“The shoe,” she said. “It wasn’t... I didn’t mean ...”
Keep pushing. The fragments come, and they make a sort of sense. He hugged her gently, trying to stop her wanting to run away. He said, “I’ll show you how much I know. They ... heard me. A long way away. They wanted me here. But afterwards ... I wasn’t right. They sent the girl and the dog and the man who played chess. Maybe they made everything, they ... made the car be where I should see it. But it wasn’t any good. So they sent ... last night...”
“No...”
He went way out on a crazy limb. “I lost a father,” he said. “I thought my mind was going to explode. What happened to you, Anne, how did they hear you...”
She started to panic again. She was trying to fight him. “Go away,” she said. “Go away go away go away...”
He shook her, having to shout. “I can’t. I’m in too deep...”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” she said. “Oh, God,” she said, she was crying badly, trying to hide her face. “Oh, God...”
He was sitting with her in the car, his arm was round her shoulders. He gave her a cigarette, “Listen,” he said, dry-mouthed. “I found you again, didn’t I ? When they didn’t want me to?”
She nodded dumbly. He took her hand, rubbed the knuckles. “Then trust me. I know what I want, I’m crazy, have a wonderful life....”
“They’ll kill you...”
“Then I’ll rise on the third day, Anne, I believe. People, us ... I believe in ... oh, Hell, everything, they can’t stop us. Don’t you want to get free again, not even try?”
“Can’t.” She banged the car dash miserably. “Can’t, can’t...”
“Not by running,” he said. Still the crazy pattern, fitting. ... He said, “You can’t run from them. That’s what they like, isn’t it ? For you to try to run. You were running last night...”
“No...”
“Anne,” he said. “I’ve got to meet them.”
“No!” She choked on the word that time, made a noise like a bad gearchange. Puffed at the cigarette, hand shaking. “It’ll be Paul,” she said. “Next time, it’ll be Paul...Last night was only Albert, he has the sort of ... Gothic sense....”
“What does Paul do?”
Shuddering. “He makes ... things....”
“Were they why you were running?”
She nodded mutely. Cat had got her tongue.
“They can’t hurt you.”
The nodding again, furiously.
“What can they do to you ?”
“Things,” she said. “Things . . .”
Don’t let the rage start, not again. A man in a rage can’t think. And you need to think, by God how you need to think.... Two names, he told himself. Paul, Albert. He nearly knew what he was fighting. “Anne,” he said. “Can you shut them out?”
“S-sometimes. ...”
“Tonight’s a special time,” he said. “Please, Anne, be ordinary. I want to take you out, I’ve got a lot of talking to do....” This was the only way, soon he could draw them into the open. Then he would ... see what he had to do. He said, “It’s about this pub....”
“Pub....”
“Down in the West Country,” he said. “Long way off from here.”
Crazy how a problem can drag on for years then unsnarl itself in an instant of time. He’d said to himself once, I find an answer to Warwell I find an answer to everything else. He’d been right. He asked himself, what if my father didn’t hate at all? Then all the long years would be an act of faith, a blessing, not a curse. “To thine own self be true....” Aloud he said, “Anne, if you’re the ... person I think you are, you’ll understand this. There was an old man once, wanted his son in business with him. Wanted to put ‘and Son’ over the gate, was all. I said something that ... cut him apart. Afterwards, the money, I ... didn’t understand. I’d turned into a smart little Townie, I didn’t understand. ...”
“I never stood up to anything,” he said. “Not till today. Just ducked out and thought I was being smart. Dad knew that. Just wanted me to wake up, that was all....” A pause; then, “He’d have liked you,” he said. “Very much....”
“Jimmy, the pub...”
“Oh,” he said. “That.... It all worked itself out, sort of came clear. But you have to be married or they won’t give you a li...”
“What?”
“Married,” he said. “Oh, I am being patient. For a start I kept thinking it was crazy, love at first sight and all that mush, but it isn’t love of course, you live through that pretty early on. Need’s a different thing, rotten business, can’t do much about it. I’m sorry for your friends, they don’t stand much of a chance...”
“What?” she said, “What?” and he thought, Christ, it’ll be the shoe again, but that won’t be too bad this time because it’ll only be her rage driving it. “I can see you now,” he said. “Standing back of the bar cheeking the locals....”
“Jimmy....”
It sank in, second time. “Oh,” he said, “She knows the fellow’s name all along. Nice little espionage service they have down here, not bad for the sticks. Congratulations, my dear, now it’s a hard life but very rewarding...”
“What...”
“The pub, gosh, I shall have to spell it out for you. Up with the lark and all that and scrubbing the loos before you can have your supper, but it’s very rewarding, human contact you know, invaluable to the artist, write a book about it. Seven days a week, but you get the afternoons free and we’ll have a glass roof in the snug for the pigeons to land on...”
“Jimmy, please...”
“Geraniums,” he said. “Now my maternal G-Granny was a great one for geraniums, you keep the soil loosened round the roots or you have to be careful not to loosen the soil round the roots or something like that, but they’re great for outside the pub. Windowboxes, very fetching, snap up the tourist trade. And there’s Roley of course, did I tell you about Roley?”
“A...”
“Guy I used to work with,” he said. “Prix de Rome. We had a pact. First one to get a pub gives the other a month’s free beer. Now Roley can smell free beer from about a hundred and fifty miles, so that’ll be OK, but I can send him a letter poste restante just in case. You’ll like him, he’s great, he’ll turn up in something twenty feet long with rivets down the bonnet and the first thing he’ll do is ask you to go to bed with him, but not to worry, he says that to all the g...”
“You’re ... mad,” she said, struggling. He kissed her on the mouth; he nearly couldn’t help it, she was whipping her head about, turned straight into it. Then he couldn’t stop, he had to kiss her eyes, her hair ...
She lay still, like a toy with a busted spring. Eyes shut in pain, tears still squeezing out under the lids. The tears were salt, he could taste them. “Anne,” he said, “I know I’m mad. But not as mad ... as this town.” He lifted the hem of her skirt, gently. Her legs were straight and smooth and there was no mark, no sign of a graze. “They saved you from the car,” he said. “But they threw you too hard, they had to do it hard.....” He touched the bandage on her arm. He asked, “Did you have to keep wearing it? Was there somebody might have noticed?”
No answer.
“Why did they mend you?” he said. “Were you bothering them?” He shook her suddenly, trying to make her react. “Don’t you see I can’t stop now ... ?” He swallowed. “Anne, will you trust me?”
Again the silence. “I can’t leave you here,” he said. “For ... them to perform ... indignities ... on your body.” Then very quietly, “Do I make myself clear?”
She spoke bitterly, not opening her eyes. “Dignity, indignity. ... Do you understand about dignity, Jimmy? Do you think you do?”
He tidied her skirt. “Darling,” he said. “Last night they ... opened your grave, I don’t know how else to say it. I ... didn’t know about them, Anne. Like you said, I was lying. But I know this. For what they did ... I’ll choke them....”
Her voice sounded s
uddenly remote. “I had a twin sister,” she said. “The thing that killed her, they could cure it now.” She licked her mouth. “I guess,” she said, “I guess I shouted pretty loud. Afterwards ... I couldn’t get away. My parents don’t know where I am. I changed my name.”
“We’ll go see them,” he said. “Soon, now....”
She looked at him, finally. Deep tiredness in her eyes. She said “I’ll take that drink I missed out on. Were you very mad... ?”
He drove her home. A whole hundred yards.
* * * *
Five
They weren’t by the river. They weren’t out on the roads. They weren’t anywhere, no place he drove. Anne sat beside him tensed up and waiting, he hadn’t fooled her, she knew what he was doing. There was something in this town, something he loathed, and she was his key to it. He felt crazy, now. He’d driven up the hill that afternoon, come back down with a wife; it was a prodigy, against the natural ordering of things. He waited for other miracles. They didn’t come.
There was a temptation to run, just turn the nose of the car at the open road and shove the throttle. But it was no good; whatever this thing was, it was too big to hide from. He knew that instinctively. He looked across at Anne. How much did he know about her, truly? Everything, he told himself. Everything and nothing. She’d come to Warwell, settled in a shared room over a country pub, got herself a job as secretary to a firm that marketed radio spares. That was all she’d told him and he knew she’d say no more. She couldn’t, because she was involved more deeply than he. She was part of the thing that had hounded him.
She was sitting stiffly, hair blowing out. She was wearing a sweet summer dress. She held the bandaged arm blatantly somehow, like a badge. They had done that to her, and worse. Run her wet, ridden her like a horse. Jimmy gripped the wheel, tried to squeeze the impression of his hate into metal.
They were waiting at the Dog and Badger.
He saw the lights of the pub showing ahead against the evening blue of the sky, felt Anne tense as soon as the place came in sight. A car was parked in the little pull-in; he drove alongside, sat and looked it over. Jaguar, XK150. Saloon, black. He remembered the howl of an engine the night before. And the car that had wound up passing the George. The big car. XK? Could be....
He set the brake, turned his engine off, walked to the passenger door. Anne got out, stood pressing herself against him and vibrating. He didn’t need to ask. They were inside.
He walked towards the saloon door, stopped. Said quietly, “All of them?”
“No....” Shivering. “Two. ..”
He smiled. “Let’s go in then. We came for a drink, remember ?”
“Jimmy, listen....”
“It’s OK, Anne,” he said. His fingers found her damp ones, curled round them. “It’s OK....”
“The Little One,” she said. “Mind the Little One, she throws things...”
“Interesting. Got a temper on her, has she?”
“No!” Violently. “No, she throws things....”
The bar was quiet, just like the night before. The sporting prints hung on the walls, the counter glassware shone. He stopped just inside the door, and stared. They stared back. The two of them. She was small and cute. Little skirt pulled far too high, curly short hair, eyes of baby blue. Red horseshoe of mouth, smiling. He was dark, hair black and wavy, oiled till it glinted. Wide-set strange eyes, flat, hot-brown. No expression there at all.
Anne walked in behind Strong, hesitated. A pause; then the Little One lifted her arm. Snapped her fingers.
The girl moved past Jimmy like a sleepwalker. Stopped beside them, stood and turned. The three faces watched and somehow they were the same. God, they were the same....
He got her wrist roughly, pulled. Anything to break that trilogy.... She came to him and he could hear her panting in the quiet room. He rang the bar bell for service, someone came. He didn’t see who. He opened his mouth, but it was the Little One who spoke. “A large beer,” she said sweetly. “And a Scotch. Double. The one the lady didn’t have last night.”
He paid for the drinks. He couldn’t take his eyes off them. “Anne,” he said. “Who are your friends?”
“Hazel...” She was swaying, he was scared she was going to fall. “Hazel, Johnny....”
“Uh-huh,” he said, nodding. “Hazel, Johnny....” He made himself look back to her. “Drink your drink, poppet. Then go sit in the car. My car....”
She didn’t move.
There was danger here, he could feel it shift and coil and raise his back hair. He could fight what he could see, but he wanted her out again first. “Anne,” he said sharply. “Do as you’re told....” She picked the glass up, lips pale. Swallowed jerkily, coughed, touched her mouth, looked at him in pain, walked out. He heard the door close behind her then the click of the latch on the Triumph. His ears seemed preternaturally sharp. He took a breath. “Hazel,” he said quietly. “It’s rude to snap fingers. Nobody ever told you ?
No answer. Just the staring, innocent and intense. And the smile curving, curving, it would touch her ears. The cat was looking at the cream....
He drank his beer, eyes watching over the rim of the tankard. What would they do, pull a knife, a gun ...? Nothing, you fool, nothing like that. Nothing you could understand.... He finished the pint, walked forward, stepping carefully on his toes. His body felt light, balanced. He leaned on the table in front of them, resting his knuckles. And still there was the smile, same smile now on two heads. The rage was back, furring his throat; he made himself be calm. “We came in,” he said. “We had our drinks, nobody stopped us. Nobody did a thing. Now we’re leaving. Anybody going to object?”
Silence. The smiling silence.
“Don’t click fingers,” he said. “Not at Anne. I don’t like it.” He picked the Little One’s hand up from where it lay on bright Formica. Was an ordinary little hand, nails bitten down. He twined his fingers and twisted, slowly closed his grip. He’d always had powerful wrists. Hazel rose slightly in the chair, arcing her body, smiling still. “Do you want to be broken?” he said. “Or you Johnny, do you want to be pulled apart? No? Then get off my back. Get right, right off. As of now....” He stepped away, sidled to the door. “That was a promise,” he said. “Not a threat. I don’t threaten.” He closed the door on the smiles. Got into the TR4 and found he was shaking. He reached across, took Anne’s wrist, pressed. “It was all right,” he said. “Don’t worry, it was all right....”
* * * *
It was late that night before he dropped the girl at her lodgings. He drove back down to Warwell feeling better than he had in weeks, stopped in the carpark in the middle of town. It was past midnight, the yard gates at the George would be shut; he’d been with his Anne a long time, talking and dreaming and watching the moon. He got out of the car. He’d leave her where she was, she’d come to no harm. He pulled the cover across the cockpit, clicked the studs in place, fastened the zip. Then he straightened up, looked round. The town was utterly quiet; the moon was still high, riding a clear sky. The central area of the carpark was brightly lit, round it the pointed shadows of buildings were inky black. He started to walk across the open space, heading for the gates.
He stopped. The noise.... It had sounded loud in the silence. A shuffling, scraping. Not a footstep. He looked behind him and to each side. Nothing. He felt the hair prickle again on his neck. Wished he’d brought his car torch with him, but it was back at the George. The sound came again.
Very deliberately, he took his handkerchief from his pocket. He wound it into a ball, gripped it in his fist. In the mob the boys had used pullthrough weights, but the hankie would have to serve. He pushed pennies between the knuckles, wadding them against the cloth. He looked round him again, slowly.... And there was the noise, in front and to his right.
He turned back and stared. About twenty yards away, lying in the moonlight, was a plank. Three or four feet long, six inches broad by a couple thick. A moment before, it hadn’t been there.
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He extended one foot carefully. Felt the toes touch the ground, took a step. As he moved so did the plank. It rose on end, hung swaying slightly. It was between him and the gate.
“Uh-huh,” said Strong. “Yeah....” And started to walk.
A long time back when he was a tiny kid there was a dog he had to pass on the way from school. He remembered now how he’d edge by the place where the thing lived, walking on the opposite side of the road. Sometimes the dog would come, with a pattering rush. Sometimes not. But always as he walked he could sense without looking the open garden gate. Feel the presence of it like a hot breeze against the skin. The sensation was there now. He kept his eyes ahead, stepped past where the plank hung and rocked in moonlight.
New Writings in SF 6 - [Anthology] Page 5