by T C Shelley
‘Your name is Samuel too?’ Colleen said. ‘Well, flesh and blood you may be, but it would have been less of a mystery if you’d been my brother’s ghost.’
‘D’you have a last name, Samuel?’ someone asked.
Samuel. Someone called him Samuel. He’d called himself ‘Samuel’.
The imp boy realised what he’d done and couldn’t speak. He shook his head.
The room burst into questions. Where did he come from? How had he got to the wake? Where were his parents? People turned him to have a look, and a sea of hands washed over him.
He found himself facing Nick and his mum and the bearded man, their faces as grey as gargoyles. His knees weakened under him and he swayed.
CHAPTER 10
He lay on the comfortable bed in his white shirt and grey trousers. An older man with an armband made of shiny black material had led him upstairs and told him to rest.
He could hear Henri in the living room asking to see him, and he listened to the confused conversation until someone yelled, ‘It’s the old man’s day and he needs to be seen off proper.’ Then a different kind of frenzy and excitement continued until most of the people left.
He listened for the sounds of the house. He could hear everything. His gargoyle-keen ears enjoyed the creaking floorboards as they ached in the hot day, and the sea breeze fumbling at the curtains in all the rooms facing the boundless blue water. Soft sounds came from the storey below. No longer the cacophony of too many people squeezed into a small room.
His ears hurt less with fewer voices in the house, and his chest didn’t rattle so much. He could think about Spigot and Wheedle and ponder where Daniel had taken them. He bounced on the mattress and ran his hands over the soft, fleecy cover, so much nicer than sleeping on dirt. The shiny edging of the bedding tickled his skin. On the opposite wall, under a picture of a ship, sat a side table, like the one downstairs, covered in photos. The imp boy sprang from the bed, smiling at the way it dipped and lifted under him, and looked at the photographs.
None of them had the old man in them. They were of younger people, men, women and children. Some showed the faces of people he’d seen downstairs. He found one of Nick, his mother and the man they had been talking to. He tried to recall the members of family Daniel had listed. Father? They all smiled at the camera. The mother held a much smaller human, with a round face and a patch of dark hair. Its hand touched the mother’s cheek. He put his hand to his own cheek and returned the photo to its spot.
He knelt on the floor to put his ear to the carpet. He heard the chewing of bugs in the walls, a scatter of beetles outside in the vines. He jumped when the mother’s gentle voice spoke out, travelling from the living room.
‘How in the world did he get here? We saw him on Church Street. You know how far away that is?’
‘It’s obvious, can’t you see for looking?’ The imp boy recognised Great-Aunt Colleen’s tone. ‘He’s one of the little people and followed you here. That’s why I took him for a ghost.’
The mother sighed. ‘I wish you wouldn’t say that.’
Then a man spoke. ‘She’s not joking.’
‘You’ve not told her then, Richard?’ the old woman asked.
‘Aunt Coll …’
‘The Kavanaghs are one of the grand old families, and many of us are gifted with second sight. I’ve got more than a touch of the taish in me, Richard, and so have you.’
‘Aunt Colleen, there’s enough going on without starting on that.’
‘You do too, Richard, and I’ve told your Michelle many a time.’
‘She has,’ said the mother’s softer voice.
‘And so I have,’ Colleen agreed. ‘I see things; things that shouldn’t be there and sometimes people that shouldn’t be there. I know what they mean. That wisp of a girl in green’s been here today. She was with your father on our last visit too, near scared the life out of me; I saw her put the shroud on his shoulders, and I knew I wouldn’t be seeing him alive again. There’s no lie in that. When a banshee’s about, death’s not far behind. She’s been a-keening today. Someone will have seen her.’
Michelle’s voice crooned. ‘Aunt Colleen, we’re all grieving. It’s natural for people to imagine …’
‘Don’t patronise me, girl, I’m in charge of all my faculties. I’ve seen what I’ve seen. Make of it what you will.’
They quietened and waited for the anger in the old lady’s voice to seep out the walls.
The imp boy heard Nick’s voice break the silence. ‘I saw a girl in green in the back yard, when I came looking for you.’
‘Nicholas, really …’ Michelle said.
‘No, Mum, really. A seriously pretty girl. She was hard to miss in that dress.’
‘With vivid red hair?’ Aunt Colleen asked.
‘That’s right.’
‘You’re not the first Kavanagh to see her. Won’t be the last. Am I right, Richard? She shows herself to those she wants to see her. Give her wide berth, Nicholas. Though there’s no reports of missing boys for a while now, the fear should never go. Banshees have taken beautiful boys from our family for centuries. Remember Uncle Eamon? Disappeared for six months, came back addled.’
The silence thickened until a fragile note burst into yells; and a baby, not far from the imp boy’s room, woke and fussed.
‘I’m sorry; I have to see to Beatrice.’ Michelle’s feet padded bread-soft up the stairs.
‘Nicholas, go make yourself useful,’ Richard said.
The imp boy listened to the low grunts and claps he couldn’t understand. Then to footsteps, some treading upstairs, some to the kitchen.
He returned his attention to the conversation between Richard and Colleen.
‘She’s a good girl you’ve got there, Richard, and she’s lucky to walk in just one world. You and I know better though, or if you don’t now, you used to. That boy upstairs has a touch of the other on him, no doubt about it. Whether he’s a changeling or a grogoch or like, he’s not all human. I can see the look on Michelle’s face. She’s not telling herself the truth about her heart.’
‘Don’t do this to her, Colleen. Everything … stop it. He’s just a lonely boy,’ Richard said. ‘It’s an odd coincidence he showed up looking so like family …’
‘And the spit of your father.’
‘Nicholas looks like Da,’ Richard said.
‘That boy is identical,’ Great-Aunt Colleen said. ‘And how does Nicholas looking like your da make any of this more natural? Your boy and the one upstairs could be brothers.’
‘I’m sure there’s a rational reason for that.’
Feet climbed the stairs, and Nick came in with a cushioned tray and used his bottom to close the door. It shut with a satisfied click. He looked at the boy kneeling on the carpet.
The imp boy stood, feeling his cheeks burn as if he’d been caught stealing.
Nick gave him a quick smile. ‘Hello there, come and sit back on the bed. I brought you something to eat.’ When the imp boy resettled, Nick placed the tray on his legs, and the under-cushion moulded to them. Coloured food in a bowl sat next to something white and steaming. He recognised lettuce, but not the red fruit on top of it. A liquid fizzed in a glass to the right of the dishes. ‘You don’t look hungry. Mum’s worried you’ve been starving on the streets? Or worse, living on chocolate.’
‘I’ve had pie and sandwiches.’
‘Pie and sandwiches? Well, salad, chicken and lemonade might be a bit strange then.’
The imp boy nodded.
Nick sat on the chair. ‘Where’s your family?’
The imp boy framed a few answers in his head before saying, ‘Daniel looks after me.’
‘Who’s Daniel?’
‘An angel. My angel.’
‘He’s a good person to look after you.’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he nearby?’
‘No. Daniel flew off a while ago.’
‘Flew?’
The imp boy flapped his hands to show Nick ‘flew�
�.
Nick laughed. ‘He’s a real angel?’
‘Yes.’
‘You live with an angel?’
‘Yes.’ The boys watched each other. The imp boy looked away first. ‘Thank you very much for the food.’
‘Fine.’ Nick stood. ‘Eat quickly. Dad has to take Aunt Colleen back to her hotel, but she’ll want to talk with you before she goes.’
‘OK.’
‘Look, I brought the tray up because Mum and Dad are all over the place about you. They’ve been through a lot, right? A lot. You say your name’s Samuel, and it makes everything worse.’ Nick’s face pinked beneath his dark hair. ‘What is it really?’ He glared.
‘I don’t have one.’
‘Then why did you answer to Samuel?’ Nick studied him, but the imp boy couldn’t speak. The other boy’s hard look made him feel awkward.
The imp boy stared at his food. ‘She called me Samuel, and it’s a nice name, not like Gutter or Slimeball.’
Nick sat down again. The red faded. ‘Yeah, they would be horrible names.’
The imp boy picked at the white stuff. He worried Nick might see his eyes wetting.
‘Well, OK. Um … you dig in,’ Nick said, and left.
The imp boy waited for the door to click and ate, tasting every flavour on the plate. Sweet. Sour. Salty. His heart beat sadly inside him, and he returned his attention to the people downstairs. Nick’s footsteps headed for the living room. Michelle’s tread followed them down.
‘Well, whatever he is,’ Nick said, ‘he’s smart. He tells a good story. How old do you think he is? Like, ten?’
‘He looks the way you did when you were about eleven or twelve,’ Michelle said. ‘Remember how small you were?’
‘I was never small. Ever.’
The imp boy thought Colleen had something in her throat, but he realised the sound was a dry cackle. ‘You were a nugget,’ she said.
‘He looks eleven, twelve …’ Michelle’s voice faded out, and quiet settled in the room below until she said, ‘Someone’s fed him.’
‘Yes, an angel, he says.’
Michelle whispered. Her voice was so soft, the imp boy felt sure the others wouldn’t hear her. ‘Twelve.’
Colleen laughed. ‘I wonder what angels feed a soul. Has he existed all this time on manna, do you think?’
‘Samuel. He says he’s Samuel. He seems a good boy.’ Michelle sighed. ‘Samuel. He really looks like a Samuel.’
‘Michelle?’ Richard said.
‘I know, not possible.’ Her voice ached with sadness.
‘Don’t you be falling in love with him too quickly, girl, he could be a selkie for all you know. He’s taken off his pelt and come to land to win the heart of any woman who’ll give it. He’ll look however you want, doesn’t have to be a young beau. He means to crush you.’
‘He’s twelve, Colleen!’ Michelle said, and exhaled. ‘Or at least he looks like he could be.’
‘Have you taken to him in such short whistle? Guard your heart, girl, guard your heart.’
Richard spoke. ‘Why don’t we ask him where he’s from?’
‘Who says he’ll speak the truth?’ Colleen asked.
‘I’m sure any boy raised by angels is likely to tell the truth, don’t you, Colleen?’ Michelle said.
‘Don’t take that tone with me, young woman; I’m not too old to recognise sarcasm.’
The imp boy put the tray down and shuffled off the bed. The good food sat in his stomach like dirt. He had to answer their questions sometime.
His room stood at the top of a wooden staircase. A once blue carpet clung to each step but did not protect the house from the pad of his bare foot on wood.
He followed their voices back to the sitting room. Some things had changed. The coffin had gone; the bedraggled furniture had been put back into place. The pictures remained, as did the cloth-covered mirror and the sleeping clock. Colleen sat in the chair, and Michelle sat next to Richard, a baby on her lap. The little pink bundle lying belly-down across her legs breathed softly, the air around her twinkling. It sparkled more than chocolate wrappers.
Nicholas sat on the opposite sofa, his arms spread wide, legs dangling over each other with elastic ease.
‘Hello,’ said the imp boy.
The conversation stopped. They turned to him.
Colleen lifted a white eyebrow, which turned her forehead to crêpe. ‘Hello, boy.’
‘Samuel,’ Michelle added.
‘Hello.’
‘Not your name, is it, lad?’ Colleen asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t have a name yet.’
Michelle sat on the sofa an arm’s length away; she knotted the baby’s wrap inside her fist, worrying it as she watched him.
Richard leaned forward to speak, but Colleen raised one hand to stop him. ‘You’re not human, are you, child?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘What are you then? A fetch?’
‘For goodness sake, Colleen …’ Michelle said.
‘I’m impkind, but I’m not sure what type,’ he said. ‘That’s why they didn’t name me. I don’t suit a gargoyle name.’
‘Well, he’s got a good imagination.’ Nicholas laughed.
Colleen cast a baleful look at the young man. He shut up. ‘I know your mother says she doesn’t have the sight, though her behaviour this afternoon gives lie to that, but it’s on you, Nicholas, so there’s no excuse for disregard. And it’s strongest in you, Richard. Don’t tell me the boy doesn’t make your nape tingle.’
Richard rubbed the back of his neck.
‘He’s in the chocolate shop and now he’s here. What explanation do you have?’ She challenged Richard and Michelle with her gaze. ‘More importantly, does he mean us harm or no?’ Colleen said.
‘For crying out loud!’ Michelle’s voice erupted, and the baby cried. Michelle patted her bottom.
The imp boy stared at the silvery light around the infant. It moved in shimmering waves. Light, sparkling light. It shone out of her. He wondered if it was her soul, like Daniel had described.
‘Why are you here?’ Colleen asked.
‘Daniel brought me here. He says I came from this family, and if I’m going to belong anywhere, it’s here.’ He felt his cheeks grow hotter.
‘Your angel said you belong with us?’ Michelle’s voice cracked.
‘Oh, you’re wanting to believe now, aren’t ya?’ Colleen cackled. ‘You poor girl.’
Michelle reddened.
‘Look me in the eye, boy, d’you mean us well or d’you mean us harm?’ the old lady asked.
The imp boy took a deep breath and eyeballed the old girl. ‘I mean you no harm; I’m looking for a place to belong. If you like, I can leave when Daniel comes back.’
‘No, darling, no.’ Michelle grabbed his wrist and unsettled the baby, sending blue light spilling on to the floor.
‘Do you have somewhere to stay with this Daniel?’ Richard asked.
‘No.’
‘Come here, lad,’ Aunt Colleen held out her arms. He walked to her, and she pulled him into her generous stomach. She sniffed him. ‘You smell like you could be one of the good ones. Samuel is a strong name, and you look like my Samuel. Do you like the name?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then Samuel it is.’
‘Thank you.’
‘We really have to call the Children’s Services,’ Richard said.
‘Well, I think that’s a mistake myself, ’ Colleen said.
Richard rubbed his eyes with a rough hand.
‘She’s right, it’s been a long day,’ Michelle said. ‘Can we think about it in the morning?’
Richard shook his head. ‘We shouldn’t.’ Michelle’s mouth dropped to a frown and he sighed. ‘OK. Maybe one night to unravel this mystery. I’d love to know how you got here from thirty miles away.’
‘I would like to know too,’ Michelle said, ‘but I’m tired.’ Her eyes shone and threatened to spill. The imp boy tou
ched his face; he remembered his tears from his first day. Tears came with pain. ‘We’ve given you the third degree, but you must have questions of your own. Would you like to know our names?’
‘You’re Michelle,’ the imp boy said. ‘Richard, Nicholas and you’re Great-Aunt Colleen.’
‘See?’ Colleen said to Michelle. ‘Now, how’d he know all that?’
‘The baby is called Beatrice,’ Samuel said.
‘Yes, this is Beatrice.’ Michelle patted the baby’s padded bum.
‘She shines. May I touch her?’
‘Sure. Don’t scare her though.’
The imp boy placed his hand on the baby’s back. On cue, the tiny creature laughed.
Her laugh helped make me, the imp boy thought. Beatrice’s laugh.
‘It’s time for me to get back to my hotel. I’ve had an exhausting day,’ Colleen said. ‘I’ve farewelled one family member and greeted another. It’s a lot for an old woman. I hope the tea is wet when I get in.’
‘I’ll drive you there.’ Richard got up.
The baby continued her low, dreamy giggles. The imp boy watched as multicoloured sparks flew from the infant. Michelle gazed at him.
Richard levered his aunt out of the blue chair, and she ascended with arthritic grace and leaned on her cane.
‘Will I see you tomorrow, Samuel?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know, Aunt Colleen.’ He gave a crooked smile.
‘I’m going to feed Beatrice,’ Michelle said. ‘Why don’t you let Nicholas get you a drink … Samuel?’
He turned to see Nicholas peering at him. The young man’s eyes gleamed. When he stood, the imp boy only came to his chin. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Samuel.’
The imp boy followed Nick to the kitchen. He peered over his shoulder as Michelle took the sparkling Beatrice to the bedroom.
‘What are you looking at?’ Nicholas asked.
‘She’s so shiny.’
Nicholas furrowed his brow. ‘You are weird, aren’t you?’
The kitchen appeared bigger emptied of the guests, but shabbier and less alive. The curtains had yellowed over the years, the colour imps liked, not the sunny hue he admired.
‘I’m Samuel,’ he told himself.
‘Yep, that’s what everybody agreed.’