by Moody, David
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic. People call it the grey house, you know it?’
‘Oh, I know it all right, Willy was a patient here.’
‘Can’t you check his old records then? Get the postcode from there?’
‘That’d be a breach of customer confidentiality, I couldn’t possibly do that.’
‘He’s dead, isn’t he? I don’t reckon he’d be too bothered.’
‘Hardly the point now, is it?’ The sour-faced woman just smiled, the knowing smile of someone sitting behind safety glass who couldn’t be throttled or punched. ‘Why not take the forms with you and bring them back when we’re less busy.’
Michelle looked over her shoulder. The spacious waiting room was empty but for two patients, one reading a dog-eared magazine, the other coughing and wheezing constantly. She turned back and eyed-up the ice maiden behind the counter again, knowing this was a battle she wasn’t going to win. More to the point, it was a silly, trivial fight she didn’t need. She picked up the five forms. ‘Thanks for nothing. I’ll be back.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ the receptionist said. Michelle was on her way out when the woman called her back. She was holding up five plastic phials. ‘Oh, and the doctor’ll need urine samples with each form, and he’ll need to see all of you in person before he agrees to take any of you on as patients. That all clear?’
‘As crystal. Thanks again for all your help.’
Michelle took the phials and walked away. With the forms, the phials, the car keys, her handbag and George, she was struggling. Unsighted, she crashed into a man coming the other way and managed to drop everything but her son. The man, late fifties, short with grey hair, horn-rimmed glasses and a close trimmed beard, quickly picked everything up for her. ‘New patient?’ he asked.
‘Hopefully. How can you tell?’
‘The forms and the piss-pots,’ he said, grinning. He folded the papers and dropped the phials into her open bag. ‘I’m Doctor Kerr. Nice to meet you.’
‘Nice to meet you, too,’ she replied, trying to juggle everything so she could shake his hand.
‘Alice give you a warm welcome, did she?’
‘Alice?’
‘My charming receptionist.’
‘No, not really.’
‘True to form,’ he sighed, then he leant a little closer. ‘She’s very efficient and remarkably thorough, but her interpersonal skills are bloody awful.’
‘I’d noticed.’
‘I inherited her from my predecessor. She’s been here longer than this building. I think they built it around her.’
Michelle laughed. ‘I can believe that.’
The doctor tapped her arm, ruffled George’s hair, then walked on. ‘Be seeing you soon, then.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
‘Alice, the light of my life, how are you this morning?’ she heard him say at the top of his voice. She didn’t hear Alice’s response.
‘See, George,’ she said as she carried him back out to the car, ‘they’re not all complete aliens here. Most, maybe, but not all of them.’
✽✽✽
The Thussock Community Hall was a one-storey rectangular wooden building with a flat roof, situated on the outermost edge of a grassy recreation area close to the main housing estate. Probably the only park in Thussock, the recreation area itself was little more than a large, odd-shaped field with a rectangle of tarmac dropped right in the middle, upon which sat a slide, a roundabout, and a row of three swings. One of the swings didn’t have a seat, and the graffiti-covered slide had seen better days.
Michelle had spotted the play area from the road first and she’d figured that if she hoped to meet like-minded parents with kids of a similar age to George at this time of the day, this place was as good as any to find them. She’d felt like a weirdo, loitering and looking for kids. Fortunately she discovered that a parent and toddler group was in session in the hall next door. Going into the timber-clad building felt unexpectedly daunting, like she was stepping into the lion’s den, but she was getting used to it. If she was honest with herself, she hadn’t felt completely comfortable since she’d left Redditch.
A wide entrance corridor ran from the front door into the main hall. Off it were several more doors: a half-empty storeroom, a small kitchen, and male and female toilets. A particularly gruff-looking woman headed Michelle off before she could get through. Michelle tried to make conversation but received only the most cursory of replies. The woman’s responses were little more than a bullet-point list of dos and don’ts: the times, the rules, the cost. She wasn’t as bad as the doctor’s receptionist, Michelle thought, but she wasn’t far off.
Michelle paused and took a deep breath before going into the hall. She felt self-conscious... on edge. There were chairs around the edge of the room and in the centre a group of between fifteen and twenty children (they didn’t stay still long enough to count) were playing with, and occasionally fighting over, a mass of well-worn toys. She let go of George’s hand and gave him a gentle nudge. Unsure at first, he gravitated towards a sit-in car similar to one he had at home and climbed inside. Within minutes he was settled – already playing with several other kids. Michelle sat by herself on a wooden bench at the side of the room and watched him. She almost envied him. Nothing matters to kids, she thought. Who you are, the things you’ve done, what you’ve been through... none of it counts for anything much. They see someone roughly the same shape and size as them and they play, simple as that.
The same definitely couldn’t be said for adults. It wasn’t a problem specific to Thussock, of course, but it seemed particularly prevalent here. There were plenty of other parents in the room, almost exclusively mothers and (she presumed) grandmothers, but none of them seemed particularly keen to welcome a stranger. No one was going out of their way to be rude – plenty of folk had acknowledged her when she’d arrived – but those nods and mumbled hellos were the full extent of their interaction. There had been a roughly equal number of people sitting on all sides of this room at first. Not now. Now, apart from a couple of other stragglers, there were two larger groups of women on either side of the kitchen serving hatch, leaving Michelle on her own at the other end of the hall.
You’re just paranoid. It’s perfectly natural. You’re the new girl. It’s up to you to make the first move.
Clutching her purse, she walked up to the hatch. ‘Could I have a cup of tea, please?’ she asked the first lady she made eye contact with.
‘What’s that?’
‘A cup of tea, please.’
‘It’s your accent,’ the woman grunted as she poured Michelle’s drink.
‘How much do I owe you?’
‘Fifty pence.’
Michelle gave her a pound. ‘Keep the change for the funds. Can I take a biscuit for my boy?’
‘That’ll be twenty pence.’
Michelle gave her another fifty, despite having already overpaid. Keep trying, she told herself over and over. ‘We’re new here. Just moved here from Redditch.’
‘Thought we’d not seen you before.’
The woman was almost monosyllabic, as if small-talk in Thussock was taxed.
‘Nice hall you have here.’
‘It does the job.’
‘Do you meet here every day?’
‘Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, Thursday afternoons.’
Michelle just nodded, her questions now beginning to sound as forced as the woman’s replies. The door into the kitchen opened, and another woman put her head through. ‘Do we have more fruit juice in the stores, Sylvia? I can’t find any.’
Sylvia – the woman Michelle had been talking to – appeared to visibly relax when she talked to her friend. ‘I’ve not seen any. I thought Bryan was supposed to keep everything stocked up. He’s bloody useless, that one. I can see why Betty’s the way she is.’
‘Don’t get me started on Betty, love. You’ll never believe what she’s gone and done now...’
They moved
out of earshot. Michelle stopped listening but kept watching. Sylvia was unrecognisable now, all the frostiness and reticence gone. She was laughing and joking with her friend and Michelle couldn’t help wondering, are they laughing at me? She picked up her tea and George’s biscuit and walked away.
She was getting better with the accent, but people were still occasionally hard to understand. She was sure she’d just heard someone mention Ken Potter’s name. Wasn’t that the man whose house Scott had been delivering to yesterday? The man who...? She stopped herself from jumping to conclusions. They might know him. Her ears better attuned now, she listened in. ‘S’terrible,’ a young mum cradling a new-born was saying to three friends gathered around her. ‘We were just saying this morning how we’d seen him in town at the weekend, carrying on like he owned the place as always.’
‘Funny bugger,’ one of the other girls said. ‘I always said there was sumthin’ wrong about him.’
‘You say that about all the blokes in Thussock.’
‘Aye, that’s ’cause they’re all no good!’ a third girl joked. The women laughed, and Michelle sidled a little closer, sipping her piss-weak tea.
‘Terrible business, that,’ she said. She half-expected the entire room to fall silent and for everyone, even the kids, to stop and stare at her, like a clichéd scene from a horror movie. But they didn’t. Instead, one of the women acknowledged her with a subdued ‘aye’, then turned back and continued talking to her friends. She closed the circle, moving ever-so-slightly to her left, positioning herself so she had her back to Michelle, preventing her from edging into their group. The snub was subtle but definite. Their conversation continued, the accents a little stronger than before, harder to make out. Michelle couldn’t clearly hear what they were saying, but she managed to pick out a few choice phrases amongst the mutterings. ‘No one else’s business... Folks should mind their own...’
Each of these knock-backs, although individually insignificant, were beginning to wear her down. She took her tea and George’s biscuit back over to where she’d been sitting. It’s only natural, she told herself, it’s not personal. I’ll take my time. We’re here in Thussock for the long-haul. There’s no rush...
George saw the biscuit before he saw his mother. He came running over, babbling excitedly in child’s half-speak about his game and his new friends. Michelle perfectly understood her son’s mix of full words, truncated words and nonsense, and the fact she was so tuned-in to his immature language was reassuring. She wasn’t alone.
Biscuit demolished, George didn’t have any reason to stay. He ran off again and Michelle was so focused on him that she didn’t notice someone sitting a few places to her left. ‘You’ve not been here before, have you?’ the woman asked. Michelle looked up fast. ‘Sorry, did I startle you?’
‘A little,’ Michelle said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m miles away this morning.’
‘Don’t worry about it. So are you new to the area?’
‘Just moved in. My husband’s been up here for a couple of weeks getting the house ready, but the rest of us came up this weekend just gone.’
‘And how are you finding it?’
‘Oh, fine...’ she said, deliberately evasive.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Why? You sound surprised.’
‘I am. Thussock’s a bit of a dead end if you ask me.’
‘I was trying to be polite.’
‘I shouldn’t bother. You’re not from round here, are you?’
‘You can tell?’
‘The accent kind of gives it away.’
‘We’re from the Midlands. Redditch.’
‘That by Birmingham? I was gonna say you sound like you’re from those parts.’
‘Not a million miles away.’
‘No, a million miles away is what you are now.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘This place. It can feel like another planet.’
Michelle felt herself relax. ‘You don’t know how relieved I am to hear you say that. I thought it was just me. Just us.’
‘Ah, no. I was exactly the same when I first arrived. I moved here with my folks almost ten years back. Thussock definitely takes some getting used to.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘I remember thinking how everybody else seemed to know what was going on but me. It was like they were all in on some big secret.’
‘That’s exactly it.’
‘There’s no secret, though. Sorry to disappoint you.’
‘That’s a relief.’
‘And you will get used to it.’
‘I’m not so sure...’
‘No, you will. Once you get tuned in to this place you’ll be all right. It’ll all start making sense in no time.’
‘I hope so.’
‘It will. Trust me.’
Michelle thought she was probably just saying that to make her feel better. ‘I’m Michelle, by the way,’ she said. ‘Michelle Griffiths.’
‘I’m Jackie. Is that your boy?’ she asked, pointing at George.
‘That’s him. That’s George.’
‘Oh, but he’s adorable.’
‘When he wants to be. Where’s yours?’
‘I’ve two, right over there,’ Jackie said, nodding over towards the diagonally opposite corner of the room.
‘Are they twins?’
‘Yep. One of each. Sophia and Wes.’
‘Christ, you’ve got your hands full.’
‘Don’t even go there. They’re a bloody nightmare. I mean, I love them to bits, but they make my life hell.’
‘It doesn’t get any easier, believe me.’
‘Thanks for that,’ she laughed. ‘You’ve other kids then?’
‘Two girls from my previous marriage. Fourteen and sixteen.’
‘I remember being sixteen.’
‘Me too. I was an absolute bitch. I know where my Tammy gets it from.’
‘Boys and cider, that’s all I was interested in. Couldn’t be doing with lessons and rubbish like that.’
‘How old are you now, if you don’t mind me asking.’
‘Twenty-four.’
That made Michelle feel old. She was half as old again. ‘And when did you move to Thussock?’
‘When I was fifteen. I tell you, I made my parents’ lives hell when they dragged me here. I was a little shit before I came here, understand, but this place brought out the worst in me.’
‘You’re not making me feel any better...’
‘I’m sure your girls will be fine.’
Michelle laughed. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’
‘Ah, Thussock’s not so bad. Nothing ever happens here, sure, and there’s bugger all for the kids to do, but it’s okay.’
Michelle watched George. He was lying down now, colouring in, more crayon ending up on the floor than on his paper. She was enjoying this conversation. She didn’t want to put her foot in it or say the wrong thing, but she couldn’t help asking. ‘You say nothing much happens here, but what about that murder?’
‘Terrible thing, that,’ Jackie said, her voice as hushed as Michelle’s. ‘Between you and me, I always had my doubts about that Potter bloke.’
‘I wouldn’t know...’
‘Never did anything wrong that I know about, it’s just there was sumthin’ about him... bit creepy lookin’. Dez says he never trusted him.’
‘Dez?’
‘My other half. Potter taught him at school.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘I’d never have had him down for a serial killer, though.’
‘A serial killer?’
‘Have you not heard? Dez says there’re two more deaths they’re pinning on him. Some fella last week, and a woman in the woods over last weekend.’
‘I saw that on TV.’
‘She was all cut up like that girl in his garden, apparently. One of Dez’s mates found the body. He does security up by that fracking place near Falrigg. Dez was with him just before he
found it.’
‘How d’you know about the body in the garden? I didn’t think the police had said anything about how she’d died.’
‘Dez was talking to Alan.’
‘Alan?’
‘He works for Barry Walpole.’
‘So does...’
‘Your other half?’ Jackie said, surprising Michelle.
‘Yes. How did you know that?’
‘I thought it might be, didn’t want to presume, though. He said there was some new bloke from Birmingham started there.’
‘Redditch.’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Same difference. Everything’s south from here.’
‘Suppose. Scott’s pretty shaken up by it all.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Jackie said. She watched Michelle and noticed that her demeanour had changed. ‘Sumthin’ wrong?’
‘No, it’s nothing.’
‘Come on, spit it out.’
Michelle sighed. ‘It’s just the way you knew who I was by default. I’m not used to living somewhere where everybody knows your business like that.’
‘It’s not like that here, honest. Thing is, you’re always gonna get a few folks who like to stick their nose in, and you’ll get that wherever. The difference here is that Thussock’s so small, people can’t help noticing change. No one’s watching you or spying on you, nothin’ like that.’
‘I think that makes me feel better...’
‘Look at it from the other side. My Dez starts talking about this bloke with a Brummie accent who’s just started working at Walpoles, then I find myself talking to someone else with the same accent here. No spying, just common-sense.’
Michelle relaxed. Slightly. ‘You’re right. Sorry. It’s been a big thing moving here, that’s all. We’re all on edge.’
‘Nothin’ to be sorry about.’
At the far end of the room, a woman wearing a shapeless smock-top and baggy jeans clapped her hands three times. The kids – all bar George – looked up, the oldest of them already starting to get up and put their toys away. ‘Is this us?’ Michelle asked.
‘Aye.’
Michelle pushed herself up from her seat and winced.