by Ryan Casey
There was a sombre atmosphere in the caravan in general. Granddad pulled me aside when I’d got in to tell me that I’d be here for another few weeks. Something to do with my mum and dad. I didn’t really care; nothing could take me away from Emily and Donald right now anyway. This was my home for now, and the people I cared about were in trouble. Mum and Dad could argue all they wanted and sort out their own problems; it was probably better with me out of their way. But Adam couldn’t fight this battle on his own and neither could Emily. We needed a plan of action.
Carla was probably the only happy member of the caravan that evening. I scraped my leftover chips into her bowl. Granddad peeked over the top of his copy of the Telegraph. He went to open his mouth before sighing and looking back down.
‘Are you coming swimming tonight or what, boys?’ he asked from behind his newspaper.
‘Nah, I think we’ll give it a—’
He slammed the pages together and pulled his reading glasses from the edge of his nose. His face was red. ‘Right, what is going on?’ he shouted. ‘Whatever it is, it ends, right here.’
My heart began to thump. He’d sussed us. I looked at Adam, who turned back to me, biting his lip.
‘It’s— it’s nothing, Granddad—’ I started.
‘Oh, don’t give me that,’ he said, throwing his hand in our direction. ‘I get you’ve got stuff going on in your heads. You never open up, either of you. That’s your problem.’
Gran walked through and saw Granddad ranting.
‘Come on, Dean,’ she said. ‘Leave the boys be.’
He took a deep breath and picked up his paper again. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, smiling. ‘Sorry, lads. Just… just remember you don’t have to bottle anything, ‘cause it’s good to talk, okay?’ The ‘okay’ stuck in his throat. I looked up at Gran, who simply raised her eyebrows and wandered back towards the bedroom.
‘Everything’s fine, Granddad,’ Adam said. ‘I promise.’
Granddad didn’t hear him, or at least, he pretended not to.
*
That night, I told Adam about my confrontation with Emily’s dad. He scrunched his nose and eyebrows in confusion.
‘Why are you only telling me this now? This could be important, cuz. Maybe he was worried about something.’
Adam made a good point. I slid my teeth across my lip and wished I’d mentioned something to him earlier. ‘What d’you think he was worried about?’ I asked.
‘Well I mean, you were seeing her. And she started looking a bit sick and everything. Maybe her dad thought you were the one behind it all, you know? Maybe he saw you two together and went crazy, I dunno.’
‘Or…’
‘Or what?’
I stopped mid speech because a niggling thought had been scratching away at me for some time now. I looked down and took a deep breath. ‘Maybe her dad knows more than he is letting on about all of this. Maybe… maybe he hurts Emily. I’m worried about her, Ad.’
Adam stared at me, right into my eyes. I saw his face go slightly paler. ‘You reckon Emily’s dad is helping Donald?’ he asked.
I scratched my leg. ‘Maybe. And if he is, I think Emily’s in trouble. We saw her with Donald. And her dad can be mean to her.’
Adam shook his head, fast. ‘I dunno. Why would her dad hurt her?’ He scanned my eyes for signs of an answer.
I paused. ‘I don’t know, Adam. It’s just, I dunno. The way he looked at me… he was so angry. He looked as if he could do anything to anyone.’
Adam and I stared at each other for some time. Adam looked like his brain had gone into overload. I knew I’d thrown him into the deep end, but it was probably the right thing to do.
Adam coughed and cleared the way for his voice to come out, but he still struggled to find his words. ‘We—we go and talk to Emily tomorrow. Ask her about things. We find out what’s been going on with her and Donald first,’ he said. ‘Then we move in on her dad.’
I knew he was right. I mean, no matter what Emily’s dad had done to me, the way he’d stared at me and the way he’d probably smashed our window, nothing replaced the fact that Donald was the man we’d seen burying the body of the girl. Donald was the one who had turned up with Carla. Donald was the one who showed us a buried ring, and Donald was the one having secret conversations with Emily in our den. Emily’s dad had just gotten mad. We needed to focus.
‘First thing tomorrow?’ I said.
Adam nodded. ‘First thing.’ He turned over and switched his little light off. He didn’t say another word. I laid back and flicked my light off and wished I hadn’t said anything about Emily’s dad.
That night, I dreamt I was chased down the beach in the pitch black by a man who panted and spat like a dog. I couldn’t see his face; he was moving too fast, and whenever I turned round, my feet slowed down and the oncoming beast sped up. Somehow I recognised him.
The eyes.
Red, bloodshot eyes, pinning me against the wall, staring into my soul and screaming at me.
Donald’s eyes?
Or maybe Emily’s dad’s?
‘STAY THE FUCK AWAY.’
Or maybe my dad’s?
I tried to scream back but I couldn’t. Nothing came out. I looked down and realised my body had gone. I was just a head. The eyes lifted me and tossed me towards the sea, my stomach spinning like I was on a never-ending rollercoaster.
I landed in Carla’s mouth, who chewed me up like dog food. I felt her teeth pierce my skin a thousand times. Adam, Gran, and Granddad stood on the coast, applauding.
I jolted out of bed to see Adam’s bed already empty. My heart thumped as I wiped the sweat from my forehead. Just a dream. Just a dream.
I wondered where Adam was and why everything was so silent. My watch said it was 9:00am. Granddad would be back now, swapping the old newspaper with the new one. Gran would probably be in the bathroom or eating toast in bed. I heard a debate outside, some raised voices and commotion.
When I pulled the blinds open, I saw my granddad leaning into a blue car, pointing and throwing his arms around. He gestured up the road, slamming his hands down on the side of the car. Rubbing his cheeks in his hands.
It took a few moments but I recognised the blue car, as navy as my school jumper but shiny from all that washing and care.
My granddad stepped to one side, and I caught a glimpse of the driver’s face. His greying beard—shit, how’d I forgotten his greying beard? Had it always been that grey? That was the thing with people when you hadn’t seen them in a while. They changed and didn’t match up to the image of them in your head. I imagined Adam, Gran, and Granddad clinging on to the dead face of their daughter and son-in-law. They’d never remember them in full.
I threw on whatever clothes I could find and walked out of the bedroom, being careful not to disturb Gran, who I could hear fluttering about in her room. If she knew about this, she wouldn’t want me to go outside to see him. It would be best for me, she’d say. That way, I couldn’t get upset again.
Carla looked up at me from the front room, ears pricking up with my unexpected entry. Her tongue dangled outside of her mouth, a stray strand of saliva hanging like translucent rope. Even she knew something was different. As I pottered further into the front room, I saw Adam stood in front of the door. He folded his arms and he stared at me. I knew he wasn’t supposed to let me pass. I proceeded anyway, trying to shuffle round him, but he put his arm out and softly stopped me, with no real force behind it. I respected this and didn’t try to push through. He was only doing what he’d been told.
‘I’m sorry, cuz,’ he said, his eyes shifting around the floor. ‘Granddad said it’d be best if you let him sort it out.’
I felt my cheeks flush. I wanted to scream. A part of me appreciated that Granddad, that Adam and Gran, they were all trying to do ‘the right thing’ all the time. But something exploded inside me. I wanted to see him, and I wanted to get out of here—was there anything so wrong with that? It was only when I caught a gli
mpse of his beard and his leather coat that I realised how much I needed something from the outside. Something to burst this bubble of shit that all of us had been caught up in lately.
I needed to get out of this little fantasy world, even if only for a day.
I began to turn away and noticed Adam’s arms fall to his side again. He stepped towards me to comfort me. His guard had dropped. I knew this was my chance. I jolted round. Adam’s eyes and mouth widened in realisation. I threw myself past him as he tried to grab at my body and my feet, but nothing was stopping me. I gripped the handle of the door and felt the wave of air crash into my face before plummeting down the steps, just about managing to regain my balance on all fours. I dragged myself back up to my feet and pelted in the direction of the blue car.
Somewhere behind me, Adam shouted. The only thing that really mattered was the blue car. His face. I needed to get to him before the car disappeared completely.
‘It’s too late.’ I heard Adam’s voice clearly now as I threw myself down the stones. The blue car began to creep up the hill. Granddad turned to face me as I sprinted in its wake. I wasn’t a fast runner, but I knew I could reach it if I threw enough into the run. I looked down at my legs, which moved faster than I’d ever seen them before. It felt as if the top half of my body had been placed on some sort of robot, a fast-running robot. The car began to turn the corner. Granddad shouted my name. Old people watched on from their old living rooms in their old caravan windows.
The car disappeared as my legs gave in, and I plummeted towards the road. I tasted metal and felt my nose gush with something more watery than snot. I’d been so close to getting away from all this mess, all of this depressing mess, and I’d failed thanks to these people. Tears stung my eyes. Turning over onto my back, I cried out a wail of defeat.
‘Why can’t you come back? Why…’
That’s when I heard a loud honking. It sounded like an alarm, but I turned round to see that the blue car waited for me at the top of the hill. He had seen me. He’d come back. I hadn’t failed. Without even thinking, I ran towards the car, being careful not to plummet towards the ground this time. Blood still dribbled down my chin from my bust nose. I stopped myself before the door, which was slightly parted and waiting for me to enter. I took a deep breath. It felt like so long since I had seen him. I reached out towards the door and edged into the passenger seat before turning towards him, smile hiding beneath his beard. He did look a little bit different, his face somewhat thinner.
‘Hello, son. Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?’
As the car moved forward, I glanced in the mirror. Granddad, Gran, and Adam all stood together, staring towards the car, speechless.
Chapter Twenty-Four
We drove for quite a while without speaking. He sat there smiling. I clamped my nose with a tissue. The blood was easing off now, but I could still catch a taste of its metallic flavour every now and then. A song by Coldplay was on the radio, and I pretended I was listening. Dad sat with a smile peering from under his white stubble. I noticed the hair on the side of his head was greying now, too. Or had it always been this way? It had been so long since I’d seen him that perhaps I’d got my facts mixed up.
It was strange, being sat next to this man and his worn out black jacket with specks of fluff peppered across it like snow. I knew it was Dad. It had to be Dad, of course. But something felt different. I don’t know whether it was the beard or the hair or a mixture of all of these factors, but this wasn’t the same man that had hugged me and waved goodbye to me before I left for the site over three weeks ago. The car slowed down as we approached a lay-by in the side of the road. Victorian houses stared down at us from the top of a nearby hill.
Dad turned to me, expecting me to do the same. I could only flick my eyes towards him. Holding a stare was going to be a struggle.
‘Someone’s a chatterbox,’ he said, his smile more clear from face on. His left pupil spilled into the brown layer beneath, a mark that he’d always said I’d ‘develop with age.’ It set him aside from everyone else’s dad. I think he was quite conscious of it, but I found it quite cool. He’d be a terrible robber, mind. Adam and I would catch him in no time with a feature like that.
‘Yeah,’ I said. I couldn’t think of anything better. I tucked my head into my chest and rubbed my hands against my rigid legs. How foolish and rude I must have sounded, all tongue-tied like this. I tried to think of things I could talk to him about. I could tell him about how Gran and Granddad often took us swimming. How Adam and I did normal things, like solve mysteries, and things like that. Maybe I should even tell him about Donald. No, no, stupid idea. I couldn’t drag anyone else into things. Not after the rock had been thrown at the caravan. Not after being threatened by Emily’s dad. And after the body. God, the body. It seemed so long ago. So normal now. This was our mystery, and we had to solve it. We were so close.
‘Come on, I think someone wants an ice-cream,’ he said, before opening the car door.
I was glad to get out of the car. It felt so warm in there, so personal, as if we were shut off from the world and forced to speak to each other. And I didn’t like Coldplay either. Coldplay was boring. At least out here, the air was fresh. A lone ice-cream stall stood at the side of the road. Its white exterior was stained the colour of untreated teeth, grimy and flaking. The puddle of water in front of it indicated that not many people came here anymore, to this hidden corner of the world. My dad tried to reach for my hand as we approached the stall. I felt the warmth of it dangle close to mine, but I scratched my face and rubbed my lips so I didn’t have to touch him. I was a grown up now. I couldn’t be seen holding hands with an older man; it would look weird. I’d look weak. What would Donald say if he saw me? He wouldn’t be scared. He needed to fear me, and I needed to be a man.
‘Two 99s with flakes please, matey,’ Dad said to the man behind the stall. The man was tall and wore a white jacket, also faded in colour. His face was thin and his nose long. He looked right at me and smiled what would have been a toothy smile if he’d had any teeth left to smile with. His spider fingers handed an ice-cream to me, and I jerked it from him, eager to get the meeting done with. I didn’t like the way he looked at me.
‘Bit of a weirdo,’ Dad said when we’d turned round.
‘Mhm. Good ice-cream though.’
‘Might not have seen you for a bit, but I’d be damned if you’d gone off your ice-cream.’
This had to be the most delicious ice-cream I’d eaten in weeks. Gran bought some but it was all lumpy and ‘fat-free.’ What was ice-cream if it wasn’t without a bit of fat?
‘Gran gets it, but it isn’t the same,’ I said, licking my lips.
Dad grinned as we sat on the bonnet of the car. ‘Let me guess. Fat-free? Hard as a rock?’
I smiled back, and we caught each other’s eyes. ‘Something like that, yeah.’
‘How is the old battle-axe, anyway?’ my dad said, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.
I didn’t really know what a battle-axe was, but I assumed he was talking about my gran. Dad often threw a lot of weird words into his conversation like this. Maybe this was why Mum didn’t want him anymore.
‘Um, yeah, she’s okay.’
‘And your granddad? He coping okay?’
It felt as if nothing could ever be how it was again, back when everything was okay between Mum and Dad.
‘He’s alright,’ I said.
My dad sighed and faced the trees filled with birds. I wondered if birds worried about death like we did. Flying took some guts. They beat the odds by surviving in the first place, using every ounce of their little fragile strength to break out of a shell. Gran said she found cracking eggs for lunch hard enough. For a tiny bird to fight its own way out was amazing.
‘I suppose I’m supposed to take you back at some stage today,’ Dad said, licking up the last of his ice-cream. ‘Unless we do a runner to France and start eating frog’s legs for the rest of our lives or somethin
g.’
I smiled at the fantasy. ‘I can handle the frog’s legs,’ I said, with defiance in my voice.
‘Oh you can, can you? Well, how about a nice dessert of snail soup, shells included?’
‘That’s gross!’
Dad slanted his mouth in mock disappointment. ‘Well, it looks like we won’t be able to do that runner after all. They’re crazy about their snails in France. Shame really, I was going to take you out for a snail buffet to try and get you a taste for the stuff…’
I grinned. The fantasy of running away with Dad was increasingly appealing. I didn’t know whether to ask him about Mum because I didn’t know whether they spoke anymore.
As I entered the car, I twiddled my thumbs. Everything was building up inside me. I wanted to get back and help Adam. Then again, I wanted to tell my dad everything. Maybe he’d be able to help me and help us all. He was usually good at dealing with things like that. I wanted to get back, but he could come with me, couldn’t he?
The rain started to dampen the dry summer air. The caravan site and the people there were a part of me now. And I couldn’t let those mysteries go unsolved before our holiday ended. Any time not spent focusing on Donald—on what he could be about to do to Emily and on the girl in the woods—was time wasted. I felt slightly guilty, looking over at my dad, driving with a grin underneath his grey bread. He was clearly enjoying this more than I was, so I sat and smiled some more, keeping the illusion of perfection alive.
‘I suppose I should get you back. Don’t want the police on our case now, do we?’
I thought best not to answer or to give away any sign of what I actually wanted. Instead, I smiled, keeping my feelings locked in my chest as I’d done for years, at home and at school. The caravan was the only place that gave me strength. I felt important there. I had a purpose.