by Máire Fisher
Maddie quickly types it into her phone and, before she loses courage, calls the new contact.
‘Silver Oaks Retirement Village.’
It’s a different voice. Maddie must be through to reception.
‘May I speak to Mrs Groome, please?’ She uses her father’s surname, and as she does so realises that it’s probably wrong, but today the gods are smiling on her. She’s back on track in seconds.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, laughing. ‘So sorry. I keep forgetting. I mean Mr Groome’s mother of course. I’m her niece, just out from England.’
‘You mean Mrs Felix? She’s in frail care, dear. I’m afraid she isn’t really up to taking calls.’
‘Oh.’ Maddie is disappointed. ‘Would I be able to visit her?’
‘But of course you can. As long as you check in at reception. I’m sure Mrs Felix will be delighted to have more visitors. Frail care visiting hours are every day, from 2.30 to 4.’
‘More visitors?’ Maddie keeps her voice light, interested, niece-like.
‘Yes, well, her son, Mr Groome, he visits regularly and his sister too, Mrs Harriet Davenport. Perhaps you could come with them?’
‘Yes, yes. Thank you. That’s a very good idea,’ Maddie hangs up quickly. Silver Oaks. She scribbles down the name of the retirement village where her grandmother, Mrs Felix, is in frail care, where her father and her aunt, a Mrs Harriet Davenport, visit their mother.
177.
Maddie waits until her mom’s in the kitchen before she phones her brother.
‘Noah! Call for you,’ she hears someone bellow. There’s a rush of footsteps and then her brother’s on the line. It’s just before he goes in to supper, and Maddie hears the hurry in his voice.
‘What is it, Mads?’ She knows he’s looking at his watch.
‘I’m sorry, Noe, I wouldn’t have called, but it’s important.’
And then she tells him what she’s discovered, words tumbling out. ‘Frail care visiting hours, Noah. Every day from 2.30 to 4 p.m.’
‘Hold on, Mads, let me get this down. What did you say the place was called?’
She repeats herself, keeping her voice low. ‘Silver Oaks. She’s in frail care. Her name’s Mrs Felix, Noah. And the visiting hours—’
‘14:30 to 16:00,’ Noah interrupts. ‘This could be it, Mads. You’re brilliant. And you even got the phone number?’
‘Yes.’ She reads it back to him.
‘I’m going to talk to Juliet about this. She’s really good at making plans.’
‘There’s one thing.’ Maddie’s worried.
‘What is it?’
‘What if Dad sees a call from Silver Oaks? He’ll know someone answered his phone. I can’t tell him I did.’
‘No,’ says Noah quickly. ‘You can’t do that, Maddie.’
‘His phone rang a lot after I spoke to the lady at Silver Oaks,’ Maddie says. ‘It didn’t stop, all afternoon, until he got back.’
‘Well, that’s something,’ says Noah. ‘Unless he scrolls down quite far you mean?’
‘Yes,’ says Maddie. ‘And also, I checked, he’s answered all his calls from the Silver Oaks number, so hopefully he won’t look too closely at the dates. He’s so busy at the moment.’
‘Good work, Maddie,’ says Noah. His voice is filled with admiration and Maddie glows.
‘Do you think we’ll get to seeing her, Noah?’
‘I don’t know,’ her brother says. ‘I don’t know. But at least we know she exists.’
‘And her daughter – Dad’s sister – don’t forget,’ Maddie says. ‘This will help, won’t it?’
His voice is quick. ‘It’s a real breakthrough, Mads. Look, I have to go. I’ll talk to Juliet and then we can decide what to do next. See you tomorrow afternoon.’
178.
Day 62 / 20:22
Each entry in his journal gives Noah an increased sense of release. But that’s often tempered by intense fear. He’s scared of digging too deep, finding himself so far underground he’ll never find his way back up again. He’s in Greenhills to find ways of understanding himself, to recognise patterns and habits, to uncover stuff, layer by layer. Uncovering, discovering, recovering. These are words that scare him. Especially when he thinks about that night.
He can’t discuss it. The moment he tries, the Dark envelops him. The moment he opens his mouth to speak, he sees that gun, gleaming in the dull night light, pointing at his mother.
Will he ever be able to talk about it, from beginning to end, in his own words? Will he be able to force the words out, expose himself to suffocating fear? Talk about it without tapping, without counting, without feeling horror surge inside him? Just writing this, his breathing’s speeding up and the Dark is hovering, ready to consume him.
No, Noah can’t afford to lose control. And if that means that he has to sacrifice closeness to the people he loves, there’s nothing he can do about that.
Such lofty aims, such agonising. But do you not realise—
He snaps his notebook shut, imagines for one blissful moment that he’s trapped all fear inside it, squashed flat like a bug.
It’s time to put the kettle on. Juliet will be here any minute now, and they have to finalise their plans for getting to see an old lady in frail care.
179.
Day 63 / 14:36
Noah starts talking before they’ve even sat in their usual place on the lawn. ‘Mads,’ he says, ‘I told you Juliet was the right person to talk to. Will you and Mom be coming to visiting next week?’
‘Of course we will!’ She’s indignant. How could he possibly think they wouldn’t?
‘Okay. okay. Keep your hair on.’ Noah sounds amused, as if he’s smiling inside. ‘I just had to check.’
‘So, what do I have to do?’ Maddie’s whispering excitedly. It feels like she’s stepped into one of the adventure stories she loves reading.
‘It’s so easy, Mads. You know where Mom and Dad keep the keys? Next to the front door? The spares are there too. Right?’
‘Yes. But, Noah?’ Maddie can’t believe where the conversation’s going. ‘You’re not going to—’
‘Don’t worry, Maddie. We’ve got it all worked out. Here’s the plan.’
180.
Week 10: Day 64 / 09:09
Noah is back in Ms Turner’s office, staring at the corner of her desk.
‘What happens is up to you, Noah,’ she says.
Ah, but she doesn’t know what is going to happen, does she?
Shadows shift and the rasping purr of its breathing deepens. Noah’s fingers clench.
‘Don’t worry, Noah,’ Ms Turner says. ‘I’m here. Right here. I won’t leave you alone.’
There’s a stirring and the room darkens around him.
‘Look outside,’ she says. ‘Turn your face away. Look at the oak trees, Noah. Some days when I sit here and look out of the window, it’s as if they’re glowing from deep within … and then, with the sun glinting off those leaves, they glisten. They throw off so much light, it’s like looking at green fire.’
Noah follows her gaze, tries to see what she’s described, but all he can focus on is the bench where he’ll meet Maddie and his mother on Sunday …
Ah yes, Noah. So … have you told her about the plan you’ve made with your little friend? Now might be a good time.
‘Noah, are you sure nothing’s the matter?’
He’s counting now, clocking every second, wishing he could just get out of her office before she asks him any more questions.
This hour with Ms Turner has been wasted.
181.
Day 64 / 12:31
On the night of the home invasion, Noah studied the ghostly outlines of his handprints on the windowpane in his bedroom. His arms hung by his sides and he remembered how small he had felt, how insignificant, how helpless against the combined power of 3 men with guns. His fingers curled into fists and he punched the air, wishing he could feel flesh turn to pulp, hear whimpering cries.
>
He watched as the shadowy images faded from the windowpane, then pressed his hands there once more. As he leant into glass, supporting his weight with his hands, it felt as if all that was evil and cruel and chaotic was being kept well away. He stood sentinel, warding off danger, keeping his family safe.
In the days that followed, Noah remembered how he’d felt as a small boy, counting in 5s, finding 5s, calling on them to get him from one end of the school day to the next. Now they seemed to be gathering with a different sort of force – one that kept darkness and fear at bay. It was up to him to exploit their capacitities to the full. He combed the Internet looking for information to add to their strength. He found page upon page of facts, all waiting to be organised into categories and subcategories.
First came the words like ‘pentacle’ and ‘pentagon’, ‘pentathlete’ and ‘pentasyllabic’ (which, as luck would have it, was a 5-syllable word). He arranged them in blocks of 5, sorting them according to the ability he felt each held, shuffling them to make space as he discovered newer, more effective words. Noah was well-armed when the Dark first started to appear; all he had to do was chant his most potent words and it left his head.
But that wasn’t enough. It kept returning, and each time it was harder to dislodge. The more he gleaned, the more he seemed to need. There was always another fact, and that led to another and yet another. The stronger the 5s became, the longer Noah could keep the Dark from encroaching. The more powerful they grew, the more he could rely on them to hold things steady and in balance. He needed his 5s desperately, because the Dark was always there, always ready to wreak havoc, waiting to take over completely.
One of his best discoveries was Sir Gawain, a Knight of the Round Table. His shield bore a Pentacle, and each of its 5 points represented 5 knightly virtues.
Gawain had also used 5s to protect himself.
On the evening of 26 July 2011, at 19:22, 3 men invaded the lives of Noah’s family. And every day since then, Noah has gone into battle. Every day, he raises his shield and its 5-pointed star.
Noah fights back with 5s.
Maybe one day he’ll tell Ms Turner about how the 5s arrived and how they grew, about how he prepares himself to repel the darkest of shadows.
Even so, Noah Groome, your so-called power is never quite strong enough, is it?
It’s back. Mocking him. Picking away at his defences. This time, however, it bothers him less. For the 24 minutes and 19 seconds he’s been writing in his journal, he hasn’t heard its voice. Even he has to admit that’s progress.
182.
Day 65 / 09:10
Noah has to stop fretting about Silver Oaks and Juliet and his father and the intricacies of a plan that is becoming more and more outrageous. They have fewer and fewer days to put it all into action and he has to do what he can to bolster his defences. He wishes he could stop the clocks, put everything on hold while he wraps his head around the problem, works out every detail, down to the last minute. Time really is his enemy now. And on top of that, he has to do The Work, and do it properly.
This is why he finds himself telling Ms Turner about his scales. It was her first question today: how he manages to balance it all.
… tell her anything you have to.
Those were the words the Dark spoke, just the other day. And that’s exactly what he’s doing now.
That’s not what was meant, and you know it.
But Noah has begun, and he’s not going to let anything stop him.
He tells her how his scales are made of beaten brass, how they gleam when everything is in order: ‘I don’t know when they arrived; it feels like they’ve always been there, helping me to keep everything stable. I have to be ready all the time.’
‘That sounds like really hard work, Noah.’
‘It is.’ As he admits it, his fingers start to tap. He hurries through the rest, speaking quickly to keep the Dark from breaking through. ‘They’re Scales of Justice, and they’ve been entrusted to me. It’s my duty to keep them balanced at all times.’
‘That’s almost an impossible task, wouldn’t you say?’
He’d like to answer her, say more, but he can feel the scales starting to tilt, listing, threatening to topple.
No! She’s going to try to take them away from you. And then what?
He’s tapping like crazy, his head is shaking, from left to right.
He can’t say any more.
Ms Turner starts talking quietly, telling him to breathe.
5 deep breaths, and the weight in the scales slowly shifts, reapproaching equilibrium.
If your precious scales go, don’t think they’ll go alone.
Noah feels her hand on his shoulder, her fingers pressing down gently. She waits as he takes another 5 breaths. ‘Easy, Noah. Easy. We can leave it at that for now.’
Leave it? After what you’ve told her? Any more, and all strength will go and what about your precious family then?
‘I can’t lose them,’ he manages, and for the first time he’s telling Ms Turner something he wants to say, rather than something she wants to hear. ‘I can’t lose my scales, my 5s, I can’t. They’re all I’ve got.’
‘Don’t worry, Noah. We’ll find other ways to keep things in check.’
183.
Day 65 / 14:19
‘I don’t want to talk about my mom or my dad, not even about Lily. Is that all right?’ Noah’s surprised to hear Juliet ask permission, and so politely. She must really want to say what’s on her mind.
‘One of the things I wonder about is the history of this place. The smells here are heavy, like they’ve been cooked into the walls. Each person who’s stayed in one of these rooms left something of themselves behind, and it’s not always Eau de Happiness. If these walls could speak. Such a cliché, but …’
She looks around and they all nod. It’s true, the rooms at Greenhills do carry a strange weight, and it’s mainly sadness.
‘Who was in my room before me? And before them, and before them? Who unpacked their bags, stood at the same window as me, staring at lawns and trees and high walls? The benches, who was sitting on them? And how did they arrive? What fears came in with them? Did they have hope? Did they imagine themselves getting better, pray they’d walk out all fixed and new? Three months to a new and better you.’
For once, Juliet is not joking, nor is she being flippant or cynical. Her voice is quiet, serious. ‘That’s what I hope for sometimes,’ says Juliet. ‘A new and better me.’ She laughs. ‘Sorry.’ She ducks her head.
‘Don’t be sorry, Juliet.’ Ms Turner is quick off the mark. ‘I’m sure everyone here has felt the same at some time. Right?’
‘I’d like that.’ Sadie’s voice is small. ‘I want that. To be new and better, because then, if I was … I’d be strong.’
‘Are you sure you want to say this now, Sadie?’ Ms Turner asks.
‘I’m sure,’ she says, tossing back her hair. ‘They’ve all probably guessed there’s something seriously wrong in my house. Might as well tell them what it is.’ Her words aren’t defensive or whiney as they usually are. She simply sounds weary.
‘I’m so tired.’ She looks up at all of them. ‘You all think I do nothing but complain. I can understand that, I really can. But that’s what I do. Complain and whinge and moan. Try to get you all into trouble. Anything to stop people asking me questions.’
There’s silence in the Rec Room.
Sadie’s staring down. ‘I’m his perfect little girl,’ she says. ‘He’d do anything for me. As long as I’m prepared to do anything for him.’ She pauses, takes a deep breath, doesn’t lift her head. ‘And his friends. It’s dirty. So dirty, and yet he still calls me his perfect girl. That’s when my mother isn’t around.’
A tear runs down her cheek and Ms Turner leans forward and passes her a tissue.
‘So I whine,’ says Sadie, ‘and I bitch and I steal and this is my fourth time in Greenhills. Three short-term stays and now the full residential programme.
I’d do anything to come back here for ever. I do everything I can to get them to say I need help and care.
‘You know that feeling you were talking about? From the ones who have been here before?’ She looks up and Juliet nods. ‘Well, one of them is me. I’m one of those people who want to leave here strong and new, because otherwise,’ her hands bunch on her lap, ‘I’m scared. I’m so scared I’m going to take a knife and slit him wide open.’ She laughs, but it’s one of the saddest sounds Noah has ever heard. ‘Then I’d definitely get to staying shut up. Forever.’
‘Sadie,’ Juliet says. She leans over Morné and grabs Sadie’s hand.
‘Don’t worry, Juliet,’ Sadie says. ‘How could you know? I’m pretty good at hiding it. Even my Mom … even she doesn’t know.’
Her mouth’s saying the words, but her eyelids flicker, like she’s blinking the truth away.
Ms Turner looks at her watch. ‘We’ve still got 15 minutes,’ she says, ‘but I’m going to cut this short. What I’d like you all to do is go to your rooms and write in your journals about today’s session. How it made you feel. Can you do that?’
They nod as one.
She turns to Sadie. ‘Would you like to talk more, Sadie?’
‘Sure.’ Sadie’s voice is quiet. She stands to follow Ms Turner out of the Rec Room. As she passes Noah’s chair she stops. ‘Hey, Noah?’
‘Yes?’
‘It was me who moved your mugs and that desk thingie. Me and Morné.’
Noah stares at her open-mouthed. ‘You?’
‘I’m sorry. You’re just so, so perfect, you know. Always neat, nothing ever out of place. Morné and me … We were going to do more, mess with you a bit. Disorganise you. You know.’
‘That’s what I wanted to tell you,’ Juliet says. ‘But then Mad—’ She breaks off and recovers quickly. ‘But then I forgot. I saw them, Noah. Standing near your room. Looking back into it. Not actually doing anything, but …’
Now Morné’s looking at Noah, sneering. ‘It was a fokken mug, man. And that stupid plastic thing. It’s not like we broke anything.’