Honest (14 page)

I slumped
against the wall, my legs releasing, while the man with grey hair scrabbled
away against the far side of the hall.

‘What the hell
is wrong with you?’ he said, his voice hoarse, wiping the blood from his face.

His voice was
clearer now, and more familiar. The fog in my head diffused and my limbs, limp
and soft as jelly now, became lifeless and white as the flesh of a corpse. I
was a corpse, laying there, staring weakly at the panting man I’d been intent
on killing moments ago; intent on making him as pale and lifeless as I was,
forever.

The light
faded in the hallway, our breaths filtering through the silence, when all at
once I recognised him, and in recognising him I recognised myself.

 There was my
father, and there was me.

Chapter
Twenty

‘What will
make you stop this, Ellen?’ said Dad, still slumped against the wall just as I
was. His lip wobbled as he spoke, the fresh gashes in his face glistening
wetly. His eyes had dulled and his demeanour was now an exhausted one, tired of
fighting me, physically, mentally, and all in between.

But I was
tired of fighting him.

‘Night after
night,’ I said, my voice a sharp croak in my throat. ‘You always take what you
want, don’t you?’

Dad gulped,
helping himself up in a seated position. ‘Ellen, stop it.’ He turned his head
and wouldn’t meet my eyes, but I watched him, and I knew he could my feel my
gaze.

‘Stop what?
Stop talking like that?’

‘Yes,’ he
said, wiping his brow. ‘Oh god. What are we going to do?’

‘Why do you do
it?’ I said, my voice making him flinch.

‘Ellen, stop.’

‘No,’ I said.
‘I’m tired of you. You’re a vile, disgusting man, do you know that?’

Dad helped
himself up and looked down on me, his eyes narrowing, his mouth pressed firmly
together. ‘Now that is enough,’ he said, keeping his voice firm. ‘I am your
father.’

I snorted.
Even laying there naked, I made no effort to cover myself, only laid myself
bare so he could look at the thing he’d ruined over the years. ‘Look at me,’ I
said, staring back at him. He kept his eyes on my face, and it sickened me,
that he refused to look at me now when in the darkness, in my room, he saw me
with his hands.

‘Just stop
it,’ he said. ‘We’ll get you up, we’ll get your chair, we’ll get your cuts and
grazes seen to, get you dressed...and then...then we’ll figure all of this out.
We’ll get you a proper doctor, none of these therapists anymore, but someone
who can really help you. Get up, Ellen.’

‘No,’ I said
through gritted teeth. ‘Look at me.’

‘Ellen, I have
had enough.’ He held out his hand. ‘You take my hand and we’ll get you sat up
on that step. Take my hand, Ellen.’

‘
You look
at me
!’ I hissed.

He grabbed my arm
but I slapped him, clear across the cheek this time. He came back at me and
grabbed me tighter, but before he could pull me up I snatched a handful of his
hair and twisted his head to one side, forcing him to let go.

‘
You
keep your hands off me, you ugly little man.’ I shouted in his ear, shook him,
and let go. He staggered back, cupping the side of his face, looking hurt and
stooped as ever. ‘You touch me and I’ll tell. You’ve had enough of me, have
you? Well I’ve had enough of you.’

‘You
wouldn’t,’ he said, but it came out as more of a plea, a whimper, a cry, than a
threat. I had him now.

‘You know I
will,’ I said. ‘And I can be stronger than you, dad, believe me.’

He bowed his
head, looking up under his grey eyelashes, his whiskery face drooping like a
shamed animal. ‘What do you want me to do, Ellen?’ he said, his eyes filling up
with tears.

I thought
about it a few moments. What
did
I want, after all? What had I been
wanting for years, and had been searching for, ever since that night three
years ago?

That interview
I’d seen on TV came to mind. I remembered the woman, darkened and confined to
just a shadow, telling her story.

‘And what
did you feel when you saw his face?’ said the female presenter. ‘It must have
been hard knowing that his family were present and could see your reaction.’

‘Yes, I
mean, it was strange really...I sort of felt...relieved. I could be sure that
he was gone forever,’ said the guest. ‘It was like you said, you know, closure.
Seeing him dead helped me accept things.’

I drew in a
sharp breath, my eyes widening, as I realised all of a sudden what it was I
wanted — no, needed — to do. But I couldn’t do it on my own.

‘I’ll tell you
what I want you to do,’ I said, watching his eyes grow darker as he braced
himself for my proposition. We both knew this was serious now, and there was no
way of going back. ‘I want to see him,’ I said.

He frowned. ‘Who?’
he said, a tear falling onto his cheek.

‘You know
who,’ I said. ‘I want to look at him. I want to know he’s there, down there in
the ground.’

‘Stop it,’
spat dad, wiping the tears from his face. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

‘You’ll help
me get dressed and in my chair, like you wanted, and then we’ll get everything
ready. We’ll go in your van in the early hours.’

‘Ellen, this
is madness,’ he said, but his eyes were bright, alert and fearful now.

‘It’s what I
want,’ I said. ‘I have to see him, and I don’t care how.’

‘Ellen, when a
body has been dead for that long it—’

‘I know all
that,’ I said. ‘You don’t understand.’

Dad laughed.
‘No, you don’t understand, Ellen! He isn’t there, it isn’t him anymore. What do
you think you’re going to find, eh? Your handsome little boyfriend, all pretty
like the last time you saw him?’

‘No,’ I said.
‘I know he isn’t there. He’s in me.’

‘What? Oh
Ellen, you’re being silly and melodramatic—’

‘Who’s silly?
Me? We’ll see what the police think when I tell them everything.’

Dad pointed an
accusing finger at me. ‘You are my daughter and I won’t let you leave this
house without my supervision, period. You won’t use the phone, you won’t see
anybody, and that’ll be that.’

‘You can’t do
that to me,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t. You
love
me. You’d do anything for
me, wouldn’t you?’

Dad’s face
weakened again. The finger he held out to me softened, and he withdrew his
hand. ‘Of course,’ he said, his voice soft and sulking as a little boy. ‘I just
want things to stay the same, that’s all.’ At that he looked away, ashamed of
himself. We both knew what he was really saying.

‘It can,’ I
lied, making him look at me again, hopeful. ‘If you do this for me, it will all
stop, I’m sure of it. I
need
to see him. Think about it. Think about
what
you
want.’ I stared at him and saw the changing in his eyes, the
change in him that he couldn’t stop despite himself; that urge overtaking him.

I had him
now.

‘Now think
about what I want, and just do it. You know we can.’

Dad covered
his mouth with his hand and didn’t speak, just thought about it, his corrupt
mind ticking over. ‘We’ll get caught,’ he said eventually.

‘Not if we’re
careful,’ I said. ‘We’re a team, aren’t we, you and me. We stick together. We
always have.’

Dad’s eyes
filled with tears and he sighed deeply.

‘Aren’t we?’ I
said.

He nodded
slowly, his stubbly mouth trembling, hunching over as he cried. ‘Yes.’ He
whimpered.

‘So you’ll
help me? You’ll do it?’ adrenaline stirred up inside me, making my skin twitch.

‘Yes,’ he
said.

In the early
hours, I waited in my chair, huddled in one of dad’s fleeces while the sounds
of his shovel scraping the earth broke the silence of the graveyard. I clutched
my elbows tight, anticipating it, waiting for the sound of metal hitting wood.

At every sound
from the road, dad looked up, terrified, his eyes searching the dark. The night
was cool, and all around us the graves waited, patient, for that certain sound just
as we did. The scent of damp earth was overwhelming, and with every lump of
earth that dad pulled away, my heart leapt. With every lump of earth, I was
getting closer to Peter.

When the sound
came, I gasped. Dad’s filthy hands came up out of the grave and took mine as I,
trembling, slid out of the chair onto the ground. I winced at the pain in my
knee, but I paid no mind, no mind at all, as I peered down into the darkness.

Dad clicked on
his torch and showed me the scuffed, dented, caved–in surface of the wooden
casket.

‘Are you
sure?’ he said, looking up at me.

Nodding
eagerly, never more sure of anything in my life, I said, ‘Yes.’

Rocking back
and forth, my hands clasped together, my eyes stinging and unblinking, I
watched and waited. I didn’t dare tear my eyes away as dad, with the head of
his shovel, stuck it in the weakened crease of the coffin, and cracked open the
splintered lid.

Chapter
Twenty–One

I didn’t sleep
for two days, and was stuck in a constant, wakeful exhaustion, re–imagining the
coffin lid folding open over and over again in my mind. I spent hours sat by my
bay window, overlooking the harbour, thinking of Peter as he once was — fresh,
and handsome, and...unfinished. That was all I could describe him as, now — an
unfinished piece of art, a man not fully grown, forever and ever.

But what I saw
had not been the lost boy I’d been dreaming of, and feeling inside of me since
returning home to Mevagissey. It was something tarnished, muddied, collapsed
and unrecognisable.

Thinking about
it, a shiver overtook me, and several times I convulsed in my chair, crying,
heaving. I’d never felt more alone.

At about one
o’clock Thursday there came a hammering on the door while dad was out at work.
I peered out of my bay window, half–crawling over the seat to get a better
view. It was David.

My breath
caught in my throat. What could he want, I wondered? Had he come to apologise?
Perhaps he’d seen me from his fishing boat, waiting in the window, and wondered
if it was Lauren he was seeing?

I knocked on the
window with my fist, and he looked up, his hair whipping about his face in the
wind. It had been a grey and drizzly sort of day, but it hadn’t stopped him. He
was waiting in the rain for me.

As I wheeled
to the stair lift, stick in hand, I wondered if he had come to his senses after
all — if he now looked at me and saw what Peter had seen, and felt what Peter
had felt. Perhaps he was ready to admit he was wrong about me. And then,
knowing this, I could slam that door in his face. The notion was delightful.
I’d been waiting years for this.

I smoothed
down the front of the plaid shirt I’d been wearing for days, tucked my hair
behind my ears, and rolled toward the front door. When I opened it, David
forced himself in and slammed it shut.

‘I need a word
with you,’ he said, nostrils flaring. He looked me over, his brow wrinkling.
‘What the heck do you look like?’

‘What do you
mean?’ I asked, offended. ‘I thought you’d like my new hair.’

He circled me,
taking in every detail. ‘You’re like a skeleton,’ he said, softer now, his face
screwing up in a look of disgust. When he came back round the front of me, he
appeared startled, like he’d just seen...well, a corpse.

‘And what is
that horrible smell? It’s like damp, sweet...urgh, it’s like something rotting.
It’s you!’

‘I can’t smell
anything,’ I said, ‘Do you like my hair or not?’

‘What? Oh sod
your hair; I think your hair is pathetic. Look, I don’t know what you’re up
to—’

‘Nothing,’ I
said firmly. ‘As usual I haven’t done anything wrong to you.’

He laughed.
‘Oh really? That’s funny. This morning Lauren came to my house in tears, Ellen.
Absolute bloody tears. You know, you’ve always been a weird—’

‘Wait, wait,
what does this have to do with me?’

‘You know
bloody well what,’ said David, practically spitting the words at me. ‘You’re
disgusting. I’m going to call the police.’

I froze,
numbed instantly. ‘Why? What have you seen?’

‘What do you
mean, what have I seen? This revolting thing you put through Lauren’s
letterbox!’ he pulled a long, square parcel of tissue from his coat pocket, and
slowly, with shaking hands, he began to unravel it.

I couldn’t say
how I knew what it was, but I did. Inside the tissue was a piece of dark,
leathery, red–brown material about the size of my palm. My mouth watered and my
stomach churned as its smell came to my nostrils, making me wretch. I’d seen
something of its likeness very recently.

It was skin.

‘What is it,
Ellen? Some sort of sick joke, I’ll bet. I don’t even know what it is, and
neither does Lauren. Something from an animal, maybe? Eh?’ he offered it to me,
sticking it under my nose.

‘Stop it,’ I
said, reeling away from it, wincing. David offered it closer still, his mouth
pressed firmly together in a long, jagged line across his face.

‘Now somebody
put this through her letterbox this morning, and
someone
has still been
ringing her house. Who do you think that was, Ellen? Because all of this
started since you turned up.’

‘I don’t
know,’ I said, wheeling myself backwards, away from the ugly piece of skin. ‘It
wasn’t me.’

‘Really? Because
Lauren thinks it is you, and so do I. She thinks you need help,’ said David,
folding the skin up in its tissue again and pocketing it. ‘I’m taking this to
the police.’

‘What for?’

‘When I
complain about you I’ll need evidence. Oh, and they’ll probably want to know
where this thing came from. Where you got it from.’

‘No!’ I said,
panicking, thinking of the grave. I couldn’t afford anything to lead it to us.
Who knew what that kind of investigation could lead to?

‘Ah, well you
see, I don’t have anything to lose. You’re a nutcase, Ellen. You always have
been.’

‘Shut up,’ I
said, glaring up at him. ‘You’ve always been jealous of me and Peter.’

‘Well Peter
isn’t here anymore,’ said David, pointing a finger at me. ‘And there’s nothing
you can do about it. Do you think he’d want to be anywhere near you, if he
could see you now? If he could smell you, and see you as this emaciated, bony
cripple? Christ, Ellen, did he even
know
that you sent his dad away to
prison?’

‘Just shut
up,’ I said, covering my ears, trying to think through all the noise.

‘No! I want my
answers. I mean just look at you! What do you get out of tormenting my
girlfriend, eh? Attention? I suppose that’s what you always wanted, wasn’t it?
Well, I might not have the facts, but I know there’s something very dodgy going
on here.’

He saw my face
change, and a wicked expression spread across his face. ‘Oh, I’ve hit on
something now, haven’t I? I’ll tell you what I think — I think Dennis was
always innocent. In fact, I think there’s something funny about your dad, if
anybody. I see him you know, creeping about, driving his van, not speaking to
anybody. He’s a nonce if ever I saw one. Then there’s you, doing stuff like
this.’

‘It wasn’t
me,’ I said. ‘Just get out, will you? Just leave me
and
my dad alone.’

‘No, you leave
us
alone, Ellen. Look at the state of you. You’re even copying her looks
now. You know she’s left me, don’t you? She’s decided it’s too much and she
wants a break. We were happy before you came along.’ He pointed at me again,
stabbing the air with his finger.

‘That’s not my
fault,’ I said. ‘Maybe she’s sick of you going around bullying people.’

‘Oh, I’m the
bully? What do you call that thing in the post, and all the phone calls then,
eh? If it’s not bullying, what is it?’

I shook my
head, looking at my hands. My nails were bitten down to stubs, my fingers long
and thin and skeletal. He was right. I was disgusting. All that kept me going
was the thought that if only Peter were here, things could have been so
different. Better. I thought of us leaving to start our lives together, going
to London, or staying here, in a damp, dark little cottage of our own...

‘You know what
you’re doing, and you’re going to stop. You’re going to stop because I’ll make
you, got it?’

I looked up at
him, at his pale, pock–marked face, his scrawny neck, his ugly, protruding
Adam’s apple. Something about him made me feel queasy, unsettled. It was like
looking at the pathetic face of my own father. ‘You can’t make me do anything.
You’re a snivelling little man. No wonder Lauren doesn’t want you.’

‘You don’t
know anything about my Lauren. She’s worth a million of you. I mean look at
you, what
are
you? I remember the first time I saw you, stuffing your
face, looking revolting. You know Pete felt sorry for you, don’t you?’

‘Shut up,’ I
said. I gripped my stick, which I’d balanced over my lap, and raised it. ‘Get
out or I’ll hit you.’

David
sniggered, covering his mouth with his hand. ‘You couldn’t do anything to me.
That’s the really sad thing about you. You’ve always been so desperate to
control everything, to get everybody’s attention, when the truth is you’re
beyond helpless. You’re a bloody cripple, Ellen. I could do
anything
to
you, anything I wanted. Do you think people would believe you now, after what
you’ve been doing to Lauren? And what about that counsellor of yours, eh,
Melanie? Do you really think she’s on your side?’

I was quaking
all over, unable to shut his words out. My skin prickled, my swollen knee
shaking inside the grimy bandage I’d wrapped it in, my hands glued to the
stick. ‘Don’t you dare threaten me.’

‘Think about
it,’ he said, gripping the arms of the chair. He stooped so his face was level
with mine, so close that his hot, sour breath was upon me when he spoke.
‘Nobody’s here, and nobody likes you, and nobody cares. You want to go around
shouting rape about innocent blokes, do you? Well I could do that right now,
and nobody would even care if they heard you scream.’

A cry escaped
my lips, but while David laughed, staring into my face, my muscles tightened
and the tingling sensation crawled up my fingers and toes. The hallway had
dimmed, and I hadn’t noticed while David was speaking, but my flesh and skin
had grown so cold, so cold I could hardly feel my hands.

He snatched my
wrists, my hands still clutching the stick, and he brought his face so close to
mine that our noses almost touched. ‘I could do anything, do you understand me?
You’re spoiled goods anyway. You’re a throwaway girl.

‘You know,
this close, it’s the strangest thing...’ he’s eyes darted between mine,
studying them, his lips parting and brow creasing as if he’d seen something
within them that disturbed him.

‘You’ve got
eyes like him,’ he said finally, his voice less threatening now but curious. He
stuck out his tongue and pressed it to my cheek, drawing it along, wet and
cold, making me tense up and give a whimper.

I was gripping
the stick so fiercely, and yet my hands were so, so numb that I couldn’t move,
could only sit there and wait for it, despite myself, despite everything. But
when I opened my eyes and looked at David again, and saw him gasp and look
afraid, I knew those hands weren’t mine anymore.

I shoved him
in the abdomen with my stick, forcing him back against the front door. He
clawed the wall with his fingers, his mouth agape, teeth showing, eyes wide and
fearful. Short, sharp breaths escaped his mouth as he felt his way around the
wall, keeping as far from me as he could, before staggering backwards into the
kitchen.

I got up out
of my chair, my body engulfed in the numbness, immune to pain, and pursued him.
When I found him in the kitchen, he was cowering against the sink, one of his
hands desperately feeling around for the knife left on the draining board.
‘It’s you,’ he said, repeatedly, almost whispering it. ‘How...how is it
you
?
What are you going to do to me?’

He finally
grabbed the knife and, screaming as if in agony, launched himself at me.  I
stood my ground, numb to it all, watching him through new eyes. In what seemed
a split second I dropped my stick, and as he lurched at me, knife protruding,
my hands grabbed his arm, twisted it in on itself, and David’s abdomen collided
with the long, thin blade of the knife.

A gargling,
choking sound came from his lips, flecks of blood spitting from them, until
even those sounds were stifled. I pressed on his arm, forcing the blade in
deeper, while his tongue protruded and his face became mottled and purple.
Stooped, hunched and frozen between life and death, his eyes still wriggled in
their sockets, watching mine.

The breaths
came again, just briefly, enough for him to say, ‘
Peter.
’

Peter gave
David’s arm a shove, silencing him for good. He slumped to the ground, on his
knees, before rolling on his side. His hand still clutched the knife, eyes open
and staring at the floor. The numbness lifted from me and I, exhausted, fell to
the ground as limply as he had.