The Twist in the Branch

by Melanie Smith

  We sit in relative silence, grazing upon our picnic and enjoying the feeling of being in the quiet, open expanse of the field, glad of the break from the city and grateful for the slight drop in temperature when the sun begins to haze over, as the hottest part of the day comes to an end.

  Except for some grapes and a few strawberries there is not much left when we are done. Mum collects them together and puts them on a plate, then clears up the rubbish while my dad gathers together the cups, plates and cutlery and puts them back in the basket.

  ‘Bloody wasps!’ he curses under his breath as he tries to get the sticky cups away without getting stung. Mum rolls her eyes as they both get on with clearing up. They talk a bit about work; stuff about deadlines, annoying colleagues, stock checks and various other things beyond my interest and understanding. I lay down on my front and read the magazine that Dad has bought for me, flicking through to see what takes my interest first.

  After an hour or so I’m tired, sticky from all the heat and bored of my magazine. Mum and Dad are flat-out on the blanket; Dad with a book in his hand that he is holding up awkwardly and reading, while Mum lays at a right-angle to him with her head resting in his lap. She’s not quite asleep, but any longer and this may not be the case.

  ‘When are we going?’ I ask.

  ‘Not long love, we’ll pack up in a minute and get moving’ says my dad, not looking up from his book.

  ‘Mum…Mum!’

  ‘Mmm,’ she murmurs eventually.

  ‘Come on we’re going,’ I say impatiently. I’m starting to feel tired and irritable.

  ‘Don’t nag love, I said we’ll be going now,’ my father instructs.

  I let out a huff of annoyance. He puts his book down and tries to catch a look at my mum. ‘Better make a move love or you’re going to be here for the night’ he says.

  ‘I know – I’m shattered, nodded off there for a minute.’ She sits up and smiles at me. ‘Come on then Ratty Pants,’ she teases, holding out her arms, ‘home for you.’ I make my way into them and she gives me a tight squeeze. My dad is lying on his side, propped up by his left arm, watching.

  ‘Ratty Pants – it suits you,’ he says his tone serious, but his face not quite matching as his lips curl up at the corners.

  ‘Better than Sephone,’ I scowl back at him.

  ‘Your name suits you perfectly,’ he returns, smiling now, ‘I knew it from the day you were born. And I happen to like it.’

  ‘Well you don’t have to live with it. Why couldn’t I just be like everyone else with a normal name like Sarah or Emma?’

  He smiles, picks a large stem of grass from the ground and places it behind my ear. I look up at my mother, and I’m sure that I catch a tear rolling from her eye.

  ***

  Once again, the night is a hot one, but unlike previous evenings a wind has blown up and provides some respite from the still, oppressive, heat. It is only a small breeze but it is enough to play with the plain white voiles that hang at my open window, gently billowing them outwards. Just watching the curtains blowing towards me adds to the sensation of moving air.

  It may be this, as well as the afternoon trip out in the fresh air that has drained me, but for some reason there is no tossing and turning as there has been in recent weeks, just a gentle roll over into unconsciousness.

  But before I am there completely something jolts me back into awareness and to my bedroom, where the curtain still billows and where I lay confused at why my heart is pumping so loudly that my ears ring with the throb of blood that pulses through them.

  I feel the need to be close to my mum but am too scared to get out of bed and go downstairs, where I can hear the noise from the TV. Instead, despite the heat, the covers are pulled up over my body, right up to my eyes until the fear has settled, and I slip back down again towards sleep.

  There is a drifting between here and not here; a feeling of being pulled between two worlds and not knowing which is real. In the background there are sounds, but it is not clear what they are, no matter how much I strain to move towards them. They hang out there in the distance like unreachable clues.

  The breeze from the window strengthens, and the long white netting floats like a ghost towards my body as I move closer. Suddenly the room seems cold, even after all this heat, and the curtain dances too ferociously for it to be calming as it was before. I want it to stop. I get between the material and the window to look out and my heart nearly stops as I see a dark figure moving slowly across the street. Slow, heavy steps. Each movement feels like a magnet pulling me towards him, his head turned up to my window.

  Panic moves to my hands and they tremble as I grasp at the frame, drawing it down to seal me off safely from the outside. It gets most of the way, but the old sash frame that my parents have been planning to replace gets stuck just at the bottom, leaving a small gap between my bedroom and the street. It is enough, and the curtain continues – however stifled – to move with the wind.

  The window disappears.

  I am not in my room. It makes no sense.

  A room; but not mine.

  Terror grips my whole body. Dark. Alone. So much noise. Screaming. Banging. Groaning. The clinking of metal.

  The room is small and cold, and the only light comes from a candle that is burning low on a table, and from the large low full moon that spills in from a small undressed window.

  I stand at the centre of the room with my hands wrapped around myself, looking from side to side, sobbing. But as much as I look, the lack of light and my ten-year-old awareness gives me no insight into where I am.

  So cold. Dressed only in a thin pale nightdress that I don’t recognise. The darkness is terrifying because I have no idea what could be lurking there, and this is what frightens me the most. The dark corners, where things can live without being seen.

  I do the only thing I can think of, and focus on what I can see; the small table with the candle burning low in its holder. Slowly, with my cold bare feet I move towards it, pick it up, and hold it out at my chest. As the flickering light catches the wall, I see markings. I hold the candle closer and see that they are handprints. The flame dances precariously over them, because of my trembling hand. Peering closer, colours come into view.

  Red.

  Some are dark, crusted rust-brown, and through and around them scratches are etched into the wall, as if a blade has been dragged across, cutting into the cold hard concrete. But what makes me cry hard are the bright-red wet prints that press at my fear so badly I feel as though I may pass out.

  The noises get louder, and one – above the rest of the chaotic din – becomes clear from the distance. It is my mother’s voice, screaming my name.

  10

  ‘SEPH – ON – EE.’

  The sounds escape from Beth’s mouth loud and slow, the condescension piled up high.

  ‘Like Stephanie but without the ‘t’,’ I explain.

  ‘Well why not just call you Stephanie then?’ It seems an obvious question from someone like him, with his obvious confidence and even more obvious sense of entitlement

  ‘Take the hint will you – she’s not interested.’ Beth’s tone sets me on edge. I don’t want to get into any confrontation.

  The walk from the corridor to the car park is taking forever, like one of those dreams where you never quite get to your destination. Matthew Turner walks alongside us – me – all of the way, his arm casually brushing mine on occasion.

  ‘Sure you’re not interested Beth? Heard you like a bit of girl on girl – I’m up for that too.’

  ‘You couldn’t keep up.’

  I can’t help but smile. An answer for everything, and always the right one. He laughs too, but I can see that in some small way he is beaten. Beth is on top now, and has him pinned in a playful, but meaningful way to the ground.

  Up ahead Alex and Evan are standing slouched against the side of the car, looking at something with great interest on one of their phones. Evan looks up when he hears us
coming.

  ‘Anytime you wanna test out that little theory of yours just let me know,’ Matthew concedes, before backing away, winking at me and walking off.

  ‘What did he want?’ Evan asks, face like thunder.

  ‘Trying it on as usual.’ Beth’s face is triumphantly calm. ‘Seph’s turn this time.’

  I can see Evan’s blue-grey eyes burning into Matthew’s back as he strolls off across the tarmac towards his parked car, and a part of me enjoys it, though it kills me to admit it.

  ‘You sure about this Seph? You don’t have to come – after last time and everything.’ Beth looks me square in the eye, checking for any signs of doubt on my behalf.

  ‘Honestly – I’m fine. I want to come,’ I insist. This couldn’t be further from the truth. The thought of flipping out again in front of everyone – in front of Evan – is picking at my head, but something in me wants to prove to myself that this is all just bullshit and that I’m being over-sensitive, so I’m determined to go with them.

  ‘OK, nice one. So, I want to get some good shots of the place this time for my project, would be amazing if you could be in some of them maybe, now Lowri can’t make it. Please?’

  ‘Um, yeah ok, s’pose so.’ Really?

  ‘Let’s go then people, while the light is right.’

  ‘Yes boss.’ Alex tries to sound offended, but he’s loving being the one with the car.

  We all jump in and make our way out of the school grounds, past Matthew, who is sat in his car on his phone. He makes a crude gesture with his tongue at us as we drive past, making Beth laugh almost like she feels sorry for him.

  ‘Dickhead,’ she says, scraping her hair back into a short ponytail.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, and it comes out louder than I expect it to, for Evan’s benefit no doubt.

  A sea of red and black spills out over the town, as the school empties for the day. Boys wrestling and tussling – whipping girls with their ties as they walk past. Older pupils dodging them, wrapped up in conversations on their phones or with each other.

  A group of what must be Year Ten boys notice who is driving. ‘Oh! Alex boy, give us a lift!’

  ‘Later losers,’ is the response they get from Alex through his open window.

  A tirade of language and abuse is thrown our way, as Alex and Evan laugh – Alex extending his middle finger out of the window at them as we drive off.

  It’s not long before we find ourselves out in the lanes again. From down here I can see my house in the distance, peering over me, watching me from its lonely field. I pull down the window to get some air.

  Beth is talking to me about lighting and angles and atmosphere and I’m trying to look interested, but am finding it hard to focus.

  ‘So what is this place anyway?’ It comes out even though I don’t really want to hear the answer.

  ‘It’s been a lot of things I think,’ Beth replies.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘A mental hospital.’ Political correctness is not really Alex’s thing.

  ‘Well obviously it’s old so it dates back years and has had bits added on. Originally it was an asylum – for women I think, and a hospital for wounded soldiers I think, to recuperate. Last I know, it was a TB hospital, or something.’

  I try to drown out the screaming in my head. My screams. Their screams. The slamming doors.

  It was an asylum …

  We weave our way through the fields and hills, snaking along to that building, travelling past sheep and trees and the carcasses of old buildings that sit like dead unburied bodies that belong to this valley – farmhouses, barns, old industrial buildings – all of them dead and decaying. Rotting away on the landscape.

  ‘I think that one used to belong to your family at one point,’ says Beth, pointing to the field below.

  ‘Oh,’ I say, not really that interested. I look down at the green expanse that is on a slope below us, sheep grazing their way around it. In the centre stands a large black tree, it’s red fallen leaves forming a perfect circle around its base. It is sad, and beautiful, all at the same time.

  ‘So anyway Seph, how come you never came ’ere when your grandparents were still about? You weren’t that far away.’ Sometimes I just wish that Alex would shut the hell up.

  I feel myself tense.

  ‘My mum used to – especially when my nan was ill, but…I mean I did come here a few times.’ I struggle to remember them. I search for something to cling to. But nothing.

  ‘Mainly they used to come to us, or we’d meet somewhere.’

  ‘Oh, how come?’

  I don’t want to say it. It’s too uncomfortable.

  ‘Gabriel wasn’t well for a while – and he wasn’t that great with visitors. But he’s ok now.’

  Suddenly the atmosphere in the car can be cut with a knife. I can feel myself shrivelling inside, wanting to keep them away, at a far-off distance where I don’t have to think or talk about this stuff. Where I don’t have to think about him.

  ‘Yeah, well I’m glad you’re here now.’ Beth to the rescue, once again.

  I’m not. Anywhere but here.

  ‘Aren’t we boys?’

  ‘Course,’ says Alex, all enthusiastic with the relief of moving the conversation on. Evan says nothing.

  I recognise this part of the road now, and brace myself for the situation. More immediate things to worry about now. Hold it together Seph. Once again we turn into the road that becomes a dirt track lined with trees, before opening out again, and it is there.

  It’s there … I’m ok …Just breathe.

  ***

  ‘You’re a shithouse Alex Jones.’

  ‘Shut up! I ain’t doing it – get Evan to do it.’

  ‘Dear God, it’s only a room! Go in there, turn around to face the window and let me take a few shots, then you’re done!’

  Alex traipses reluctantly into the large room. Paint peels and bubbles from the walls – layers of it. Green and white, and yellow-stained.

  ‘Ok – I’ll take a few shots from behind inside, then go and take some from outside from a distance.’

  ‘No way are you leaving me in ’ere.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Beth is starting to lose her patience.

  ‘Jesus – I’ll do it,’ says Evan, ‘or we’ll be here all night.’

  ‘Now who’s a shithouse?’ says Alex, throwing a somewhat dirty look his way.

  ‘Ok, cheers Ev. I’m going to lose the light otherwise.’ Beth is keen to be done.

  Alex moves out of the way while Evan takes his place at the window. Beth clicks away, turning and pointing and focussing and refocussing. Thick slices of low light seep through the tall, domed, once-grand window, spilling over Evan, transferring some of him into shadow form, and lighting other parts of his face as he turns it to the side, picking out golden hues in his messy light-brown hair. I follow his movements, mesmerised.

  ‘Seph. Seph!’

  ‘What – sorry?’

  ‘In a world of your own there,’ Beth teases.

  Evan smiles to himself as he ploughs his hands into his coat pockets.’

  ‘Your turn, then we’ll leave Evan in here for the last shots, and then we can get out of ’ere.’

  ‘Ok, fine,’ I say, feeling slightly embarrassed.

  We go back out into the corridor that is littered with debris. Newspapers, cans, pieces of old tile and wood panels.

  ‘Check this out,’ says Alex, kicking an old hairbrush our way. ‘How creepy is that?’ Then he pulls open an old door – back and forth – creaking away, echoing painfully down the long corridor.

  ‘Stop it!’ I snap. I can’t help it. It’s scratching at my nerves.

  We continue along the hallway, shuffling past door-less rooms filled with rubbish, and leaves and bird crap. Evan pokes his head into each one. Eventually we come across another door, and Alex can’t resist trying this one too. Somebody has sprayed the words, ‘DO NOT ENTER,’ across it in large red letters, probably trying to mess with
people. This time he turns the knob slowly, and carefully pushes the filthy door open.

  ‘What the hell guys?’

  I peer around the corner and a stab of adrenalin pricks my body. In the centre of the room is an old iron bed, rusted and rotting, but still there, the restraints and straps clinging on for life.

  ‘Kinky,’ says Alex.

  ‘Idiot,’ says Beth.

  I’m done. I don’t know if I can hold this together now. I start off down the corridor, not really caring if the others follow me or not. On the inside everything feels like it is moving, my stomach won’t rest, my heart pumping and my head racing at a million miles an hour.

  ‘This is the one, in ’ere,’ instructs Beth.

  We walk into what must have been an old communal bathroom. Toilets and baths lie broken at awkward angles on the floor, while sinks, still with their taps intact cling to the wall. Peeling paint and walls eaten by damp surround us. Above the dirty white ceramic an old mirror is bolted to the wall.

  ‘Ok, so Seph if you could stand in front and look in the mirror and I’ll get just a few of you, if that’s ok.’ A statement, not a question again from Beth.

  I’d rather die, but I’m holding it together, and oh god, Evan is watching. Reluctantly I stand there, in front of the filthy sink, in front of that mirror, in front of myself.

  Beth looks at me with narrowed eyes. She takes my hair and places some of it over my shoulders, then disappears to dig in her bag. When she returns she hands me some lipstick and asks me to put it on slowly in the mirror, while she snaps away. My cheeks redden with stress, feeling Evan looking over my shoulder as I pucker my lips and apply the red lipstick with Beth behind me, then to the side of me – please let this be over soon. When I’m done she asks me to just stand and look at myself while she finishes off.

  ‘Ok, are we done now?’ I ask.

  She’s staring at the screen on the back of the camera, flicking over and over at switches and dials.

  ‘Yep … these are going to be amazing.’

  The rest of my face is now as red as my lips.

  ‘Let’s go back that way now, leave Evan at the window and finish off from outside.’