Caught in a Moment (The Alex Trueman Chronicles Book 1)

by Martin Dukes

  “Oh, my god,” he gasped. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

  Mitch’s body hung suspended from a length of electrical cable. The head hung sideways, held there by the taught white line of flex. Eyes bulged sightlessly. Mitch’s tongue lolled from his mouth. A child’s red plastic chair lay overturned nearby. Alex knew beyond all doubt that this instant, this awful vision, was branded spitting and sizzling, indelibly onto the naked surface of his brain. He scrambled to his feet and ran; gasping, panting, taking the stairs three at a time in his desperation to put distance between himself and Mitch’s hideous dangling corpse. He stopped to gather his wits and his breath at the corner of Gladstone Street, holding his aching sides, taking a deep breath and holding it, holding it.

  “Oh…..my……god,” he said one more time in a long exhalation.

  So there was death in ‘Sticia. He had seen it with his own eyes. And whenever he closed his eyes he could see it still. When he returned to Gladstone Street it was to find that their guests had left.

  “Where’ve you been?” asked Will sleepily from his room, as Alex passed on the landing, but it was a question that carried with it little genuine curiosity.

  “Just out,” said Alex with a shrug. “Just out and about, you know….’Night, Will.”

  Who could he tell? He had broken Ganymede’s law by entering the house, using a power that he dared not admit he possessed. The burden of that dreadful encounter hung heavy on his mind, and it was a burden that could not be shared. Sleep remained a distant prospect too. Curled in his blankets like some small frightened animal Alex stared at the wallpaper, at the little flowers entwined around little columns almost lost in the darkness. He revisited memories of earliest childhood, of holidays, of relatives, of school but always Mitch’s dead face swam up through these insubstantial visions to haunt him, to deny him the respite of sleep.

  Having hardly closed his eyes all night Alex turned up late and reluctant at Stacey’s house, only to find Morlock standing outside, studying a big pocket watch. Likely enough it was the only functioning watch in 'Sticia. Having given Alex a meaningful stare, Morlock loped off towards the town centre.

  “Damn!” said Alex, feeling like he’d just realised he’d forgotten his English homework. “Black mark for me then.”

  Another day in Stacey’s company lay ahead, by the end of which Alex had added more to his portfolio of dislike for her. She was rude, impatient and self-centred. She was also painfully dense. But diversion was coming Alex’s way. The tedium of the afternoon was broken by the arrival of Major Trubshaw with the petition that was already the talk of ‘Sticia.

  “I wonder if I may rely on your support?” said the Major, joining them on the lawn, and brandishing a sheaf of papers. “I intend to present Ganymede with this petition tomorrow at Gathering, outlining our grievances.”

  Major Trubshaw was a large man with a complexion that varied in hue from brick red to purple. He had a bristling white moustache and an air of barely restrained impatience.

  “’Not sure about that,” said Stacey warily. “I ‘aint putting my name to anything I ‘aint read.”

  The Major thrust the petition at her, whereupon Stacey began to read, her lips silently forming some of the more challenging words. She stopped after a few lines.

  “There’s no way I’m signing that,” she said, thrusting out a plump arm with the papers clenched in her fist at the end of it. “Ganymede’ll go ballistic. You must be bloody mad!”

  “I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head,” the Major told Stacey sharply. “I am merely articulating the legitimate demands of the citizens of Intersticia. Ganymede is bound to listen to us if we express our grievances together in this way. I urge you to sign. It is vital that we present a united front.”

  Stacey folded her arms and shook her lank blond head. The Major glared at her from beneath his bushy white eyebrows. It was a fascinating contest. Alex observed it with interest.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then,” said the Major at length. “I must say I find your refusal to support your friends and fellow citizens very disappointing.” He turned to Alex.

  “And you, you’re that new boy aren’t you? Alex isn’t it?” He stuck out a hand, which Alex cautiously shook, whilst Major Trubshaw beamed at him. “Could I ask you to read the petition?”

  “Everyone else signed it, have they?” asked Stacey sourly.

  “Almost everyone,” said the Major crisply, whilst Alex cast an eye across the document.

  The petition was pretty much as Mrs Patterson had said it was, consisting of a list of demands that seemed reasonable enough. Alex found himself entirely in agreement with them. On the other hand he didn’t want to get in trouble with Ganymede. He could see why Stacey was wary of signing. He cast his eye up and down the list of signatures, recognising several names, including that of Kelly, Tanya and Mrs Patterson. The Major reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a fountain pen which he offered to Alex. Before Alex could reach for this, before he could decide whether to do anything with it at all, he had to deal with a sudden massive sneeze. He reached into his pocket and snatched out a grubby mass of tissues just in time to stem the worst of it. A number of chocolate éclair wrappers came out with the tissue and fluttered to the lawn. Stacey idly nudged one with her toe. Alex, wiping his nose and taking the pen, was suddenly conscious of Stacey fixing him with a thoughtful sort of look. He quickly signed his name at the bottom of the page and stooped to gather up the wrappers, almost oblivious to the Major’s congratulations. He vaguely heard him say something about a forthcoming ‘confrontation’ and then the military man was away, with a cheery wave of his hand and a disapproving glare at Stacey. Stacey gave as good as she got. Alex slumped down heavily on the lawn, feeling oddly flustered.

  “Right,” he said. “Where had we got to?”

  “You’ll only go and get yourself in trouble, signing up to rubbish like that,” Stacey told him, with an unconvincing grin. “Like trouble do you?”

  Alex shook his head.

  What about those chocolate éclairs?” she continued, her grin broadening. “Got any more of those have you? I do like chocolate éclairs.”

  “No,” said Alex hastily. “Those were just a few papers I had in my pocket when I came here.”

  “Oh,” she said slowly, her mouth opening into an exaggerated pursed circle. “Would that be so?”

  Alex could hardly get away quickly enough. Stacey showed no inclination to do any more date learning and lay on her back on the lawn, humming to herself. Alex made his excuses and headed for home, although the eighteenth manatee was only then gliding beneath the town hall clock. He felt unaccountably alarmed and confused, partly, he guessed, because he had signed up to the Major’s polite rebellion, but partly because there had been something disconcerting in Stacey’s attitude to him. Had he given the matter more thought, and had Wardworths not lain directly on his route home, he might have avoided the place altogether. As it was he made his customary visit to his mum and spent a few minutes browsing the pic n’mix whilst he tried to set his thoughts in order. He had helped himself to a Mars bar too, before having restored a measure of calm to his mind. It was his imagination, he told himself, taking quick luxurious bites, his eyes darting furtively around the shop. He was simply panicked by the petition, that was it. Nevertheless, Alex still felt a little unsettled as he carefully disposed of the wrapper in a bin behind the till.

  Whatever peace of mind he had regained by this didn’t long survive walking outside into the precinct. There, sitting by the fountain, were Stacey and Sarah. Alex felt a little thrill of horror and guilt pass over his scalp.

  “Are you alright?” Stacey asked him with a broad and insolent grin. “’Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “You do, you’re all pale and sweaty,” said Sarah, coming up to him. “I hope you’re not coming down with anything.”

  “I’m fine,” said Alex warily. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder
. “I was just popping in to see my mum, see. She’s one of the stiffs in there.”

  “Oh,” said Stacey and Sarah together, nodding with mock solemnity. “Is she now?”

  Alex wanted to knock their silly heads off.

  “Here, what’s that round your mouth?” asked Sarah, suddenly closing in on Alex, with finger raised. “Looks like chocolate.”

  Alex reeled away from the advancing finger, wiping roughly at his mouth with the back of his hand. He was thoroughly alarmed now.

  “But it can’t be chocolate, Sarah” said Stacey, in exaggerated matter of fact tones. “Because there is no chocolate in 'Sticia. Everyone knows that.”

  “That’s right, Stacey,” said Sarah, putting her finger to her lips. “How silly of me. I don’t know what I could have been thinking of. But that little brown smudge did look so much like chocolate. It’s all gone now. Perhaps it was just a figment of my imagination.”

  “Here, are you sure you’re alright, Alex?” asked Stacey, all elaborately feigned concern. “You really do look peeky. There isn’t anything troubling you is there? We’re all friends here, you know. And friends don’t keep secrets from each other do they?”

  “No. Secrets are very bad things, aren’t they Alex?” said Sarah. “”They do weigh on the conscience so, don’t they? You wouldn’t be keepin’ secrets now, would you Alex?”

  All the time Stacey and Sarah had been advancing upon Alex until now he could feel Stacey’s breath on his face, a very disagreeable sensation. She was bigger than him too, by a considerable margin. He wanted to push past them and run away as fast as his legs could carry him. But even in his reduced state he could see that this wouldn’t do.

  “No,” he said. “I’m not. Look, I’m absolutely fine, honestly. I really don’t know what you’re getting at.” He took a deep breath, composed himself and held Stacey’s eye as steadily as he could. Seconds passed, and with it, perhaps, the immediate crisis.

  “Yeah, well,” he said, when it became clear that something else was expected of him. “I’d love to stand about talking to you ladies all night, but I’d better be off now. There’s a couple of manna rolls with my name on them back home and I’m absolutely starving.” He managed a bit of a laugh at this, but it sounded hollow even in his own ears. Nevertheless, Stacey and Sarah, stepped aside to let him past. Trying to walk at a relaxed, measured pace, Alex set off along the stiff cluttered High Street.

  “Bye, Alex,” called the girls behind him with a mocking laugh. “Hope you’ve got a good appetite.”

  Alex could hardly bring himself to speak to Will that evening. All he wanted to do was retire to his bedroom, wrap himself up in a cocoon of blankets and go to sleep. But he couldn’t sleep. The events of the afternoon continued to replay themselves in his mind. He was sure now that Stacey had rumbled him, that she knew that he had been helping himself to Statical sweets. Perhaps she and Sarah had spied on him in Wardworths. He had not noticed them, but that didn’t rule it out. He could have missed them in the crowd, if they had remained very still. And if he had been spotted scoffing the chocs what would Stacey do? Would she tell Ganymede? It was a terrible feeling. It was as though Stacey held him in the palm of her pudgy hand like some fragile little insect that she could crush whenever the fancy took her.

  Much to Alex’s relief it had been arranged that he should work with David Hemmings the following day. David proved to be the keen runner that Alex had seen on a number of occasions and lived on the lower floor of a large detached house in Crawford Drive. Alex was so used to seeing him at a brisk trot it seemed odd that he should be found leaning casually on the frame of the front door as Alex approached along the drive. A little way away the stiff that was presumably the owner of the house was frozen in the act of giving instructions to a couple of garden maintenance men who were unloading a lawn mower from a van.

  “Hi Alex,” said David, with a laconic wave. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

  There was nothing humble about it, of course, and Alex found himself suitably impressed as David led him through a hall with a chandelier into a massive oak panelled dining room. Here a bay window offered views over a broad spread of immaculately manicured lawns. Here, laid out on huge polished table, was the biggest jigsaw Alex had ever seen.

  “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” said David, as Alex tentatively lifted a few pieces and turned them over in his hand. “I’m meant to have it finished by tomorrow.”

  There must have been at least two thousand pieces from which a picture composed of various antique clocks was emerging. Perhaps two thirds of it was complete.

  “You’ll have to get your skates on then,” observed Alex.

  “No worries,” said David, apparently undaunted by this. “A job shared is a job halved, I say. Can I get you a manna roll?”

  The corners and edges were largely in place so Alex began sifting through graded piles of colours and shapes in search of a number three that was clearly needed for one of the larger timepieces. David soon came back and placed a manna roll in front of Alex, whistling cheerfully as he got on with his work.

  “So, settled in okay have we now?” he asked, carefully setting a piece in place that showed part of a brass fitting. “You’ve been here a little while haven’t you?”

  “Yeah. I guess so,” conceded Alex. “I’ve met some nice people.”

  “And some pretty horrible ones if I’m any judge,” said David with a wink that engaged most of the muscles on one side of his face. “I heard you’ve been stuck up with that ghastly little trollop, Stacey Lawler, eh? Am I right?” A massive grin spread over his face. “Hard lines on you, I say.”

  “Yeah,” said Alex, cracking a smile of his own. “Me too. How come Ganymede’s got you doin’ jigsaws?”

  “Well,” said David, looking around as though he feared eavesdroppers and drawing closer to Alex. “I’ll let you into a secret. I actually like doing jigsaws but somehow Ganymede got the idea I didn’t. Funny that, isn’t it? It might have to do with something I once let slip to our Stacey. You know, unguarded moment and all that, confidences exchanged. I don’t suppose she’d have passed it on though would she? No. Surely not.”

  David began to laugh, throwing a few pieces up in the air. He had a narrow, lined face and greying hair, a strip of which bridged a broad expanse of balding pate. There were deep laughter lines at the corners of his eyes. Alex judged he was in his mid to late fifties.

  “You’ve got to know how to work the levers here, see Alex. Know how things tick. Things seem to have worked out okay, wouldn’t you say?”

  “You make it sound as though you like it here; in ‘Sticia, I mean,” said Alex, breaking a piece from his roll.

  “It could be worse,” agreed David, who was evidently the happiest person in ‘Sticia. “Mrs Hemmings, if I’m to be quite frank with you, is a bit of a tartar and now I’ve got her exactly where I want her, which is frozen solid, razor tongue and all. I can run as much as I like; which is a lot, as you know. Rations are plain but wholesome. No, things aren’t too bad on the whole. If I could just get myself a nice cup of tea I’d be happy as a sand boy.”

  Alex got on famously with David, during the course of what proved to be a largely enjoyable day, since David had much to say about the various inhabitants of ‘Sticia, much of it entertainingly scurrilous.

  “Pompous old fool,” was David’s assessment of Major Trubshaw, when Alex mentioned the petition. “But a decent enough stick at heart. He’s setting himself up for a fall though, that’s for sure. ‘Could be fireworks tomorrow.”

  “How long have you been here?” asked Alex. “In ‘Sticia, I mean. You seem to know everyone.”

  The subject matter of David’s jigsaw had been turning Alex’s thoughts to time and the pleasing regularity of the design was almost complete now as daylight began to fade.

  David shrugged. “Does it matter? A long time, I suppose.”

  “But how long exactly?” pressed Alex.

  David smiled and st
udied his long, bony hands before fixing Alex with a steady, considering sort of look.

  “Do you know, I honestly can’t remember,” he admitted. “The days and weeks just seem to blur together. Odd really. I suppose it’s because the clocks don’t work.”

  But it was more than that. It had to be more than that, Alex told himself as he made his way back to Gladstone Street. It wasn’t just that there were no functioning clocks. Hardly anyone seemed to be particularly curious about keeping track of weeks, days and months. And then there was Will’s diary with the crumbling pages. It had been Saturday the 7th May when Alex tumbled into ‘Sticia, but what date was it now? Alex shook his head, paused and sat down on a garden wall whilst he considered the implications of this question. The moment he saw all around him; the woman with the dog, the ice cream van, the cat washing its paw on the wall next to him, all those were at 2.23pm on the 7th May. But what date was it for Will, or Tanya, or Kelly or anyone else? Could everyone have their own date, their own place on the ever unrolling carpet of time. It made no sense.