I ignored Neil’s expression. He ignored mine.
‘How’s Harry?’ he said.
‘I’m going over there now. He’s OK, but they said they would like me to come and see them.’
Neil put the dictionary down beside him, still open.
‘I’m not sure how long I’ll be,’ I said. ‘You’re OK with the kids aren’t you? If I’m not back in time, be gentle with Mikey. I have already spoken to him and we really should do it together.’
‘I’ll be good,’ he said.
I leaned over and kissed him goodbye, but I could feel him holding back.
When I stepped outside into the darkness the rain had stopped but huge clouds scudded across the sky. I pulled my coat tight around me and shivered. The car would take a while to warm up, so I put my collar up and climbed in.
I drove through the damp streets and prayed that I wouldn’t “lose time” again. I didn’t have enough petrol for a start.
I rubbed my eyebrow and thought about what I would say to Donna and Mark Shaw — Harry’s parents. I hadn’t taught Harry personally, but I had taught his older sister, Petra, a few years earlier.
I felt so embarrassed and ashamed. But not of Michael, although he was the one who actually attacked Harry. I knew that really I was the one to blame.
I was starting to worry about being able to get a grip on things. I had always thought of myself as proactive and capable. The Mighty Atom. But now I was starting to wonder.
It seemed that everything I tried was being usurped by my own mind and body. I had tried Vicks to mask the smells; Anne to disguise my personality; doctors for the pain in my leg; and a counsellor for the shit in my head. It felt as though every corner I turned, something else was waiting for me. Something I hadn’t bargained for.
I already knew that I currently had no idea how to combat the unusual strength that pumped through my body at certain times. I was pretty sure I had no idea how to deal with the male voice that seemed to have appeared in my head. And I seemed to be able to do as much about my feelings of violence and aggression as I could about my dreams.
The car splashed through a huge puddle in the road, showering water against the side of the car and the pavement.
That missing hour and a half. I had given it a lot of thought. The way things were going, I felt that there was a strong possibility of it happening again. I had already determined that I would be ready for it, and that if I couldn’t stop it happening, I would at least be aware of it after the event.
It occurred to me that I might be able to get a handle on it if I used a calendar or diary, split into hours, or half hour slots. I could put a tick against every half hour or hour to confirm that I was “still there”.
It might help to keep me focused on where I was and what I was doing every half hour of the day. If I printed it out from my computer I could fold it up and keep it with me all the time.
My plan was that this would keep me firmly in real time. But if I did “disappear” I would at least have a record of it by the missing ticks on the page.
It seemed to make sense. I decided to ring Dr Jones first thing in the morning and talk to him about the missing time, see if there was anything he could do. But the half-hourly tick record would be my own defence against it. It would give me a degree of control. And I wanted that.
The lights were all on at Harry’s house. I thought it would be impertinent to park in their driveway, so I pulled the car up against the pavement outside. As I locked the car and walked toward the house I saw a shadow disappear from an upstairs window, the curtain swayed.
Mark Shaw answered the door. His face was pale and blotchy, his smile weak. His hair was messed up and he still wore his suit, tie missing, and top few shirt buttons undone. He looked completely different from when I had seen him before at Parent’s Evening. Over his shoulder, in the living-room, I saw his wife, Donna and their 14 year old daughter, Petra. Donna signalled something to her daughter, who stood up with all the theatrics of a teenager and disappeared. Moments later I heard loud clomping up the stairs.
The journey home was as uncomfortable as the meeting with Harry’s parents had been.
For some reason, I couldn’t get rid of the dream I had been having. The wind, the girl, the smells and the violence.
I wasn’t having the dream, I just seemed to be replaying it on a continual loop in my mind.
I turned the radio on and sang along to any songs that I vaguely knew, I opened the window and tried distracting myself with different smells. I started “dancing” in my seat as I drove. But it kept replaying, again and again. Like when there’s a song stuck in your head, and no matter what you do to try to distract yourself, it always goes back to it.
It wasn’t scaring me either. It just kept playing over and over. I felt like it was trying to ingrain itself into my brain cells, even more than it already was.
I resorted to swearing along to the music. And when the music stopped, I swore along to the DJ.
By the time I pulled into our driveway I had goosebumps all over me from the open window and a sore throat from all the singing and swearing. In my mind, I was still hurting the girl.
I checked the clock on the dashboard before turning the engine off. Nearly 10pm. I hoped that Neil had been OK at dealing with the kids. Especially Michael.
I pushed the front door key in the lock as quietly as I could. I guessed that Neil would have gone to bed already.
Before I managed to turn the key in the lock, the front door opened. Neil looked about as good as Mark Shaw had a couple of hours earlier.
‘How did it go,’ he said.
‘Oh, you know. OK.’
He stood aside as I walked in. I shook my coat off and let it fall to the floor. Neil bent down, picked it up and hung it over a hook.
‘You’ve not even had your shower,’ I said. ‘I thought you’d be in bed by now.’
He didn’t smile.
‘I wanted to wait up for you. See how it went with Harry’s parents. Also I spoke a bit to Michael.’
I frowned at him. I had told him to go easy on Michael.
‘I didn’t get angry with him. We just talked,’ he said. ‘And to be honest, Chris, I think you and I need to talk too.’
My heart jumped. Neil never wanted to talk. Not about anything. Even when his father died he still didn’t feel the need to sit down and have a good talk about it.
I stretched my neck back and moved my head from side to side. If someone had offered me a massage and a hot chocolate right then I would have killed for it.
I realised that the loop in my mind had stopped playing.
‘I need a drink first,’ I said.
‘We haven’t got any.’
‘I meant a coffee. At least let me get a coffee. And a couple of paracetamol.’
On my way through to the kitchen I noticed that my electronic dictionary was back under the coffee table, on top of the word-puzzle book.
I wished I hadn’t washed that last bottle of wine down the sink.
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