The Death House

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The Death House Page 8

by Sarah Pinborough


  ‘She’s a girl. She’s been sent away with her brothers and her sister to a big house in the country because of the war.’ He flinches slightly and I see Louis squeeze his hand.

  ‘Bit like us, then,’ I say. Will nods. His bottom lip trembles slightly, but the nurse is working fast and soon the needle is out, and within seconds she’s labelling up his sample and putting it with the others.

  ‘Lucy’s the youngest,’ Will says and sniffs. Tom gives him the book back and he stares at it while Louis’ test is done. He’s still shaking, though. I think about how casually I’ve walked into every six-monthly blood test I ever had at school. It wouldn’t have been like that for Will. Five months of freedom, then one month of building dread.

  The nurse packs her kit away and goes to leave. She pauses at the door and turns back.

  ‘It’s a good book,’ she says softly. ‘My great-grandma read it to me when I was little.’ And then she’s gone, leaving us all staring after her, mouths slightly open. The nurses never speak to us like that. Never.

  ‘I think he’s getting better, you know,’ Clara says as Georgie eats the last of the slightly squashed and paper-fluffy worms I dug up this afternoon. We haven’t gone over the wall tonight. The island is coated with a blanket of thick, freezing mist and although it would have been fun to explore in it, we want to spend time with the bird. His box sits on top of the blankets we’ve pulled from our beds to keep us warm, half on one of my legs and half on one of hers.

  ‘That’s it, I’m afraid,’ she says as the small beak opens and chirps for more. She looks up at me. ‘He definitely prefers the worms to the bread.’

  I touch his small, warm head. His feathers are soft under my fingers and he doesn’t shiver or shake like he did when we first tucked him into the box. My hooded sweatshirt is still wrapped around him but he’s not afraid of us any more. His dark eyes dart from Clara to me and back again, and when he realises that the food really is all gone he settles down in the warmth of his bed. We’ve cleaned his wing again with some warm water and soap to get rid of the weird pus coming from the gash and he didn’t even try to wriggle free. I think he’s becoming tame – to us, at least. He looks happy enough and he’s eating, so maybe Clara’s right. Maybe he is getting better. That gives me a warm glow. Another crack in the defences I’ve worked so hard to build since I arrived at the house. I’m becoming ‘me’ again. I want to fight it. I should fight it, but here in the night with Clara I can’t stop myself.

  ‘I wish we could ask the nurses for some cream or something to put on his cut,’ Clara says. We’ve searched the house for a medical kit but couldn’t find one. The only thing we came up with were some blue plasters in the kitchen.

  ‘You know we can’t.’ I touch the soft head again.

  ‘Did you have a pet at home?’ she asks.

  ‘No.’

  We’ve stacked our pillows behind us to make a kind of sofa on the floor but I can still feel the cold seeping through. I pull the blankets up a bit and Clara leans against me. ‘My mum was allergic to animal fur,’ I finish. ‘You?’

  ‘God, no. A pet? Making a mess? In the house?’ Her voice has changed into something sharp and affected – an impersonation of her mother. ‘That would be impossible. Muddy paw prints and fur everywhere.’ She laughs. ‘Which I could understand a bit more if it had been my mother doing the cleaning.’ Listening to her, I wish I could hate my mum. It would make all of this easier. All I can think of is the stuff I never said to her. The good stuff.

  ‘Well, we’ve got a pet now,’ I say. As if agreeing, Georgie ruffles the feathers on his good side.

  ‘I don’t want him to be a pet. I want him to get better and fly away. We’ll nurse him better.’

  ‘I wonder why she spoke to us. They never speak to us.’ Her words have made me think of the nurse again. Until today the nurses have just been ‘the nurses’. Now there’s one who’s a real person. After the blood tests, Will read his book right up until lights-out, Louis, curious, sometimes looking over his shoulder. I think Louis was reading the pages in seconds whereas it felt like an age before we heard the rustle of paper from Will. It isn’t a big book but I suspect this is more reading than Will probably ever did before. Now he’s not just reading it because Eleanor liked it, he’s reading it because of the nurse, too. The book is the link to that moment. Who’d ever have thought a few words from an adult could make such a difference?

  ‘I suppose she feels sorry for us.’ Clara’s voice is soft and for the first time she sounds reflective about our situation. ‘It must be strange for them, too. I wonder how they’re chosen?’

  ‘I always presumed they were just skilled psychopaths. You know, no feelings.’

  She giggles. ‘Maybe Matron is. And the ones upstairs in the sanatorium. I wonder if they ever party? The nurses and the teachers getting it on. It would be like role-play heaven, I guess.’ She laughs again. ‘Maybe they play “you wear my outfit and I’ll wear yours” and then get dirty.’

  I feel suddenly hot and uncomfortable. Clara’s a girl. They’re not supposed to talk about stuff like that, the stuff you see on the Internet. The idea that Clara might ever have watched porn makes me squirm.

  ‘You’ll have to point her out to me.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The nurse, dummy.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ I wonder how I’m supposed to do this. We never speak during the daytime. ‘If I see her. Anyway, you’re always with Jake.’ The words have blurted out of nowhere, my brain still fried with images of Clara and porn. Girls don’t think about sex. Not like boys do.

  ‘You’re always asleep. You should sleep less. I’m sure they put something in our drinks or food to keep us calm, but that doesn’t mean you should sleep the whole time. You’re worse than a stoner.’

  I don’t know how she doesn’t sleep more after being awake for most of the night. She must only get three hours tops by the time we go to bed.

  ‘Anyway,’ she continues, ‘it’s safer that way.’

  ‘Safer?’

  ‘I don’t want people to notice. And if we talk to each other too much we’ll end up letting something slip. I don’t want them to start force-feeding me their “vitamins”.’

  She’s got a point. It would be bad if the others picked up on something – worse if it was the nurses. Perhaps only one has ever spoken, but they all listen. And the one who talked to us is the one I’m the most suspicious of. Why would she want to be nice? What was she trying to achieve? I put her out of my head.

  ‘True. But Jake’s such a cock.’

  ‘No, he’s not.’

  ‘Maybe not with you, but that’s only ’cause he fancies you.’ The last bit comes out in some awful sing-song voice that makes me cringe. I wish I could shut up. ‘Before you got here he was just a cock. Trying to rule the place.’

  ‘He’s all right,’ she says. ‘I think he’s had a shit life. Even before this.’

  I think of her loveless parents. ‘So did you.’

  ‘Different shit. Scarier shit.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I wonder how different this house is from reform school. Jake must have been young when he went, maybe Louis’ age. He wouldn’t have been top dog there.

  But at least he got out. The dark ball knots in my stomach. ‘He’s still a cock,’ I mutter.

  ‘You sound jealous.’ She twists around to look at me, surprised. ‘Are you jealous of Jake?’

  This is going nowhere I want it to go, and while my insides shrivel, I only shrug. ‘Why would I be jealous? I just think he’s a bit of a dickhead, that’s all.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ she says. ‘But why waste time not liking people? We may as well all try and get along.’

  I don’t know what to say to this. To be honest, I don’t see the point in trying to like people, not here. Mainly I’m thinking that she hasn’t really said anything about
Jake fancying her. Maybe she already knows. Maybe she fancies him back. Maybe I should just stop thinking about that stupid kiss. It wasn’t a proper one, anyway. Could easily have been friend-zone. And why do I even care?

  In the box, Georgie chirps and then hops out onto my lap and stares up at us. After a second, he cocks his head. I laugh, I can’t help it.

  ‘See?’ Clara says, smiling. ‘She agrees with me.’

  ‘Or he’s agreeing that Jake is a bit of a dick.’

  The bird cocks its head the other way and chirps twice. We both laugh this time. Bored, Georgie starts to peck at our blankets.

  ‘I knew if I met anyone awake that first night it would be you.’ She’s gazing down at the bird and smiling. ‘I saw you at tea. You were the only one who looked at me like I was an idiot rather than just staring at the new girl. Then you didn’t come to the playroom after to watch the film. Everyone else did. Even poor Ellory. All curious about me and Tom. The fresh blood.’ She’s speaking quietly, remembering.

  This all goes through me like a jolt of electricity. The idea that she’d noticed me before we met in the kitchen hadn’t even occurred to me.

  ‘I was glad it was you,’ she continues as I sit listening, my heart racing as fast as the bird’s and my skin starting to burn all over again. ‘Even though you were so pissed off I was there. Wouldn’t have been the same with anyone else.’

  ‘I wasn’t pissed off,’ I stutter, ‘I was just—’

  ‘Yeah, you were. You were determined to hate me.’ She smiles up at me and my stomach flips. ‘I knew I’d win you round, though.’

  ‘Don’t count your chickens,’ I say, trying to be funny as my throat dries and constricts, threatening to choke me.

  ‘Georgie’s not a chicken. I don’t have any chickens.’

  We sit in silence for a moment, both looking at the lopsided bird hopping about in the gloom. He’s so light I can’t even feel him through the covers.

  ‘Have you ever had a proper girlfriend?’ she asks.

  I almost answer, Yeah, loads, of course I have, but then I remember where we are and how I hate the lies I’ve already told and I don’t see the point.

  ‘Not really. A couple I’ve sort of seen for a while, but nothing serious.’

  ‘No girl broke your heart, then?’ It’s weird talking about this stuff. Me and Jonesy never talked about girls – not properly. Only in that ‘what you did or didn’t do’ or ‘what you would or wouldn’t do’ kind of way.

  ‘No one special left behind?’

  I think of Julie McKendrick. A dream-girl. A ghost. ‘No,’ I say. ‘What about you? Proper boyfriends?’ I don’t even know what she means by that. What is a ‘proper’ boyfriend or girlfriend anyway? Does that mean you’ve done it?

  ‘With my dad around? And at a girls’ school?’ She shakes her head. ‘I guess a bit like you. One or two who tried. Most of the boys my parents approved of I didn’t like.’

  ‘At least you have Jake,’ I say. I hate the idea of her and Jake. I hate it with more feeling than I’ve had for anything during my entire time at the house. I definitely hate it more than the thought of Julie McKendrick off with Billy. Julie doesn’t even feel real any more.

  ‘Yes, I suppose I do,’ she says, and my insides tighten so hard I can feel my stomach shrink. I wish we’d gone out in the mist to the cave. I wish we’d never had this conversation. I wish she’d never come to the house. I just want to go back to the dorm on my own. Suddenly she bursts into laughter.

  ‘God, you’re so thick sometimes.’ She twists around so she’s facing me. ‘I like Jake. I don’t fancy Jake. It’s not Jake I’m asking about girls.’

  I stare at her. Nothing is working in my head. There’s just a mad humming as my blood rushes in all directions around my body with the switch of emotions. Before I can say anything – not that I have anything to say – she leans in and pulls me towards her by my pyjama top. My face doesn’t know where to go and my nose bangs into hers and then she tilts her head and she’s kissing me.

  This isn’t like that other kiss. This time, despite my terror of being shit at it, I feel like I’m going to explode. My whole body is shaking. Her face is warm in my hand and I slide the other nervously around her waist, feeling her nightshirt crumple and crease. She smells like freshly washed cotton with something alive and earthy wrapped in it. Her tongue is hot and still carries the lingering mint of toothpaste as it presses and turns around mine. We kiss for what feels like a minute and for ever, and when we finally break free I’m breathless and my body is on fire, throbbing.

  ‘Wow,’ I croak. She giggles.

  ‘Good kisser.’

  ‘You were okay, too,’ I say, trying to get myself under control. The moment’s broken by a small squawk between us.

  ‘Oh, poor Georgie!’ As we turned towards each other to kiss, the blankets folded over him, and now his beak pokes out from somewhere between our legs. As Clara carefully picks him up and puts him back in his box, his head turns this way and that and he ruffles what feathers he can and cheeps as if reprimanding us for forgetting him. We both giggle. I feel good. I feel amazing. I feel alive.

  ‘We should head to the dorms soon,’ she says.

  I nod.

  ‘You take your stuff and go. I’ll put him back.’ I’m panicking slightly. There is no way I’m standing up in front of her yet. Not in my thin pyjamas. If we’d done this in the cave, at least I’d have my jeans on.

  ‘Are you sure?’ She kisses me again, short and sweet this time, and my whole body aches. ‘And for the record, you’re way better looking than Jake. And funnier.’

  ‘So are you.’

  She laughs again. I like the sound of it. I like the way her hair falls so wild around her face. I like the way she’s so full of energy. What I like the most is the way she likes me.

  She bundles up her blankets and pillow and heads to the door. I watch her go, her bare legs doing nothing to help my throbbing subside. She pauses in the doorway.

  ‘Isn’t it strange?’ she says. ‘You’ll be my first proper boyfriend. And my last.’ She’s wistful. ‘Strange but wonderful. Like it’s meant to be.’

  And then she’s gone, disappeared into the corridor, leaving me a trembling mess, alone in the night. Boyfriend. She called me her boyfriend.

  Eleven

  ‘I heard that pair from Dorm Two talking about it in the playroom,’ Louis says. ‘They were calling it a miracle. Said they might get baptised, too.’

  ‘What a pile of shit,’ Tom says, sneering.

  We’re all staring at the new poster in the hallway. It’s brightly coloured, with glued-on glitter twinkling at the corners. Where does Ashley find all that crap? Why would the house even have glitter and glue? Who thinks of this stuff? The writing is large and almost artistic, the letters curling at the edges of each word declaring a ‘Celebration Service for Joe’s Recovery!’ and I wonder if Harriet is now in charge of the posters. I’m with Tom. It’s all bollocks. It’s not a fucking miracle. Joe just got over his flu.

  ‘Should we take it down?’ Will asks. ‘Before Jake sees it?’

  ‘Why?’ Jake won’t do anything about Ashley’s church. He’s not stupid. He knows Matron knows about it. Who cares what Jake thinks, anyway? And if he wants to take Ashley on, then that’s Ashley’s problem, not ours.

  ‘Why are people so stupid?’ Tom mutters. I shrug. I’m only half-here anyway, the rest of me still reliving Clara calling me her boyfriend, and mostly I’m trying to keep a big, fat, smug grin off my face.

  ‘Just forget about it and do something else. Watch a film or something.’

  ‘I might hang in the music room.’ He says this casually, but I know he’s going because Clara is in there. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself blurting out that he’s wasting his time because she’s my girlfriend.

  ‘You’re going t
o sleep, I s’pose,’ Will says.

  ‘Dunno,’ I say. For once, I don’t feel tired. I should be, but I’m not. It’s all I can do to stop my foot tapping with all the energy bubbling through me. ‘Why?’

  ‘We found an old board game yesterday. Called Escape from Colditz. It’s really good.’

  ‘Never heard of it.’ I only ever played board games at Christmas before and even then only when Gran came to visit.

  ‘It’s fun, but would be better with more than just two of us playing.’ They both stare at me but I can see they’re not holding out much hope.

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Go on, then.’ Why not? Otherwise I’ll just lie on my bed and count the interminable hours before everyone else is asleep and me and Clara can be together again. Just thinking that makes me feel like a twat but I can’t help it. At least this will make the time pass more quickly.

  As it goes, it’s not such a bad game and Louis and Will make me laugh, and before we know it, it’s teatime. Will scours the room for the nurse, but she’s not at the food station tonight. She was there this morning and he’d smiled at her as he got toast and was convinced she’d given him a wink back. I don’t know if she did or not, but as long as Will believed it, who cares? He’s young. He misses his mum. He’s the only one of us who’s come right out and admitted that ever since Henry got sick back at the beginning. Henry has put us all off talking about our mums. Not after all that terrible calling-out.

  Apart from the flash of dread it causes, I can’t really remember much in detail about what happened with Henry. It feels like a long time ago even though it’s only been weeks. I think maybe they upped whatever they put in our drinks in the aftermath. I bet the next morning, after breakfast, we were all pretty much tranquillised off our tits. I sometimes wonder why they don’t just get us high and keep us that way. Maybe they are studying us like lab rats. The chosen few. The rare Defectives. Throwbacks from a terrible time that nearly broke the world.

  These thoughts normally send me spinning into a quiet, terrible panic – fear of the waiting dark nothingness, of the sanatorium, the changing, of the certainty of non-existence that’s waiting for me – but this time it doesn’t. Weirdly, I just want to laugh. They’re not watching very hard. They don’t know about me and Clara and Georgie. It’s like we’ve escaped them. I’m alive and happy and that’s all that counts.

 

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