by Cliff McNish
‘No, it’s … come on.’ Trembling, I got out of bed, took his hand, led him downstairs. There was a beetle under the fridge. I forced Dad to get down on his knees to see it there. Then I took him into the garden. ‘Ants,’ I said, parting the grass to show him. ‘Toiling away. They never stop.’
‘Helen, I don’t understand –’
‘You will.’
I tugged him back to the kitchen. ‘A fly,’ I said. ‘It’s trapped. They get trapped all the time. They don’t understand how things work!’ I indicated the bluebottle buzzing under the net curtain. I opened the window and, half-laughing, half in disbelief, felt the alarm ebb out of that tiny creature.
Dad stared at me. ‘Helen … how do you know these things?’
And then I felt something else, something new and much more harrowing. It was Dad, in shock. It was his thoughts, his frantic concern for me.
‘You …’ I stepped back – almost screamed.
I was in Dad’s mind, and to be inside there was so much more frightening than the creatures in the garden or house. Dad was terrified. He was trying to formulate any sort of question that would make sense. Or was I mistaken?
‘Think of a number,’ I said. ‘I have to be sure.’
‘What? Helen, I don’t …’
‘Just do it, Dad. Don’t say what it is … fifty-nine,’ I told him, as soon as he formed the thought. I reeled off several others in succession.
‘You’re reading my mind!’
I nodded, shaking with fear, trying to hold myself together. Dad led me into the living room, and we parked ourselves side by side, staring at each other. Dad was silent, but I was overwhelmed by all the details of his concern for me.
‘When—’
‘… Did it start? Just now. Just now!’ I hesitated. ‘No, wait, that’s not true.’
I told him about the feelings I’d had the last few weeks, and about the boy. Dad didn’t want to believe it. He preferred to believe that I’d had some kind of minor breakdown, something normal he could understand and deal with. But as I read his thoughts back to him, Dad had no choice other than to believe.
‘This boy,’ he said at last. ‘Do –’
‘No, I don’t know him. I don’t know anything about him.’
‘Do you think – let me finish, Helen,’ he said, as I started to interrupt. ‘Do you think he’s trying to harm you?’
‘Harm me? No, of course not.’ I said it automatically, then sat back to think. That the boy might be dangerous had never occurred to me.
‘Consider what actually happened,’ Dad said. ‘You fell down, hit your head, not badly, but it could have been worse. The boy seems to have been the cause. Did he do it deliberately?’
‘No,’ I replied, certain now. ‘When I fell, bruised myself, that was just an accident. I was shaken by his voice, that’s all. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He …’
‘Go on.’
‘He’s in some kind of trouble, Dad.’
‘I thought you said the boy didn’t speak at all, except to call out your name.’
‘He didn’t.’
‘So why do you think he’s in trouble?’
‘I don’t know. But he needs … help.’
Dad held my hand. ‘What’s wrong with him, Helen?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you have any idea where he is?’
‘No.’
Don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want to lose you.
Wham! It was a thought that came out of nowhere, flashed out of Dad. He was looking right at me, and in his mind I looked different, beautiful. I realized then that’s how he always saw me. To Dad my face was beautiful in a way that was entirely related to his feelings for me.
‘Oh Dad,’ I said, burying my face in his shoulder.
‘What is it?’ he asked. But I think he knew, and then all sorts of emotions were pouring out of him, weren’t they. Unbidden ones. Of Mum. She died after an illness when I was only a few months old, but suddenly, right there, Dad brought her vividly to life. She was there. And the way I was seeing her was not as a daughter, but the way only Dad knew her. I saw what she looked like in the morning, as she turned towards him.
Dad glanced away from me, but I wasn’t embarrassed.
‘I want to know more,’ I said huskily.
‘Later …’ Dad whispered. ‘I’m not ready for this yet, Helen. I’m not sure you are either.’
I nodded, but all I wanted at that moment was Mum back; I wanted to be lost in his mind with her forever.
Dad left me to recover in the living room while he went to the kitchen to make us something to eat. By the time he returned, he had collected his thoughts. ‘Whatever this gift of yours means, it’s clearly linked to the boy,’ he said. ‘We need to decide what we’re going to do if you hear him again, or if he decides to pay us a visit in person. Helen, are you positive you can’t tell me anything more about him?’
‘He’s ill,’ I said, with absolute certainty. ‘He’s …’ I burst into tears, without knowing why. ‘He’s … burning.’
‘Burning?’ Dad said hoarsely. ‘What do you mean?’
I stared at him, with no idea what had made me use such a word.
Dad formulated a plan for the rest of the day. Every door and window locked. No going outside. No separation at any time. I could have privacy in my room, but only if he was in the next one. If the boy made any further mental contact with me, we would decide together what to do. No sleeping unless Dad was awake. I was not to answer the door. I would do nothing without consulting him first.
At some point in the afternoon, after Dad had satisfied himself that the house was secure, he said, ‘Helen, I’ve never seen you looking so tired. Why don’t you have a nap for a couple of hours? Actually, I’ll bring a chair into your bedroom, stay there with you a while …’
‘I’ll be all right,’ I said, wanting Dad close but feeling the need to be alone as well. ‘I’ll find it hard to sleep if you’re next to me.’
In the end he reluctantly agreed, but only after wedging my door open and preparing the adjoining guest bedroom for himself. ‘Don’t close your door for any reason,’ he said, ‘and shout if you need anything. I won’t be asleep.’ He kissed me, started to leave. At the door he stopped. ‘Can you really tell everything that’s going on in my head?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to find a way to keep only the finest of thoughts in there at all times, then.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll never manage it, though.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I won’t peep.’
But I did, of course. With Dad so close I didn’t have any choice. I tried to tune out of his mind, but with all the emotions scattering out of him it was impossible. Dad was close to tears. He was sitting in an armchair, thinking about me – and then his thoughts switched to Mum, to their last days together. He missed her so much that suddenly I could hardly bear to be in his mind any longer. And then I just buried my head in the pillow, keeping the crying sounds down so that he wouldn’t have to hear them.
A gift, Dad had called it. I wasn’t convinced about that. What kind of a gift makes you cry? I hated the endless creature deaths in the garden, but they weren’t my main concern. I’m going to be afraid of people, I realized. I’m not going to want all their thoughts. Dad – sometimes I’m going to be afraid of you, too. I already am.
Eventually I managed to fall asleep.
In my dreams I saw a boy burning in a skip.
Nine
treasures
THOMAS
I liked Walter right away, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
I decided to test him by leaving him outside the shack that first night – not for long, just to see what he would do. I half-expected him to slink off; either that or we’d hear those generous-sized knuckles of his banging against the door to be allowed inside for company.
The rain started about midnight, only a shower. ‘Rain – I don’t mind,’ he’d sai
d. The twins went crazy at me to let Walter in, but I resisted. About half an hour later, I checked on him.
And there he was, holding the car door over his head, smiling back as if he loved it out there.
‘You all right, Walts?’ Freda asked worriedly. ‘You wanna come in?’
Walter gave her his best lopsided grin.
‘Nah, n-n-n-nice out h-here,’ he said, fanning himself with the door.
I tried to get some sleep after that, but it was hard with Walter’s immense shape plonked out there – especially when he started humming quietly to himself. The rain gradually worsened, driven by a stiff breeze. Between gusts I could hear Walter whistling. The twins, of course, were livid about me leaving him outside, and finally I relented. I wanted to be tough on Walter until I was sure we could trust him, but not that hard.
So I opened the door, intending to let him in.
And there he still was, in exactly the same spot, car door over his head, smiling away.
But there was a change. We use a corrugated section of plastic as a windbreak outside the shack. Sometime in the past hour Walter had repositioned this, altered the angle so that it shielded us better. He had also firmed up the shack’s foundation supports, making certain they were safely sunk into the wet ground.
Walter himself was soaked through.
‘If I’d a kindness, I’d bring ’im in,’ Freda said.
‘If I’d a heart, I’d give it ’im,’ Emily said.
I looked at the long sandy hair plastered all over Walter’s face, and suddenly felt ashamed of myself. ‘Come on,’ I said, smiling at him. ‘I think the twins have got some blankets all ready.’
Walter shook his head, no.
‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘I don’t know how, but we’ll squeeze you in somewhere.’
Walter shook his head again – solemnly, still holding the car door up, as if it represented perfect all-weather protection. This was too much for the twins. They raced out, trying to yank him towards the shack. Of course, you couldn’t yank Walter anywhere. He simply wouldn’t budge.
‘Look, just come in,’ I said. ‘We’re all getting wet now!’
‘N-no,’ Walter said. ‘I l-like it!’
‘What? You like it outside?’
He nodded fervently, trying to cover Emily and Freda with the car door, obviously concerned that they were getting wet. ‘G-go in! In!’ he urged. He hulked over them, using his back to keep the rain off their bodies.
The twins were as confused as me. Finally, with a strangled cry, Walter picked both girls up – one in each hand – and carried them back to the shack. Then, filling his cheeks, he blew a warm, drying air stream over them. They wriggled with pleasure, giggling and tossing their hair – but still trying to get Walter to come into the shack.
Walter refused. He plopped himself down in his old position in the mud, with the car roof stubbornly back over his head.
‘This is flipping ridiculous!’ I shouted.
‘N-not s-safe,’ he said.
‘What do you mean, not safe? Of course it’s safe!’ Was he worried for himself? ‘We’ll look after you!’
‘Not s-safe.’ Walter sat there doggedly repeating this, as if it was obvious what he meant. Then, in frustration, he yelled, ‘Look who’s c-coming!’ His eyes darted about as if thousands of enemies were attacking at once. ‘See!’ he exclaimed. When we didn’t he crammed himself within the shack and said, ‘They’re c-coming! Can-can’t see!’
Suddenly, it clicked. He couldn’t see danger approaching from inside the shack.
‘You can protect us better, easier, from out here?’ I said. ‘Is that it?’
He grinned his lopsided best.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ I said. I ran out and this time we all tried shoving him inside. Walter wasn’t have any of it. He – very gently – removed us from his body, placed us in the shack, and went back to his place in the rain.
For a while the twins and I just watched him from the doorway.
Eventually – when all reasoning with him failed – we went back to bed. Between gusts of wind I could hear Walter whistling again. The twins glanced over at me.
‘Ee’s here to protect uz,’ Freda murmured. ‘Ee don’t know why, but it’s all ee talked about on the way here.’ Then she added, ‘We’re a proper family now, ain’t we? A beauty boy, two insect-girls and a giant.’
I stared at her nervously. ‘Is this all of us, then? The entire family?’
Both girls seemed uncertain. ‘If there’s any more,’ Freda said, ‘we’ll go and find ’em.’
‘And Walts, kind dear,’ Emily added, ‘will care and mind ’em.’
Both girls soon fell into a contented sleep, but I couldn’t settle at all that night. A giant, I thought. A giant to protect us. What monstrous creature was coming that required a child of Walter’s strength to lie in wait for it?
Finally the rain let up, and I heard the car door being placed delicately down – Walter making sure he didn’t wake us. All night he stayed out there, his breathing deep over the wind.
By the time I woke next morning Walter had nearly dried out, with only a few wisps of steam still wending from his blankets. Some of the local gang kids were staring at him as if he was something terrifying that had grown in the night. They kept their distance.
A good start, I thought, to Walter’s new career.
The twins were already up, telling Walter about the area we lived. ‘There’s boys, they’re no good, out westaways,’ Freda was saying. ‘Sometimes, Walts, they come at night, and nicks stuff, try anyways, or just makes a racket, and …’
Walter nodded thoughtfully. From time to time he asked Freda to pause, making her say things over and over again until he completely understood. She took his heavy hand, swinging it to show him the directions the gang kids came from. ‘How m-m-many kids?’ I heard him ask.
‘Lor’ knows, Walts,’ Freda said, more interested in sniffing his musty brown blankets. ‘You can’t wear these,’ she told him. ‘You need some proper clothes.’ She picked at a sodden bit of blanket dangling over his foot. ‘We’ll make yer some.’
‘I’m f-fine,’ he said, surveying the horizon through narrowed eyes. ‘The gang kids, they g-g-got weapons, eh?’
‘Ooh, everything, Walts. Knives, sticks. If I’d a gun, I’d pack a punch.’
‘If I’d a gun, I’d eat your lunch!’ Emily said.
The twins rolled about on the ground, but Walter just gave a long grave nod, peering suspiciously about him.
Gawd almighty, I thought, what’s going on in his head?
Actually, we knew a little about Walter now. The twins had been up with him since dawn, and apparently he’d started growing into a giant only weeks ago – the same time, in fact, that I’d left home, and the twins had dropped on all fours and made their first scuttles across a carpet.
‘But me and Emms,’ Freda explained, ‘at least ’ad each other, Toms, didn’t we? Kids screamed and ran, but there was two of uz when we needed comforting. Walter – ee don’t seem to have had no one, just a Dad ee can’t remember who left when ee was just a baby, and a mum ee ran away from when ee changed, she was so afraid of ’im. Emms reckons ee’s just been staying out-of-sight ever since, until something brought him here. Brought him to uz. Let’s be good to ’im, Toms,’ she said softly. ‘Let’s do things for ’im.’
‘Like what?’ I asked. ‘You heard what he said – he doesn’t need anything.’
Freda gave me a scathing glance. ‘Ee just said that to get you to listen to ’im last night!’ She sized Walter up with her eyes. ‘C’mon,’ she said, prodding Emily in the belly. ‘We both know what ee needs!’
With a conspiratorial giggle the twins went running off.
I stayed behind, wondering about Walter. I looked at him and really wondered what I’d got myself into. He clearly wanted to protect us, but how effective would he be? There seemed to be no real malice in him. He was almost too affectionate. The first time anyone saw
his shadow they’d be terrified, but once they spotted that lopsided grin …
However, Walter surprised me. He was eager to learn. He wanted to know all about Coldharbour – the geography, the dangerous areas, the most threatening gangs. We also worked together on some routines for safeguarding the shack – protection drills, I called them. Walter really took to this, and we went at them all morning. By lunch time I’d had enough, but Walter wanted to carry on.
‘So what are you going to do if this place is attacked?’ I asked him for about the fiftieth time.
‘Protect you!’
‘Yeah? How you gonna do that, then?’
‘Any w-w-way I can!’
‘Show me!’
He looked at me sneakily. ‘Depends,’ he said, remembering what I’d told him.
‘Depends on what?’
‘Depends on w-w-what the d-danger is, Tommy!’ He grinned, imitating my voice. ‘No p-p-point running a-about l-like a t-twit not being sure what the h-h-hell you’re doing, right?’
‘Right,’ I said, trying to keep a straight face. ‘OK, what if one of the gang kids comes round, trying to steal things?’
Walter sprinted around the shack, making an almighty scare-off noise like King Kong himself about to tear the place apart. ‘Build a trench!’ I said. Within seconds, Walter’s hands were plunged into the earth, creating a groove all around the shack large enough to hold me inside. Walter placed me there, jumped in himself and crouched down, with only his eyes and forehead showing over the top. ‘They’ve breached the trench!’ I shouted. ‘The scrappers are in the shack! They’re after us! What do you do now?’ Fire burned in Walter’s eye: righteous anger. He picked me up and drew me to his chest; his other arm pointed outward like a shield.
‘Put me down,’ I said – and he did, though he took his time. Walter had a habit of doing this sometimes, getting carried away.
I stood beside him, looking out over Coldharbour. A few of the gangs were watching us, but I couldn’t hear their conversations. It wasn’t the wind drowning them out. It was something much more menacing than that: the roar. The sound of it was much louder now.