by Mark Tilbury
‘Is your nose all right, Mummy?’
‘It’s fine,’ Mel lied.
‘I’m sorry I hurt you.’
Mel removed the wad of tissues. At least the damn thing had stopped bleeding. It probably wasn’t broken. Just bruised the bone. ‘You didn’t hurt me. It was a silly accident.’
‘I love you, Mummy.’
‘I love you, too, sweetheart. Do you still want pizza?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You sure?’
‘Uh-huh. I’m tired. Ruby Rag Doll will be cold if Daddy’s forgot to turn my radiator on again.’
‘We’ll put your electric blanket on as soon as we get home.’
‘Are you going to tell Daddy?’
Mel fished her car keys out of her bag. She unlocked the door. ‘No.’
‘What if he sees the blood?’
‘Daddy will probably be asleep in the chair.’
‘Daddy’s a tired old bear.’
So is Mummy. ‘A snoring old bear.’
‘He’d better stay awake tonight.’
Mel helped Chloe into the child seat and strapped her in. ‘Why?’
‘In case the Tall Man comes down the chimney.’
Mel’s heart skipped a beat. She climbed in behind the wheel. ‘Who is the Tall Man, Chloe?’
Chloe didn’t answer at first. Mel watched her in the rear-view mirror as the interior light faded. She seemed distracted by something outside the car. Then, she said, ‘The Tall Man’s going to kill us.’
‘What on earth—?’
‘Dead, dead, dead,’ Chloe chanted, in a voice that belonged to someone much older. ‘Like the turkeys hanging in the butcher’s shop window.’
Mel took five attempts to ram the key into the ignition.
2
When they reached home, Mel’s mind was in turmoil. She hung their coats on a row of pegs inside the small porch and put their shoes in the rack. ‘Go upstairs and get your jim-jams on.’
As predicted, Tony was asleep in the chair, a paperback novel resting in his lap, a snore rattling in his throat.
‘I want to say goodnight to Daddy.’
‘I’ll wake him up when you’re all tucked up in bed. Get him to read you a bedtime story.’
‘Okay.’
Mel followed her daughter up the stairs. It now seemed as if nothing had happened at the theatre. As if the whole incident had been some crazy dream. The crusty residue of congealed blood on her lips and chin told her otherwise.
She waited for Chloe to go into her bedroom, and then walked to the bathroom. She filled the basin with warm water, added a splash of Dettol, and studied her face in the mirror. Dark circles beneath her eyes complimented the horror story that was the bottom half of her face. A nice long soak in a hot bath would do wonders for her aching body. Not to mention a few glasses of wine to heal her fractured mind.
She washed the blood away, cleansed her face with three face wipes, and called Chloe to come wash her face and brush her teeth.
No answer. Only the ticking of the hall clock.
‘Chloe?’ Mel walked along the small landing and peered inside her daughter’s bedroom. Chloe was sitting on her bed, back against the pink chenille headboard, Ruby Rag Doll clutched to her chest.
‘Will you go to the bathroom, please?’
Chloe didn’t acknowledge her. She stared at the wall. Her eyes looked empty, as if in a trance.
‘Come on, Chloe. Mummy’s tired. She wants to have a bath.’
Chloe continued to stare at the wall.
Mel waved a hand in front of her daughter’s face. Nothing. Not even a flicker. A thin line of dribble trickled from the corner of her mouth.
‘Chloe? Sweetheart? What’s wrong?’
‘You don’t understand me.’
Mel’s heart stalled. The voice sounded older. Unfamiliar. ‘Chloe?’
‘You only want me to be what you want me to be. Just to fulfil your own stupid expectations.’
Where in God’s name was this language coming from? ‘That’s not—’
‘Why can’t I be myself? I want to be an artist. Why won’t anyone listen to me? Everything I say falls on deaf ears with you.’
Mel backed out of the bedroom. ‘Tony?’
‘That’s right, call the reinforcements. Gang up on me, like you always do.’
‘Tony!’ Louder this time.
‘What?’ Thick and slippery with sleep.
‘Come up here. Now!’
‘Why?’
‘Just do it.’
Chloe looked at Mel, contempt in her eyes. Then, as if someone had suddenly unplugged her, she lay down, cuddled Ruby Rag Doll, and fell asleep.
Tony walked into the bedroom. ‘What is it?’
Mel made a snap decision to just get Chloe into bed. She’d had enough drama for one day. ‘Lift her up while I get the duvet out from underneath her.’
By the time they’d tucked Chloe in, Tony was wide awake. ‘It’s only eight o’clock. I thought the pantomime finished at nine?’
Mel left the door ajar to allow light in from the landing. ‘Chloe didn’t want to watch it.’
‘Why?’
‘I need a drink.’
‘Your nose is bleeding.’
Mel walked downstairs, took a bottle of wine from the fridge and filled a large glass. She drained it without pause and refilled it.
‘Whoa, there! Someone’s thirsty.’
Mel flopped down in a dusky-pink armchair. ‘You’d be bloody thirsty after the day I’ve just had.’
‘What happened?’
Mel told him about the episode at Feelham Theatre, and the way Chloe had spoken to her upstairs about wanting to be an artist.
Tony sat opposite her. ‘How strange.’
‘First she gets hysterical about some bloody Tall Man, then she goes on about no one understanding her.’
‘Perhaps she was talking in her sleep just now.’
‘She was wide awake. And she damn near broke my nose at the theatre.’
‘The Tall Man might be someone from a nightmare. You know what kids are like.’
Mel wasn’t convinced. ‘She was fine until we got there. Excited. Couldn’t wait to see the giant. Asking questions. Then, she changed in the blink of an eye.’
‘Kids have vivid imaginations.’
‘I know. I teach them all day, remember? But this was… something else. Something I can’t explain.’
‘Do you want a refill?’
Mel held her glass out. ‘I doubt I’ll be able to sleep without the whole bottle tonight.’
‘I’ll join you.’
An hour later, Mel’s mood had lightened enough to smile about the incident at the theatre. ‘No one had better mess with her when she grows up.’
‘Good for her.’
‘I’m still confused about why she acted like that.’
After a short while, Tony said, ‘She’s probably just excited about Christmas. Kids come out with all sorts of stuff when their emotions are running high.’
Mel wanted to believe that, hang on to it for all she was worth, but it couldn’t be explained away by sheer excitement. Tony hadn’t seen the terror in Chloe’s eyes. Okay, the headbutt had been an accident, but the rest of it? ‘I’m still worried about her.’
‘Let’s just keep an eye on her and see how it goes.’
Mel remembered last year. Chloe had been looking forward to Christmas so much she’d made herself ill. Spent most of the day zonked out on the sofa running a temperature, barely able to open her eyes. Although a shame, at least it was a natural response to getting over-excited. But the Tall Man and the strange adult way she’d spoken upstairs? It was like something out of a horror movie.
‘Only a few days until the end of term.’
Mel raised her glass. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
Tony taught maths at a private school in a village ten miles out of Feelham. Kingswood Preparatory School. A prestigious job, good salary, promotion i
n the pipeline for the New Year. Mel couldn’t wait. It would give them a chance to move out of the small two-bed mid-terraced house they’d bought ten years ago. St Kilda’s Close was a nice enough place to live, but the house had outgrown its usefulness. Mel wanted another child, and a dog, and a back garden big enough for them all to relax. The garden in St Kilda’s was just about big enough to put up a rotary line. In the summer, they’d had to choose between putting out the washing or setting up Chloe’s paddling pool.
Two refills later, Mel was drunk. Not incapable drunk – she would never be that irresponsible with a young child to look after – but drunk enough to blunt the edges of her mind and her speech. ‘We should move to Cradwell.’
Tony pursed his lips. ‘Hmm.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I don’t like the countryside.’
‘What’s not to like?’
‘Cows.’
‘No one’s asking you to milk them.’
‘I don’t like the smell. Or the winding narrow roads with tractors everywhere. And, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s no shops in Cradwell.’
Mel snapped her fingers. ‘S’cuse me, Mr. Hollis. Newsflash. We’ve got a car. Not to mention Asda home delivery. Don’t give me that old cow poop about being isolated. Think of the peace and quiet.’
‘It’ll be anything but “quiet.” Cows moo. Owls hoot. Cockerels crow. It’ll be like Animal Farm.’
‘We could have a two-hundred-foot garden. An orchard, even. Somewhere for the kids to run about, explore and build dens.’
‘Or get lost and send you into a panic every five minutes.’
‘It’ll do us both good to get out of here.’
‘I’ll consider it.’
‘Really?’
‘I said consider, mind. I’m not promising.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Are you ready for bed?’
Mel glanced at the clock above the kitchen door. Five past ten. ‘I might get a quick shower first.’
Tony took Mel’s glass into the kitchen. As Mel reached the stairs, Chloe screamed. Mel’s imagination conjured up the Tall Man, coming through the bedroom window, teeth bared, knife glinting in the moonlight.
The scream came again. Harsh, demanding, obliterating the effects of the wine. She rushed up the stairs. Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw upon entering the bedroom and turning on the light. Chloe was standing on the bed, her back pressed against the wall, both hands clutching her throat. Her features were barely recognisable. Her ashen skin looked like melting wax. Her eyes stared straight ahead, and her breath came in ragged gasps.
‘Chloe?’
Chloe clawed at her neck, fingers digging deep into the flesh, spit foaming on her lips.
Tony rushed into the room and stopped dead. ‘What the…?’
Mel gawped at her daughter. ‘Chloe? Chloe? Oh, my God!’
‘She’s having a nightmare,’ Tony said. He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Chloe?’
Chloe relaxed her grip on her throat and gasped for air. She blinked twice in rapid succession. ‘Why don’t you just fucking kill me and get it over with?’
‘Some bloody nightmare!’ Mel said, suddenly angry at Tony’s insistence everything had to have a rational explanation.
‘Chloe? It’s Daddy.’
‘Fuck off.’
Tony recoiled, as if the words had physically assaulted him.
‘Put me in the cage,’ Chloe shouted. ‘Put me in the fucking cage and be done with it.’
Tony shook her. Chloe responded by tipping her head back and spitting in his face.
Mel noticed angry red weals around the child’s neck. ‘I told you something was wrong.’
Chloe glared at her father. ‘You’re a fucking coward.’
Tony wiped saliva from his chin. ‘It’s Daddy, Chloe. Can you hear me?’
‘You’re all fucking cowards.’ Her eyes looked capable of spitting venom.
Tony grabbed hold of her and hauled her off the bed. Held her close. Rocked her from side to side. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart. Daddy’s here. Daddy’s here now.’
Chloe sobbed, body heaving, face pressed against Tony’s shoulder. They stayed this way for several minutes, Tony clinging to her as if letting go might relinquish his daughter into the arms of Satan himself.
As the sobs subsided to sniffs, Mel stroked her daughter’s hair, slowly, rhythmically. Chloe’s breathing steadied. She closed her eyes and plugged her thumb into her mouth, forefinger curled over her nose.
‘I think she’s asleep,’ Mel whispered.
Tony laid her on the bed. Her free hand flew up as Tony let go. Mel quickly occupied it with Ruby Rag Doll and covered her with the duvet. She told Tony to go to bed. ‘I’ll stay with her for a while. Watch her.’
Tony backed out of the room. He switched off the light and left the door ajar. Mel wanted to lie down on the bed with her, hold her tight, protect her from the dreadful reality of whatever was happening inside that troubled mind of hers.
Chloe stirred. She uncorked her thumb from her mouth. ‘Mummy?’
‘Yes, sweetheart?’
‘I don’t want to die.’
‘You’re not going to die. You just had… a bad dream. Mummy won’t let anything happen to you.’
Chloe closed her eyes again, the lids fluttering like a butterfly’s wings coming to rest on a delicate flower. ‘Too late, Mama. Too late.’
3
Mel had managed about an hour’s sleep. At least it was Friday. She could try to get her head together over the weekend. Make sense of what had happened. Keep an eye on Chloe.
‘She said she didn’t want to die, Tony, for God’s sake.’
Tony looked as if he’d spent the whole night wrestling demons. He threw a half-eaten piece of toast on his plate, slurped some tea, banged down his mug.
‘Don’t look at me like that. I’m only saying.’
‘I’m tired, Mel. That’s all.’
‘And I’m not?’
‘Sorry.’
‘And she called me Mama.’
‘That’s hardly the end of the world, is it?’
‘But she never calls me that.’
‘You’re reading too much into this.’
‘Really? Our child gets hysterical when I take her to the theatre. Chokes and talks about dying, and you think I’m reading too much into it?’
‘It’s got to have a rational explanation.’
Mel massaged her temples and tried to stop herself saying something she might regret. ‘Like what? And don’t tell me she was asleep. She wasn’t. You saw her.’
Tony kissed the top of her head. ‘It’ll be all right. I promise.’
‘I’m scared something is really wrong with her.’
‘Maybe she saw something in the theatre that set her off.’
‘Like what?’
‘A poster?’
Mel racked her brains, but nothing came to mind.
Tony grabbed his briefcase from the worktop. ‘I’ve got to go. We’ll talk later.’
‘And in the meantime?’
‘Try to relax. I’ll have a word with Bernard.’
Bernard Levi was the school counsellor at Tony’s school. He’d been to lunch about a year ago. Mel didn’t like him. A big brash man with the manners of a rock ape. ‘No. Leave it. Not now.’
‘Are you sure? He’s good with—’
‘I don’t care. I don’t want anyone else involved.’
Tony blew her a kiss. ‘Later.’
She waited for the front door to close before going upstairs. After washing, she went to wake her daughter. Ruby Rag Doll was lying on the floor. The duvet was hanging half off the bed. Chloe lay on her back, mouth open, hair fanned out either side of her head on the pillow. Chloe never usually slept on her back because of a sinus problem which made it hard for her to breathe in this position. Mel could see faint remnants of the marks around her neck, but they no longer looked angry.
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She shook her gently. ‘Time to get up, Pumpkin.’
Mel was greeted by a snort and an impatient wriggle.
‘Chloe?’
‘Huh?’
‘Come on, sweetie. It’s gone seven.’
‘I’m tired.’
‘Me, too. But you have to get ready to go to Kerrie-Anne’s.’
Chloe rubbed her eyes. ‘Where?’
‘Kerrie-Anne’s.’
‘Who’s she?’
‘You know who Kerrie-Anne is.’
‘Don’t.’
‘Don’t play games. Mummy’s too tired.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Kerrie-Anne’s your childminder.’
‘What do I need a childminder for?’
Mel sighed. A headache tugged at the corners of her mind. ‘While Mummy goes to work at the school.’
‘I’m too old for child-minders.’
‘Just get dressed while I make breakfast.’
‘Whatever.’
Mel recoiled at the remark. It wasn’t so much the actual word, but the way she’d said it. Like a petulant teenager. ‘Don’t speak to me like that, Chloe.’
Chloe blinked. ‘Like what?’
‘Like that.’
‘Here we go again.’
‘Chloe!’
Chloe sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. ‘What’s wrong, Mummy?’
Mel searched the child’s eyes for signs of mischief. Nothing. Blue pools of innocence. ‘Get ready, please, and then come downstairs for breakfast.’
By the time Chloe was sitting at the kitchen table, Mel’s head was throbbing. She swallowed two paracetamol with a glass of water and wished she had a packet of cigarettes in the house. She’d given up after she’d fallen pregnant with Chloe, much to Tony’s delight and the disgust of her nerves.
She took a box of Honey Nut Loops out of the cupboard and put it on the small pine kitchen table. As she fetched bowls and spoons, Chloe’s voice piped up behind her, ‘I don’t like cereal.’
Mel plonked the bowls down. ‘You do.’
‘Don’t. I like pancakes for breakfast. Pancakes and maple syrup.’
‘You don’t like eggs, Chloe. They always give you a bad tummy.’
‘Are you kidding? I love them.’
‘I’m not making pancakes. And we don’t have any maple syrup. It’s Honey Nut Loops or nothing.’