The Death House (7 page)

But at least he got out.
The dark ball knots in my stomach. ‘He’s still a cock,’ I mutter.

‘You sound jealous.’ She twists around to look at me, surprised. ‘Are you jealous of Jake?’

This is going nowhere I want it to go, and while my insides shrivel, I only shrug. ‘Why would I be jealous? I just think he’s a bit of a dickhead, that’s all.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ she says. ‘But why waste time not liking people? We may as well all try and get along.’

I don’t know what to say to this. To be honest, I don’t see the point in trying to like people, not here. Mainly I’m thinking that she hasn’t really said anything about Jake fancying her. Maybe she already knows. Maybe she fancies him back. Maybe I should just stop thinking about that stupid kiss. It wasn’t a proper one, anyway. Could easily have been friend-zone. And why do I even care?

In the box, Georgie chirps and then hops out onto my lap and stares up at us. After a second, he cocks his head. I laugh, I can’t help it.

‘See?’ Clara says, smiling. ‘She agrees with me.’

‘Or
he’s
agreeing that Jake is a bit of a dick.’

The bird cocks its head the other way and chirps twice. We both laugh this time. Bored, Georgie starts to peck at our blankets.

‘I knew if I met anyone awake that first night it would be you.’ She’s gazing down at the bird and smiling. ‘I saw you at tea. You were the only one who looked at me like I was an idiot rather than just staring at the new girl. Then you didn’t come to the playroom after to watch the film. Everyone else did. Even poor Ellory. All curious about me and Tom. The fresh blood.’ She’s speaking quietly, remembering.

This all goes through me like a jolt of electricity. The idea that she’d noticed me before we met in the kitchen hadn’t even occurred to me.

‘I was glad it was you,’ she continues as I sit listening, my heart racing as fast as the bird’s and my skin starting to burn all over again. ‘Even though you were so pissed off I was there. Wouldn’t have been the same with anyone else.’

‘I wasn’t pissed off,’ I stutter, ‘I was just—’

‘Yeah, you were. You were determined to hate me.’ She smiles up at me and my stomach flips. ‘I knew I’d win you round, though.’

‘Don’t count your chickens,’ I say, trying to be funny as my throat dries and constricts, threatening to choke me.

‘Georgie’s not a chicken. I don’t have any chickens.’

We sit in silence for a moment, both looking at the lopsided bird hopping about in the gloom. He’s so light I can’t even feel him through the covers.

‘Have you ever had a proper girlfriend?’ she asks.

I almost answer,
Yeah, loads, of course I have
, but then I remember where we are and how I hate the lies I’ve already told and I don’t see the point.

‘Not really. A couple I’ve sort of seen for a while, but nothing serious.’

‘No girl broke your heart, then?’ It’s weird talking about this stuff. Me and Jonesy never talked about girls – not properly. Only in that ‘what you did or didn’t do’ or ‘what you would or wouldn’t do’ kind of way.

‘No one special left behind?’

I think of Julie McKendrick. A dream-girl. A ghost. ‘No,’ I say. ‘What about you? Proper boyfriends?’ I don’t even know what she means by that. What is a ‘proper’ boyfriend or girlfriend anyway? Does that mean you’ve done it?

‘With my dad around? And at a girls’ school?’ She shakes her head. ‘I guess a bit like you. One or two who tried. Most of the boys my parents approved of I didn’t like.’

‘At least you have Jake,’ I say. I hate the idea of her and Jake. I hate it with more feeling than I’ve had for anything during my entire time at the house. I definitely hate it more than the thought of Julie McKendrick off with Billy. Julie doesn’t even feel real any more.

‘Yes, I suppose I do,’ she says, and my insides tighten so hard I can feel my stomach shrink. I wish we’d gone out in the mist to the cave. I wish we’d never had this conversation. I wish she’d never come to the house. I just want to go back to the dorm on my own. Suddenly she bursts into laughter.

‘God, you’re so
thick
sometimes.’ She twists around so she’s facing me. ‘I
like
Jake. I don’t
fancy
Jake. It’s not Jake I’m asking about girls.’

I stare at her. Nothing is working in my head. There’s just a mad humming as my blood rushes in all directions around my body with the switch of emotions. Before I can say anything – not that I have anything to say – she leans in and pulls me towards her by my pyjama top. My face doesn’t know where to go and my nose bangs into hers and then she tilts her head and she’s kissing me.

This isn’t like that other kiss. This time, despite my terror of being shit at it, I feel like I’m going to explode. My whole body is shaking. Her face is warm in my hand and I slide the other nervously around her waist, feeling her nightshirt crumple and crease. She smells like freshly washed cotton with something alive and earthy wrapped in it. Her tongue is hot and still carries the lingering mint of toothpaste as it presses and turns around mine. We kiss for what feels like a minute and for ever, and when we finally break free I’m breathless and my body is on fire, throbbing.

‘Wow,’ I croak. She giggles.

‘Good kisser.’

‘You were okay, too,’ I say, trying to get myself under control. The moment’s broken by a small squawk between us.

‘Oh, poor Georgie!’ As we turned towards each other to kiss, the blankets folded over him, and now his beak pokes out from somewhere between our legs. As Clara carefully picks him up and puts him back in his box, his head turns this way and that and he ruffles what feathers he can and cheeps as if reprimanding us for forgetting him. We both giggle. I feel good. I feel amazing. I feel alive.

‘We should head to the dorms soon,’ she says.

I nod.

‘You take your stuff and go. I’ll put him back.’ I’m panicking slightly. There is no way I’m standing up in front of her yet. Not in my thin pyjamas. If we’d done this in the cave, at least I’d have my jeans on.

‘Are you sure?’ She kisses me again, short and sweet this time, and my whole body aches. ‘And for the record, you’re way better looking than Jake. And funnier.’

‘So are you.’

She laughs again. I like the sound of it. I like the way her hair falls so wild around her face. I like the way she’s so full of energy. What I like the most is the way she likes me.

She bundles up her blankets and pillow and heads to the door. I watch her go, her bare legs doing nothing to help my throbbing subside. She pauses in the doorway.

‘Isn’t it strange?’ she says. ‘You’ll be my first proper boyfriend. And my last.’ She’s wistful. ‘Strange but wonderful. Like it’s meant to be.’

And then she’s gone, disappeared into the corridor, leaving me a trembling mess, alone in the night. Boyfriend. She called me her boyfriend.

Eleven

‘I heard that pair from Dorm Two talking about it in the playroom,’ Louis says. ‘They were calling it a miracle. Said they might get baptised, too.’

‘What a pile of shit,’ Tom says, sneering.

We’re all staring at the new poster in the hallway. It’s brightly coloured, with glued-on glitter twinkling at the corners. Where does Ashley find all that crap? Why would the house even have glitter and glue? Who thinks of this stuff? The writing is large and almost artistic, the letters curling at the edges of each word declaring a ‘Celebration Service for Joe’s Recovery!’ and I wonder if Harriet is now in charge of the posters. I’m with Tom. It’s all bollocks. It’s not a fucking miracle. Joe just got over his flu.

‘Should we take it down?’ Will asks. ‘Before Jake sees it?’

‘Why?’ Jake won’t do anything about Ashley’s church. He’s not stupid. He knows Matron knows about it. Who cares what Jake thinks, anyway? And if he wants to take Ashley on, then that’s Ashley’s problem, not ours.

‘Why are people so stupid?’ Tom mutters. I shrug. I’m only half-here anyway, the rest of me still reliving Clara calling me her boyfriend, and mostly I’m trying to keep a big, fat, smug grin off my face.

‘Just forget about it and do something else. Watch a film or something.’

‘I might hang in the music room.’ He says this casually, but I know he’s going because Clara is in there. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself blurting out that he’s wasting his time because she’s
my
girlfriend.

‘You’re going to sleep, I s’pose,’ Will says.

‘Dunno,’ I say. For once, I don’t feel tired. I should be, but I’m not. It’s all I can do to stop my foot tapping with all the energy bubbling through me. ‘Why?’

‘We found an old board game yesterday. Called
Escape from Colditz
. It’s really good.’

‘Never heard of it.’ I only ever played board games at Christmas
before
and even then only when Gran came to visit.

‘It’s fun, but would be better with more than just two of us playing.’ They both stare at me but I can see they’re not holding out much hope.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Go on, then.’ Why not? Otherwise I’ll just lie on my bed and count the interminable hours before everyone else is asleep and me and Clara can be together again. Just thinking that makes me feel like a twat but I can’t help it. At least this will make the time pass more quickly.

As it goes, it’s not such a bad game and Louis and Will make me laugh, and before we know it, it’s teatime. Will scours the room for
the
nurse, but she’s not at the food station tonight. She was there this morning and he’d smiled at her as he got toast and was convinced she’d given him a wink back. I don’t know if she did or not, but as long as Will believed it, who cares? He’s young. He misses his mum. He’s the only one of us who’s come right out and admitted that ever since Henry got sick back at the beginning. Henry has put us all off talking about our mums. Not after all that terrible calling-out.

Apart from the flash of dread it causes, I can’t really remember much in detail about what happened with Henry. It feels like a long time ago even though it’s only been weeks. I think maybe they upped whatever they put in our drinks in the aftermath. I bet the next morning, after breakfast, we were all pretty much tranquillised off our tits. I sometimes wonder why they don’t just get us high and keep us that way. Maybe they are studying us like lab rats. The chosen few. The rare Defectives. Throwbacks from a terrible time that nearly broke the world.

These thoughts normally send me spinning into a quiet, terrible panic – fear of the waiting dark nothingness, of the sanatorium, the
changing
, of the certainty of non-existence that’s waiting for me – but this time it doesn’t. Weirdly, I just want to laugh. They’re not watching very hard. They don’t know about me and Clara and Georgie. It’s like we’ve escaped them. I’m alive and happy and that’s all that counts.

Ashley looks smug at bedtime and he has good reason to be. Although I’d kept to my normal routine and had a long bath after tea, Louis and Will were quick to tell me how much quieter the playroom had been for the film.

‘I hear there’s a kid in Dorm Three getting sick,’ Tom growls as Ashley carefully folds his towel over the back of his allocated chair. ‘You going to cure him, too, Jesus?’

‘Don’t call me that. It’s disrespectful.’ He doesn’t even look at Tom. ‘Anyway, I didn’t say I’d cured him. I just said he’d got better.’

‘It’s only disrespectful if you believe in it,’ Louis mutters. He’s half-listening and half-reading over Will’s shoulder.

‘But I bet you’re not telling your followers it wasn’t a miracle.’ Tom’s eyes are dark. It’s normally me who gets angry at this shit, but Tom is way ahead of me this time.

‘I’m not telling them it
is
, either.’

‘He only had the flu, that’s all. It’s sick how you’re claiming it. Giving all those kids hope just so they’ll buy into your bullshit.’

Will’s head dips closer to the pages. He’s not good with arguments. Jokes he can do, giggling at Ashley from a corner, but not full-on confrontation.

‘
You’re
saying I’m claiming it. Not me. I just wanted to celebrate that he was better. What’s wrong with that? And what’s wrong with hope, anyway, if it makes people less afraid?’

Ashley is smarter than I’ve given him credit for, even though his endless calm makes me want to punch him as much as Tom clearly does.

‘Because it’s bollocks. And you know it. You’re just on some fucking power trip. Billy No-Mates Sad-Fucker suddenly has people listening to him.’

‘What does it matter to you what I’m doing? Why does it make you so angry?’

‘Why don’t we all just stop talking about it?’ I sit up and stare at them both. ‘Stop thinking about
all
of it. It’s a waste of time. We should just be having as much fun as possible.’

For a moment no one speaks. All eyes turn to me. Even Will looks up from his book to stare.

‘Mr Grumpy-Sleep-All-Day has gone mental,’ Louis says eventually, and Will giggles. ‘What do you think me and Will have been trying to get you to do since we arrived here?’

I smile, I can’t help it. ‘Maybe I’m a slow learner.’

Tom grunts and gets into bed. He doesn’t look happy but neither does he badger Ashley any more. I feel sorry for Tom. I know how angry he is. Until Clara came, I was the same. Probably
more
angry. Sometimes anger is the only release for the fear. If I didn’t have Clara and the nights, I’d probably have punched Ashley by now. I know why Tom hates the Church – for the same reasons I do. Not because of believing in some god or something, but because always, always, it highlights that the end is coming. You’ve got to think about
after
. It’s hard enough trying to not think too much about
before
, and thinking about after is scary. If you don’t buy into their heaven, then seeing Ashley with his Bible and superior lack of fear is a constant reminder of what’s ahead. No one in here needs that. It’s really hard to just enjoy
now
. If the house has taught me anything, it’s that. I think about that for a moment. Not the house. The house hasn’t taught me that. Clara has.

‘Do you think he’s sick?’ Clara’s worried and I can see why. Georgie’s wing smells bad and more pus oozes from it as I try to wipe it clean. He’s not as alert as normal and his head feels hot as I gently stroke it.

‘Maybe,’ I say. ‘But he’s a tough little fella. He’ll get better.’ As if in agreement, he lets out a small chirp, which reassures Clara a little. I don’t want her to spend all night just staring at the sick bird. If he’s sick, he’s sick. Watching him isn’t going to do any of us any good. Not for the whole night, anyway. She hasn’t kissed me yet. Not tonight. It’s wrong but I’m more worried about that than the bird. Am I still her boyfriend? Has she changed her mind but doesn’t want to tell me? A million doubts whir in my brain. Why hasn’t she kissed me? My heart is suddenly shredding, pieces drifting down to my stomach.

‘It’s not raining. We should go out,’ I say. ‘We can come and check on him again when we get back.’ She doesn’t take any persuading. She’s a ball of energy that needs to be free, not locked up in this place which, despite its size, is so claustrophobic.

‘Good idea,’ she says, and then she’s up on her tiptoes and her lips kiss mine. It’s fleeting, but enough to send my heart racing and electric shivers running across my skin. ‘Let’s go, handsome.’

I’m suddenly exhilarated. Part of me now wants to stay, to just kiss her and touch her and feel her touch me, but I’m too clumsy to say it and I don’t want to scare her off. I don’t want her knowing I think about her all the time. I’ve thought about her naked, too. About being naked with her, and I feel like it’s written all over my face when she sees me trembling and panting as we say our goodnights. I can’t help thinking about her that way, even though it feels sort of wrong. Maybe going outside will be good. It’ll cool me down.

It’s a dry night but cold and cloudy, the moon only peeking out every now and then to cast some light on the road. The darkness doesn’t matter so much any more. We’re confident of the island’s landscape now, as if we own it somehow. I’m no longer even nervous when we go over the wall, just excited and ready to shake off the house again. We stride hand in hand as the tarmac curves and descends towards the water. Neither of us has gloves and my fingers are freezing but I don’t let go of her as we sniff back our running noses and giggle and talk rubbish. I feel free around her. Everything else fades. We’re not going to the cave. Not yet.

We hush as we draw closer to the blue building down by the little harbour and stick to the edges of the road nearest the rock face, staying as invisible as possible just in case. It’s Clara’s idea to come down and check it out, and although – as always – I’m worrying we’ll get caught, I can’t deny there is something exhilarating about creeping towards the small building knowing that someone could be inside to see us and catch us.

‘Come on,’ Clara whispers. She squeezes my hand tighter and we duck down as we creep across the shingle surrounding the small house. Even in the dark I can see that the paintwork is chipped on the old stone, small flashes of cream here and there on walls that have been battered by wind and rain for longer than I can probably imagine. A forgotten building on a forgotten island where forgotten children live. It almost sounds like the start of an adventure story. Maybe it is. Mine and Clara’s.

We grip the flaky white windowsill and carefully peer in, but it’s so dark inside that all the glass shows us is our own ghostly-grey reflections. I press my face against it and squint. Maybe an old stove in a corner. A sink.

Clara nods upwards. ‘The bedroom must be up there.’

‘If anyone lives here.’

She moves, light on her feet, around to the back of the house and I follow her, aware of every crunch my trainers make. It’s not windy and the sea is quiet, barely murmuring as it teases the shore, so my footsteps cut through the quiet. I can’t believe no one hears me but when the house stays dark I start to think that maybe the place is empty. It would be cool if it is. Me and Clara could make it a proper den. Somewhere over the wall but still warm.

‘Look.’ She’s by the back door, pointing. A pair of boots sit neatly on the step. ‘Someone lives here.’ They’re a man’s boots, old and heavy, and the thick soles are crusted with mud. I try to imagine the man tugging them off and leaving them out here. Where had he been? Where was there to go? It’s weird to think that someone other than us wanders over the island. Maybe the teachers and nurses do, too, for all we know. Go off in the afternoons for walks. I’ve never seen them do it, but then I’ve never really paid attention. It feels like a violation. The nights are ours, mine and Clara’s, and I’ve started to think of the island that way, too.

‘Just the one pair.’ She’s crouched beside them, tracing her finger over the edges of the leather, her hair falling across her pale face. ‘Imagine living out here all by yourself. Not even a dog.’

‘Maybe he has one.’

‘If he did, it’d be barking by now.’ She straightens up and smiles at me. ‘But only one person is good. Easier for us to sneak by to get onto the boat.’ I grin and we stand there in the chilly air and kiss for a minute, our cold noses touching and arms wrapped right around each other. It’s sexy, yes, but it’s more than that. It’s like she warms me all the way through and my insides just can’t hold it all in, making me ache with happiness, but a happiness that’s tearing something within me. Like I’ll never quite get everything I want from it. I’ve never done drugs – other than whatever we’re drip-fed in the house – but I reckon this must be how drugs make you feel.

We walk away from the house and to the end of the road where the solid wooden jetty takes over from the tarmac and extends out over the sea. Something thuds gently underneath, making us both jump. Down to one side, a small rowing boat is tied to a wooden post that sticks out from the water like a broken bone. The boat bobs in the water, ducking under the jetty like a shy child and then peeking out again. We lie down on the rough cold grit and peer at it.

‘We won’t get very far in that,’ I whisper. It’s a rickety old thing and there’s only one oar. Whoever lives here might like to muddy his boots on the wild land but he’s clearly not a fisherman.

The wind picks up and the cold slice of air sends the boat beneath us again as we shiver. ‘No, but we could hide in it. If we knew when the supply boat was coming, we could sneak out and hide there. While they’re all busy loading and unloading, we’ll creep on and stow away. It’s not like they’ll be expecting it. I bet there’s only the captain and the truck driver aboard.’

‘We might actually do it.’ My heart races. I’ve blocked out the fact that I’m defective and suddenly the future feels endless. ‘We just need to find out when that boat’s due back. My guess is once a month.’

‘Which means only about two more weeks.’