The Death House (8 page)

I scramble to my feet and pull her up. ‘Let’s go down to the cave and plan.’ I like the cave. I even like the way it washes clean every day so each time we’re there it’s fresh and new.

We race there, sure of the path by now, and we laugh loudly knowing no one can hear us. We’re warm, glowing and giggling when we arrive. We’ve brought the candle from the church and we light it. Ashley hasn’t noticed it burns down overnight. He’s too busy thinking about things that aren’t real to see what’s right in front of him. Me and Clara, we’re all about the real. Right now, the real is good. We put the candle on a natural ledge in the rock wall at the back of the cave and sit down together and talk. The words come out in a rush of excitement. We’re not even in the cave now, we’re already across the water and free. We’ll go somewhere far away. She’ll cut her hair and dye it. We’ll steal identities from old school friends who won’t notice their passports are gone and flee somewhere warm where we can sit by an ocean and sell stuff on the beach to get by. At night we’ll sleep out under the stars. We’ll make a bonfire if we get cold and play guitar and sing songs. Our friends will all be people like us, carefree drifters. Maybe we’ll get married in a hippy ceremony at some old ruins. It’s perfect. It’s going to be perfect. We’ll run and run and we won’t look back. Maybe in a few years’ time we’ll send postcards to our families and tell them we’re fine. But maybe we won’t.

‘It doesn’t matter how long we’ve got,’ she says happily, leaning into my shoulder. ‘It’s going to be brilliant.’

Behind us, the tiny candle flame clings valiantly to life in the cold, and in front the black sea rustles against the sand, lazily stretching into the night.

‘It’s pretty brilliant now,’ I say, tightening my arm around her.

‘Yes. Yes, it is.’

We kiss some more, but this time for longer and as we lean back against the uneven wall, she slides her hand inside my coat and under my shirt. She’s breathing as hard as I am, but when her cold fingers touch my skin I let out a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan. This isn’t new. I may not have done ‘it’ but I’ve come this far with girls before. Only this is Clara, and this is a different world and everything feels new. She presses closer into me, tilting forward as my own clumsy, shaking hand fumbles with her coat buttons. She smiles, barely breaking from the kiss and helps me, deftly finishing the last two and pulling her coat open. She untucks her shirt, her eyes fixed on mine. I swallow and then we’re kissing again, her fingers trailing up and down my chest and stomach, making my muscles contract and my whole body ache. As eager as I am to touch her, I’m also terrified, and as my awkward hand slips under her jumper I try to mimic her movements. She’s so soft and warm, and as I touch her she moans into my mouth. A deep sound, earthy and natural. She takes my wrist and guides me up to her bra. My heart is pounding so hard I think it might explode. I feel cotton and lace holding in the curve of unfamiliar weight and she pushes harder against me, and before I die of fear or anticipation I pull the material down and my hand is on her naked breast. I hold it for a second, not sure what to do next, and as she pushes her tongue against mine, I brush my fingers across it. Her nipple is taut and hard and her breathing is nearly faster than mine.

She breaks away, impatient, and wriggles out of her coat. For a moment, as I stare, dumbfounded, lost and helpless, I see her skin, pale like marble, and the perfect curve of her breast – not like Julie McKendrick’s at all, smaller and high and brilliantly real. She’s not even Clara any more, not in my head. She is and she isn’t. She’s the Clara who’s my friend but also some strange, mysterious creature filled with a terrible power. A mermaid come to shore. Her mouth is slightly open as she puts her hands in my hair and pulls my face down to her chest. I feel dizzy with the smell of her, and as I lick and suck and hope I’m doing it right, my other hand loses its terror and shyness and pushes its way into the other half of her bra.

Her hand is on my thigh, her fingers stroking up and down the denim but not going
there
, and I just want to push her to the ground and rub against her before the strain of it all kills me. Blood is pounding in my head. Blood is pounding everywhere. When I close my eyes I see stars behind the lids.

I come up and kiss her again, more urgently this time, my fear and shyness overwhelmed by this terrible, beautiful want. After a moment, she breaks away. We stare, breathless, at each other. Familiar strangers. Something different from what we were before, but not quite what we will become. She’s entirely magical. I’m not even sure she’s real any more.

‘We should get back,’ she says. ‘Check on Georgie before bed.’

I nod. I can’t speak yet.

We blow out the candle and start our walk back. We’re quiet this time, holding hands and just smiling at each other now and then. It’s good. It’s all good. Even the crazy lust that’s humming under my skin like a swarm of ants.

‘Are you happy?’ she asks as the house appears, looming over us.

‘Yes. Are you?’

‘Yes.’

The house looks smaller when I next glance up. It can’t beat us. We’re going to leave it behind.

‘I’m not sick. I’m really not. It’s just because I’m nervous. It’ll go away.’ Henry said the same thing to anyone who’d listen. No one believed him. It was obvious that something was going wrong inside him. Something very not right. He hadn’t been twitching when he arrived, despite what he claimed. By the time he was shuffling around the house trying to control the random movements of his arms and legs, they were all fascinated, Toby included. They all knew what it was, too. It was like in those films with hostages where one person is selected to be shot and they look around, full of disbelief, at the rest, who are just guilty-glad it’s not their turn yet. Henry was going to be the first.

He’d started to tic on the third day. Until then, in a weird way, they’d found the whole situation of being in the house funny. They hadn’t really believed it. The playroom was always full and the dorms mingled – although Jake was definitely top of the heap. They watched the films he chose. Played the games he suggested. They lied to each other about the brilliance or awfulness of their lives
before
. The house was louder, then. More laughter.

At first they didn’t notice the slight jolts and tics. They figured maybe Henry had been twitching before. It wasn’t like he was a centre-of-attention kid. No one really paid him any heed. He’d marked his card from that first whiny moment when they’d arrived. Even when the twitches first became more pronounced – like when he’d gone to take a mouthful of cereal and a jerk in his shoulder made him miss – the others had just shrugged it off and laughed. Henry was a nervous, geeky kid. Maybe the twitches were just some freaky reaction to being put in the house.

I think there’s been a mistake.

‘That isn’t normal.’ It was Louis who’d come right out and said it first. Henry was holding his left wrist down with his right hand and trying to make it look casual, but Toby could see it was taking a lot of effort. The fingers of his left hand were flexing and spasming, as if Henry was trying to hold down a slippery suffocating fish.

‘You okay, Henry?’ Will asked. ‘Maybe you should go and see Matron.’

‘I’m fine.’ Henry’s mouth strained into a smile. ‘It’s nothing. Happens sometimes.’

‘Oh. Okay.’ Will just shrugged and went back to staring at the old sci-fi film on the screen. Louis glanced at Toby. They could both see what Will hadn’t – the dread in Henry’s eyes. The fear. Whatever the twitches were, they weren’t normal.

The nurses were watching, too. Their eyes rested on him dispassionately. Assessing.

Henry cracked on the third day. Out of nowhere. It was teatime and he was sitting with his dorm, trying to scoop soup into his mouth. The boy next to him helped. Everyone was watching – you couldn’t not. Even though Toby had been determined not to look, there was something horrifically compelling about seeing someone slowly falling apart. Especially for the first time.

Jake’s table was between theirs and Henry’s and Jake was watching, too. ‘Hey, Henry,’ he called out. ‘You turning into a dribbling spastic?’ He stuck his tongue down behind his bottom lip and grunted while flapping his arms around. Everyone laughed. Toby smiled. It was the first time they’d turned on someone as a group. The boy helping Henry with his soup put the spoon down. No one was going up against Jake.

Henry stared at Jake for a moment. Where Jake’s eyes were alive with malicious humour, Henry’s were dark hollows staring out with a crippling fear none of them could understand. He was in a bubble of Henry. The rest of them were on the outside, and when he suddenly burst into tears, the line was set.

‘I want my mum. I want to go home.’ It was a snotty wail, not even that loud, but it cut through them all. There were a couple of awkward giggles and then silence. The shuffling of chairs. Toby felt his throat close with a sudden stab of nausea. ‘I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to die here.’ Henry twisted around in his chair and stared at the nurses, his voice dropping but his words clear in the quiet. ‘I don’t want to die. I want to go home. I want my mum.’ The nurses stared back, their faces impassive, and in some ways that was scarier than Henry’s panic.

No one ate much after that. Henry looked around for some support, but everyone’s eyes dropped to plates of food that were no longer appetising. Toby glanced at him. It was there in the boy’s sweaty face – he knew he’d fucked up. He knew something had changed with his outburst – he’d made them face something they didn’t want to see and no one would ever forgive him for it.

Sometimes, when Toby thought about it afterwards, about how poor Henry had become an outcast in that moment, about how they’d all wanted to batter him into silence, it was clear that Henry made the house change. He’d spoken what they’d all been feeling, he’d wanted to share his terror with them when they were all trying to deal with their own. That was when the dorms closed inwards, protecting themselves. Henry was the first name that no one ever mentioned again.

They’d scurried straight back to their dorms after tea, whispering among themselves. Henry had tried to grab a couple of the younger kids as they passed, saying his tics were nothing, he was just upset, he wasn’t sick, but no one would even meet his eyes as they pulled their arms free and shoved him away.

He was quiet for a while, but within an hour they could hear him crying again. He called, and then screamed, for his mum. Over and over until his throat was hoarse. Toby wondered if maybe a fever had got him by then.

‘I wish he’d shut up.’ Louis’ face was strained, as if the muscles were pulling back into his skull. ‘Why won’t he shut up?’

Will was singing quietly to himself. Toby went and had the first of his long evening baths, letting the running water drown out the sounds that made his stomach knot. The knot never left him after that. His ball of dread was born that night. In the end, the nurses must have sedated Henry because by the time Toby unlocked the bathroom door and returned to Dorm 4, the house was silent.

In the morning, Henry was gone. So was all trace of him – his clothes, his toothbrush, his flannel, the geeky T-shirt he wore all the time. It was as if he’d never existed. All Matron said was that Henry had been taken to the sanatorium. A short, sharp sentence that forbade any questions. After the first hubbub of whispered discussion, no one mentioned Henry’s name again. It was easier that way. They could pretend it had never happened.

It was easier for the others than for Toby.

The night they’d taken Henry was the first night he hadn’t taken his ‘vitamins’. He wasn’t even sure why. His throat was dry and tight. He wanted to reject something about the house and that was his only option. A small moment of rebellion. He got more than he’d bargained for.

That was the first time he heard the chugging heart of the lift and the steady squeak of bed wheels. It wouldn’t be the last. Henry taught them lots of things even if they’d pushed him out of their memories. He’d taught them that there was no point in crying. There was no point in calling for help. Mainly he taught them that when it came for you, you were on your own. When the second boy fell ill, another lesson was added. There was no one way to go. There were no definite symptoms.

If you thought about it hard enough, you could be scared of everything.

Twelve

‘I can’t remember it ever being this cold.’ Eleanor has her nose pressed against the playroom window. Outside the rain is thick and heavy, more like shards of ice hammering at the ground than water. It’s laundry day and we’ve all dutifully changed our sheets – top to bottom and bottom in the laundry sack with pillowcases – and now the afternoon stretches out ahead of us. Will is in the battered armchair by the radiator concentrating on his book as Louis tries to teach Clara and me to play chess. I’m bored already. I can’t sit opposite Clara and think about anything other than Clara. I’m pretty pathetic. I’m also pretty sure I’m in love.

‘Can you?’ Eleanor looks around and we all shake our heads. The weather is definitely weird, but then I’ve never been this far north before so fuck knows what’s normal.

‘Jesus, these are all so old.’ Tom is browsing the records in the corner trying to find something he’s heard of to play. I want to tell him some of them are quite good, but I don’t. Dancing in here in the dark is a secret. It was Clara’s secret first, and now it’s mine and Clara’s. We danced together last night. I didn’t even feel too much of a dick once she’d made me close my eyes and just go for it. I probably looked like one, but I didn’t feel like one. Who cares, anyway? How you feel matters way more than how you look. That’s what Clara said. But then, she looked great.

‘What do you expect?’ I say. ‘You ever even seen a record player before you got here?’

‘It’s your turn, Toby,’ Louis says, and I realise I haven’t even seen Clara make her move.

The door opens and Jake swaggers in with Albi and Daniel. He tries to make it look casual but his eyes go straight to Clara. There’s no need to wonder where Joe is. His loyalties are with Ashley and the church now. Every day, more and more are spending their time in the room upstairs. We never ask Ashley about it – why give him the opportunity to smugly ramble on? – but whereas we used to be divided into dorm loyalties, it’s shifting more and more to who does or doesn’t believe. It bugs the shit out of Tom, but I let it slide over me. The days don’t really count any more, even though I’ve stopped sleeping the afternoons away. I’m too excited about the nights to sleep much. It’s easier to try and keep busy. It makes time go quicker. I remember when I used to try and make time slow down by getting as bored as possible. Everything is on its head these days.

‘You guys want to do something?’ Jake says. ‘Dick around in the music room, maybe?’

He
means
does Clara want to do anything. He doesn’t give a shit about the rest of us.

‘Not enough space for all of us in there,’ Clara murmurs, not looking up.

‘We could play hide and seek?’ Eleanor says, hopefully.

Daniel sniggers as if this is the stupidest suggestion he’s ever heard. His fat face is a moon of mean. The only thing worse than a bully is a wannabe bully.

‘I’m up for that,’ I say. ‘I’m shit at this anyway. Will?’

‘Yep!’ He’s already putting his book down. Eleanor claps her hands together, excited. ‘I’ll be It! You all hide! I’ll count to a hundred.’

‘But count slowly.’ Clara gets up. ‘No cheating.’

‘Yeah, no cheating,’ Jake repeats. It makes me laugh seeing Jake going along with whatever Clara does. It must be hard for Daniel to know whether to sneer or smile.

‘It’s a kids’ game, man,’ Albi mutters.

‘You got a better idea?’ Jake snaps.

Albi withers into his hoodie and shakes his head. ‘I was just saying.’

‘Guess it’s worth one go.’ Daniel sniffs, his hands thrust deep in his jeans pockets, making his belly stick out even more than usual. Daniel may not be destined to grow up, but he’s already the shadow of the man he would have become.

‘No one’s forcing you to play.’ Tom stares at the fat boy, his dark eyes full of disdain, as if Daniel is a cockroach that needs crushing. Tom’s like me. He might be wary of taking Jake on, but no little shit gets to try and be the man around us.

‘I said I’ll play,’ Daniel says, his voice more of a whine this time as he gets no support from either Jake or Albi. I wonder if he was bullied in school
before
. Maybe that’s it. Shit-eater turned shit-head in one easy diagnosis.

‘One one thousand, two one thousand . . .’ We leave Eleanor facing the wall and counting steadily and hurry out into the corridor. When no one’s looking, Clara gives my hand a small squeeze and it runs right up my arm to my heart. I wink at her and her face tinges red. She likes me as much as I like her. Of all the weirdness in the house, that’s the thing I find the strangest. Epically brilliant, but fucking strange. I keep expecting her to wake up and change her mind. But she doesn’t.

We split up at the stairs and Jake goes in the same direction as Clara, obviously wanting to hide in the same place and get some ‘alone time’ with her. Daniel heads towards the showers. None of us goes down the corridor to where the church is. I can hear them singing as I go up a floor. He’s teaching them fucking hymns. I can’t remember the last time I heard someone singing a hymn. Maybe at a wedding my parents dragged me to. I try and zone it out but the music floats after me.

The problem with the house is that it’s so big there’s almost too many places to hide, and yet not enough. There’s no quirkily cluttered rooms. Everything is practical. I end up under a bed in one of the empty dorms. I bet nearly all of us are hiding under beds. The floorboards smell of polished wood, rich and tangy. I wait and my ears buzz in the silence. It’s not comfortable under here and I hope Eleanor finds me soon. I stare up at the criss-cross of metal bedsprings so I don’t have to look at the locked wheels and hear their squealing in my head. I backed Eleanor’s idea in order to piss Jake off, but I’m too old for this shit. At least if I’d been the seeker there would have been something to do. Or if we’d played Sardines and made Eleanor hide. Maybe I’ll suggest that for the next round. I wriggle about, trying to find a spot that doesn’t dig into my hipbones or shoulders and my nose itches with the shifted dust. I should have gone behind a curtain.

‘Clara! Will! Come here! Quick!’

I’ve been hiding about ten minutes when Eleanor’s shout reaches me. She’s nearby somewhere.

‘I’ve found something!’

At first I don’t twig, but as I scramble out I realise with dread what’s got her so excited. I race up the half-flight of stairs and run fast down the long corridor. I don’t listen for her voice to guide me. I know where she’s shouting from. Why the fuck did I agree we should play this stupid game? Why didn’t I think?

She’s got the wardrobe open and she’s down on her knees with the box in her lap when I rush in, breathless. Clara’s already there, and so’s Jake, but no one else. Wherever the others are hiding, they couldn’t have heard her calling. I look at Clara. We’re both full of dread.

‘It was in here. Just sitting in the box!’ Eleanor’s face is bright with excitement. She leans forward and stares at the wooden back of the cupboard. ‘It’s like the wardrobe from Narnia,’ she says. ‘It’s magic!’

‘Don’t talk wank,’ Jake says gruffly. ‘Someone put it there.’ He crouches beside her and takes the box. ‘Get out and shut the door behind you.’ Seeing him with Georgie, I feel sick. He looks up at Eleanor. ‘Go and carry on looking for the others. And no more shouting.’ Eleanor almost says something, but with me and Clara silent, she just does what she’s told.

We stand there in silence after the door clicks shut. Jake looks down into the box for a few moments and strokes the bird’s head. He’s very gentle and that surprises me. The air between us crackles with tension, though.

‘His wing stinks,’ he says eventually, and goes to lift Georgie out of his box. He’s right, it does smell. Georgie’s got steadily worse and no matter how much we try and clean his wing, the pus keeps bubbling out of the gash that won’t heal.

‘He’s mine,’ Clara says quickly. ‘Don’t hurt him. I found him in the garden. I wanted to make him better.’

‘When did you find him?’ Jake doesn’t look up. I can’t read his expression as he lays the bird on his lap and carefully spreads out the damaged wing. I can see where the feathers are matted. Georgie lets out a chirp so quiet that if we weren’t all trapped in this terrible acute silence, I wouldn’t have heard it at all.

‘A little while ago.’ Clara drops to her knees beside Jake as I continue to stand like a useless twat, not knowing what to do or say. ‘Don’t hurt him.’

Jake looks at her then, a vague disgust in his eyes. ‘Why would I hurt him?’ Clara says nothing, just shrugs, uncertain. We’re on a tightrope, I can feel it. Worse than that, we’re about to slip off and I can’t put my finger on why.

‘He’s dying,’ Jake says. ‘That stink is all the poison in him. His wing’s rotting away. You should have left him where he was – it would have been quicker.’

‘What makes you the expert?’ The words are out before I can stop them. Georgie’s ours, mine and Clara’s, and we’re going to make him better and set him free. Clara’s eyes well up and my face is hot.

‘My uncle knew about animals. He used to go hunting.’ He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, as if I don’t even matter. ‘So he’s yours, then, Clara? You hid him here?’

She tries to smile. ‘Yes. I just wanted something of my own.’

He nods, slowly and precisely, as if processing something. He’s so controlled. Quiet. I’ve never seen him like this.

‘So, if it’s
your
secret,’ his voice is low, ‘then how come
his
hoodie is in the box?’

Clara’s mouth drops open as she fumbles for something to say. I see my hoodie, crumpled in the bottom of Georgie’s nest, covered in bird shit and feathers. That’s it. We’re off the tightrope and plummeting to the ground. Jake’s face is the worst. Embarrassed. Humiliated. Recalling all the times he showed off around Clara, trying to get her attention. All the times she laughed at his crazy jokes. And knowing all the time that she’d shared Georgie with me. He doesn’t know about the night-times. He doesn’t know everything. But he knows
enough
. It’s the hurt in his eyes I can’t stand. He liked her. He
really
liked her.

‘It’s just that—’

‘I can see how it is.’ He cuts me off. He’s still stroking Georgie very gently, the bird leaning his head into Jake’s hand as if he can feel how much care there is in his touch. Everything is at odds. ‘I’m not fucking stupid.’

‘Look, I like you, Jake, and . . .’ Clara reaches forward to touch him and I want to tell her to stop, that she’ll only make things worse. He’s burning up inside. We’ve made him feel like a complete cock, and there’s no taking that back with something that sounds like pity. I want the ground to swallow me. I want to be in the cave. I want to be anywhere but here.

‘Just shut up.’ He sounds weary. That scares me more than if he was shouting. ‘Now go and wait outside. Both of you. You don’t want to see this.’

‘What are you going to do, Jake?’ Tears are stinging my eyes. I sound like a whining child. Younger than Will. Everything is beyond my control. ‘Don’t take it out on Georgie. Why don’t you just hit me or something instead?’

He rounds on me then, snarling, ‘You think I’m going to take it out on some sick fucking bird? Who the fuck do you think I am? Who the fuck do you think
you
are? You don’t fucking know me.’ His hands are still so gentle on Georgie, but his words spit out like shards of glass. ‘I’m going to do what you should have done. I’m going to put him out of his misery. Now.
Fuck.
Off.
’

He’s trembling. It’s anger and upset and shame, all bound up into a terrible rage. Clara’s crying and she leans forward and strokes Georgie’s head. He doesn’t even look up. Jake’s right, of course. We’ve been kidding ourselves. He was never going to get better.

‘Come on,’ I mutter and take Clara’s hand, pulling her up to her feet. Jake doesn’t look at us. My head swims and my ears buzz. I can barely swallow. We don’t look back as we walk away, but once outside, Clara collapses, sobbing, into my chest. I don’t say anything, just hold her tight as she squeezes me back. We cling to each other like we have nowhere else to go. And maybe we don’t.

I’ve no idea how long it is before Jake opens the door and comes out. Probably no more than a minute but it feels like longer. I’m filled with the memory of Georgie’s little heart beating fast under my fingers. I remember how Clara wanted to set him free.

When I take the box from Jake and look down, Georgie’s gone. There’s just an empty dead thing in his place, still and silent, with its head at an odd angle.

‘Bury him if you want,’ Jake says and then heads downstairs. I watch him go. Clara is still crying for Georgie but suddenly I’m more worried about Jake. This isn’t over. Not even nearly.

‘Are we still playing or what?’ Will is on the first landing as we come by. ‘What’s going on? Why’s Jake stormed off?’ He sees Clara’s blotchy face and looks puzzled. ‘Why’s Clara crying?’

‘Just shut up, Will,’ I mutter, pushing past him. ‘Not now.’ Eleanor will tell him anyway. By teatime everyone’s going to know.

The rain is like ice. There’s no wind and it falls on us in sheets as we dig a small hole in the wet ground with our bare hands. Clara’s hair is slick and flat against her face as we claw the earth away, mud sinking under our fingernails. We’re both shivering in the biting cold but I don’t actually feel it. I know it’s there, I know I’m wet and freezing, but somehow that doesn’t touch me on the inside.

I take Georgie out of the box and place him carefully into the wet earth, still wrapped in my hoodie. It’s stupid, but I don’t want him to be cold in the ground, even though the heat has already vanished from his small body. He ate the worms and now the worms will eat him. The thought comes from nowhere and it makes me shudder slightly.

‘Goodbye, Georgie,’ Clara says, her words deadened by the rain. Water runs over her face and drips from her nose. I can’t tell if she’s crying. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t fly away.’ We gently cover him over, as if he can still feel anything, and then stare at the bare patch of ground. The rain patters out a dire funeral beat in the trees. Otherwise it’s silent. Suddenly I’m thinking about Ellory and Henry and the rest. Alone and cold in the earth somewhere. Or maybe they burn us. I can’t decide which is worse, which I’d prefer, and then I remember that they’re nothing now and they feel nothing and the ball in my stomach flares in a way it hasn’t since Clara first kissed me.