella said, her eyes as predatory as a cat’s with a mouse in its sights.
Danielle stood and walked to her brother. ‘Shit, I think he’s having another turn.’
‘What the hell’s happening?’ Dean said. ‘He’s pissed himself.’
‘Keep an eye on him while I go and get a blanket to wrap round him. He’s shaking like a leaf.’
Dean shook his head. ‘Bloody hell, I ain’t never seen nothing like this before.’
Danielle hurried out of the conservatory and headed upstairs.
Dean approached Tommy as if he might explode at any minute. He stopped a few feet away, hands held out in front of him. ‘Don’t worry, Tommy. You’re gonna be all right. Hang in there.’
Tommy didn’t hear him. In his mind, he was already in the shed with Bella, and it was far too late to be rescued.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Three days after his imaginary encounter with Bella in the shed, Tommy’s arm had been liberated from the plaster cast at the hospital. Although his wrist was still painful, it was a relief to have the bloody thing removed and get some use back in his arm.
He sat in the lounge with Danielle waiting for Dr Marks to arrive. Although Tommy remembered the shed incident vividly, he’d marked it down as a stupid dream. Another horror story in a long-running series of them.
‘At least you’ve not had anything else since the stuff in the conservatory,’ Danielle said, chomping on a nail.
‘Aren’t I the lucky one.’
‘Well, no, I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ Tommy said. ‘I forgive you.’
Danielle released her finger and chewed her lip instead. ‘What did you think of Dean?’
Good question. What did he make of him? Not a lot, really. An average guy with a bland personality. Saying the right thing. Nodding at the right time. ‘He seems okay.’
‘He was really worried about you,’ Danielle said. ‘Especially when you started yelling about being locked in the shed with Bella.’
Not as fuckin’ worried as I was. ‘Yeah, well, it wasn’t real, was it?
‘Thank God.’
‘So, do you wanna see him again?’
Danielle nodded. ‘Yeah. He’s pretty good fun to be with. I’m going to his flat in Chorley tomorrow.’
‘That serious?’
‘Not really. Just gonna have a cup of tea and a chat. Get to know each other a bit better.’
‘Be careful, sis.’
Danielle frowned. ‘Of course. Careful’s my middle name.’
The doorbell rang. Danielle answered it and returned with Dr Marks.
He put his laptop on the table, removed his glasses, and wiped them with a small cloth. ‘Can’t see a thing in this weather when they steam up. How are you, Tommy?’
Tommy shrugged. ‘Okay, I suppose.’
‘Anything else happened since we last met?’
Tommy told him about the headache followed by the vision of Bella in the shed.
Marks switched on his laptop. Waited for it to power up and opened a file marked Tommy Scarlett. ‘And you say you were a child in this vision?’
‘Yes.’
‘How old?’
‘Dunno. Six or seven.’
‘Interesting.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the two boys in your previous experience were known to you as Six and Seven.’
‘I don’t see how that’s got anything to do with this.’
Marks sniffed and rubbed his nose. ‘Neither do I. I’m only looking at potential links at this stage. How the whole thing might be connected in your head.’
Tommy wasn’t convinced.
‘It’s fair to say Bella seems to be the common thread in all of this.’
‘I wish I could get my hands on her,’ Danielle said. ‘I’d like to throttle the bitch.’
Marks wiped his glasses again. ‘Before we start, have you always lived at this house?’
Tommy nodded. ‘Yeah, I was born here.’
‘Did anything happen during your childhood concerning the shed?’
‘Like what?’
‘Ever get locked in there? Hurt yourself on something?’
‘Dunno. Can’t remember.’
Marks typed something onto his laptop. ‘Of course. Sorry.’ He turned to Danielle. ‘Do you remember anything concerning Tommy and the shed?’
‘He once thought he could see a face in the window, but it was probably just the sun casting shadows.’
Marks nodded. ‘I used to make out faces in the clouds. And my mother’s curtains. It’s strange how the mind works.’
‘I can think of other words for it,’ Tommy said. ‘Beginning with shit.’
‘Did you find out anything about that politician?’ Danielle asked.
Marks shook his head. ‘Only that he was once the health secretary and he’s now on the backbenches. To be honest, there’s really little point in pursuing it at this stage. We need hard evidence to go anywhere near making accusations.’
‘Politicians make me sick,’ Danielle said. ‘They get away with everything. Any time the police get anywhere near them, it’s always covered up.’
‘It’s a sad reflection of modern society,’ Marks agreed. ‘Perhaps the best we can hope for is they’ll have to face judgement in the next life.’
Danielle fiddled with a packet of cigarettes. Pulled one out, slid it back in. ‘I hope so. As far as I’m concerned, the fuckin’ lot of them can burn in Hell.’
Marks didn’t offer an opinion on that. He stood. ‘Okay, Tommy, if you’re ready, we’ll get down to business.’
Tommy didn’t see much point. It wasn’t as if he was going to come back from the session with any so-called hard evidence, was it? Just a load of crap swirling around his head and coming out in weird ways like the vision of him in the shed. Or choking on the driver’s cigarette smoke. Or watching Bella dance outside his bedroom window. If anything, all it proved was his mind was fucked, and getting more and more fucked with every passing day.
He reluctantly allowed Marks to walk him down the steps and into his subconscious. That dark, murky storeroom that housed long-forgotten memories.
‘Can you see the door, Tommy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it open?’
‘No. But I can see light underneath it.’
‘Okay, when you’re ready, I want you to open the door and go insi
de. Tell me what you see.’
Tommy ambled towards the door, every hair on his body standing on end. Memories of Number Six and Number Seven still fresh in his mind.
There was a brass key in the lock. He turned it anticlockwise and twisted the doorknob. The door creaked on its hinges as he opened it. A jarring noise that set his teeth on edge. Raked sharp nails across his brain.
‘What do you see, Tommy?’
He stepped inside and was greeted by a large bedroom with a massive four-poster bed. The dark-oak floor was dressed with deep white rugs, and an oak wardrobe ran the whole length of one wall, stretching right up to the ceiling. A huge brass-framed mirror opposite the bed showed him a teenage boy dressed only in boxers, his ribs poking through his pallid skin like tent poles.
‘Tommy?’
Tommy looked at his now semi-naked body. Same build. Same white skin. Same bony chest.
‘Are you in the room, Tommy?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you tell me what you can see?’
‘I’m in a bedroom. I can see myself in the mirror.’
‘What are you wearing?’
‘Just my boxers. There’s a massive bed with a canopy drawn around it.’
‘Can you describe the canopy?’
‘It’s white, with frilly stuff around the top.’
‘What else is in the room?’
‘Just furniture. And a load of white rugs on the floor.’
‘Do you recognise the room?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know who owns the house?’
‘Mr Geary.’
‘Does he have a first name?’
‘Cunt.’
‘Do you know what Mr Geary does for a living?’
‘He works for a bank.’
‘Which bank?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Do you know the address?’
‘No. Hemmings drops me off in the roundabout and picks me up when I’m finished.’
‘Who’s Hemmings?’
‘The twat who works for The Master.’
‘The one who smokes?’
Tommy coughed. ‘Yeah.’
‘Is it a big house?’ Marks asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Can you describe it?’
‘Not really. It’s dark when I come here. It’s got stuff growing up the walls, and it’s got three parts to it, like there’s two bits been built on either side.’