The Reddening

by Adam Nevill

  In the park, an elderly magician in a battered suit tugged bright chiffon tissues from a sleeve. At the end of a chain of sheer fabric that appeared incongruous between his withered hands came an explosion of Haribo party bags that showered the kneeling children. They fell to the ground at once and commenced scrabbling as if an aid truck had just made a drop in a refugee camp.

  The little ones won’t get any sweets. That blonde girl is about to cry. You’ll get upset too.

  Valda would have stood and watched the scrum, infuriated by any evidence of snatching or unfairness. And as Valda grew older, Helene often wondered if she’d brought her daughter up purely to be torn apart in a world content with a permanent state of unfairness and inequality.

  A sharp smell of wood and sawdust soaked by urine stung her nose, distracting her from the magician. Beside the tired playground equipment, a circle of hay bales was arranged about a tier of small cages. Sitting upon the straw cubes, children stroked rabbits and guinea pigs, the animals handed out and passed around by two women in red polo shirts. Valda would have loved that part and Helene sensed a ghost-child swinging on her arm, pulling her towards the little candy-striped tent labelled ‘Make Your Own Teddy Bear’. She’d make one later and take it home.

  Her phone buzzed, vibrating in the palm of her hand. Kat. A text message: Burrow Street too busy. I’m in park near bonfire.

  Shielding her eyes with one hand, Helene peered about the grass until she located a triangular pyre of wood, set between an area cordoned off for a firework display and a long queue outside two lopsided portable toilets. She saw Kat, sitting on a bench.

  A man and woman stood behind her. The man’s hands were folded over the back of the bench, close to Kat’s shoulders. He was heavily bearded, the woman slight and elderly. She wore sunglasses and her hair was covered by a head scarf as if she were undergoing treatment for cancer. The couple’s unsmiling faces were directed at Helene.

  As she drew closer, the couple moved away, in the direction of the main street.

  Helene couldn’t see Steve anywhere. She’d assumed he’d be here to take photographs but she didn’t dwell on his absence because of her shock at the unexpected change in Kat’s demeanour and appearance. The reserved, confident lifestyle journalist seemed to have been replaced by someone else. Helene recalled the tremor in Kat’s voice on the phone.

  ‘Kat. Hi.’ Kat’s handshake was weaker, her soft hand trembling in Helene’s grasp. She was much paler as if ill. Even her bottom lip quivered when Helene asked, ‘Steve taking pictures? I never saw him in the street.’

  ‘No. Not today,’ Kat replied and so quietly that her words qualified as a whisper. Her eyes, or what Helene could see of them around Kat’s Dior sunglasses, moved so slowly that she might have been drugged. Aware of Helene’s scrutiny, Kat moved her head to keep her eyes hidden.

  How are you? Good journey? How’s Valda? Yes, good, I’m pleased to hear that. Have you been keeping well? Work okay? Good. Good. Good. Kat’s words came out slowly and were muttered without feeling or enthusiasm as if she were reading from a card.

  Helene answered the questions, though Kat began repeating herself without realising she’d done so. She didn’t listen to Helene’s answers either.

  It dawned on her that Kat must be terrified of upsetting her. Maybe she’d learned something terrible about Lincoln that she was afraid to share in case Helene broke down.

  ‘Are you all right, Kat?’ Helene eventually ventured when Kat could no longer concentrate on the stilted, failing conversation. She wasn’t even looking at Helene: her eyes had drifted to the distance, her thoughts no doubt preceding her gaze.

  ‘Yes. Yes. All good,’ Kat replied after an awkward pause.

  They then sat together in silence for longer than seemed bearable and Helene felt the first scorch of impatience behind her sternum. ‘May I ask where they are?’

  Kat turned to her. ‘Who?’

  ‘The people you wanted me to meet. Who Lincoln knew down here.’ She wondered if they had been the couple behind the bench.

  ‘Working. They’re working.’

  Then what the fuck am I doing here? I’ve driven half the day to get here and left my bloody daughter in tears.

  ‘But they’ll see you later,’ Kat added. She smiled weakly, her half-hidden eyes anxious. And then Kat reached out a hand and placed it upon the back of Helene’s. The contact was feeble and the hand was retracted a moment after it was offered.

  ‘Is it serious then?’

  ‘What?’ Kat said.

  ‘What they have to tell me? You know, about Lincoln, my brother.’ She felt the need to add her brother’s name to the sentence because Kat seemed oblivious to the topic of conversation.

  Kat’s mouth sagged. The expression made her appear much older than she was, as if she’d been forced to remember something terrible. ‘Lincoln? No. No.’

  ‘Because if it is, you don’t need to feel bad, Kat. I just want to know anything they can tell me about him. You know, from before the end. That’s all. I’m a big girl with broad shoulders.’

  ‘From the swimming. All your swimming.’

  Kat’s distress and preoccupation soon reminded Helene of visits she’d made to an elderly grandmother: the faint voice, distracted expression, an inability to concentrate or connect with whoever sat beside her, the struggle to even smile.

  ‘Shall we get a drink, Kat? Though maybe not in that pub.’

  Kat seemed to pale further at the suggestion. ‘I’m not allowed,’ she said, as if without forethought. ‘Working. I’m working here.’

  Helene shrugged. ‘Soft drink?’

  ‘I’m okay, thank you.’

  ‘Forgive me for saying so, Kat, but I’ve come a long way and I came straight here from the motorway. I was under the impression that I was going to meet the people who knew something about Lincoln. That’s what you said on the phone. It’s why I came to the fair. But you seem . . .’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry. Soon. That . . . they . . . will be here soon.’

  ‘But it was really important that I came. You said that.’

  Kat swallowed again. Her hands knotted white within the lap of her jeans. ‘You brought the discs?’

  ‘Yes. But these people? I’d like to establish when I can meet them. It wasn’t easy for me to get away at such short notice.’

  ‘Yes. Yes. Of course.’ Kat was now looking past Helene again and into the distance. And God how her mouth was drawn. There was a long stain on her blouse too. It looked like coffee. Had Kat not noticed that? She hadn’t put herself together very well: no makeup, she’d barely touched her hair. Something was wrong. Helene really wished that Steve was here; he wouldn’t have been short of something to say.

  ‘So, maybe later,’ Helene prompted, ‘I was thinking that you, me and Steve could grab a bite to eat. If you’re both free?’

  A visible shudder passed through Kat as if she’d been pricked by internal pain. Yes, she was actually crying too. Kat slipped a finger behind her glasses to touch an eye. ‘I’m not . . . We’re not . . . Steve . . . not seeing each other any more.’

  ‘Oh, God, Kat. I’m sorry. You broke up? I didn’t know. I’m sorry.’ That would provide something of an explanation for Kat’s behaviour and appearance. The woman was shattered, cut up. ‘You sure I can’t get you a drink? I think we could both use one. Who’s ever going to find out?’

  ‘Love to.’ Kat swallowed to regain control of her voice. ‘But I can’t. I’m in recovery.’

  ‘Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t –’

  ‘Could I have the discs?’ Kat said, while looking at her own bloodless hands.

  ‘Sure.’ Helene took her bag from her shoulder.

  ‘It’s very important,’ Kat whispered. ‘They . . .’

  ‘I don’t know what these recordings have to do with anything, so can you at least tell me how they come into this?’ Helene wasn’t keen on hearing them again.

  ‘The magazine. We’d like to use them.’
Kat said in the same vague, non-committal manner she’d displayed since Helene arrived.

  ‘I don’t have copies, Kat. I didn’t get a chance to make a copy.’

  ‘Good. That’s good.’

  ‘What is?’

  Kat looked flustered for a moment. ‘That you brought them. This will help.’

  Helene had given up any hope of getting any sense out of the woman but experienced an unexpected tug of attachment to the discs. They had Lincoln’s handwriting upon the shiny surfaces and the titles might have been the last thing he’d ever written. ‘I don’t want to lose these. They’re the last things he ever made.’

  One of Kat’s trembling hands reached forcefully toward the discs in Helene’s hand, making Helene think of an addict reaching for its junk or a beggar snatching at change. She moved her body to put the discs out of Kat’s reach. ‘So, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll copy them. I’ve brought my laptop –’

  ‘No! No need. I can take them now.’

  ‘It’s better I copy them. I’ll do it at the B&B, which reminds me, I better check in. They said to come by three and it’s nearly that now. I’ll upload them to a transfer site and you can download them.’

  A quiver crossed Kat’s mouth and her words tumbled out breathlessly. ‘Oh, no, don’t copy them. No. No need. I can take them and return them later.’

  Kat's grasping and eager, bloodless face was really starting to make her anxious.. Her half-hidden eyes mooned wide behind the tinted lenses as if with fear.

  Only a concern that she’d never see the CDs again compelled Helene to further resist the journalist’s clutching hands. ‘I’d rather make the copies, Kat. If that’s all right with you. These have sentimental value.’

  Kat’s posture stiffened. ‘The Red Barn. You’ll have them there?’

  This meeting was going nowhere. ‘Er, I guess so. I better get there now.’

  ‘And you’ll wait.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I’ll call you and we can meet.’ Kat noisily cleared her throat. ‘I’ll make the introductions.’

  ‘With the people who knew Lincoln?’

  ‘Of course. You’ll definitely be there, won’t you, at the hotel?’

  Helene couldn’t restrain her sarcasm a moment longer. ‘Well, I guess so, Kat, as I have nowhere else to be. I’m really sorry to hear about Steve, and this is clearly not a good time for you, but I’ve moved mountains to get here and my daughter was very upset the last time I left her. I can’t just motor up and down between Walsall and Devon at the drop of a hat.’

  Kat dipped her head and Helene could see how her hands were gripping the edge of the bench. The woman might have been trying to hold herself upright.

  It was time to leave. Breakup or not, she was getting close to losing it with the journalist: the long drive, an hour’s holdup at Bristol, with the constantly recurring memory of Valda’s tear-streaked face haunting the entire journey, had done nothing to improve her mood. ‘I need to get one of those bears made up and then I need to check in, yeah?’ Helene stuffed the discs inside her shoulder bag and stood up.

  Kat looked bewildered. ‘You’re going now?’

  Kat had to be on something. Probably tranqs. ‘That’s right, Kat. I just told you . . . Never mind. But I’ll hear from you later? I need to take off by ten tomorrow. Maybe you could give me the names and numbers of these people so I can contact them myself. You know, in case you’re not feeling up to it later.’

  ‘I’ll call. I promise.’

  ‘Okay. Until then.’ Helene walked off with more purpose than when she’d entered the fête.

  From the distance, the red-faced orator belted out fresh information about the arrival of a dead pig on a truck.

  Inside the stifling teddy-bear tent, Helene created a toy for Valda. She chose a rabbit and stuffed the furry skin with foam, then covered the bunny in a pink dress. While doing so, she noticed that a Creel toy was available, but again, neither the empty skins nor the stuffed sample hanging from the roof indicated what the animal was supposed to be. As Helene paid the woman who ran the stall, she asked, ‘What is this Creel thing?’

  The woman shrugged. ‘I’m not from here. I came over from Torbay. But it’s something from a story, like a legend, I think. A monster.’

  It certainly was one of those.

  ‘They was on the walls of that cave, I think. People is using it on souvenirs now. Been really popular too. I’ve nearly run out.’ The woman dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Not the sort of thing a child would want sitting on its bed, I’d have thought.’

  Before she left the little park and re-entered the street, Helene looked to where she’d left Kat. The journalist remained seated on the bench but the bearded man and the woman in the headscarf had rejoined her. The old woman’s face was lowered close to Kat’s to whisper into her ear. And if she wasn’t mistaken, Kat had covered her face with her hands. Maybe that was Kat’s mum, comforting her after splitting up with her boyfriend.

  A blurt from the speakers, an amplified roar from the MC twisted her nerves anew. A rattle of applause and the crowd’s murmur spiked with excited shrieks.

  Helene looked to the main street and saw a large flatbed truck slowly shake and wheeze between the buildings, parting the crowd to bump over the grass.

  The vehicle parked beside the dormant bonfire pyre. About the truck’s cabin a row of red faces grinned their white teeth and waved at the crowd. The people on the back of the truck were dressed in furry loincloths and bikinis, their exposed skin daubed red. Two figures, arranged on mock thrones like a king and queen, wore what looked like black Creel masks to hide their faces.

  In the middle of the flatbed, a pale carcass lay upon a wooden box. Presumably this was the huge pig the MC had been ranting about, soon to be roasted and offered up to the gathering.

  Helene made haste for her car.

  19

  During the lengthy wait for Kat’s call, Helene had phoned her mum and the report was good. ‘She actually went to bed at seven thirty?’

  ‘She did. I think she liked showing me her routines and her pyjamas. But she’s still awake. I can hear her talking to that pink fish she’s got up there.’

  Helene laughed. ‘It’s a dolphin. Splashy.’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Thanks, Mom, for putting my mind at rest. I better ring off. I’m still waiting for Kat to call. As I’ve come all this way I don’t want to miss it now. But I’m getting a bit fed up.’

  ‘Well, I can’t see why she couldn’t have told you what she knows on the phone.’

  Helene had done more than wonder about that too. ‘I thought these people might have pictures. Or they’d take me somewhere Lincoln had been. I don’t know what I was expecting. But I’ll say cheerio, Mom.’

  ‘Oh, one last thing, luv. I saw you had one of those red cards from the postie so I picked up a parcel from the sorting office today when I was up the shops. I let Valda open it. Hope that’s all right?’

  ‘She usually opens everything. Was it the hair straighteners from Amazon?’

  ‘No. This parcel was addressed to Valda. But I’m not sure it was meant for her. That’s the odd bit and I don’t know what to make of the bloody thing. It’s not the sort of present that I’d send to a child. I can’t say as I could tell you what it is. It’s an ornament, I think. A horrible-looking thing with a spear.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t tell what it’s supposed to be and it’s a bit primitive-looking, like it’s very old. You know, like something they find in those old tombs. It’s got a human body and that’s a bit suggestive too. I mean it’s got these big . . . a bosom.’ Helene’s mother laughed. ‘But like a dog’s head on top.’

  Helene felt a sudden urge to get herself home. The object that had been addressed to her daughter by name sounded very much like what she’d recently seen at the Brickburgh Cave exhibition and subsequently learned was the inspiration for the loathsome Creel character at the festival.
Why would a replica, if that was what this thing was, have been sent to her daughter? And by who? Kat?

  ‘No sender’s address?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Helene could only presume that Kat, in her mentally unsound state of mind, had thought the figure was a suitable gift for a child, or some sort of gesture commemorating how they’d met. But it didn’t take much thought for either of those explanations to fail to convince her. Kat wasn’t clueless. Heartbroken for sure but that wasn’t sufficient cause for her to send Valda a dog-headed ornament with big tits.

  ‘No card inside either,’ her mum said. ‘It was in a little box and all covered in bubble-wrap. I didn’t know what to do with it. V’s been playing with it but I’m not sure how valuable it is, so I took it off her.’

  ‘Okay. Keep it off her until I get back.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  Helene’s phone pinged in her ear. She checked the screen: an incoming call from Kat. Stress creased her mind. ‘Mom, that call’s just come in. Gotta put you on hold.’ Helene picked up the new call. ‘Kat?’

  Kat’s sniff broke the silence. She was crying. Her shaky voice eventually said, ‘Sorry.’ One word, spoken softly before she ended the call.

  ‘Hang on.’ Helene tried to redial Kat’s number. To add to her confusion, the landline phone beside the bed buzzed. Helene dithered. She still had her mum on hold and Kat wasn’t picking up.

  Sorry. From that one word from Kat, was Helene to deduce that the evening’s meeting was cancelled?

  Helene picked up the room phone. ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s Carol, in reception. They’re down here, waiting.’