The Tooth Fairy

by Graham Joyce

  ‘It’s just that you didn’t ask. And you always ask.’

  ‘I’ve lost hope in you in that department.’ He tapped his pencil on his desk blotter. ‘By the way, have you ever told Alice about your Tooth Fairy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Perhaps you could give it a try.’

  ‘She’d think I was mad.’

  ‘The idea!’

  ‘She’d laugh.’

  ‘Give it a try.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It just occurred to me. The little girl who tricked Conan Doyle with the photograph was called Alice. If she could trick him into seeing fairies, maybe your Alice could trick you into not seeing ’em.’

  ‘Paranoia,’ said Sam.

  ‘Get out of here, you young horror. And mind how you go.’

  Sam found himself with more time alone with Alice. Clive, who after Zoot Salem’s appearance had gone around faintly disgusted that he hadn’t been born black, as if nature had spitefully denied him his rightful ethnic heritage, spent more time visiting jumble sales and second-hand stalls and collector’s fayres, digging out obscure albums and 78 rpm slate singles. Terry’s football consumed his weekends; he turned out now for Redstone FC on Saturdays (having found himself back in favour with a new coach) and on Sunday afternoons for the Gate Hangs Well pub league, where he shone against big-bellied men who fuelled their football with five pints of bitter and twenty cigarettes before the game.

  So, having the time, Sam told Alice. And when he told her, he left nothing out.

  ‘You’re mad,’ said Alice.

  ‘Probably.’ They were at her house one Sunday. Alice’s mother was in her room with the curtains drawn, ‘resting’, which meant enduring a Cyclopean hangover.

  ‘I mean it. You’re barking mad.’

  ‘I told Skelton I shouldn’t tell you.’

  ‘No, I’m really glad you did. It makes a lot of things suddenly clear. What does Mr Skelton say you should do?’

  ‘He’s tried all sorts. Mostly just talking, telling me not to panic whenever it comes. He gave me some pills once.’

  ‘You kept that quiet.’

  ‘Well, with you lot around . . . Anyway, the pills just put everything in a cotton-wool fog, and the Tooth Fairy still came along. Skelton also told me I should find a girl to do it with. He said that was the best thing for it.’

  ‘What? He said doing it with someone would make the Tooth Fairy go away? I don’t believe you!’

  ‘It’s true. Well, to be fair, he said it would help. That’s all. He said it would help.’

  ‘I think you’re making it up.’

  ‘No. Honestly. He explained it to me. It’s like a poison if it gets trapped.’ ‘It?’

  ‘Sex. It gets all blocked up and messes up your brain. Something like that, anyway. I couldn’t make too much sense of it.’

  Alice gazed at him with fascinated, horrified eyes. She reached out and casually brushed her fingers across his chin. Then she stared at the carpet, deep in thought. Sam was about to speak when Alice got to her feet, left the room and tiptoed across the landing. She looked inside her mother’s bedroom before quietly closing the door on her snoring mother. Returning at last, she gently clicked her own door shut.

  She stood over Sam, looking grave. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes deep-set. ‘Swear you’re not making this up just so’s you can fuck me.’

  ‘I swear,’ Sam croaked.

  Alice nodded. Then she lifted her white T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. She wore no bra, and her small breasts quivered slightly as she stood over him, breathing deeply, never taking her eyes off him for a second. Her skin had a sallow sheen. There was a small mole underneath one of her breasts.

  My God, thought Sam, she’s going to let me do it out of kindness. Out of kindness.

  Alice kneeled beside him and kissed him. Still kissing, Sam took his glasses off. He touched her breasts, and the dark buds of her nipples stiffened under his fingers. His cock strained inside his jeans, trying to force a route through the tough denim fabric. He quickly peeled off his own T-shirt and the sweet, penetrating sting of her skin on his almost made him swoon. Her arms enfolded him. He was irradiated by the Alice-scent, that utterly personal signature-smell of hers that had hooked him long ago. He was dangerously aroused and yet paralysed with excitement as she fumbled with the button of his jeans.

  There was a movement in the next room, and a creak of floorboards. Alice jumped back, grabbing her T-shirt. The bathroom door closed, followed by the rasp of the latch. Alice sighed and put her shirt back on. ‘Not here. We’ll have to find somewhere else.’

  Sam quickly put his T-shirt and spectacles back on, blinking at her.

  ‘Mum, I’m going out for a while,’ Alice called through the bathroom door. A small groan was offered by way of answer. ‘Come on.’

  It was a warm spring day. They walked arm in arm from Alice’s house without talking, overloaded by anticipation, their brains clouded with a distilled expectancy.

  Inevitably they gravitated towards the pond, where the shrubs and bushes erupting from the clay bank offered plenty of cover. But a group of children were gathered there, throwing stones in the water. Sam sighed.

  ‘The woods,’ said Alice.

  Sam scratched his head. ‘I don’t like the woods.’

  ‘Where else?’ Her question seemed to say, do you want to or not? He shrugged, and they moved towards the dense line of trees. ‘By the way, have you got something?’

  ‘Something?’

  She grabbed his arm and stopped him in his tracks. ‘I don’t want to get pregnant.’

  He was open-mouthed, then it dawned on him. ‘Light filmy substance. Floating in calm air or over grass. Something flimsy. Delicate gauze.’

  ‘What???’

  ‘Gossamer. No.’

  ‘Hell. I had one in my room. I didn’t pick it up.’

  Sam had an idea. ‘My place is closer. I know where there are some.’

  ‘Sam, I’m not walking to your house and chatting to your mum while you get a dobber.’

  He was afraid she was changing her mind. ‘Wait here. I’ll go and get it. I’ll run.’

  ‘Oh, God!’ said Alice.

  Sam was already jogging down the road. On his way home he tried to short-cut through a field. Climbing a stile, he slipped, going down on one knee into some soft black mud. The thick, rich earth moulded itself to his jeans.

  ‘Why are you in such a state?’ Connie, in gardening gloves, said as he flew past her.

  ‘Forgot something.’

  He raced upstairs. His father was in his parents’ bedroom, tying a tie in the mirror. ‘Aye, aye,’ said Nev.

  Sam muttered a reply before stumbling into his own room, sitting on his bed, trying to recover his breath. His father was obviously getting ready to go out. He waited.

  And waited.

  Finally Nev went downstairs. Sam heard the door close and listened to voices in the garden outside. He crept into their room. Nev and Connie were standing at the bottom of the garden talking about standard roses. If they looked up, they could see into their bedroom. He crouched on all fours and crawled to the far side of the bed. Slipping his hand between the mattress and the base of the bed he made a sweep back and forth. There was nothing. He pushed his arm further in, sweeping frantically now. Still nothing. He dug his hand closer to the pillow-end of the bed and his ringers fastened on what he was looking for. Withdrawing the packet, he found it contained only a single condom.

  One. Would his father miss one? Of course his father would miss one. Nevertheless, he kept the single condom and returned the empty packet under the mattress, hoping Nev would simply think he’d been mistaken.

  ‘Not a good idea,’ said the Tooth Fairy.

  Sam recoiled in shock. The Tooth Fairy sat on the bed, shaking her head. ‘Go away,’ said Sam. She gestured at something on the floor. He looked down. Mud from the knee of his jeans had scored a dirty trail on the beige carpet. ‘No no
no no no!’ He leapt to his feet and ran to the bathroom, returning with a damp rag, trying to mop up the faintly glistening, giant-slug-like trail.

  ‘This is going to cause all sorts of trouble,’ the Tooth Fairy insisted. ‘For both of us. The consequences of this are going to be enormous.’

  Sam finished wiping up the mess. He jabbed a finger at the Tooth Fairy and said, ‘Paranoia.’ To his surprise, the Tooth Fairy disappeared instantly.

  Wondering if Alice would still be waiting for him, he raced down the path. His mother called him back. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Nowhere.’

  ‘Well, if you’re going nowhere, there are things I want from the corner shop.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m going somewhere.’

  ‘You just said—’

  ‘WHAT? WHAT IS IT?’ Connie was astonished by his vehemence. ‘Sorry. I mean, what do you want? From the shops. What?’

  ‘I made a list. It’s in the kitchen.’

  Sam took a deep breath and jogged back to the kitchen. There he leaned his head against the wall for a few seconds before snatching up the note from the table. Then he was off again, running up the road to find Alice.

  He found her sitting on a fence near the entrance to the woods, smoking a cigarette. ‘I was just about to go. You look all in.’

  ‘Don’t ask,’ he said, producing the condom from his hip pocket.

  Alice looked as if she’d had second, or even third and fourth thoughts about the matter in the intervening period. Almost wearily she took Sam by the hand and led him into the woods. It was bluebell time all over again. Bluebells scintillated like pools of shallow water among the trees.

  He didn’t like the direction in which she led him, though he stifled all protest. When she settled on a secluded spot, Sam had the uncomfortable impression that it was very close to the mortal and presumably putrefying remains of the Dead Scout. Still, he said nothing. The trees gathered around them to witness the act; tangled bushes crowded in; leaf-mould and new ferns scented the air; bluebells chimed with a chorus of colour.

  Alice stepped out of her jeans, laid them on the ground between some tall ferns, and sat down on them. Then she slipped off her knickers and pressed her knees shyly together. Sam tugged off his own jeans. His erection bobbed angrily, already having found a way outside his underpants. They kissed. Alice put her hand on his engorged cock, and he thought he would ejaculate immediately.

  ‘Don’t come,’ Alice said, removing her hand. ‘Don’t come yet.’

  He was mesmerized by the nut-brown triangle of pubic hair at the top of her long, slender legs and by her creamy, flat belly. He detected the source of the scent which had had him in a noose since the first day she’d collided with him in the school bus queue. He whipped off his underpants. Then he remembered the condom. She watched him expectantly, her lips parted slightly as he rooted through his pockets for the condom. He tore open the foil packet, and the lubricated rubber slipped into his hand.

  A bird broke from the thicket suddenly. Sam looked up. A short distance away, half-hidden by the giant ferns, a strange trumpet-shaped purple flower grew out of the hollow of a tree, similar or perhaps identical to the one shown to him by the Tooth Fairy. Its white tuber-like stamen jiggled suggestively in the breeze. Sam unravelled the condom a short length and tried to fit it over the straining helmet of his cock. He seemed to have the thing twisted inside-out. Alice relaxed back, parting her legs a little. At the periphery of his vision the unpleasant, fleshy white tuber jiggled distractingly. Tooley’s Revenge, he thought. Tooley’s Revenge. As he struggled with the condom, he prayed his father wouldn’t guess who’d stolen it. Then he remembered the muddy trail on his parents’ bedroom carpet and instantly regretted not making a more thorough job of cleaning up behind him.

  His cock softened slightly as he tried to fit the condom the other way, but the teat-end wouldn’t come clear. The smell of latex was distractingly strong. He thought of both the Tooth Fairy and the Dead Scout grinning over his shoulder, mocking this ineffectual fumbling. He looked at Alice. She raised her eyebrows at him, a gesture which didn’t help.

  His mother’s shopping list came back to him, and again the thought of the Tooth Fairy, and then briefly – and appallingly – of his mother and father copulating. The white tuber inside the purple-black flower waved provocatively. By now his cock had softened and the rubber refused to unroll the length of his penis. He took it off and tried again. With the thing half unrolled the results this time were worse than before. Sam looked about him in desperation. The white tuber inside the purple flower was quivering with merriment in the breeze, almost as if it were being shaken by an unseen hand. Defeated, he snapped off the rubber and tossed it into the ferns before cradling his head in his hands.

  Alice said nothing. She sat up and dressed quickly. After a while she put her hand in his hair. ‘Put your jeans back on,’ she said. ‘We’ll just lie here together for a while.’

  And they did, lying amid the scent of ferns and bluebells until the twilight settled upon them and over the aromatic woods.

  38

  Announcement

  Terry left school that summer. He had little interest in studies, and Redstone Secondary, where he’d been streamed from the age of eleven, had been designed to ensure things stayed that way. The loss of toes and a left hand showed no sign of restricting his footballing prowess; he had found his way on to the books of Coventry City FC, and neighbouring Aston Villa were sniffing around with suggestions of an apprenticeship.

  Terry’s Uncle Charlie was realistic enough to ensure that the lad took a trade apprenticeship. Charlie had been the one to encourage Terry’s footballing interests ever since Terry had been spared Chris Morris’s killings and suicide. Charlie knew football. ‘The beautiful game, Terry. There are more disappointments in the beautiful game than there are in life itself. Get a trade.’

  That wasn’t so easy, what with only one hand; and after Terry had been rejected for several tool-making apprenticeships, Charlie called in a few favours and got Terry fixed up in the paintshop at the car factory.

  Meanwhile in Sam’s household there was an announcement.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ said Sam.

  ‘Well,’ said Connie, ‘we’re as surprised as you are.’

  ‘What . . . ?’ said Sam. ‘When . . . ?’ He just about stopped himself from saying, ‘How . . . ?’

  ‘February,’ said Connie. ‘It’s going to be around February.’

  ‘Look,’ Nev put in, himself still somewhat shell-shocked, ‘it wasn’t something we expected, but there it is and that’s the way it is. So we’re pleased about it. We think.’

  ‘We are pleased,’ Connie corrected.

  The Tooth Fairy appeared to Sam that night. She was wearing a pale-blue cap, like a flower head. ‘What do you think of this?’ she said. ‘I thought it looked kind of traditional. For a fairy.’ Sam looked closer and saw it was a giant blue-bell. She moved her head this way and that. ‘Well? Maybe I should have a name like Herb Twopence. I got it as a souvenir of that afternoon you were in the woods with Alice.’

  ‘You put your mark on that, didn’t you?’

  ‘I’ll admit I was watching. Though I did warn you. I said this was going to lead to trouble.’

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘What’s the matter with you? Can’t count? Your mother said February. So that’s May, June, July . . .’

  Suddenly it dawned on Sam. The stolen condom. He slumped on to his bed, pressing his fingers to his temples, the Tooth Fairy counting through the months in exaggerated style.

  ‘I do hope it’s a girl,’ said the Tooth Fairy.

  Sam looked up suddenly, through the jail bars of his fingers. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’ll be leaving here soon. Going away. Leaving me trapped here. But I could have so much more fun with a girl. I would start earlier than I did with you. Females are so much more suggestible. So seducible. I could create her. Oh, I really do ho
pe it’s a girl!’

  Sam thought his head would burst open. He could see no way of preventing the Tooth Fairy from daggering a newborn baby. He was horrified at the implications of what he’d done.

  ‘Hey!’ she said suddenly. ‘Your dad doesn’t have any problem getting it up! Not like you! Your old man fucks your mother until her teeth rattle! Ha ha!’

  Sam leapt from the bed, aggressively jabbing a finger in the Tooth Fairy’s face. ‘Paranoia!’ he shouted, and she disappeared.

  Sam and Clive moved up into the sixth form at school. Sam studied physics, chemistry and biology at A-level. Clive’s genius was detected to have been slowing down. He’d been persuaded to sit, during the summer holidays, A-level exams in applied maths, pure maths and physics. Something went ‘badly’ wrong with the pure maths, and he passed with only a B grade instead of an A. Still, he and his father were united in staunchly resisting all pressure for him to go early to Oxford or Cambridge. The Epstein experience had frightened both of them, and Eric Rogers was adamant that Clive’s education should not be speeded up beyond the norm. Even so, Clive was scheduled to take four more A-levels, making a total of seven to Sam’s three. Along with Terry, they grew their hair long, took to wearing army-surplus greatcoats and looked more moody around Redstone than ever before.

  They continued to help Ian Blythe run the Redstone Folk Club. Sixth-form status conferred on them the privilege of calling Blythe by his first name and of being able to drink (now only slightly under-age) in his presence. Clive pestered him into changing the name to the Blues and Folk Club and had a say in booking the acts. Some of the old folkie purists objected to the inevitable swing towards the electrical, but every Friday night the back room at the Gate Hangs Well was stuffed to capacity.

  Around Christmas of that year they saw Blythe get blind-blazing drunk. He didn’t seem to care that three pupils from his school witnessed the spectacle of him falling from his stool while trying to play a song in between two guest spots. Sam and Clive helped him outside, where he promptly threw up. But nothing he did could diminish him in their eyes. They were forced to admire the style with which he wiped his mouth, took a deep breath of air and said, ‘God bless you, gents,’ before going back inside to introduce the next act.