by Mark Tilbury
‘We’ve already set fire to the house, Peter. The authorities will be treating it as attempted murder. At the very least, we should stay away from that family for the foreseeable future.’
King held up his hands, palms out. ‘What do you see, Charles?’
Honeywell frowned. ‘Hands.’
‘Exactly. Hands that toil to bring joy. Hands that nourish and support the very foundations of our relationship.’
‘I—’
‘Show me your hands, Charles.’
‘Why?’
‘Humour me.’
Honeywell held them out, palms up, as if about to seek spiritual enlightenment.
‘You can learn a lot from a man’s hands,’ King said. He touched the left palm with the tip of his index finger. ‘Some even claim to be able to predict the future by reading the lines.’
Honeywell gawped at his hands, glasses perched on the end of his nose. ‘Just an old wives’ tale, if you ask me.’
King agreed. ‘Gypsy nonsense designed to steal money from the deluded. Why don’t you let me have a go at reading yours?’
‘Me? No. I don’t think—’
‘Lighten up, Charles. It’s just a bit of harmless fun. Sit down. Put your hand on the breakfast bar.’
Honeywell’s eye, the one that wasn’t set to a permanent wink, regarded King as if he’d just invited him to a duel at dawn. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes.’
He surrendered his palm.
King traced the curved line running from the centre of his lover’s hand to the heel. ‘Hmm.’
‘What is it?’
‘I see these hands have never seen an honest day’s toil.’
‘I helped to build a wall once.’
‘Hadrian’s?’
Honeywell chuckled. ‘It was a very long time ago.’
‘Your lifeline is rather short.’
‘My hands are small.’
You’re confusing that with your mind. ‘It might be prudent to tread carefully. We don’t want you to meet with a nasty accident, do we?’
‘True.’
‘Close your eyes.’
‘Why?’
‘I want you to relax. Get in touch with your inner feelings.’
‘How’s that going to help with reading my palm?’
‘Humour me.’
Honeywell closed his eyes, although the injured one seemed to still be peeking through the blackout shades of the bruise.
King ran the tip of his index finger over his lover’s palm.
‘That tickles.’
‘Shush. Don’t spoil the moment. I’m tuning into your life. I see a fork at the end of your lifeline.’
‘What does that mean?’
King took the paring knife out of his dressing gown pocket. ‘It means you will face a big decision soon. One that will cause much soul-searching.’
‘Oh.’
He raised the knife. ‘Be sure to do the right thing.’
‘Okay.’
King brought the knife down with as much force as he could muster. He drove it through Honeywell’s hand far enough for the tip of the blade to hit the tiled breakfast bar.
At first, Honeywell didn’t react. It was as if the pain receptors in his brain had been temporarily switched off. Then, a scream rolled out of his throat like something dredged up from a drain.
‘Now, listen carefully. Find Mel Hollis and her child, or I will plunge this knife into your heart. Is that clear?’
Honeywell’s breath hissed from his lips as if his mouth had turned into a steam press.
King pulled the knife out, drawing with it a small river of blood. ‘Now get to it, before I really lose patience with you.’
39
After spending three torturous days at Tony’s mother’s, Mel felt as if she was losing her mind. If Vicky Hollis asked her one more time what she was going to do about Chloe, she wouldn’t be held responsible for her actions. She lay awake on the camp bed, pain rolling up from the base of her spine to her shoulders. Tony snored beside her.
She rolled off the bed and spent a few moments on her hands and knees stretching her back, waiting for the stiffness to subside. She then made her way across the living room, switched on the main light and retrieved her cigarettes from her handbag.
Tony groaned and rolled over. Sod him! Hopefully, the light would wake him up. She opened the living room window, lit up, and blew smoke into the freezing air. The cigarette soothed her nerves. Helped to calm her.
After a few minutes, Tony propped himself up on one elbow, squinting at her. ‘What time is it?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Do I look all right, Tony?’
Tony studied his watch. ‘It’s only twenty past seven.’
‘So?’
‘I thought it would be nice to have a lie in. Make the most of it before term starts again.’
Mel flicked her cigarette butt out the window and closed it. ‘Don’t make me laugh. I’ve hardly slept since I took Chloe to Feelham Theatre.’
‘Maybe you ought to ask the doctor for something.’
‘Fabulous idea. Then if Chloe has one of her episodes, I’ll be zonked out on sleeping tablets.’
‘It was only a suggestion.’
‘Half the reason I can’t sleep is because I’m having to share a bed with you.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Will you stop bloody apologising?’
‘I can’t do right for doing wrong.’
‘What do you expect? You even lied to your mother. Telling her we’d split up because I’d started smoking again. Have you any idea how weak and pathetic that sounds?’
‘I—’
‘Why couldn’t you tell her the truth?’
‘Because…’
‘Afraid Mummy might see what a nasty selfish brat she has for a son?’
‘Something like that.’
‘She looks at me as if I’m a social leper. As if it’s me who’s driven a wedge between us.’
‘The less she knows, the better. Believe me.’
‘You’re a coward, Tony.’
Tony offered no argument. He flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
‘I’m not staying here. I’m not spending another day with her looking at me as if I’m an unfit mother. God, I’m so tempted to wipe that self-righteous look off her face. Tell her what really happened. How her precious son decided to fuck some slag at work whilst his wife was in meltdown.’
‘You’ll never forgive me, will you?’
‘And now my daughter’s suffering from bugger knows what and I can do nothing to help her. Not to mention someone tried to burn down our house. Pardon me if I’m not in a very forgiving mood, Tony.’
‘Chloe is our daughter. Not just yours.’
‘Ten out of ten for observation. So, are you going to tell your mother what really happened?’
His silence told Mel all she needed to know. ‘I’m leaving. I’m not taking the blame for this anymore. I’m sick of your mother’s questions, and I’m sick of your lies.’
‘But you’ve got nowhere to go.’
‘If you say so, Tony. If you say so.’
Tony clambered off the bed. ‘Please, Mel. Don’t do this.’
Mel ignored him and lit another cigarette.
‘You’d better open the window to let the smoke out.’
Mel snorted. ‘Maybe the smoke doesn’t want to go out.’
‘We can get through this. If we stick together, we can work it out. Be strong together.’
Mel reluctantly opened the window. ‘You wouldn’t know what strong was if it leapt up and bit you on the nose.’
‘Don’t—’
‘I want to be on my own.’
‘For God’s sake, Mel. Where will you go?’
She didn’t answer.
‘You’re not thinking straight.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know.’
‘But y
ou’ve hardly got any clothes.’
‘I’ll buy some.’
‘You’re cutting off your nose to spite your face. At least let me drive you.’
‘There’s no need for that. I’m taking the car.’
‘You’re not having the Golf.’
‘It’s just as much my car as it is yours.’
‘I need it for work.’
‘So do I.’
‘This is ridiculous.’
‘I’m taking the car. And I’m taking Chloe somewhere your stupid mother can’t keep fretting and pestering her.’
‘She’s only—’
‘I’m only what?’ Vicky Hollis stood in the doorway waving a hand in front of her face.
‘Go back to bed, Mother,’ Tony said.
‘You two woke me up with your rowing.’
‘You don’t have to worry about that anymore,’ Mel said. ‘I’m leaving.’
For the first time since Mel had known her mother-in-law, the woman looked lost for words. ‘Why?’
‘Because it’s best for everyone. We can’t stay cramped up here like this. It’s not fair on you. It’s not fair on Chloe.’
‘But where will you go?’
‘To a friend’s.’
Tony stepped closer to his mother as if seeking safety in numbers. ‘What friend?’
‘I’ll tell you when I get there. Now, if you’d both excuse me, I’d like to get dressed.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Mel. See sense.’ She turned to her son. ‘Make her see sense.’
‘He already has,’ Mel said. ‘Believe me, he already has.’
Tony coaxed his mother into the kitchen with the promise of a pot of tea.
Mel dressed in a pair of blue jogging bottoms and two oversized jumpers. One green, the other red. The fruits of Tony’s trip into town to buy some emergency clothes. She went into the bedroom, turned on the light and woke her daughter.
Chloe looked at her mother, eyelids heavy with sleep. Ruby Rag Doll was covering her mouth with her woollen hair. ‘Mummy?’
‘Come on, sweetie. It’s time to get up.’
‘Why?’
‘We’re going for a little ride in the car.’
‘Where?’
‘To Granddad’s house.’
‘But Granddad’s dead.’
‘We’re going to look after his house for a while.’
‘Is Daddy coming, too.’
‘Not for now. Daddy’s staying with Grandma Vicky.’
‘Why?’
‘Grandma Vicky’s not well. Come on. It’ll be fun. And it’s out in the country.’
‘Is it a farm?’
‘No.’
‘Are there any cows?’
‘There’s a farmer’s field if you carry on up the lane.’
‘Why didn’t we ever go to Granddad’s house when he was alive?’
‘It’s a long story, Pumpkin. I’ll tell you all about it one day.’
‘When are we going back to our house?’
‘When it’s fixed.’
‘Grandma Vicky told Daddy you might have started the fire by smoking.’
‘Did she now?’
‘Uh-huh. But that’s not true, is it?’
‘No. And she has no business saying so.’
‘I don’t like Grandma Vicky much. She’s bossy.’
‘Well, Grandma Vicky won’t be at Granddad’s house, will she?’
‘Nope.’
Mel lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘No witches allowed.’
Chloe giggled. ‘I still love her, though.’
‘I know.’
‘I love you, too, Mummy.’
‘I love you more.’
‘More than the sky?’
‘More than the whole universe.’
They rubbed noses for the first time since before their ill-fated visit to Feelham Theatre.
As Chloe dressed in her new jeans, trainers and bright pink jumper, she turned to Mel. ‘Will the Tall Man know where Granddad’s house is?’
Mel’s breath caught in her throat. ‘No.’
‘He wants us to die, Mummy.’
‘He can want what he likes. He’ll have me to deal with first.’
Chloe continued to dress in silence, as if she knew Mel felt as empty and hollow as her words.
40
As Mel pulled up in the gravel lane outside Rose Cottage, her initial burst of bravado, fuelled by resentment towards Tony and his mother, had vanished. She’d had to wait in town almost two hours for the estate agents to open to get a key to the house. Mel had treated them to croissants from Dalton’s bakery. She’d also purchased a coffee for herself, and made Chloe’s day by allowing her to have a bottle of Fanta orange.
The large detached building had a strange ghostly quality. The rendered walls, once white, were now filthy and peeling in places.
You’re making the biggest mistake of your life. Go back to the flat. Swallow your pride and go back.
‘Is this Granddad’s house?’
‘Yes, Pumpkin.’
‘It’s old, isn’t it?’
‘Old as the hills.’
‘What does that mean?’
Reverse back up the lane and leave before it’s too late. ‘It’s just a saying.’
‘Is it as old as Daddy?’
‘Older.’
‘It’s a… lonely place, isn’t it?’
Mel was once again struck by the adult nature of Chloe’s words. It was as if she’d bypassed childhood. ‘A bit.’
‘Why do you want to live here, Mummy?’
I don’t. Oh, God, I don’t. ‘It’s only for a little while.’
‘How long?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘How long’s a piece of string, eh?’
Mel turned around. ‘Where did you learn that?’
Chloe shrugged and fiddled with her new coat. Pink, with big toggles and a detachable hood. She hadn’t liked it anywhere near as much as her purple one with the fur-rimmed hood. Mel had almost sent Tony back into town to get a purple one, but she hadn’t been in any mood to argue with him over a coat; he was in a bad enough mood as it was that day, moaning about the shops and people’s never-ending need to ‘scavenge’ just because it was Christmas.
‘I’m cold, Mummy. When are we going inside?’
‘In a minute.’
‘You don’t like it here, do you?’
Mel told the biggest lie she’d ever told in her life. ‘I don’t mind it.’
‘Why don’t we go back to Grandma Vicky’s?’
Because I’d end up throttling her. ‘The flat’s not big enough for all of us.’
‘I liked my room.’
‘I didn’t like mine.’
‘Granddad’s house looks really cold.’
‘It’ll be all right once we light the fire.’
‘Has it got radiators?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Does it have smoke coming out of the chimney?’
Mel shuddered. ‘Yes.’
‘Daddy told Grandma Vicky you smoke like a chimney.’
And he gossips like an old woman. ‘Did he now?’
‘I don’t want you to smoke, Mummy. It’s bad for you.’
Mel switched off the engine and took the keys from the ignition. ‘Come on, let’s get inside.’
The front door opened straight onto the living room. As they stepped inside, the smell of damp was overbearing. Unopened mail littered the doormat, spilling into the twelve foot square room. Mel switched on the light and closed the door.
‘It stinks,’ Chloe complained, pegging her nose between her thumb and forefinger.
‘We’ll just have to give it a good clean, then, won’t we?’
‘It’s yuk! I want to go back to Grandma Vicky’s.’
‘Well, we’re not,’ Mel snapped. ‘So we’ll just have to make the best of it until I can find somewhere better.’
Apart from a large widescreen TV sitting on a mahogany cabinet,
most of the room looked frozen in time. Still the old pink and green floral-patterned settee and two matching chairs, the pine dresser with its display of plates and cups, the red and grey leather foot stool, the hideous gold and green Axminster carpet, and the wallpaper depicting leaves and vines.
The open fire had been boarded over and replaced by a coal-effect electric fire. Mel almost whooped for joy. She switched it on and was treated to an instant red glow from the three bars, along with a pungent smell of burning dust.
‘Why don’t you sit on the sofa whilst Mummy has a look in the kitchen?’
Chloe looked at the settee as if it might eat her. She rocked Ruby Rag Doll as if trying to comfort her.
‘Chloe?’
‘Ruby wants to go home.’
So do I, Mel’s mind screamed. ‘I know. But you’re both going to have to be big girls until Mummy gets sorted out.’
Chloe sighed. ‘Story of your life.’
‘What did you say?’
Chloe stared at the doll, a small V-shape knitted at the top of her nose.
‘Chloe?’
‘Huh?’
‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You did.’
‘It was Ruby.’
‘Ruby doesn’t talk.’
‘Does.’
‘Ruby’s a toy. She can’t speak.’
‘She can when Grandma Audrey comes to visit.’
Mel’s blood froze. ‘Is… she… here… now?’
Chloe looked at the doll and shrugged.
‘But you said—’
‘Ruby’s cold.’
Mel didn’t press matters. ‘Tell you what, we’ll get some hot chocolate and marshmallows later when we go into town.’
‘I want my Tigger hot water bottle.’
‘I’m afraid it’s gone, Pumpkin. He…’
‘Died in the fire?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can we buy another one?’
‘As soon as we get straightened out. We’ll go into Oxford and do some proper shopping.’
‘I miss him.’
‘I know.’
‘And Daddy.’
‘Mummy’s just going to the kitchen. I won’t be long.’
‘Okay.’
‘Good girl.’ Mel walked to a chipped and scarred door at the far end of the lounge. Mindful of the huge step leading down into the kitchen, Mel switched on the light. The fluorescent strip light blinked and hummed into life.
Mel took a deep breath and looked around the room. The sink by the small window was piled high with dirty dishes. The green and white-checked curtains drawn across the small window were filthy and stained. Two of the oak base units had no doors, and the glass cabinet on the wall above the kitchen table was smashed. Silver shards dangled from the frame like deadly stalactites.