A PENMAN PRESS PUBLICATION
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All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First edition, November 2013
Cover design and layout are copyright © 2013 Neil Williams.
eBook design by Tim C. Taylor
CONTENTS
Double Helix
Stephen Bacon
The Shuttle
Shaun Hamilton
Masks
Robert Mammone
One Bad Turn
Val Walmsley
The Bureau of Lost Children
Mark West
Paradise Lost
Sheri White
There Shall We Ever Be
Neil Williams
Double Helix
Stephen Bacon
Claire was accustomed to the air-conditioned luxury of her husband’s Lexus so Pete’s battered Ford Focus seemed primitive and quaint by comparison. The heat was stifling. Within minutes they were trundling away from Sheffield train station, heading out towards the motorway and the A1 beyond. Pete wound down the windows to catch the June breeze.
She noticed him studying her reflection in the wing mirror. Glancing at her lap, she let her thinning hair fall across her face.
“You look well,” he said brightly. “All things considered.”
She grimaced. “Don’t feel it.” It was as if she was teetering on the brink of an abyss.
I shouldn’t have come.
The silence was punctuated by cars zipping past in the opposite direction. She pretended she was interested in the traffic, stealing a glance out of the corner of her eye. Appraising him. When she’d first climbed into the battered Ford she’d been surprised by how lined his face had looked. Aged. The wrinkles around his eyes were pronounced, a visible indication that he’d spent much of the last twenty years smiling. This disappointed her, and she forced the unkind thought away.
I shouldn’t have come. It’s been too long.
Pete took an old cassette from the dashboard's console and pushed it into the player. The familiar strains of Morrissey filled the car. There Is a Light That Never Goes Out. Abruptly, distant memories surfaced from their time at Uni - drunken nights in student bars, chilly day-trips to the seaside, afternoons huddled together in bed listening to The Smiths.
"Oh, Pete…" Her voice sounded exasperated, so she added a laugh to soften it.
"What? - Nothing wrong with reliving the good times." He shrugged, smiling. "I still listen to this stuff. It’s timeless."
She considered her husband's in-car CD-changer and wireless iPod connection, and how the elaborate speaker system did nothing but bathe the Lexus in bland, insipid noise. And yet the warbled music from this old tape sounded fresher, more exciting, exhilarating.
"So, what have you told your husband?"
She raised a weary eyebrow. "That I was visiting my sister in Sunderland. I'll have to ring him later."
"We might not get a signal where we're going," he warned. "It's patchy up there, you know? In the middle of nowhere."
For the first time she felt a mild sense of unease at what they were doing. Why had she agreed to come? Surely there was more to this trip than old times' sake?
They drove in silence for a while. She closed her eyes, enjoying the wind against her face. Maybe the medication was starting to take its toll; she felt exhausted. Yet her earlier nerves had dissipated. Quite out of the blue she said, her eyes still closed, “Pete, I’m sorry. For what happened. Well - I mean – sorry for cheating on you.”
She opened her eyes, puzzled by his silence. He was looking at her, a sad smile playing around his mouth. “Don’t worry. That’s all water under the bridge now.”
“No, I mean it.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I need to tell you. You’re a good man, you deserved better.”
He nodded slowly, angling his head. “Is he…Does he treat you…well?”
She glanced out of the window, watching the scenery fly past. “He does. He’s worked really hard over the years, building up his business. Putting the hours in. We’ve a huge house. Holiday in the Bahamas every year. I want for nothing.”
He smiled thinly. “Sounds like a great life.”
“It is.” Now she swallowed to prevent the tears from flowing. For several minutes she didn’t speak. He allowed her time to compose herself, and she was grateful. He always was good at understanding her.
“You know,” he said, “sometimes I wonder how things might’ve turned out if we’d adopted - I’m sure things would have been different…”
She shrugged. “Who knows? Bernard made it clear from the start that he never wanted kids. I expect my infertility seemed like a bonus…” She added, “Sometimes I can’t believe I treated you so badly.” She pondered things for a long time. “We did have some laughs though, didn’t we?”
“Remember that time we went to Oxford for the weekend? You ended up getting us thrown out of the theatre for giggling.”
She smiled. “All that blossom caught in my hair as we ran through the park. You said it looked like confetti.”
He nodded, laughing. “I stole that from Marillion…”
“I know, I know.” Buoyed by his good humour, she asked, “So, this trip up north – where’re we going exactly?”
He hesitated. “Scotland.”
“Scotland?”
“Just overnight. We’ll be back tomorrow.” His face looked flushed. Excited. “Remember I told you once about an old family friend that lived near Aberdeen? We’re going to see him.”
She nodded vaguely. “I always wanted to visit Scotland.”
“You always wanted to go to Australia,” Pete said. “Did you ever manage it?”
She shook her head. The sorrow was palpable.
“Remember I told you once I had meningitis as a toddler?”
She blinked her morose thoughts away, glad to have changed the subject. “Yes.”
“Well, it caused my brain to swell. The doctors thought I’d be severely disabled. Permanently, like.” He glanced at her. “I was in intensive care for weeks. Eventually they released me, but I couldn’t walk or talk. I lost my sight, everything.”
“That’s awful. I can’t believe you never told me this before.”
“I know.” He paused. “Anyway my parents took me up to see an old family friend – Archie. Dad was an evacuee at his farm during the war.”
“Ah, yeah, I remember you mentioned that once.”
“Well Archie had… something that helped me recover.”
The car crossed the slip-road onto the exit for the A1. Claire watched the sheep in the fields grazing indifferently. The sky was azure, bluer than she had ever seen it. Maybe the bluest she would ever see.
“Pete, I appreciate the effort but I doubt anybody can –”
“No, Claire – I mean he’ll be able to help you.”
“Pete, no one can! The doctors say I’ve got between six and nine months le
ft.” Her voice was sharp. “Christmas is likely, but I probably won’t see my next birthday. I’ve had dozens of tests, hundreds of tablets, more biopsies than I care to remember. Bernard’s spent a fortune on the best advice Harley Street can give - they all say six to nine months.” She regretted the outburst as soon as it subsided. Regretted how bitter she sounded.
He laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Listen, sorry. But you mustn’t give up. Let’s just see, shall we?”
Silence descended upon them. She angled her body to the left and watched the world pass by. Lush fields shimmered in the heat. It was vibrant, hypnotic. The patchwork countryside reminded her of an eiderdown she’d had as a child. Comforting. Recollections from a happier time. Soon she was dozing, head lolling against the window, The Queen Is Dead bridging the gap between her distant memories and their middle-aged bodies.
***
They stopped at a service station. Grease and diesel and heat made Claire’s stomach spasm. Pete went to order them a coffee and she wandered around in search of the toilets.
Afterwards she studied herself in the mirror. Her sallow skin looked frail and thin, accentuated by unnatural light. The pores of her cheeks seemed magnified. Perhaps she was trying to expel her sickness through them.
The coffee burned her tongue, which was just as well because it was tasteless, despite the cost. She cupped her hands around the polystyrene cup as if she was cold, enjoying the pain of the heat. It made her feel alive. They chatted idly for some time, watching people come and go. Everybody moved with such purpose. Hurried and precise. They all seemed to be living their perfect lives. The plastic chair was stiff, but it was a relief to be out of the car for a while. Once the drink had cooled, Claire took out her pills and swallowed them with a grimace.
Soon they were back on the road. She closed her eyes again, not quite pretending to sleep but allowing herself time to think. She could hear the swish-swish-swish of tyres on the carriageway, lulling her mind, allowing her to imagine they were abandoning her illness back in Sheffield. Yet every time she drew breath she could still feel that sour blackness rattling within her chest, reminding her there was no escape.
Sometimes she was seized by an overwhelming fear about wasting whatever time she had remaining. Queuing at the ATM felt melodramatic by its triviality. Minutes spent waiting at traffic-lights could leave her trembling. Sleep seemed an extravagance she could no longer afford, despite the fact that her medication induced it.
She thought about the last twenty years and tried to conjure some highlights. The time blurred, her memories felt inert and apologetic. Maybe it was the medication. She knew she owed Pete this trip. Remembered how she’d broken him back then. Allowing him these 48 hours wasn’t an idle indulgence on her part; it was almost a shot at redemption.
“Claire, to think what would’ve happened if I’d not bumped into your brother last week…” He shook his head. “It might have been too late.”
She didn’t speak. So this was just for old times’ sake. A sentimental goodbye. But then his next sentence confused her.
“If I’d heard about the cancer after you’d died, it’d have been too late. Archie wouldn’t have been able to help then.”
She was surprised by his words. The old Pete – the Pete she’d once loved with all her heart – used to believe in science before religion, fact over faith. Maybe he’d also changed in the intervening years. God knew she had. It sounded like this old Scottish guy had set himself up as some kind of faith-healer. She quelled the argument that trembled on her lips. Decided to go through with whatever Pete suggested. She mentally calculated the cash in her purse, hoping it would be enough.
“You said on the phone you’d never married?” She was surprised by how nonchalant she sounded.
“No.” He shrugged. “Never met the right girl, I suppose.”
She sensed something unspoken lurking in the silence. It felt wedged between them. Unsure of how to breach the hush she concentrated on the road ahead. The distant tarmac shimmered in the heat, ethereal and undefined. Cattle drifted by in the fields, like black and white boats in an ocean of green. She tried once again to doze.
***
They were on the A68, rising through the Northumberland National Park, when Claire woke. The increased altitude had caused her ears to pop. She sat up suddenly. “I feel sick.”
Pete glanced over. “Want me to pull –”
She covered her mouth with her hand and nodded urgently.
Luckily they were on a quiet stretch of road. Pete braked sharply and pulled over, gravel spluttering against the underside of the car. Claire leapt out and stumbled into the overgrown grass, bent double. Her stomach hitched several times and she expelled a gush of dark bile onto the ground. The cramps felt like a dagger twisting. She could hear Pete climbing out of the car and hurrying to her. He laid a comforting hand on her back, holding her hair out of the way. Absently she felt embarrassed by how straw-like it was, cringing at the thought of Pete seeing her in this state. For a minute or two they remained in that position. Once the sickness had subsided she wiped a string of saliva from her chin and stood upright.
“Okay?” he asked. “You look white as a ghost.”
She nodded. “Medication’s side-effects.” She swallowed. “It’s fine.” He helped her back to the car. Her limbs shook violently but she fought to suppress them. His face was etched with concern. Once he was satisfied she was safely belted up, he climbed in the driver’s seat and set off.
Suddenly she despised her illness more than ever. It wasn’t just the way it ravaged her body, it was the sickening way it touched those she loved. Her ghastly pallor had become mirrored in the faces of her family and friends. She closed her eyes again in an effort to shut out the truth. Her chin trembled at the prospect of what little time she had remaining. Bitterly, she hoped the end would arrive soon.
***
It was late evening by the time they embarked on their final leg of the journey. They’d left the towns and cities far behind, turning off the A90 onto a side track which meandered through the countryside like a scar, an aberration of life, a contradiction of nature. The car stereo had long since fallen silent. In the distance the Cairngorms glowered sullenly. Dusk ignited the heather-flecked hills that crowded around them as they negotiated the narrow road. They hadn’t seen another car for nearly an hour. Shadows gathered beneath the rocky tors protruding from the earth like monstrous black teeth. Clumps of thistles shied away from them as they passed. The car’s tired engine rattled ominously. Pete looked exhausted as he gripped the wheel and stared through the windscreen, his face a determined mask.
The moorland was desolate and bleak, seemingly untouched by humanity. It was easy to imagine creatures prowling the shadows. The sky still retained some vestiges of light, and this birthed movement on the ground and echoed the sense of spirituality that permeated the area.
Pete finally spoke, his voice throaty: “We’re here.”
Claire sat up, peering ahead. Across the expanse of dark she saw a glimmering light. A house crouched in the hollow of the valley, sheltered by an adjacent hill. A thin coil of smoke rose from its chimney. The car drew to a halt outside and Pete switched off the ignition. The cooling engine ticked in relief. She could make out the dark silhouette of a 4x4 parked nearby.
Claire’s joints ached so much she struggled to clamber out of the car. A warm breeze fluttered her hair. The silence was claustrophobic, the darkness oppressive. Pete hurried around from his side and helped her out. She leaned on his arm for support as they ascended the wooden steps. The house looked like it might collapse at any minute, the flimsy construction suggesting it couldn’t possibly fare well against the weather. Yet its timber walls must have withstood decades of battering by the harsh Scottish elements.
The door opened and an old man nodded at them in dour acknowledgement. He held the door open while they entered. The room consisted of both kitchen and sitting areas, divided in the centre by a plasterboard arch
. A portable TV was perched on a nest of tables in front of the window. Mismatched chairs had been arranged around the room. The sparse furniture was cluttered with bric-a-brac. Claire took a seat on the low couch and stretched her limbs until they popped.
Pete and the old man talked for a minute on the porch. Then they came into the house. Pete was carrying a battered holdall which he passed to the old man, who took it and nodded to Claire. “Thisser?”
“Yes, this is Claire,” said Pete. “Claire, meet Archie – an old friend.”
The old man nodded again, just the once. He was much younger than she was expecting. His eyes were heavily-lidded, almost reptilian. Dark bags pulled down the skin beneath his eyes. Despite the warm day, he was dressed in a knitted polo-neck sweater, denim jeans and sturdy boots. Even in the meagre light she could see the dirt under his fingernails, the calloused roughness of his hands. She prayed he’d be using gloves when he tried his faith-healing stunt.
Pete was waved into a nearby chair.
“Wannadrink?” asked Archie.
“Not for me, thanks,” said Pete. Claire replied in the same manner.
She glanced round the room. “Nice place you have here.” The small-talk sounded clumsy. Awkward.
“Aye. Bit lonely sometimes…” He laughed. “But I like that, yer ken?”
She smiled faintly. Looked to Pete for help.
“How’s yon lassie feelin?” Archie peered at her inquisitively.
She understood this one. “Not so bad, thanks.”
He nodded sagely. “We’ll have yer sorted, by God we will.”
She nodded once and averted her eyes. The sleep she’d managed to grab in the car had recharged her physically, but she wasn’t sure if she was mentally prepared for the forthcoming events. She looked at Pete, nervous. He just nodded and smiled back at her.
Archie lowered himself into the sagging sofa, the springs squeaking in protest. From somewhere out in the glen, a weird sound rose abruptly, echoing out across the valley. It sounded childlike and insane. Mocking almost. Claire held her breath expectantly then exhaled, reasoning it had to be some kind of bird.
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