Shellshock
Page 11
The second drawing was of the man of shells upright. Once again the shells intricately created the body. In the man’s arms was a young woman.
‘Is that Miguel’s mother?’
‘Someone like her.’
‘And these are going to be sculptures?’
‘Just working drawings. They’ll be different when I’ve finished, I expect.’
‘Where will you build them? Will you go away again?’
‘I shall go back to the cave. But just for a visit. I’ll make them here.’
If only he’d ask me to go with him, thought David. But he didn’t. But maybe, at last, he would talk about Gran. Her death had left an enormous ache in his heart that he couldn’t cope with. He and Mum had sat sobbing with their arms around each other for what seemed like hours. But it was Dad he needed. Dad who had stood at the grave, staring down, abstracted, as if he was thinking about something else.
Then his father said, ‘I’ve chucked in the job.’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Your mother’s agreed. We may have to tighten our belts. But the Madrid exhibition will help, particularly if we sell.’
‘Who to?’
‘Hotels. A local authority.’
‘You think they’ll buy the Rock People?’
‘I hope so. I can do more.’
‘Dad –’
‘Yes?’
‘I can’t bear Gran’s death.’
His father reached out awkwardly, putting a stiff arm round his shoulders. ‘She was an old lady. She’d had a good life.’
Had she? wondered David. It had just seemed rather hard. But was Dad with him? Was he really saying anything about her? Or had he cast aside Gran like he had cast aside Mum, himself, Miguel. The trouble is, he thought with sudden clarity, we’re all in the way. The way of his ambition. Dad was as single-minded as the mythical Shell Man. But with him it wasn’t revenge – it was ambition. But how quickly could thwarted ambition become revenge? Then there was his charm, the way he swept everyone before him. Then swept them behind him.
‘I’m sorry about your gran.’
They had cycled down to the marshes and were sitting overlooking the estuary where, some months ago, it had seemed to Jan that it had all begun. Where David had cried. But he showed no sign of doing that now.
‘Yes. I feel awful.’
‘Do you want to talk?’
‘Not about her.’
‘Anything else?’
‘How’s Miguel?’
‘Not much improvement.’
‘You and your dad go to the hospital a lot, don’t you?’
‘We try.’
‘I haven’t seen much of you.’
‘We’ve only been back a couple of weeks. I hear you’ve been down to see him, too.’ She spoke quickly as if she was trying to avoid a row. But David knew he didn’t want that. He wanted her.
‘I wish he’d stayed in Spain,’ he said, the anger cutting into the words. ‘If it hadn’t been for Dad. Managing everything as usual. Then never going to see him.’
‘I think your dad was right to bring him here.’
‘He never asked Mum.’
‘Maybe there wasn’t time.’
It was quite windy and the waves were lashing at the pebbles. They suited David’s mood. They made him feel excited in a special way.
‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘He has been to see him.’
‘Not much. Not as much as Mum. And she’d never met him before. I mean Dad left us for him – left her for him.’
‘Not exactly. I mean – he went to Spain and met Miguel’s mother. The rest was a tragedy.’
‘You sound like a soap opera,’ said David savagely, picking up a stone and hurling it at the sea. It fell short.
‘Sorry.’
He was silent, throwing another stone. It fell even shorter.
‘What do you think will happen?’ she asked.
‘Happen?’
‘To Miguel.’
‘I’m not his doctor.’
‘I mean, is your father going to help him in England? Or will he go back to his grandparents?’
‘My father hasn’t pronounced.’
‘Will he?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘You know why.’
‘You feel responsible for him?’
‘For what I did.’
‘You didn’t do anything.’
‘I pushed him.’
‘He provoked you.’
She started to speak and David held up a weary hand. ‘Don’t let’s go through it all again.’
They were silent, watching the white fury of the breakers and the groaning and shifting of the pebbles.
‘David, I have to look after him. You’re right, your father doesn’t go down much. Neither do you.’
‘You want to go, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Miguel won. He lost his mother. He lost Dad. But he won in the end.’
‘What? I don’t –’
‘He got you.’
‘I’ve never heard such rubbish.’ She stood up.
‘Sit down.’
She sat down again; not obediently, but resignedly.
‘We were just friends here,’ said David. ‘Something happened out there.’
‘I know.’
‘Between us.’
‘Yes.’
‘You did feel it too?’
‘Of course I did.’
‘You did like me –’
‘David –’
‘You did like me –
‘You know I did.’
‘Let’s do it here.’
‘What?’
‘Make love.’
‘God –’ She was staring at him, horrified.
‘You did out there. You wanted to.’
‘We can’t here.’
‘Because of him. Miguel.’ David laughed contemptuously. ‘That’s why.’
‘We’re too young.’
‘In Britain? Not in Spain.’
‘David, you’re upset. Your gran –’
He hit her. Hard. Across the cheek. And she reeled back with a sobbing cry of pain. Immediately he was contrite.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why?’ she whispered, her eyes full of tears. ‘Why did you hit me?’
‘Gran.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s nothing to do with Gran. I’ve lost her. It’s nearly killed me. But this is nothing to do with her. Nothing to do with her at all. It’s him. That bastard Miguel. He took you. You love him.’
‘No-’
‘I can see it in your eyes.’
‘My eyes are full of tears.’ She wiped at them, leaving dirty marks on her cheeks.
David wanted to wipe them off. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
‘You love him,’ he repeated dully.
‘I feel responsible. Don’t you understand? Your father – he’s – he’s a swine. He dragged him over here just out of conscience. And before that –’
‘I know. He was part of Pilar. But Dad worked his way through that.’
‘He works his way through lots of people.’
‘Maybe, but I love him. He doesn’t love me.’
‘Of course he does. You’re his son.’
‘I want you to love me.’
‘I’m very fond –’
‘It’s Miguel you love.’
‘We’re going round in circles.’
‘He’s got you. With his magical garland.’
‘That was some idiotic plaything. David, you are upset.
Don’t hit me again. But you are.’
‘I’m overwrought,’ he said with a sneer.
She got up. ‘Let’s cycle back.’
‘You frightened of me?’
‘No, David. But the more we talk the more we’ll regret.’
‘What’s going to happen in the future, Jan?’
‘We’ll be friends.’
‘Yes?’
‘Of course we will.’
‘What about making love, Jan? I must know.’
‘Give it time.’
‘Do you want to make love to him?’ She grabbed her bike. ‘Please, David. We must get back.’
Jan began to cycle, wobbling a bit. David picked up his own bike and followed.
‘He tried to kill me. That Miguel of yours.’
‘He was –’
‘Overwrought?’ David mocked.
‘He was jealous. Jealous that you were your father’s son. That you’d come to replace him.’
‘Well, I didn’t, did I? Dad worked his way through him like we said.’
‘He wasn’t to know that, was he?’
‘Jan.’
‘Yes?’ She sounded apprehensive.
‘I’m sorry I hit you.’
‘It doesn’t matter, David.’
‘It does, Jan. It does.’
‘I can see why.’
‘Can you?’ He seized what she had said with sudden, enormous hope. ‘Can you really?’
‘Yes – I told you. I can see why.’
They cycled into the wind.
David was sitting in the darkened kitchen when his mother came in.
‘What are you doing, sitting alone in the dark?’
‘Having a think.’
‘You mustn’t brood about your gran. You’re making her unhappy in heaven.’
He smiled up at her. She had always had simple beliefs. That was the good thing about her; she made you believe.
‘Mum?’
‘Yes, darling?’
‘Was Dad – Dad when you married him? I mean – like he is now?’
She laughed gently. ‘No. Not in the least. He was very shy, very unsure of himself. I had to do a lot to build up his confidence. I mean – I could see his talent. It was far greater than mine. Trouble is –’ she sighed – ‘maybe I built him up too much.’
‘Does he care about anyone?’
‘Now that’s a wicked thing to say about your dad.’ But she wasn’t angry. Only reflective.
‘Is it?’
‘He’s a big child. In many ways.’
‘Mum!’
‘It’s true.’
‘You can’t let him get away with that.’
‘I can’t do much about it.’
‘He left you and you’ve taken him back.’
‘Oh, yes. But I pushed him out in the first place.’
‘You couldn’t leave Gran.’
‘Oh, yes I could. And she wanted me to. She knew the score – the cunning old thing. If I’d gone –’
‘He wouldn’t have met Pilar?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Has he – been with other people before?’ She nodded. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘He doesn’t love us.’
‘Oh, yes, he does in his way. But he has to love himself more. It’s his only way of surviving.’
‘It’s awful.’
‘Don’t be so hard on him.’
‘Why not?’
‘Are we any better? I didn’t love him enough to go with him and you don’t love him enough to forgive him.’
David shook his head angrily. ‘You talk like a saint.’
She laughed. ‘I assure you I’m not. There are times when I’ve –’ She stopped and then abruptly changed the subject. ‘Why don’t you come down with me to see Miguel.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not tomorrow.’
‘Why not?’
‘I just don’t want to.’
‘He’s got to be seen.’
‘Why doesn’t Dad go?’
‘Because he can’t do any more for him.’
‘Why not?’
‘That’s over now.’
‘Oh well –’ He shook his head.
‘Why won’t you go? It is because Jan goes?’
He shook his head again. ‘How can you bear to go? He’s the son of Dad’s lover.’
But she was angry immediately. ‘You pull yourself together. I’m not so narrow-minded. He’s only a child.’
David thought of Miguel’s demon’s face. Was he? It grinned triumphantly at him in his mind. I’ve won, it said. I’ve won.
The gallery in Madrid was so light that it was almost blinding. Dad’s Rock People stood on the black cork floor. Round the neck of the smallest was a terra-cotta necklace. It was the private viewing. Mum was there, Dad, Mr Daniels – all sipping dry sherry and not really knowing what to say. Around them circulated a large number of fashionably dressed people. Some stared at the Rock People; others talked to each other – a few talked to Dad. There was a gentle buzz of Spanish and English conversation. David stood awkwardly by his father, his heart pounding.
When Tod had a spare moment he said: ‘Anything wrong, David?’
‘Nothing, Dad.’
‘You look a bit – ill.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Try to brighten up a bit then. This is an important day for me.’
‘I’m fine, Dad, really.’
To get away from his questions David strolled across to Jan and Miguel. She was sitting on a stool, talking to him in his wheelchair. They laughed and David shivered. He felt so much in the shade. Ever since they had all come to Madrid they had locked him out. It had been bad enough in England but it was worse here. They were all happy now. Mum and Dad. Jan and Miguel. All together on the inside. But he was on the outside.
Miguel looked up at him, his eyes triumphant. He had won his campaign of hatred after all. There had been no need for Miguel to have imprisoned him in the cave. No need at all. Of course he had lost the use of his legs and one of his arms, but he had taken his place in the family, stolen Mum and Jan. He had people to love him, strong people, not like his grandparents.
David returned Miguel’s triumphant stare with a smile. He felt in his pocket. It was still there. None of them had realised that before they left he had returned to the island, moved the boulder and scrambled down into the nightmare world again. None of them would ever know he had taken the garland from the rock and travelled back to England with it. He had needed the precaution of that symbol of revenge. As he had left the cave and scrambled up to the light, David thought he had heard shuffling behind him. But of course it was his imagination.
He smiled at Miguel and fingered the garland again.
A Note on the Author
Anthony Masters was renowned as an adult novelist, short story writer and biographer, but was best known for his fiction for young people
Many of his novels carry deep insights into social problems, which he experienced over four decades by helping the socially excluded. He ran soup kitchens for drug addicts and campaigned for the civic rights of gypsies and other ethnic minorities. Masters is also known for his eclectic range of non-fiction titles, ranging from the biographies of such diverse personalities as the British secret service chief immortalized by Ian Fleming in his James Bond books (The Man Who Was M: the Life of Maxwell Knight).
His children’s fiction included teenage novels and the ground breaking Weird World series of young adult horror, published by Bloomsbury. He also worked with children both in schools and at art festivals. Anthony Masters died in 2003.
Discover books by Anthony Masters published by Bloomsbury Reader at
www.bloomsbury.com/AnthonyMasters
A Pocketful of Rye
Confessional
Finding Joe
Ghost Blades
Hidden Gods
Murder Is a Long Time Coming
The Men
The Seahorse
Children and Young Adult Books
Cries of Terror
Dead Man at the Door
Ghost Stories to Tell in the Dark
Horror Stories to Tell in the Dark
I Want Him Dead
Nightmare in New York
Scary Tales to Tell in the Dark
&
nbsp; Vampire Stories to Tell in the Dark
Werewolf Stories to tell in the Dark
For copyright reasons, any images not belonging to the original author have been
removed from this book.The text has not been changed, and may still contain
references to missing images.
This electronic edition published in 2013 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square,
London WC1B 3DP
First published in Great Britain 1990 by Methuen Children's Books
Copyright © 1990 Anthony Masters
All rights reserved
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eISBN:9781448213955
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