Four British Mysteries

by Thomas Brown

  “You just had to ask”. Thom jumps to his feet and digs into his pocket. He drags out the crumpled note that he has carried every-where since he found it. It looks worn and faded, a shadow of the pristine clue it had once been. It seems as overused as Thom’s thoughts that have circled around him like a whirlpool, sucking him down and vomiting him back out.

  Aunty Val hesitates. It takes her several seconds of staring into Thom’s face to reach towards the note. She flattens it down with her palm and bends towards it as though she is peering over the edge of a cliff. Thom watches her expression twitching and contorting as she reads the words, her eyes rolling from side to side as she reads. It seems like she is reading a long book, not a one-line note.

  Thom thinks about comforting her, placing a hand on her shoulder, but he doesn’t. He waits beside her, arms crossed, ribs sore. Aunty Val begins smoothing out the paper again, scratching out the creases with her fingernails but it hardly makes any difference.

  “Does this mean he did it?” she finally asks quietly, a tear slipping beyond her control and crawling down her cheek.

  “Did what?”

  “Killed himself?” She nearly chokes on the words.

  “I think he did”. Thom swallows hard.

  “The police called and said that”, she whispers, wrapping her own hands around herself, “but somehow I thought, maybe he didn’t… But I guess there’s too much proof now”. Her teeth chatter, although the room is boiling.

  “The police called?”

  “Yes. They just said it’s an open and shut case”.

  “It figures…” Thom shakes his head at the police’s tendency to take the easy way out. “You know, I kept thinking that perhaps he just knew someone was trying to kill him, as crazy as that sounds… But I met that lady who came to the reading, Mrs Tray, and she showed me a letter from Daniel asking her to come to the reading in advance”.

  “Why did you go and see that woman?” she asks, her voice shaking on her body’s behalf. She is looking at him as though he has done something wrong. Much like the note, him keeping it from her is a betrayal.

  “I wanted to know why she attended the reading. I thought it might help me understand more about Daniel and why he died”. Aunty Val grabs his hand and wrings it between hers. Thom wants to cry out but he holds it inside, the screaming roaring until he feels his head begin to throb.

  “I know why”, she says noiselessly but he only understands because he is staring into her face and sees the movement of her lips. The throbbing intensifies, yet Thom only hears the silent words in his mind “I know”… “I know why”. Thom thinks he understands what the words mean; he thinks he remembers the definitions he learnt for them. Yet they don’t seem to make sense, in any order, in any context he has known before.

  “What?” Thom eventually murmurs. Aunty Val grips his hands harder until they begin to numb. She is trying to push him against the table, make him take a seat but he resists and pushes back. She lifts her hand up, pressing her clammy palm against his facial hair. Her sweat soaks into his beard.

  “I know why he killed himself”, she tells him again, louder, but she is looking at the floor.

  “I can hear you but I don’t understand”, Thom confesses, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her gently as if the meaning will fall out of her. “If you knew something all this time, why wouldn’t you have said?” Thom persists, grabbing the note from the table and wagging it in her face. “You can tell I’ve been going crazy with it all, tearing myself in pieces… Why didn’t you save me?”

  “That’s all I’ve tried to do”, she insists; grabbing him by the face and making him look into her eyes. Thom shoves her backwards, the blood throbbing through his veins so fiercely he feels dizzy.

  “You were saving me? How exactly were you doing that?” he snarls.

  “I’m sure he would’ve told you himself, if he hadn’t died…” Aunty Val’s chin crumbles as she fights her tears. “But then he died and I didn’t think it was important… But I guess it was the reason”. She stares into the distance, and Thom has to jab her in the arm in order to attract her attention again. She almost looks surprised that he is still there.

  “He was dying anyway”, she explains, a sob stabbing at her body so that she folds for a second, holding onto the table for support. Thom stares, wide mouthed, waiting to receive the words. Why do they sound so distant? Why does it sound like a language he has never heard before?

  “Daniel was ill”, she adds, sucking in air continuously but with little effect. She is bent over the table, as though she is about to give birth.

  “What are you talking about?” Thom spits. “Daniel wasn’t ill. I would’ve known. Richard would have known… we all would have…” Thom stumbles over words like he is jumping hurdles with his legs tied together.

  “I’m sorry”, Aunty Val moans, pressing against her eyelids to force the tears back into her eyes but they gather under her eye-lashes anyway. “I’m so sorry Thom. I’ve been a terrible mum”. She sobs harder, bending further towards the table as though an invisible force is pushing her down.

  “What are you talking about?” Thom pulls at his hair. Aunty Val turns and pulls him towards her, her nails digging into his arms until he is certain the skin will break.

  “Daniel was dying”, she repeats. “I should have told you but I just didn’t know how to. After he died… I didn’t think it mattered anymore”.

  “Of course it matters”. Thom shoots his words at her, causing her to cower away from him slightly. “Do you understand what you’re saying?” Thom screeches. “Do you understand?” He screams louder. Aunty Val bows her head, her tears now dropping straight from her eyes onto the wooden floor with a loud splat.

  “I wanted to tell you but Daniel got so angry when we talked…” she trails off, closing her eyes, remembering. Her eyes are clenched like tiny fists. “I know he didn’t mean it, he just got so angry…” She lifts her hands up, still holding onto him by the wrists, and presses his tensed hands against her cheeks. She is performing his actions for him.

  “Is that when he hit you?”

  “How do you…?” Aunty Val begins but loses her words in her stuttering.

  “Know?” Thom finishes for her, taking his hands back. “Richard told me the other day when you fainted”. Aunty Val’s face plummets instantly.

  “You shouldn’t think he was a bad person. Please Thom. You believe me, don’t you?” She raises her arms again to reach out to him but she drops them at his flat expression.

  “He must’ve been upset. He just found out he was ill, maybe dying”. Thom shakes his head, some of the puzzle he has been twisting and turning around for weeks finally making sense. “I guess he just thought jumping would be quicker”.

  “I don’t think that’s why he jumped”, she says. This time her words are clear, like bells echoing in his ears for minutes afterwards. Thom stares at her, feeling faint.

  “I think you need to explain that”.

  44 The Donor

  Initially, Aunty Val doesn’t say anything. For a moment, Thom wonders if she remembers what she has just said, how she has just ripped his feet from his legs so he can barely stand. She gives a short exhale, pulls out a chair and seats herself. Thom watches her, clasping her hands together in front of her, staring straight ahead. Thom finally takes the seat opposite her.

  “You know why he jumped?” Thom asks sternly. Aunty Val blinks for several seconds, her lips taut and dry. It is so silent Thom can hear her swallowing; it is the loud and elongated sound of fluid squeezing through a tight pipe.

  “Yes”, she whispers, not wanting to reveal the secret she has been keeping from him for months. Thom feels livid and guilty, because although he should be mad for Daniel’s sake, he mainly feels angry for himself. How can she have lied to him? How can she have let him comfort her when she knew the truth?

  “I’m sorry, Thom”, she mutters.

  “I’m not interested in that, just tell me”
, Thom says viciously.

  “Okay”, she agrees. Thom is staring at her, wondering how the person he has always trusted and respected can look so hazy and stained across the table.

  “About nine months before he died, Daniel asked to talk to me. Well you know how he never liked to talk much… so I sat down straight away to listen”, she pauses, each letter an obstacle course from her brain to the atmosphere. “He said he was ill, he said he’d been to the doctor’s because he’d been feeling really tired. He thought nothing of it… but they called him back in and told him; he had leukaemia”.

  “How could that be?” Thom leans forward, the word ‘leukaemia’ striking him in the face. There hadn’t been an inkling of this or even the hint of an inkling.

  “I know Thom… leukaemia. I had no idea about it. I always imagined children got it, not young men…” She keeps gulping in the middle of words, chewing on their sounds and leaving them ragged. “I didn’t take it very well Thom. After all these years just the four of us, it felt like part of myself was torn away”. She hopes Thom will say something, perhaps sympathise with her, but he remains silent. “For one of only a few times, he looked scared, Thom. He was nearly crying. He even let me hold him”.

  “Did they say they could help him?” Thom asks quietly, imagining the scene at this very table as she describes it. He can’t see Daniel though; he can’t see Daniel in the pose she describes.

  “A few weeks later, Daniel went to hospital. They told him he would have to have chemotherapy and after that, might need to get a bone marrow transplant”, she explains sharply. The end of the sentence is pronounced but Thom thinks there is a lot more she should be divulging. She can’t end the conversation here, although she seems to want to.

  “So what happened?”

  “Well, Daniel wanted to be prepared for everything involved with the treatment”. She pauses, taking a few deep breaths. “Do you know what that means, Thom? About the bone marrow?” Aunty Val takes his hand. She seems to be tugging on it gently as though she is trying to stay afloat. Thom ignores this but when he looks into her face, finds it harder to ignore the sweat that has swollen up underneath her fringe.

  “How does it work? I might think I know but I probably don’t”.

  “Full siblings are usually the best match. Their healthy marrow is meant to encourage the growth of blood cells or something like that. I asked a friend to look it up online but I don’t remember everything now”.

  “I did hear some things like that”, Thom agrees. She nods and begins rolling her head, rolling her thoughts around. They splash out in her expression like water slamming against the sides of a deck.

  “I have something else to tell you Thom but… I’m scared”.

  “Why he did it?” Thom tries to pull it out of her. At his words, she lets out a quiet whimper. Her secret seems to be fighting its way out.

  “I have wanted to tell you for months, well – for years”.

  “What the hell is it, Aunty?” Thom snaps. She reaches out, letting her hand hover near his face but instantly takes it back. The conversation has been plagued by half-gestures and withdrawals.

  “Daniel wanted to ask Richard if he would be a donor”, she says, every sentence seeming like the start of a novel.

  “Did Richard say no?”

  “No”, Aunty Val answers quickly. “Daniel never asked him”.

  “Why not?” Thom yelps.

  “When Daniel told me he was ill, he asked me if I thought Richard would help him”, she pauses, her breaths growing shallow and rapid, “but I told him that Richard couldn’t help him, even if he wanted to”.

  “Are you saying what I think you are?” Thom finally believes he understands something in the whole scheme of facts that have been eluding him.

  “They weren’t full siblings”. She lets out a muffled sob. Thom gets up and moves to her side. After some hesitation, he puts his arms around her. She leans back into him.

  “How could you have never said something before?”

  “I don’t know...”

  “So there’s no chance Richard could have helped?”

  “Not no chance”, she admits, tightening her grip on his arms.

  “So what happened? Why didn’t Daniel talk to Richard? Why didn’t you?” Thom feels like he is accusing her of something but he doesn’t know what. He tightens his grip around her but not in need of affection, instead possessed by anger.

  “It was too hard to talk about”. She shrugs.

  “Don’t you know who their fathers are?” Thom taunts her unfairly. She instantly throws his arms off.

  “Of course I do”, she spits.

  “Well which one of them has a different dad to Uncle Peter?” Thom leans against the table, looking at her sideways. She tears at her hair, which has become unloved and clumped together.

  “Daniel”, she confesses in a whisper.

  “Shit”, Thom twitches. “Can you imagine how heartbroken he must’ve been? He probably thought he might be saved and then he finds out that they weren’t real brothers”. Thom shakes his head. “And more than that, it meant life and death for him”.

  Thinking about Daniel, he wants to sob on his behalf. Thom wants to tear the cupboards from the walls, pull out the pipes and let the water spray out like punctured vessels.

  “Did you tell him who his dad was?” Thom asks, not able to look at her. He turns and stares outside the window into the garden. He sees the chair where he sat after finding the notebook, the notebook that said terrible things and claimed he wrote them.

  “I told him”.

  “And how did he react?”

  “He went crazy”, she whimpers, “but I didn’t expect any less. I deserved it…” she trails off, too traumatised to cry. She locks her eyes on an indistinguishable spot on the wallpaper and begins to sway.

  “You should’ve told him but it’s not your fault for being with someone else”. Thom tries to comfort her but his words feel like wood being eaten from the inside, ready to crumble at the slightest touch. Thom slides into the chair next to her, feeling slightly dizzy.

  “I wish it was that simple”. She finally turns to look at him. With a small toss of her head, her whole appearance seems to have changed. Her face is still and not wet with tears for one of the first times in weeks.

  “There’s still something else, isn’t there?” Thom narrows his eyes. “I can’t even fathom what it might be, but there’s definitely something…” Thom ventures. He wonders if Daniel’s father is violent or a murderer or some obscure relative of Aunty Val’s.

  “You’re such a clever boy”. She smiles, forgetting the situation for a brief reflex. Similarly, Thom bathes in it for the millisecond it lasts.

  “Daniel’s dad, well it’s complicated… he and I weren’t in a relationship”.

  “That’s not that complicated”.

  “No Thom”, she stops him. “This is important for you too”. She is staring so violently that Thom has to look away.

  “How is Daniel’s dad important to me?”

  “Daniel’s dad is important… to you… because…” Her voice shows her weakness again. It sounds like a radio losing reception. “You have the same father”.

  45 The Red Threads

  The house is sinking. To everyone else, it looks the same as it always has but I know the truth. Its insides are rotting and crumbling. The imploding ceilings are striking them all on the heads so they leave the house feeling dazed and detached from everyday life. Soon perhaps they will be stuck inside because all the doors will be blocked and the stairs a pile of dust, shaved down by pressure.

  When I’d been falling apart, I didn’t see this all clearly. I saw their grief painted on their sullen faces, their ragged clothes and ragged skin, in their diminishing forms. Yet with the house, only the edges of the wallpaper had begun to peel and fall off. The red paint on the front door had begun to crack, the grass in the front garden grown wild and unshaven.

  Looking at the house no
w, even in settling darkness of night, it looks like a person slumped over. How can it be saved? How can I push the bricks and windows back up so they are standing as they should be once again?

  I wonder if Thom is in there now, what they are saying to each other, whether they will ever understand each other post-Daniel’s death. Will Daniel’s ghost ever release the house? He has removed himself from that room but the house won’t forget. The people inside are connected to him with an invisible thread that will follow them for years, through their daily lives, in relationships with others, during sleep. Just as the scarf has never quite released me, they are trapped forever.

  The vain part of me thought I could save them. Yet I am the one who needed saving and still do. I have managed to get a hand above the ground but I am still buried in the past and all the things I have done. If I stay near them too, I will never get away from Daniel and what he made me do.

  But Thom... I think I love him. I can’t help thinking about him, letting him press his lips against mine, letting his madness fester in front of my eyes. It must be real love if you can still love someone when they are losing themselves. Or is it blindness? Can you really love someone if they don’t know their own feelings?

  The questions are infinite now. Before this, I have no recollection of what I thought about all day. What flashed through my mind as I walked down the street? Or whilst sitting in my bedsit? What did I dream about?

  It seems when you died; my life was severed. And now, I have been severed from the life I have been leading since then. I’m no longer who I was the last few years, but I’m no longer who I was before you died either.

  If I just tell Thom the truth... Maybe he can understand? No. He does understand what Daniel can do to a person but murder... why should he understand that? Either way, whether coerced or voluntarily, I killed that man.

  If I tell them all, will it really help any of them anyway? It isn’t the fact that he is dead that pains them the most; it is the confusion and the unanswered questions. Thom looks so helpless sometimes, when all he wants is someone to tell him why Daniel left all these things behind. They don’t want to know how he died, but why. Maybe it would help if I could tell them why he made me push him. But I don’t know that. And if I did, could I put myself on the line for them? Would Michael put me back in the hospital and never trust me again?