by James Rice
It’s kind of gloomy here, in Nan’s nest. It got bad near the end, with Nan. It got to the point where I was the only person she’d let enter her parcel-taped bedroom. I’d bring her meals and medicine and more and more rolls of tape, picking up what I could on the way home from school. The two of us would watch our movies. She’d even let me sleep in here, sometimes. She always called me ‘Fly’. Even when she’d forgotten everyone else, when she was calling Mum ‘Ellie’ and my father ‘Herb’ and Sarah ‘Mr Saunders’, she’d still smile when she saw me, she’d still say, ‘Hi, Fly – fancy a movie?’
The sun’s just about risen over Crossgrove Park, the snow glittering in its glow. I peeled some of the parcel tape from the window so we could see. Not a single person’s passed in the last two hours, by car or foot, the snow remaining clean, untouched. It’s impossible to make out your house from this side of the park, or your garden, or even what’s left of the shed, but each time I press my face up to the window I can detect that singed scent in the air. A hint of barbecue-char from the fire we made.
Your hair’s dry now. It seems to have faded since last night. Perhaps I shouldn’t have washed it. You probably have some special kind of shampoo, to keep the colour in. It’s strange, I’m so used to watching you on the bus, your head rocking against the window and it’s amazing how peaceful you look, laid out on Nan’s bed. How calm. It makes me feel calm just looking at you.
I’m going to try and sleep again. That’s all I really want, to lie beside you and sleep. That’s all that’s really left to do.
TRANSCRIPT
Extract of interview between Detective Sergeant Terrence Mansell (TM) and Gregory Hall’s father, Dr Howard Hall (HH).
TM: Thanks for coming in.
HH: That’s OK.
TM: I realise this is a difficult time.
HH: I just want to get it over with.
TM: Understandable.
HH: Whatever this is. What is this, a follow-up?
TM: I just want to clarify a few things. That’s all we’re doing today.
HH: Right.
TM: About that night. January third.
HH: OK.
TM: About Greg.
HH: Right.
TM: How is Greg?
HH: They’re looking after him.
TM: He hasn’t said anything?
HH: Not yet.
TM: And Deborah?
HH: She’s … it’s hit her hard. I don’t think it helps, seeing him like this. She’s been through rough patches before, but she’s struggling to get through this time.
TM: Right.
HH: The whole thing’s just … it’s a mess. You know?
TM: It’s a terrible situation.
HH: It’s a mess.
TM: For all of you.
HH: Yes, but especially for her. I mean, I haven’t always been the best father. I haven’t always been there. But her …
TM: Shall we get this over with, then?
HH: I guess.
TM: Then you can get back to her. To them.
HH: What is it you want to know?
TM: Well, as I’ve said, I’d like to start with that night, January third.
HH: OK.
TM: Why don’t you talk me through what happened.
HH: I did make a statement at the time.
TM: I’ve read the statement. I know what’s in the statement. I’d just like to hear it first-hand, if that’s OK.
HH: I guess.
TM: I just want to go through, step by step. See if there’s any stone … you know … unturned.
HH: Right.
TM: So, January third. What happened?
HH: Well, we went to the house.
TM: We?
HH: Yeah, the two of us. Miss Hewitt and I.
TM: And Miss Hewitt is?
HH: My secretary.
TM: And the reason for your visit to the house?
HH: Is that important?
TM: I don’t know, is it?
HH: Not really, it was just I was showing her around. She was thinking of buying the place.
TM: Buying it?
HH: Yeah.
TM: OK …
HH: Why?
TM: It’s not exactly a show home.
HH: She wanted somewhere with potential, she said. Somewhere to renovate.
TM: So you took her for a viewing?
HH: That’s right.
TM: At a time when your son, Greg, was missing. Had been missing for three days.
HH: No. I mean, we didn’t know he’d gone missing. Not for sure. Deborah was freaking out, obviously, but I thought he was probably staying at a friend’s or something.
TM: A friend’s?
HH: Yeah. I mean, I know it was unusual, for him to stay away like that, for a couple of nights. But it was the school holidays. He’d been to a party. He’d been drinking, according to Sarah. And then there was the snow. Snow brings everything to a halt. I was sure he was staying with someone. I was sure he’d show up.
TM: You weren’t worried?
HH: Not like Debbie, no. And may I remind you that’s exactly what your people said too, when she called them. ‘He’ll be at a friend’s.’
TM: Right.
HH: Plus we didn’t know about her then. About the girl, I mean. Her father hadn’t reported it.
TM: No.
HH: Anyway, look, this isn’t important, OK? Jo wanted to see the house and so I took her. So we were there. I mean, that’s what’s important right? That we were there? That we found him?
TM: What time was this?
HH: Half-nine, maybe?
TM: And I’m guessing you expected the house to be empty?
HH: Well, obviously. It has been for years.
TM: You hadn’t considered the possibility Greg might go there?
HH: It makes sense now. Why he’d go there. It was his home, once. I hadn’t considered it at the time, otherwise I’d have gone and got him. I obviously wasn’t expecting … that.
TM: And so when did you realise the house wasn’t empty?
HH: Well, I knew something was wrong when the door wouldn’t open. I mean, my keys worked, the door unlocked, I just couldn’t get it open. I tried kicking it. Barging it.
TM: He’d sealed it.
HH: Right. So then I went round the back. I still didn’t know it was Gregory at that point. I didn’t know what it was. I thought maybe the cold had warped the frame or something. So I got this shovel from the shed. I figured I could pry it open. The door, that is. That’s when I noticed the extra boards, at the back of the house.
TM: Extra boards?
HH: I’d put some up over the windows years back, the ones that were broken. But there were more now, even on the unbroken ones. That’s when I started to panic. I cut my hand climbing back over, see? Just there? There’s all this glass on the back wall Deb’s mum put there, probably to stop trespassers, but I’d forgotten all about it, hadn’t realised until it was too late. Anyway, I managed to climb back over and went back round the front and wedged the shovel under the door and pried it. That’s when I knew something was really wrong. Because that’s when I could … well … smell it.
TM: What was Miss Hewitt doing at this point?
HH: Freaking out.
TM: She was suspicious?
HH: She wanted to wait for the police.
TM: So this was after the 999 call?
HH: Yeah. She rang straight away. While I was still in the shed.
TM: She no longer wanted to buy the house I take it?
HH: She wanted to get back in the car. She wanted to lock the doors and wait for the police.
TM: But you didn’t?
HH: No. I probably should have. I mean, I still wasn’t sure it was Gregory in there. But I knew I had to find out what was going on. I ended up hacking the door to pieces with that shovel. The smell was terrible, he’d sealed that place up pretty good it was all … festering … you know? And I could see him, over in the corner, head down. I c
ould see him and I thought … well, I don’t know what I was thinking really. I mean, he wasn’t moving. I saw he wasn’t moving. And then the adrenaline took over.
TM: And you got inside?
HH: Eventually. It seemed to take forever, but I tore my way inside. There was all that tape …
TM: The parcel tape.
HH: Right. He’d sealed the place up pretty tight.
TM: And what kind of state was Greg in?
HH: I don’t think he knew I was there.
TM: He was unresponsive?
HH: I don’t think he knew what was going on. He seemed to just be staring into space. His face was just blank. There was, like, zero expression. The least expression I’ve ever seen on the face of a living human. Bear in mind that I’m a plastic surgeon.
TM: I’ve seen the website.
HH: Yes, well …
TM: ‘Breast Man.’
HH: Right. But as I said, he was just sat there, glaring at the ceiling. And he was wearing this massive leather jacket. And his hand was all bloody. And he was holding something, a video-case with all this stuff in, leaflets and papers and stuff, spread out over his lap. Oh, and money, there was a wad of money. And a cigarette butt. There was this cigarette butt in his other hand, the non-bloody one. I know it’s a strange thing to notice, but it struck me as odd at the time because Gregory’s never been the kind to smoke. Not like me, I love a smoke. I could do with a smoke right now, actually …
TM: So then what?
HH: Well that’s when Jo arrived at the doorway. She took one look and ran out, screaming. I was annoyed at the time because I thought that was the last thing he needed, some screaming bimbo. Though to be honest I don’t think he even noticed.
TM: So you took Greg outside?
HH: Well, first I tried to talk to him. I slapped his face a little and got nothing. But yeah, I knew I had to get him out of there. Get him warmed up. Get him away from that smell. So I carried him out to the car. He felt like ice. I sat him in the passenger seat and put the heaters on. I had this bottle of water. I remember trying to get him to drink and it just running down his chin, all down the front of him.
TM: And where was Miss Hewitt at this point?
HH: Sat on the kerb. She wouldn’t come anywhere near us.
TM: Did she know Greg was your son?
HH: Probably not, actually. I presumed she would have at the time, but thinking back … She’s pretty dense, to be honest.
TM: Right.
HH: I’d love a cigarette right now.
TM: We can take a break soon.
HH: I’m guessing it’s against the rules, smoking? In here, I mean?
TM: Yes.
HH: So I’m not allowed to smoke in here?
TM: Unfortunately not, no.
HH: Right. It’s fine.
TM: So you waited in the car until the officers arrived?
HH: Yes. Except for Jo. She stayed out on the kerb.
TM: You didn’t venture upstairs?
HH: No.
TM: Neither you nor Miss Hewitt?
HH: No. Neither of us saw upstairs.
TM: Right.
HH: And if you’re about to show me pictures I don’t want to see it.
TM: I wasn’t.
HH: I know all about her. The girl. I know all about it.
TM: OK.
HH: I mean, anything you want to show me, it can’t be worse than what’s in my head, believe me. I mean, really we should be made to see, Debs and I. We’re to blame, really.
TM: No one’s to blame here.
HH: Of course someone’s to blame. Someone’s always to blame. That’s the whole point, right? That’s why I’m here, that’s why you’re involved. And the truth is it has to be us. We’re the parents.
TM: I’m not blaming anyone. I’d like to be clear on that. I’m just trying to get the facts straight.
HH: The facts?
TM: That’s all I want.
HH: This isn’t the first time this has happened. Did you know that? Were you aware of that fact?
TM: I’ve spoken with your wife. I know about Sarah, if that’s what you mean.
HH: His sister. His own sister. Our own daughter. I mean, we should have known it’d happen again. It was obviously going to happen again. And what did we do? We just sent him away. We just ignored it.
TM: Dr Hall?
HH: And I know we got him on diagnosed. And I know we got him medicated. But we weren’t there for him. He needed us and where were we?
TM: Dr Hall.
HH: At the fucking Hamptons’ that’s where. I don’t know. I don’t even know. I …
[HH takes a cigarette from his pocket and lights it.]
TM: Take a minute if you want.
HH: No, you’re right. I’m sorry. I …
TM: It’s OK.
HH: Sorry, I’m just venting here. It’s just … I have no one … I mean, Debs is ill, I can’t talk about this stuff with her, and Sarah … she’s too young to lay this on. I have no one. I’m a fifty-three year old man with no one in his life to have an adult conversation with. Not about this, anyway.
TM: Are you OK?
HH: There’s nothing we can do. We just need to be there for him now. I know that now. I know that.
TM: I’m sure he’d appreciate your support.
HH: And when I think back to that day, holding him my arms, trying to get him to drink from that bottle of water. Telling him it was all going to be OK. And there was nothing, you know? Nothing there. Just that blank expression. That was the scariest day of my life.
TM: I can imagine.
HH: Do you have kids, Detective?
TM: I do.
HH: Then you know.
TM: We can take a break if you want.
HH: You know.
IV
07/03
I know I haven’t written in a while. I’m sorry for that. And I’m sorry about my handwriting – I can’t seem to stop shaking, I think it’s this new medication. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve decided this is the last time I’ll write to you. It was Dr Howard’s idea. She said that, since I didn’t get to go to the funeral, this would be a good way of saying goodbye.
It was my father who found us, back at the house. I don’t remember any of that. Or them bringing me here. Those first few days are a complete blank, the weeks that followed sketchy at best. Being here dawned on me gradually, more like a slow realisation that I wasn’t dreaming. When I did dream it was about you, Finners Island, Scraps. At the time I wasn’t sure which parts were real, which parts were dreams or nightmares. And then there was Them. It was a hard time.
Things are getting better. I’m into more of a routine now, especially with my sleeping. My hand’s finally healed. Apparently it was badly infected when they found us but now all that’s left is a scar, a numb white spot in the centre of my palm. It’s not too far from that little grey fleck Andrew Wilt’s pencil left. Sometimes at night I press the scar, hard, until it starts to ache. I don’t know why. I just like to feel it.
Mum hasn’t visited much. She’s seeing Dr Filburn again and he’s advised against regular visits. Even when she does come, she never says much. She always starts crying halfway through and has to leave the room. She’s sure to return, right at the end, to tell me not to worry. I’m not the cause of the tears, she says. They’ve been building up for years. This whole thing’s just opened the floodgates.
Dad and Sarah visit more regularly, usually every other day. It’s getting warmer now and yesterday we sat out and ate together on the grass. Dad brought tuna sandwiches (he knows I don’t like the food here) and Sarah lent me one of her earphones so I could tap my head along to her thud-thud music. It was actually quite relaxing, in a weird way, even though the music is horrific. Sarah’s eczema’s back. I’ve noticed the odd patch of flaked skin, on her neck and the backs of her hands. She only scratches when she thinks nobody’s looking. It’s probably stress – the doctor said it could come back in times of str
ess. This has been a time of much stress.
Dr Howard is nice. She reminds me of how Miss Hayes used to be. She lets us just sit in silence. She’s just there to talk to, she says, if I ever need somebody to talk to, though the truth is I haven’t spoken since New Year’s. I can’t seem to get any words out. The more I try, the harder it is. Dr Howard told me to stop trying so hard and just relax. The words will come when they’re ready, she says.
A lot of people went to your funeral. That’s what Sarah said. She didn’t go, of course, but her classes were nearly empty that day and Miss Hayes let the rest of them go early as a mark of respect. I haven’t seen or heard from your father. I know he’s no longer at the butcher’s. The rumours are that he hacked off three of his fingers, drunk on the job, but I don’t know how true that is. Sarah said she heard it from one of the girls in her year, but it was hard to verify because not many of the girls in her year are talking to her. My father couldn’t verify it either because he hasn’t spoken to Ken Hampton in over a month. Sarah said they’ve had to close the clinic for the time being. Dad’s never mentioned this. He only talks about the weather or lunch. He doesn’t like to talk about serious stuff.
I know you won’t read this, by the way. I know now that I’m not really writing to you, that I was never really writing to you. That you never got to read any of what I wrote. I know now that there were in fact two yous – the real you, who I shared a few chance encounters with, and the you I wrote to, the you I found myself talking to, in my head. Right now I don’t know which you I’m writing to. Both, I guess. And myself. Ultimately I know I’m writing to myself.
Spring’s just about here. Every morning I wake to the sound of the birds. They’re so loud, I forgot just how loud they are. They’re the perfect alarm clock. Without them I’m not sure I’d ever wake up. I’ve been pulling out my eyelashes. It’s a new habit. Dr Howard advises against it. She says it’s a problem, but not such a problem, considering my other problems. This morning I discovered a couple of fresh ones, just starting to show. I managed to pluck them. I went out to the gardens at lunch with them cradled in my palm. I shut my eyes and blew them away. I can’t tell you what I wished because then it might not come true. But there was a good breeze today. I’m sure they’ll go far.