They move on to cartwheels, Clara turning perfectly across the grass, her limbs straight and strong. She does have freckles across her nose and her hair shines a deep copper red even though the grey damp deadens the colours around them. As she turns upside down, for a moment her top rides up and shows her taut, pale stomach. Tom’s swallow is audible.
‘Maybe she’s a gymnast,’ Tom says. I don’t have to ask who. He’s sure as shit not talking about Harriet, who’s doing her best with her unwieldy body to mimic the older girl.
‘She’s a dancer.’
‘How do you know that?’ Tom looks at me, curious.
I shrug, awkward. ‘Must have heard someone mention it.’
My rudeness when we met two nights ago hasn’t made her take the sleeping pills, and although I’ve tried to stick to my resolution to avoid her, it’s hard knowing someone else is awake in the night. Instead, I’ve almost shadowed her, waiting for her to leave one part of the house before I go there, checking that she hasn’t left anything out of place that could raise suspicion. Last night, I was about to go into the playroom – when the nights were purely mine, I liked to sit on a beanbag by the window and look up at the sky – when I saw her through the gap in the door. The record player was on, turning silently, the needle scratching in the quiet. Clara stood in front of it, large headphones covering her ears, swaying and dancing to the music, her body relaxed and her eyes closed. She was lost in her own space, oblivious to the house. The moonlight pooled on the floor through the open curtains – a spotlight she moved through. There was no form as such to her dance, but she’d found the rhythm and smiled as her arms rose above her head, her hips swaying in time to the song I couldn’t hear.
My mouth had dried up and I felt unsettled. I wasn’t sure why at first. It wasn’t her bare legs and arms or the outline of her body through her nightshirt. Those details made me feel uncomfortable in a different way that I refused to acknowledge, but didn’t stir up the tight ball in my stomach. Then I got it. Envy. That’s what I’d felt. A sour apple of jealously. She was smiling. Perfectly happy. Enjoying a moment of freedom in the music. How could she be happy?
Finally, she turned the record off and left the playroom. I waited in the shadows until she’d disappeared up the stairs and then gone to see what it was. I’d never heard of it, some album from generations ago. My fingers hesitated over the headphones for a second and then I stepped away. I wasn’t going to play it. I wasn’t going to be drawn in. I refused to be curious.
I went to bed but couldn’t settle. I tried to think of my family and then Julie McKendrick but the dread had crept in and constricted around my spine, and all I could hear in my head were the wheels turning as Ellory’s bed was pushed away, and all I could see was Henry’s plaintive face, I think there’s been a mistake, and all I could think was that I didn’t want to die and be just a terrifying nothing – not now, not ever.
‘How do you know that?’ Tom repeats, snapping me back to the present. I glance out of the window.
‘I must have overheard the girls, I guess,’ I say. She has no right to look so carefree. None of them do. I wipe the stainless steel surfaces down as Tom finishes the last of the drying up and then a nurse appears from nowhere and checks our work before nodding her approval and releasing us from the kitchen, our chores done.
I don’t wait for Tom, who’s still looking into the garden, but head back to Dorm 4 to try and sleep. I’m halfway up the first flight of stairs when Ashley comes striding along the corridor and stops outside Matron’s office. I pause. No one ever goes to see Matron about anything. Not since the first few days. Matron doesn’t have any answers, or if she does she’s not sharing them, and she made it clear she has no wish to be involved with us any further than her job requires. Why would anyone draw Matron’s attention to them? Matron makes all the decisions in the house . . . and sometimes I wonder if maybe she even decides who gets carted off to the sanatorium next. I don’t know what’s in the food we’re given. We’re all happy to stay under her radar.
Ashley takes a deep breath before knocking three times on the door and then rearranging the rough paper rolled up under his arm. He has several sheets in different colours, all poster-sized and thick. I catch a glimpse of careful writing on the inside of one but can’t make out the words. I lean over the banister to try to get a better look but then Matron’s door opens and Ashley is swallowed up inside.
I stay for a moment. Up the wide old staircase, the dorm and my bed are waiting. I shouldn’t care what Ashley wants from Matron – I don’t care, and yet I still want to know. I take two more steps and then stop again. I look back at the spot where Ashley had stood so nervously. My feet tingle inside my trainers, not knowing whether to go forward or back. Ashley’s in Matron’s office. My brain whirs through the possibilities despite myself. I don’t want to get involved with the other kids – what’s the point of that, after all? – and aside from Will and Louis who are too close to avoid, I’ve done a pretty good job so far of keeping myself to myself and out of everyone else’s business. We’re all going to die alone, so I might as well live alone. There’s nothing to do here anyway.
But still, Ashley is in Matron’s office and I want to know why. He didn’t look sick, and even if he is, he’d hardly march up to Matron to announce it. And what’s all the paper about? He can’t have drawn up a list of complaints about the house. Even a smug dick like Ashley wouldn’t be that stupid. I frown. Would he? Was this something to do with the dorm? Maybe this is my business, after all.
I turn away from the gloomy, yawning stairwell that twists and turns like a crooked spine through the vast house and go back down the way I came. The hallway is empty and I peer along the various corridors to check no one is coming before pressing my ear close to the door. I can’t make out any words, just the deadened murmur of voices. Neither of them sounds angry, but then Matron never sounds angry – or happy or upset, for that matter. She’s always just Matron, calm and impersonal. I wouldn’t be surprised if underneath her skin she’s simply a network of metal and wires and processors.
I don’t linger, already feeling like I’m spying – which I am – and I definitely don’t want to be caught here. I find Louis and Will in the playroom, in their corner away from the boys at the record player trying to find something they recognise or like in the antique collection and squabbling over what to play next.
‘I just saw Ashley going into Matron’s office. What’s that about?’
‘Look! She’s just swung herself up onto that branch! How did she do that?’
The chessboard is out – and judging by the lack of white pieces my bet is on Louis as black – but neither boy is at the table.
‘We should go and play with the others.’ Will’s feet are twitching with excitement. ‘It’s not raining.’
‘Jake’s out there.’
‘Yeah, but so’s Tom.’
Only a few days in and Tom was one of them. Their pack. For Will and Louis, at least.
‘He totally fancies her. He’s trying to look all cool.’
‘Epic fail.’ Snorts of laughter.
‘I said’ – I try to get their attention again – ‘that Ashley’s in with Matron. Got any clue why?’
Finally their heads turn. ‘Uh-uh,’ Will says. ‘Haven’t seen him.’
‘He hasn’t said anything weird?’
‘No more than usual.’ Louis suddenly smiles as the change in my routine dawns on him. ‘You’re not asleep. Let’s go into the garden.’
I almost groan. ‘Why? There’s fuck all to do out there.’
‘Clara’s climbing the tree. Look.’ Will points out of the window as if I can see from where I’m standing in the doorway.
‘I’m not stopping you if you want to go and play like kids.’ Maybe I should have just gone to bed and not worried about whatever ‘Reverend’ Ashley was up to.
‘But w
e are kids.’
‘Then fuck off and play. What do you need me for?’
‘Come on, it’ll be fun!’ Will says. ‘All of us together. And it’s not raining.’
‘It’s not exactly sunny, either.’
Louis looks down at his feet. One of his shoelaces is undone, but he doesn’t appear to notice. They were new when he arrived – his mum had only just bought them, he declared plaintively on the first night – but now the brown leather is scraped and worn. How he’s scuffed them so badly when all they do is drift around the house like ghosts most days, I don’t know. But then Louis is clumsy and all over the place, his mind moving too fast most of the time for his body to keep up with it. Blotches of embarrassed red colour his cheeks and he pushes his hands into his jeans pockets before looking at me and shrugging slightly. ‘Jake’s out there,’ he repeats. Quieter this time, and ashamed.
‘And Tom,’ I say. It’s a test. Tom’s older than me.
‘Yeah, but . . .’ One of Louis’ shoulders has risen so high in his awkwardness that it’s almost touching his pink ear. ‘Tom wouldn’t . . . you know. Look out for us.’
‘Please, Toby,’ Will says. They both watch me hopefully.
I glance from one to the other and wonder how I got landed with them. I sigh. I still want to know what’s going on with Ashley and Matron before I go to sleep. I need to kill some time anyway.
‘Ten minutes,’ I say, and think I sound like my dad. ‘That’s all.’
‘Fucking A!’ Louis says, the swear word sounding all wrong coming from his mouth.
‘Thanks, Toby.’ Will is already tugging his sweater on and the words are muffled. When his face pops out through the neck, though, he’s beaming. ‘Come on!’
As I follow them along the corridor and down to the back door, I wonder when going out into the garden became such a big deal. If it was so much fun, then why the fuck hadn’t we done it before? Maybe I’m not the only one who’s been hiding from their situation. I hide by sleeping all day; maybe the others hide by staying inside. Maybe outside is too much bright real world and we don’t belong in it any more. Or maybe it’s just that it’s been raining.
As I step outside, I wish that, for once, my brain would do less wondering. I need to drink more tea at breakfast.
‘Look how high up she is,’ Will says as we stroll over towards the tree. From inside, the old oak hadn’t looked so large, but now we’re in the damp garden air it’s huge, the gnarled trunk wide and thick enough that it would take at least three of us to be able to wrap our arms around it and touch fingers. The overgrown grass sparkles bright green and moist under our feet and I can feel the wetness creeping in through the fabric of my trainers. It’s not cold, though. Even if there is a breeze, the high walls around the grounds are blocking it. I don’t walk fast, and Will and Louis match my pace. If it had just been Jake and some of the Dorm 7 boys out and about, I wouldn’t have come; but the girls are here, too, and a few of the other kids, and suddenly people are mixing again, apparently.
High in the branches of the tree, Clara sits, her head tilted upwards slightly, her body half-hidden among the leaves. They’re all out here because of her. Girls are always the problem. It’s like they have a secret power that kicks in at some point around fourteen. Will and Louis might think they’re immune to it, but it’s starting. They’re out here, after all. I think of Julie McKendrick and my mixture of terror, awkwardness and abject nervous excitement whenever she was near me.
The garden is much bigger than I’d thought, almost the size of the house, and stretches out to either side of the building. There’s a pair of rickety swings over to the left and Joe rocks half-heartedly backwards and forwards on one, kicking tufts of grass as his too-long legs hit the ground. His head is down and his jaw tight. I don’t want to look at Joe. It makes me hear the awful squeak of bed wheels in the night.
Someone has found a football and Jake and Tom kick it between them with the little lardy kid, Daniel, running around trying to get involved.
‘Over here, Jake! To me!’ he wheezes, his face red with exertion. Maybe he feels more involved now that Joe is keeping to himself and Ellory is gone, but if he does then he’s an idiot. Jake kicks the ball at him, intentionally too high, and it soars over his head and bounces off the wall twenty feet away. He runs to fetch it as Jake laughs. It’s not the kindest laugh, but then half the kid’s fat arse is hanging out of his jeans, and as he bends over to pick the ball up the crack is visible and his fat rolls over the waistband. It makes me want to laugh, too.
I stay back from the tree and the other boys. There’s plenty of space and I don’t want to get involved. Will, however, is staring up through the branches of the oak tree.
‘How did you climb so high?’ he asks Clara’s swinging legs.
‘She just jumped and then swung herself up,’ Eleanor says. She and Harriet look like some kind of tree creatures or wood nymphs, their faces peering around either side of the trunk. ‘Then she kept on climbing.’
Will jumps but doesn’t even get near the lowest branch. ‘Maybe if you gave me a leg up?’ He looks at Louis.
‘It’s too high.’
It is high. Maybe not for Tom or Joe or me, but definitely for the rest of them. I look at the branches. That’s why neither Tom nor Jake have tried it. Even if they got to the first branch without making dicks of themselves, the higher ones are slimmer. You’d have to be light to be confident about not breaking them, and Clara must be strong to have jumped that high herself.
‘We won’t know unless we try,’ Will says. ‘Come on, give me a leg-up then I’ll pull you. I’ve never climbed a tree.’
Louis still isn’t convinced. ‘I’m not very good at lifting.’
‘What are you looking at up there, anyway?’ Will asks.
Jake catches the football and tucks it under his arm. He strolls towards the tree, thrusting the ball at Tom, who takes it, stumbling backwards slightly, as he passes. All the posturing is pointless. Clara isn’t looking down. She’s staring out into the distance.
‘I can see the sea from up here,’ she says. She’s sitting astride a branch as casually as if it was a foot from the ground. She’s not even holding on, but pushing leaves aside so she can see out. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘How far away is it?’ Louis calls up.
‘Not far. I think there’s cliffs. Can’t see any houses, though. We’re all alone.’
‘We are,’ Louis says. ‘There’s no one on the island.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Two kids tried to run away once,’ Jake cuts in, wanting her attention back. ‘But they got caught. There was nowhere for them to go.’
‘What happened to them?’ Clara asks, still looking out over the view.
‘Matron,’ Jake says. ‘Matron happened. She got a coin and made them pick heads or tails. Heads won. The boy who called tails went straight to the lift. She hauled him into it kicking and screaming and begging her to take the other one instead right in front of all the other kids. He never came down again. He wasn’t even sick or anything. She said it was a lesson.’
We’ve all heard the story, although none of us were at the house when it happened. The boys who were already here when we arrived told us, just like boys before told them. I don’t even know if it’s true, but no one, not even Jake is going to take that risk if there’s not even anywhere to run to. And it sounds like something Matron would do.
‘Maybe I should come up there and have a look,’ Jake says. I think he wants to change the subject too. We all do enough thinking about the sanatorium – we don’t want to talk about it as well. He’s grabbed the lower branch and dangles from it like a chimpanzee. He’s making it look casual but I can see he’s figuring out if he can swing himself up without looking like a twat.
‘I wouldn’t try it,’ Clara says. ‘This branch is pretty thin.’
&
nbsp; ‘Joe’s sneezing!’ Daniel shouted. I’d forgotten the fat kid was there, but now he’s standing by the swing, his trousers pulled up but his belly still poking out, and pointing at the lost twin. ‘Jake, Joe’s sick!’
‘Shut up, you little prick,’ Joe growls, sending the squealing pig of kid running back to the group.
‘He’s sick!’
‘Leave him alone,’ Harriet says, stepping out from behind the protection of the tree. ‘And don’t shout things like that.’ Her face isn’t so dour close up, not pretty but not as sour, either. ‘The nurses might hear.’
‘I was just telling Jake—’
‘Oh, fuck off, Daniel,’ Jake says, dropping from the tree. ‘I don’t need you telling me stuff.’
Piggy, I think. This Daniel kid is like Piggy out of that book I keep having to do comprehension on in morning lessons. Desperate to be in with the cool kids. Never going to be.
‘Sorry, Jake, I just thought—’
‘I said fuck off.’
Louis has been watching the exchange with rapt wonder and his eyes light up as Daniel, muttering miserably to himself, skulks back indoors. Louis’ eyes drop when Jake looks at him, though. The egg on his face, both literally and metaphorically, is still a smarting memory.
‘Is that a conker tree?’ Will says, frowning and looking over to a second tree, this one squat to the ground near the right-hand wall. ‘My granddad played conkers with me when I was little.’ A cloud forms on his face for a moment. ‘You ever played conkers, Louis?’
‘Nope.’
‘It’s easier than chess.’ He tugs at Louis’ sleeve. ‘Come on. There might be some big ones.’
The Death House Page 4