‘Why didn’t you go?’ Will asks.
‘I didn’t want to. Now you settle down and go to sleep.’
In that moment, she’s all our mums. Warm, caring, making everything better. She doesn’t say any more, but once she’s turned the light out I know I’m not the only one looking at the place where she’d stood with a kind of wonder. In the gloom I can see Will touching his hair where her hand has been. Such a small thing. So important.
We lie there in the dark and say nothing.
‘I want to see Harriet’s painting,’ Clara says. We’re in the playroom and I’m browsing the records. We’re not going over the wall tonight – it’s too cold and I’ve told her what the nurse said about a storm maybe coming. We went out to Georgie’s grave and talked to him for a few minutes, but even though there’s no wind the air was like ice, hurting my lungs as I breathed. We’ve been back in the house for half an hour but I’m still shivering.
‘The one in the church?’ I say. ‘But that’s right by the nurses’ wing.’
‘They’re asleep. Anyway, most of them have left. Who knows, there might be more of us than them at the moment. We could have a revolution. Take over the house!’ She smiles.
‘Yeah, and then be ruled by King Jake.’ I say.
‘Okay, maybe not.’ She’s been curled up on the sofa and uncoils and is on her feet in one smooth movement. She fascinates me. Everything about her is mysterious. Her body, her mind, the shape of her hand in mine. How can girls be so similar and yet so different?
‘Come on, let’s go and look. Eleanor says it’s beautiful. Harriet’s been working on it all day.’
The house creaks and settles around us as we creep hand in hand up the stairs. I’ve started to think of the night-time house as our friend. So much has happened since Ellory that I’ve almost forgotten the sound of the lift. The house is like an old galleon and at night we’re the only crew. I like it better thinking of it that way. When I was a kid, a place like this would have scared the crap out of me at night, but now I know there are no such thing as ghosts. If ever a place should have ghosts it’s the Death House. While the monsters in the attic do come out at night, they’re very human ones. Ghosts might actually be reassuring. They’d at least offer the hope of something after.
My hackles rise as soon as we open the door to the church. I don’t want to be in here. It’s too close to the nurses and I’m sure I can almost smell Ashley’s smugness in the cold air. There are more chairs than when we first came in here, and instead of being laid out in straight lines they’ve been moved into semi-circles curving around the desk that’s supposed to be an altar.
There are posters on the walls and my heart lurches when I see what’s written on the coloured paper – the names of those who’ve gone to the sanatorium. My stomach goes into my mouth as I read them. All the handwriting is different. These weren’t done by Ashley or Harriet.
‘Look at this shit,’ I whisper.
Henry.
He loved science fiction and computer games.
He had a rabbit called Mason.
He missed his mum.
The lines of writing are slanted upwards in a tiny scrawl and there’s a bad drawing of a rabbit in the corner. Beneath that:
The Lord is now his shepherd, he shall not want.
And then:
Ellory.
The best brother anyone could have.
County athlete. Always smiling.
Told jokes like a rock star.
Then:
Always remembered, never forgotten.
There were more, kids’ names that rang bells in my memory from those first few days but who I’d never really known. Eric, Julian, Mac and Christopher. Each with a small part of their story underneath, carefully recorded by surviving members of their dorms.
‘It’s like gravestones without their ages.’ What’s the point of remembering? Why remind ourselves of the reason we’re here?
‘Age doesn’t matter,’ Clara murmurs. ‘That’s just numbers.’
The candle we stole has been replaced by several others and Clara lights them all. The flickering yellow flames make shadows in which the names of the dead dance. I suddenly feel terribly sad and I’m angry at Ashley all over again.
‘Look.’ Clara takes my hand. There are three windows in this room, but the one which dominates is the high arched one in the centre of the wall. Standing side by side, we look up at it. I don’t know what I was expecting. Jesus on a cross, I suppose. Something like that, anyway. The bright thick paint swirls on the glass and shines in the candlelight and I imagine it glows in the day time.
‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ she breathes.
The sky is blue and a huge sun shines down. A house sits in the background but the foreground is dominated by small images of children, smiling and holding hands in the sunshine. They’re bathed in it, faces full of joy. Underneath, in charcoal grey, is printed God’s children are never alone. We are family.
‘It’s stupid,’ I say. It is beautiful but it’s not real. No one could see the house that way. ‘Everyone’s alone. Everyone’s afraid. None of this saved any of those names on the wall. I don’t remember anyone trying to help Henry or Ellory.’
‘We’re not alone,’ Clara says. ‘And I like that they’re remembering them. Someone should.’
She’s still looking up at the painted window.
‘You’re not starting to believe in any of this shit, are you?’ I ask.
‘No.’ She shakes her head and smiles, wistful. ‘Not for a second. But it doesn’t bother me that they do. If it stops them being so afraid then where’s the harm? We have each other. Everyone needs something.’
‘I’d take my chances on my own.’
‘I feel like I’ve spent all my life on my own. Trying to be something for other people. To not let them down.’ She looks at me. ‘I’m glad I came here,’ she says. ‘I’d never have met you otherwise. Or learned about the mermaids and seen the lights.’
‘You don’t mean that.’ I half-laugh. She can’t mean it. I can’t even imagine thinking like that, however much I love her.
‘We’re going to run away and live on a hot sunny beach and smile through our remaining days. Sure as hell beats what my parents had planned for me. Marry a young Black Suit. Push out some babies. Become like my poor unhappy mother.’
‘A boat must have come today for the teachers. We missed it.’ I’m trying to imagine not knowing Clara. I can’t. It physically hurts me. I can’t imagine her and me not together, but at the same time I can’t bring myself to be glad I’m here. I hate my fear of the nothingness. At least I’m not like Ashley. I don’t pretend I’m not afraid.
‘It didn’t bring supplies, though. That one will still have to come back.’
She’s right. I think of Matron’s study. ‘I might have a way of finding out when.’
‘Really?’ Her eyes shine. She might be glad she met me, but she doesn’t want to be here, crushed by the weight of the sanatorium above us, any more than I do.
‘Maybe. Let me figure it out.’
‘You keeping secrets from me?’ She leans in, flirting. My sudden excitement is countered by the knife-twist of the blood retest. I kiss her instead of answering, the candles glittering like stars around us. We kiss for a long time before she breaks away.
‘What?’ I say.
‘We’re in a church.’
‘We’re in a room.’ My head is spinning and my whole body aches. Just one touch from her and I’m on fire. ‘I don’t think we can be punished by a made-up God for kissing in a room.’
‘That’s not what I meant, dumbass.’ She kisses me again.
‘What, then?’
‘We’re in a church. Let’s get married.’
I laugh aloud. ‘There’s no vicar and you’re not sixteen yet.’
&nb
sp; ‘Age doesn’t matter,’ she says again. ‘Not any more.’ She’s serious now. ‘And it’s beautiful in here.’
I look around. If I forget about Ashley, then I suppose it is. I think about Henry and Ellory and the rest. Lives gone. We’re here now. We’re alive.
‘Till death do us part,’ I mutter.
‘No,’ she says, smiling and shaking her head. ‘For ever. You and me.’
For ever. I remember life before Clara like a dream. Julie McKendrick and Billy. Being brought to the house. It’s all shaded grey before Clara. There is grey in the past and darkness in the future, but right now everything is bright.
‘Clara, will you marry me?’
My heart races.
Her freckles crease as she smiles again. ‘Yes.’
‘I don’t have a ring.’
‘We don’t need one. It’s not that kind of marriage. We can buy a cheap silver ring from a trinket seller on a beach in India.’
‘Is that where we’re going?’
‘Why not? The world’s our oyster.’
‘So, how do we do this?’ I feel clumsy. Hot. I’m not good with words out loud. What am I supposed to say for a marriage vow? I can’t put what I feel into words. Not ones that would work.
She picks up two blankets and spreads them out on the floor. ‘We’re not going to do it like that.’ Bright-red spots flush on her cheeks. ‘I thought we could do it nature’s way.’ She turns her head and I can see she’s as nervous as me. Embarrassed.
‘Oh,’ I croak. Every vein in my body is hammering with blood. I can’t swallow.
‘Unless you don’t want to? I mean—’
‘I want to.’ Terrified as I am, I’m sure about that.
‘I don’t want to die not having done it,’ she whispers, stepping closer. We’re both trembling so much I’m sure the candle flames waver. ‘And it has to be you. It has to be special.’ She looks at me then, my mermaid girl, and my heart explodes. I feel like all the crazy colours we saw in the sky are inside me. I’m excited and afraid and I’m standing on the edge of an abyss and about to tumble deep into the unknown.
‘Did it hurt?’ I ask afterwards, when we’re lying on the blankets, our arms around each other. Her skin is so soft against mine.
‘No. I didn’t think it would. I wasn’t scared.’ She kisses my chest. I’m still reeling from the whole experience. Everything looks different. We’re now people who’ve ‘done it’. It feels weird. Not life-changing weird like I always thought it would, but as if I’m more grown-up. We’re not kids any more. We’ve transformed. Us but not us.
‘Was it okay?’
Her question throws me. She’s asking what I’ve been trying not to. It was quick and she had to guide me while my head raged at me about staying hard and wondering what the fuck I was supposed to do to make it work for her, so I know it wasn’t brilliant, but at the same time it was the most amazingly strange thing I’ve ever done.
‘Okay? It was better than okay, it was amazing.’ I pause. ‘And we’ll know what we’re doing next time.’
She giggles and then sighs. ‘I feel different.’
‘Me, too.’
‘Good, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
I watch the candles, nearly burned out now, as they smile light on us and the gravestones of the dead.
‘I love you, Toby,’ she murmurs.
‘I love you, too, Clara.’ I love her so much I think my heart will break.
Finally, we get up. Giggling and kissing, we pull our night clothes back on and fold up the blankets before putting out the candles one by one. I don’t want to leave her. I don’t want this night to be done.
‘Look!’ she gasps suddenly. ‘Look outside.’ I do and I can’t quite believe my eyes.
We stand by the plain glass and stare out in wonder, the sunshine in the painted window forgotten. White flakes tumble from the sky, a swirl of them.
‘It’s snow,’ she says. ‘Real snow.’
‘But it never snows in England.’ My brain can’t make sense of it. ‘Not any more.’
‘Not for over a hundred years. That’s what they said at school.’ Her voice is barely more than a whisper and she holds my hand tight. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? Like a wedding present from nature.’
I can’t speak. We stand there in the dark, watching the world outside change. The snow is silent, not like the rain, drifting to the ground instead of hammering it. Curious, not angry. Flakes brush the window and cling there for a second before dissolving. It has been a week of wonderful things and the joy of it all makes me want to cry even though I’m sixteen and I don’t know what I’d actually be crying about, but I want to all the same.
‘This is going to make everything better,’ Clara says. ‘I just know it is.’
Fifteen
The snowball hits me right in the cheek, stinging me hard and making my bruise rage back into life.
‘Sorry!’ Clara shouts, but then laughs as I shriek like a girl. My hands are freezing – I’ve put socks on as mittens and they’re already soaked through, but I don’t care.
The garden is full of life and noise and so much laughter. Clara was right. The snow is making everything better. It did from the moment the gong woke the house.
It was Louis who saw it first as he stretched and yawned by his bed. Even as fast as his brain is, all he managed to do was point and say, ‘Look!’ over and over until everyone woke up enough to see what the fuss was about. We’d heard screeches of excitement coming from the other dorms by then. I wasn’t surprised. The blizzard hadn’t stopped until just after dawn and the snow now lay thick on the ground, small flurries falling here and there still adding to it.
Will, who had been complaining about his cold feet since last night, now stood in silent awe by the glass, his face full of hope and delight and disbelief. In that instant he wasn’t thinking about his mum or whether it made your eyes bleed or how to play chess or anything else in this new life. He was ten years old again. Just an ordinary boy. I grinned so wide watching him that I thought my face would split.
‘It’s Narnia,’ he breathed, eventually. ‘Narnia’s in the garden.’
There were only two nurses at breakfast – Louis was right about them, most must have gone with the teachers – but their eyes sparkled even if they didn’t smile. The dining room had an energy I’d never felt in the house. Not even on that first day. That had been electric nervousness. This was sheer excitement. Nobody here had ever seen snow, not the nurses, none of us, not even Matron. If Clara hadn’t – and her dad was a Black Suit and they got to travel abroad more easily – then sure as shit no one here had. It bubbled out of every one of us. All except Matron. She was as neutral – as dead – as she always was when she stood in the doorway and told us that once we were finished eating we could play in the snow if we wished. There were extra coats and sweaters in the playroom to take our pick from. There was no kindness in her words. I think she’d just decided it was easier to let us go out in the snow than try to keep us in, especially with so few nurses in the house.
I’d watched Matron as everyone else yelped and whistled and crammed the last bits of toast in their mouths, waiting for her eyes to fall on me or Louis, but they didn’t. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe there isn’t anything to worry about. I’m determined not to think about the retest. Not today. Not after last night with Clara and now the snow. Everything is too good.
We look ridiculous, bundled up in clothes that mostly don’t fit, but nobody cares. Not even Jake. The snow crunches as our feet dig into it. A foot or more must have fallen overnight and everything is bright white. We are a picture from a Christmas card, children spread across a snowy landscape. At least three snowmen are being built – Louis, Will and Eleanor are trying to break twigs from the trees to make arms for the barrel body they’ve constructed.
�
��Not that one!’ Clara says and races to help them. ‘That one further up. The end looks like a hand! I can reach it!’
As I wait for her to come back, I let the cold, crisp, snowy air burn my lungs and look around me. Tom and a small group of boys are trying unsuccessfully to make an igloo over by the swings but it keeps collapsing, and snowballs zip through the air in all directions as kids of all ages from all the dorms playfully attack each other. Even Daniel shrieks with laughter as he gets hit by some cross-fire from a ginger boy in dorm 8, and then he giggles so hard that dimples come out on his fat cheeks.
Ashley is just standing and staring at it all with a blissful smile on his face. That is, until Harriet creeps up behind him and shoves a handful of snow down the back of his neck and he jumps almost out of his skin with the shock.
She laughs merrily as he turns to chase her. Her face shines and I realise she’s not plain at all. She’s one of those girls who would, in a few years’ time if she had them, suddenly become a beauty. She just hasn’t grown into her face yet. I also realise that me and Clara aren’t the only ones in love in the house. I don’t know if Ashley can even see it, but I can. Harriet’s shining because of him.
‘At least we got this day.’
I didn’t notice Louis coming alongside me and his quiet words make me jump. ‘You know, if our tests are bad . . .’ His breath is a stream of cold mist. ‘At least we got to see the snow.’
‘All our tests are bad, Louis,’ I say. ‘This one just didn’t read properly. Nothing to worry about, that’s what that nurse said, remember? She doesn’t look like a liar to me. And I feel fine, don’t you?’
‘I think so.’ He looks down at the snow. ‘I just keep thinking about it.’
‘Then stop. You’ll go fucking mad.’ I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to think about losing all this beauty or leaving Clara behind. ‘We’re here now. That’s all that matters.’ I can’t quite get my head around the idea that all this could carry on without me.
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