The Count of Eleven

by Ramsey Campbell

  She was paced by container vessels which glided upriver with a slow muffled beat which seemed to come from deep underwater. Once she raced a speedboat. When she reached Seacombe she waved to the downtown skyline of Liverpool, where her mother would have arrived by now, before switching into first gear so as to pedal uphill over the cobblestones of the bus terminal. From the top of the slope she was able to cycle home by a route full of houses for sale.

  At the edge of Liscard, where the large stores were, she passed a slim three-storey house overlooking a junior football game in Central Park. From the top window she would be able to see the horizon of the sea. Imagining how life in a big house would feel was an adventure in itself. If her parents owned that one she could play on the swings in the park whenever she wanted to, though she was a bit old for that, or if they lived opposite the library beside the graveyard near her school she could change her books every day as soon as she'd read them and hear the trees around the library giving a voice to the wind as she lay in bed. From the library she cycled past her school and across a bridge which appeared to carry a side street over nothing in particular, and eventually left a leafy square by a footpath which emerged onto the steepest road above the bay. The thought of cycling down it made her catch her breath. She wheeled the bicycle to a crossroads and pedalled home, the houses for sale inhabiting her mind like dreams.

  She was enjoying trying to choose her favourite as she turned along her road and saw Jody Venable walking towards her, preoccupied with not stepping on the cracks between the flagstones. "There you are," Jody said, walking normally as though she was too grown-up to do anything else. "I came to see if you were in."

  She was wearing dungarees over a blouse Laura hadn't seen before, and a necklace so thin it was visible only as a sunlit gleam. "Did you get those in Greece?" Laura said.

  Jody nodded, tossing back her blonde hair, which was streakier than ever. "I brought you something back. You can have it now so long as you don't wake my dad."

  "I'll just leave a note in case anyone comes home," Laura said and ran through the house to unbolt the back gate while Jody wheeled the bicycle into the alley, where a dog in a yard gave a token bark. As Laura wrote her message Jody leaned her hands on the working surface in the kitchen and lifted herself to sit on it, letting herself down again as it creaked. "I bet you're looking forward to moving," she said, wrinkling her nose.

  Unexpectedly, Laura found that saying so would feel like being ungrateful to her parents. "We haven't found anywhere yet."

  "I meant because you had to put up with all that noise and mess while your dad's friend was fixing the house. You should have come and stayed with us. I asked my mum if you all could have and she didn't say no."

  "That was nice of her," Laura said to cover up her disappointment at having learned too late. She wrote "Gone to

  Jody's' on the board and made sure the front door locked behind her. "Don't tell me what my present is, I want to guess."

  Beyond the traffic lights Victoria Road climbed past the Sea Level Hotel, which was several hundred feet above sea level, to New Brighton station. Jody's house was half of a burly pair. It overlooked the station and the bay from the top of a steep driveway which Jody's father called his evening exercise. The hall was larger than the Orchards' kitchen. The low tables strewn with magazines in the front room always put Laura in mind of a waiting-room, but if it was possible to tire of the view of the horizon giving birth to ships then she would have watched the trains and the streams of people they set free. Living close to the station would be like the start of any number of adventures, especially once her parents let her go on trains by herself, but she oughtn't to let her dreams feel like the future, even though there was a house like Jody's for sale a few doors away.

  Jody's mother came downstairs on quick tiptoe. "I've turned your father on his side so the neighbours won't complain about the noise," she told Jody, and turned to Laura. "How's life treating you, madam? Moved up in the world yet? Is there anything Jody should know to keep up with you at school?" she said without a pause as Jody grimaced at the ceiling.

  "The teachers gave her the homework we've been doing," Laura guessed.

  "So long as she gets all the chances she's entitled to. That's all anyone can ask for." A smile which was almost too brief to be called one, and which Laura knew announced a change of subject, crossed her plump lightly painted face. "You and the family will have to come to the restaurant so we can try our new dishes out on you now Jody's gone vegetarian."

  "Did you find what you were looking for in Greece?"

  "Everything we said we would. An island every day and a new dish from every island. We haven't decided what to call them in English yet, except for Minotaur Steak." She sat in the rocking-chair by the window and picked up a notepad loaded with long Greek names. "Take Laura up to your room but mind you don't waken the slumbering hunter."

  As soon as the girls were in Jody's room, which smelled of hairspray and was strewn with even more clothes than usual, Jody said "Anything happened at school that my mum wouldn't want to know?"

  "Someone in the fourth year dropped a condom when she was paying at the cafeteria."

  Jody squeaked and covered her mouth. "What happened?"

  "She made out it was a balloon she'd got at someone's birthday. And Diane had hysterics because a dog came into the yard, so Miss Haygarth sat on it until the stray man came."

  "Diane's bigger than Miss Haygarth."

  "It was just a big soft dog, we thought it wanted to play, only Diane was afraid it'd bite her and give her AIDS."

  "That isn't how you get AIDS." Jody finished spluttering and said, "I don't think it is, do you?"

  "I think it's the only way Diane's going to get it if her mum never lets her wear make-up. Oh, and Trace kept showing us some hash in a matchbox she said she got from her brother, only Grace's parents used to be hippies and she thinks it's sealing wax."

  "I hope Trace didn't let Jackie Pether see it, though."

  "Jackie Pether..." Laura stuck out her tongue as if she had swallowed some horrible medicine. "Ruth put some bubble gum inside her desk, Ruth's desk I mean, to throw away after class, only Jackie said "What have you got in your desk?" so loud that Mrs. Sinclair saw it and got in a dead bad eggy. And when Miss Miles had us talking about whether people should all be equal Jackie said nobody should be allowed to go on holiday during term time, and guess who she meant."

  "You can help make her jealous." Jody jumped up and grabbed a parcel from among the tangle of soft toys under the Madonna poster. She bounced next to Laura on the bed while Laura unwrapped the parcel. "It's sort of a souvenir in advance."

  It was a yellow T-shirt which announced I'VE BEEN TO KNOSSOS. "I know you haven't yet," Jody said, "but you will have been soon, won't you?"

  "Thanks, Jody." Laura pulled off the T-shirt she was wearing and smoothed the new one down over her trainer bra. "Now it really feels like I'll be going."

  "You can borrow my guidebook." Jody arched her back and pressed her hands against the wall behind the bed, and sighed. "What shall we do now?" she said as she heard her father trudging to the bathroom. "I wish we could play a tape."

  "Don't strain your ears on my account," he responded. "I should be up by now. I've been dreaming long enough."

  "We'd rather have you oversleep than getting an ulcer," Jody's mother called.

  "Better an ulcer than a pauper's grave," he said, and pulled the chain.

  Jody squashed her face up like a boxer's and mimed fighting with her fists, and Laura giggled. "Wasn't it much of a holiday for them?"

  "Only because we were doing something they can claim off their tax. We had fun, but they're not a laugh like your dad. They were nearly shouting on the plane because I told them his puzzle about the men in the restaurant."

  "Have you worked it out yet?"

  "I think I nearly did. Tell me it again."

  "Three men are in a restaurant and the bill comes to thirty-three pounds. Th
ey each pay eleven and then the waiter realises he's charged them too much and the bill is only twenty-eight. So they tell him to keep two for himself and give them a pound each, which means they each pay ten, right? Three tens are thirty, and the waiter keeps two, but who gets the pound that's left over?"

  "The restaurant. No, the waiter. I give up. What's the answer?"

  "I did work it out, but I've forgotten."

  "You're no use then, are you? Tell me another," Jody said, immediately adding "No, don't. Do you want to hear my tape from Greece?"

  "I'd love to," Laura said, and claimed one of Jody's pillows for a back-rest against the wall. The music sounded bright and lazy as waves on a sea beneath the Mediterranean sun, and when she closed her eyes she could imagine herself sitting under a palm tree on the beach pictured on the card Jody had sent her from Crete. By the time Jody turned the tape over, Laura could feel the heat of the sun on her face.

  Lunch was Greek too: salad with cheese in it, flat oval loaves, a vegetarian dip the colour of fudge. Jody and her parents gave Laura a tour of the islands while they ate, so that by the time Jody took her upstairs again she felt as if she'd almost been where she was dreaming of. The music seemed to intensify the sunlight which was reaching into Jody's room, and Laura could imagine that the sound of fire engines was part of her daydream. Their wailing faded, and she was listening to another dance when Jody's father came into the room. "Laura, is your dad at work today?"

  "All day, every day," Laura said, feeling like a commercial, "if you want to borrow' the phrase eluded her for a moment "films that won't insult your intelligence."

  "Mine could do with a bit of insulting by the time I finish work. I was going to say that if he wasn't there you might have wanted to let him know there's a fire somewhere up by the shop."

  Jody dropped the high-school soap novel she was reading. "Let's go and see it, Laura."

  "Stay well clear and do as the firemen say," Jody's mother told the girls as they sprinted out of the house.

  As soon as Laura set foot on the driveway she saw black smoke oozing into the blue sky above the roofs. It made her think of the evil genie in a book of fairy tales and legends she'd been given for her birthday years ago. She ran after Jody, up the side street to another which was full of retirement homes and nursing homes and which ended near her father's shop.

  Many of the residents seemed enlivened by the fire. More than a dozen were making their way to the end of the street as if the fire was attracting them like moths. Others stood with their nurses in front gardens, either willing the fire to stay away or expecting it to show itself out of respect for their age. As Jody and Laura outdistanced the old folk two teenage boys in denim dodged around the corner from the direction of the fire and crossed to the pavement which was deserted. Laura stared after them as she came to the corner herself, and didn't turn until Jody wailed "Oh, Laura, look."

  Fine Films had gone. Between the two boarded-up shops was a gaping hole stuffed with oily smoke at which orange flames were clawing. Two fire engines were shooting water into the black hole. A sizeable audience had gathered on the pavement opposite, and people were watching from cars parked at the barriers of plastic cones which closed the road in both directions, but Laura felt as if all this was falling short of her mind, as if it was a picture she wasn't quite able to grasp. As she began to run up the middle of the road she felt the blackness which had engulfed the shop reaching for her mind. Then two people ran out of the crowd to meet her, and she saw they were her parents. To her astonishment, both of them were smiling.

  In a moment she saw that her mother's smile was trying to be brave, but her father was smiling widely. He, pulled Laura's mother towards her as if to make certain she shared a surprise, and flourished the clown's head on his keyring like a talisman. "Don't be upset, Laura," he shouted. "Everything works for you if you know how to do your sums. This is the best thing that could have happened to us."

  FIVE

  Laura looked exactly as her mother had when he'd tried to reassure her, wishing she could be convinced. What he had to tell them had already transformed the sight of the flames into a dance of celebration for Jack, but he shouldn't tell them while there was an audience. "I wouldn't let you down, would I?" he said, lowering his voice, which had caused several bystanders to glance at him. "I'll tell you as soon as we're home."

  Laura was staring at the crowd. "Why can't they go away? Why do they have to watch?"

  "We all like a bit of excitement in our lives, don't we? Maybe I needed this to make me realise." He wiped away a tear which had begun to trickle down her cheek. He was saying too much if he didn't intend to say everything now. "I'd better stay, but you needn't if it bothers you."

  "Of course she's bothered," Julia said almost accusingly. "Why wouldn't she be?"

  Take her home. I'll be as quick as I can." He hugged them both and winked at Julia. "Think of the insurance."

  He hoped he hadn't spoken loud enough for anyone outside the family to hear. When he sneaked a glance at the crowd, the woman in the housecoat and the hooded man and Mr. Pether were watching him. Jack gave them a toned-down smile as he walked uphill, hearing Laura say shakily 'I've left my T-shirt at Jody's' and Julia's response, a shade too enthusiastic: "I saw you had a new one. Is that from you, Jody? It's lovely." The trio of watchers peered at him as he rejoined the crowd, and he could only grin. "Got to laugh, haven't you?"

  "He thinks this is funny, what he did to my wife's shoe," Mr. Pether cried, flourishing its remains. "She couldn't walk for the last six months of her life."

  Most of those who heard him seemed more embarrassed or bewildered than roused to anger. Some glanced at the tartan slipper which a nurse from the retirement home had persuaded him to wear. Jack solemnised his face and went to the old man. "I'm sorry about your wife and I'm sorry about your shoe. I'll buy you a new pair if you like."

  His choice of words didn't strike him until they were out of his mouth. He felt a giggle gathering itself like an uncontrollable sneeze as he saw the old man preparing to object. "I don't want a pair, I only want one to match this," Mr. Pether protested, stamping the shoe that was left.

  Jack covered his mouth and emitted a snort which he willed to sound more like a sneeze than like mirth. "I'll do my best," he said when he could.

  "I should come along now, Mr. Pether," the nurse said, taking the old man's arm. "We've had enough excitement for one day."

  Their departure acted as a signal to the crowd. The spectacle was mostly smoke by now, only a few subdued flames struggling to fend off the jets of water. The quilted woman returned to her house, the cars swung away from the striped cones. A few of the youngest members of the audience lingered, apparently in the hope that the dousing of the fire would prove to be as false an ending as those of all the horror films they watched, and so did the cowled man. "It's under control now," a fireman told Jack. "I'm afraid there's nothing salvageable."

  "That's fine. I mean, thanks for trying. For succeeding, I should say," Jack blethered. "Will I need to tell someone how it started?"

  "That will be necessary. Tell me if you wish."

  "Ask him about the kind of films that conveniently got destroyed."

  "That isn't our job, sir."

  The cowled man treated him to the suspicious glare he had previously reserved for Jack. "Aren't you supposed to uphold the law of the land?"

  "Are you a witness, sir?"

  "The only kind. God's."

  "Then shouldn't you be in church, sir?" the fireman said, and told Jack "I think it'll be advisable if we confer in the appliance."

  Once they were in the cab of the fire engine the fireman said "Has he something against you?"

  "Working on the Sabbath."

  "Well, we all need some kind of belief to keep us going. Just so long as we don't try to impose it on others, I always say. My daughter's been born again, as if her mother didn't go through enough the first time." He cleared his throat as though he wanted to spit and
watched the cowled man flouncing downhill. "What have you to tell me?" he said.

  Jack pointed at himself with all his fingers. "Imagine Oliver Hardy with a blow lamp."

  "Go on."

  "Did you notice the old codger who was waving his shoe about? If you cast him as Stan Laurel... I hope I don't sound as if I'm trying to make light of anything, but I feel such a fool now I think of what happened."

  "However's comfortable for you."

  It seemed to Jack that there was no way of describing the events leading up to the fire other than as a joke against himself. He told it deadpan, and was almost sure that the fireman was stifling a laugh. Comedy was something that happened at a distance to you or to someone else. They were still in the cab when Andy Nation came to gaze aghast at the smouldering hole, pulling the zip of his jacket up and down as if he couldn't bear his hands to be inactive. Jack knocked on the windscreen and called to him, and Andy looked everywhere for him but in the cab. "Up here," Jack shouted. "I've joined the fire service. Starting fires, that is."

  Andy winced. "Julia told me, but I didn't think it would be this bad."

  "It could have been far worse, Andy. This is my friend the builder."

  "Will the shop need making safe?" Andy wanted to know.

  "When we've finished damping down," the fireman said.

  "I'll do what needs doing, Jack. You go home to the family," Andy said, and asked the fireman "He's free, is he?"

  "I've heard all I need to hear."

  Jack thanked them both profusely and climbed into the front of the van. A generalised ache had taken up residence in the area above his cheekbones, but it was familiar enough now to be ignored. He let the van free wheel backwards downhill, away from the dunces' plastic caps, then he turned it with a drunkard's carefulness and drove home.