Hometown

by Luke Walker

  But that would mean leaving this …this …what is this called? All these people she stands with and isn’t part of, all standing on the wet grass while this man makes drone-like noises and the long brown shape in front of that man is …

  Is.

  It is a box.

  No.

  It is more than a box.

  It isn’t a big box. It doesn’t need to be. Even though she’d been …she’d been …she’d …

  The thought chases itself into nothingness. It can’t be completed. All it can do is chase itself. All she can do is stand in this pretend drawing of church grounds and wish Will was here.

  The vicar’s words are a note, a buzz. The smells of the cemetery and its grief and wet grass belong to someone else. And when her brother’s hand slides into hers to give a reassuring squeeze, she’s already feeling nothing but the breeze again playing in her hair.

  Four

  Will Elton slid his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. The signs that work was over for today were all with him: the smell of the ink on his fingers, the dull ache in his lower back and the rumbling in his stomach which he had ignored for too long.

  He gazed at the drawing, studying it with equal parts criticism and pride, as always wondering what Karen would think of it. The monster’s face wasn’t perfect, but the landscape of scorched fields and the sun attempting to break through blood-red clouds was pretty decent. He’d done a fair job with the hero’s posture, too. The young man on the page stood tall against the monster, sword raised in an attacking movement and the faint curve to his legs suggesting a man ready to run should the monster prove too fierce.

  ‘Darren will like it,’ Will told himself and imagined his agent’s response—nice job, Willy. You’re a natural. Karen would like it, too. With a bit of luck, the author and publisher would as well. And most importantly, it only needed a little more work before the kids would like it.

  And that was job done.

  Will stood, stretched and relished the cracking in his spine. He chucked his pencil onto the table and typed a quick email to his agent to tell him the work would be done in another few days. With the email sent to Darren, he studied the drawing for another moment, noting it could do with some more colour in the monster’s body and the broad expanse of the hero’s shoulders might need developing.

  ‘Job is done,’ he told himself, fully aware that unless he called it a day now, he’d carry on for another three hours. Amused, Will left his studio. In the kitchen, he filled the kettle, ate a couple of biscuits and spooned coffee into his mug. The microwave clock caught his eye. Just gone five. Karen would be home within the hour.

  The kettle boiled; Will filled his cup, stirred it and went through to the living room, ready for a quick break with the news and his coffee before the evening ahead.

  His halt in the doorway was abrupt enough for coffee to spill over the edge of the mug and splash on his fingers. He hissed, barely hearing it.

  The living room was alive with aromas despite the window in the kitchen being the nearest open one. Will inhaled, attempting to name the scents. Various flowers and grass, definitely. More than those, the smell of sweat, good sweat that came from exercise.

  Not exercise. Running for the sheer joy of running, playing, rolling in grass with mates and the sky above as blue as the grass below was green.

  Will closed his eyes and counted to five. The phantom smells faded. Will opened his eyes.

  A large sheet of paper rested on the sofa, white against the brown. Two of the cushions supported it just as they’d supported him that morning while he ate his toast. Nobody had sat there since. Nobody else had been in the house. Will gazed at the paper for a moment, not yet ready to name the apprehension in his stomach as fear. Moving with mannered steps, he set his coffee down on the table, crossed to the sofa and picked up the sheet.

  A great wave of nausea flowed over him and the muscles in his legs locked, preventing him from dropping.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ he whispered in a child’s voice.

  Trembling rose from his legs to his stomach and up to his arms. The sheet of paper shook as if in a wind. The mixed fragrances of various flowers, grass and sweat returned, filled his nose and mouth as if he was outside somewhere miles from his house. Unwillingly, he inhaled and smelled running water and the thick stink of algae.

  Sweat and grass filling a sunny day. All stuck to him in his living room. All inside his house.

  The soft murmur of a girl’s laugh flowed by, someone enjoying a good joke. The laughter faded as the scents of flowers and grass had. The taste remained, coating his tongue and lips.

  With slow care, Will dropped the sheet back to the sofa and eased himself down to a chair at the table. The drawing was still visible from where he sat. Taking his eyes from it took a massive effort. He stared at his coffee and welcomed the white noise in his head. A car passed the house and Will glanced through the window, aware of his staring eyes and unable to relax them. Not Karen. The paper remained on the sofa; the drawing mocked him.

  ‘This is …’

  He had no words.

  Will blew out a shaking sigh and squeezed his eyes closed to stop the tears. A wave of grief hit him and he did his best to think through it.

  Call Karen.

  Yeah. Sure. And tell her what? A drawing had magically appeared in their house? A drawing that wasn’t one of his?

  ‘Not a good plan.’

  So. Okay. What then?

  The drawing remained. Will stared at it and managed to croak one word before the tears fell.

  ‘Geri.’

  ***

  She stands utterly still despite the wind. It’s much stronger up here in the car park than down on the street. Down there, it’s all about the shops and the Christmas lights, the crowds and the streetlights on already. Up here, there’s the darkness; there are the secrets in the car park, and there’s the cold she doesn’t feel.

  Up here, she’s untouchable.

  Her fingers brush against her coat and squeeze the material. She presses harder and feels the weight of her fleece below the coat. Below that, her t-shirt. Below that, her skin, her flesh and blood. The only thing that the wind can touch is her coat and that’s all right. The rest of her belongs to her.

  Her eyes water when the wind changes direction to blow into her face. Her vision blurs as she attempts to focus on the Christmas lights below, and despite her watering eyes, she doesn’t blink. She welcomes the blurring. Easier to not see, easier to think of below like something off a Christmas card. Streets filled with snow and people hurrying to their homes as night closes in and all is right because it’s Christmas.

  Briefly, the sensation of laughter fills her throat and mouth before falling apart. And isn’t that how it should be? Isn’t that all right?

  Yes, she tells herself. This is just how it should be because this is the only way things can be made right. She made mistakes. She held it all inside when she should have let it go. If she’d done that, if she’d let it go all that time before, she wouldn’t now be standing here on the edge of the car park.

  Everything would be all right. Everything would be exactly as it should be.

  She can fix it, though. Even now, fifteen years later, it’s not too late.

  She giggles, aware she’s crying but not caring, not giving a shit.

  Not too late? Not true. It’s much too late in one respect. In the most important respect.

  But still, she can make it as right as it ever will be. One little step. Just one step and all will be as it should be.

  Karen’s face comes to her out of nowhere, Karen from a week before, when she last saw her.

  Tell me what’s wrong, Karen said.

  Talk to me, Karen said.

  She didn’t tell Karen what was wrong.

  She didn’t talk to Karen.

  And now Karen’s a week behind. She’s back there and this is above the world, above the Christmas streets.

  She stares straight
down.

  Her breathing slows.

  Stops.

  She closes her eyes.

  There’s no darkness now. Only light. She welcomes it as she would an old friend. It bathes her. It blows away all shadows and her name comes from the other side of the light.

  One little step and the light is her friend.

  One step.

  The snow filled streets, the winking lights, the traffic, the shops and the people finishing their shopping in the middle of the Christmas card below all welcome her on the way down.

  Five

  Karen Elton closed the staff room door and checked her bag. Mobile, keys, purse. All good. With her other hand, she balanced a small box against her hip: assignments ready for marking by Monday morning. They could wait for tomorrow afternoon, though. This was all about Friday and the postponed staff meeting now finally over. Half past five and the weekend had come once again. Hallelujah and amen and so on.

  Checking the mobile was locked, she crossed the corridor into the main bulk of the almost empty maths department. At the far end of the block, a cleaner vacuumed the hallway while another washed a classroom floor. The noise of the vacuum cleaners echoed along the corridors, and the scent of air freshener and bleach made a pungent aroma on all sides.

  Karen headed to the doors, waved a goodbye to one of the cleaners and exited the department into cool air, thankfully free from the bleach smell behind. She inhaled, scenting the promise of a chilly night ahead. As she followed the pathway, the car park rolled ahead, mostly deserted. The last members of staff had left as soon as the meeting finished, leaving her to clear up the coffee cups. Their cars were now gone and the car park looked strangely bleak with so few vehicles on it.

  Karen shook off the unexpected melancholy and listened to voices coming from the playing field. A dozen kids, all year seven boys by their look, were on the grass kicking a football around. Their jackets lay in untidy piles, their ties off and their shirts loose and untucked. One of the boys saw her and waved. She couldn’t identify him well enough to name him but returned the wave anyway. He slapped another boy’s arm, pointed to Karen and both children waved, then laughed together.

  Holding back her smile, Karen gave them a quick wave and continued walking.

  ‘How to make me feel old, boys,’ she whispered but felt no real annoyance. The early years of her teaching career were far behind. If that meant the days of teenagers giggling at her were gone as well, then so what? Twenty, twenty-five, even thirty were behind her, now.

  Letting her smile come now the kids were out of eye line, Karen crossed the school grounds, thinking of the evening ahead. Still a couple of hours to get showered and dressed before they were due at Brian and Debbie’s for dinner, a couple of hours to let go of the working week and relish the two days away from the school.

  ‘Half term soon. Thank God,’ she said and laughed at herself for speaking aloud. Another week to go before the break of half term and she was already wishing that week away.

  ‘God forbid,’ she muttered and laughed again, grateful she didn’t mean her cynicism. She and Will had spoken about taking a few days off to go away; the plans hadn’t come to anything and she didn’t mind too much. He had a lot of work on and she could do with a few days of as little as possible. A couple of days of the odd pub lunch and the odd shopping afternoon.

  Smiling at the mental picture, Karen shifted the weight of the box under her arm and saw the figure standing beside her car.

  She jerked to a lurching stop. A babble of thoughts sped through her mind, telling her there was no way anyone could have reached her car in the few seconds she’d not been looking at it; there was nowhere for anyone to hide on the mostly empty car park; the figure beside her car wasn’t one of her students and definitely wasn’t a colleague.

  The sun broke free from the clouds for a moment. Light shone. The figure beside her car shone. Her hair glowed like fire.

  The box under Karen’s arm dropped and hit the ground. The lid fell to the side and the wind ruffled through the top few pages. Karen’s feet moved, taking her forward despite the explosion in her stomach that made her want to collapse. She broke into a jog, not hearing her little, whispering breaths or the tap of her boot heels on the ground. The figure beside her car remained motionless and didn’t grow into sharper focus the closer Karen got to it. She stopped at the edge of the car park, thirty or forty feet from her car and the figure. Fear announced itself, and with it, the realisation it had been with her for the last few moments. Despite being in the familiarity of the school, a panicked whisper inside told her to back away, to get away from the figure.

  Karen didn’t move.

  Will.

  Her husband’s name failed to calm her down. Fear filled her chest; her breasts ached and a familiar flavour, unpleasant with its suddenness and invasion, filled her mouth.

  She bent double, coughing hard, doing her best to clear her throat and mouth of the invading taste. It eased after a minute, she stood straight and the figure beside her car remained as motionless as a statue.

  Karen screamed at her legs and feet to move. They did nothing. Her eyes could move even if her head couldn’t, and she tried desperately to look to the side of her vision as if she had any chance of seeing the boys on the field. They were completely out of view and the only sign of life was the figure ahead of her.

  Clouds passed over the sun for a moment; light broke through again and struck her. The wave of bitter cold that had enveloped her seconds before remained, despite the abrupt warmth. Wind traced the goosebumps covering her entire body.

  A weak breath followed the breeze, a sigh that wasn’t the light wind and Karen thought:

  Oh my God. You haven’t changed.

  The figure beside Karen’s car gazed at her; the sunlight covered her, covered her, not it. Her. Her hair. Her face. Her mouth, opening to form a shape.

  Karen’s name.

  The car park and school grounds became a meaningless tremble. Karen’s last clear sight before her legs dropped her to the ground was the figure in the car park, beckoning her.

  Six

  Half an hour passed in silence. Will remained on the chair at the table, coffee untouched and gaze stuck to the drawing. Normal sensation faded from his legs to be replaced by stabbing pins and needles when he shifted slightly. The pain meant nothing. Not with the drawing close enough for him to touch.

  A new sound registered in slow waves through the fog around his head. He heard Karen’s key in the lock and didn’t move. A silent moment passed before he realised that although the front door had opened and her boots had clumped a few paces on the wood of the hall floor, nothing more had come since.

  Still with his eyes on the drawing, Will spoke.

  ‘Karen?’

  He forced himself upright and the pain in his legs announced itself eagerly. Will hissed and rubbed the muscles in his thighs.

  ‘Karen?’

  Will blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes and focused on the door to the hallway.

  ‘Karen? You all right?’

  Wincing with each pained step, Will left the table and crossed to the living room door.

  Karen stood in the hallway, leaning against the front door, car keys still in her hand.

  ‘Karen?’ Will said.

  Her eyes moved, but much too slowly and an ugly thought muttered to Will.

  That’s what she’ll look like when she’s old.

  Light coming through the frosted window in the door lit her hair but not in any way that brightened it. It was easy to picture Karen’s hair grey, her skin lined and her eyes slow and tired.

  ‘Karen?’ Will said again and took lumbering steps towards his wife. Her hands rose and she was in his arms and weeping against his neck.

  ‘I saw her,’ Karen said. ‘Jesus, I saw her.’

  Will embraced her and kept his eyes closed. His mind threw up images and memories he didn’t want to touch. Karen’s hand found one of his and held it with a desp
erate tightness. Opening his eyes and not focusing on anything, Will let Karen pull him into the living room, neither speaking.

  Karen fell into an armchair and Will rested on its arm, holding Karen’s hair and staring out of the window into the garden. From their angle on the chair, they couldn’t see the drawing and that could only be a good thing.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked and took Karen’s hand. He rubbed a fingertip over her wedding ring and she gave him a ghost of a smile.

  ‘It was …it was like it wasn’t real when I knew it was completely real at the same time. Like I was asleep and awake. I was here and I was somewhere else at the same time. And that makes no sense at all.’ Karen let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. A long pause followed; Will waited for his wife to find the words.

  And while he waited, a name bled inside his head and heart.

  Geri.

  Seven

  Karen’s voice faded into silence. She’d been holding Will’s hand from the moment the words broke free. She eased it from his grip in the silence and flexed her fingers. Blood filled in the white flesh. She gripped Will’s hand again, holding it as tightly as she could and turned it over. Tracing the ink stains on the tips of his fingers and seeing it on his skin was no surprise although it was a comfort.

  ‘What now?’ she said and watched him debate his reply. Dull amusement filled her. Ten years of marriage and she knew her husband in ways that nobody else in the world did, and here he was trying to find a way of telling her she needed to take a break from work.

  What about the picture? He can’t tell me that’s down to stress.

  It sat on the table exactly as it had for the last fifteen minutes, mocking her by existing.

  ‘Someone having a joke?’ Will said abruptly and she gazed at him, aware he saw the flaw in his own idea. Even so, she verbalised it.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘God knows. Someone from Dalry? From school?’