Matthew smiled and took as many as he dared without looking greedy.
“So, friend. How did you end up shivering in my alley this cold morning?”
The water had lubricated Matthew’s mouth a little, but he was shaking too much to talk, so he offered an apologetic shrug instead. The man didn’t seem surprised. Plunging the hot water, he poured two cups. “Help yourself to cream and sugar,” he invited.
With the sugary nourishment of five digestives and three custard creams combined with the caffeine of the dark coffee, finally his cold turkey was warming.
“Thanks so much for your hospitality. I’ll have to repay you when I get back home.”
Two raised palms conveyed there was no need. “I’m Ben, by the way…”
“Matthew,” Matthew answered in response to Ben’s arched eyebrows, declining to add his surname in a sudden flurry of fear. “Thanks for the coffee and biscuits. It helped a lot, but I’ll be out of your way now,” Matthew garbled, keen suddenly to be away from someone who could identify who and where he was.
“It’s okay. Why don’t you stay and get warm? Don’t worry. I won’t call the police or anything. Let me clean that nasty-looking cut on your head. It must be sore?”
Matthew’s hand gingerly touched the throbbing in his head and he flinched. Gratefully watching as Ben used some of the water in the kettle to soak a cloth, his shoulders relaxed and he managed a half-smile.
Returning to the table with hastily concocted first-aid supplies, Ben noticed, and while he dabbed at the grit filled cut on his patient’s head, he asked, “You in some kind of trouble, Matthew?”
The swell of emotion couldn’t be dammed. There was no need to answer. As tears cascaded down Matthew’s cheeks, over his chin and into his lap, it was the first he’d realised he wasn’t in the slightest bit confident he was as close to reuniting with Debbie and Abi as he’d pretended to himself.
The reality of his memory merged with his incredulous weeks up until last night, leaving questions that only time could answer.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me, but I might be able to help.”
Why was this man, Ben, so keen to be involved? Did Matthew look so non-threatening that he trusted him implicitly? He’d always considered himself charming and charismatic, but the other patients had typically displayed fear in his presence. Just a bunch of neurotics, he supposed. Or did Ben have other motives?
Hoping he was being paranoid, it still seemed unlikely he’d be able to help.
“There. That’s not too bad. It’s better than it looked. I’ll just pop a plaster on it.” Peeling a fabric strip from its roll, he deftly secured it to Matthew’s head and declared him done. “Do you have somewhere to go? Family? Friends?”
Matthew stifled a chuckle. “Yes, thank you. I do. That’s where I’m going now,” he said, rueing his inclusion of the information. “I just had a funny turn this morning. That’s all.”
Ben gave a solemn nod. “Okay. If you’re sure. Make sure you get yourself checked out though?” he implored. “You don’t look well.”
Matthew smiled and pushed his chair back to stand. “I know, but don’t worry. I’ll soon be fine.” He prayed his display of optimism was doing more than just persuading Ben. Stepping to the door, Ben offered no resistance and Matthew was convinced he really was just doing his Christian duty.
He paused at the end of the path to offer a polite wave of thanks. Despite his faith in Ben, as soon as he was out of sight, Matthew doubled back and walked in the opposite direction. With all that had gone on, he couldn’t trust anyone.
The closer he got to home, the worse he felt. Another twelve hours had passed in the alley without medication. It didn’t compare to last night’s agony, but it still affected him.
Squeezing his head in his palms, desperate to coerce his headache away, he moved his hands to his eyes and pressed the heels into his sockets. Open mouthed, he squinted at the horizon. Below him was the bridge. He’d definitely come the pretty way, but he was nearly home. Another hour could see him at his door. Should he go there so soon? How would he feel when he got there? And who would he see?
“Worry about that when you get there. You need to arrive safe and unseen first,” he directed himself.
Hopeful the unusual route he’d taken, and his change of clothes, had left him undetected so far, the closer he got the more at risk he felt. He didn’t even have the ‘home advantage.’ The couple of years at the house had been preoccupied with work and Abi’s health. There had been no time for neighbourhood strolls, so he didn’t know the surrounding streets any better than anyone else.
Summiting the hill and striding towards a bluff high above the Avon Gorge allotted as a ‘viewpoint,’ offering spectacular views of Brunel’s masterpiece suspension bridge, Matthew put his charm into action. Several cars were parked in the small car park that gave access to a variety of leisure activities—walking, climbing and abseiling, and the gentler pursuit of breathing in the surroundings.
In the far corner, an elderly couple had set up a picnic beside a bench. A tartan flask stood next to a wicker hamper, but neither were attending the food. They were taking turns looking through an enormous pair of binoculars; the strap around the man’s neck pulling him to one side whenever the lady took her go.
Heart pounding, Matthew closed his eyes to induce calm. Plastering on his best reassuring smile, he ambled curiously towards them.
A few feet away, the man turned to meet his gaze, straining against the strap. Muttering something to his wife, she turned and Matthew cranked his smile up a gear.
“See anything interesting?” Matthew cringed at the corniness. ‘No we’re staring at nothing,’ would not be the sarcastic response. Instead, they beamed; thrilled at the chance to share their enthusiasm for the view.
“Only the whole of Brizzle!” the man declared triumphantly, straightening his hat that had been knocked by the to-ing and fro-ing of the binoculars.
“We were looking at our house!” the lady chuckled. “Drive five miles up here and spend an hour staring at our own home! I know… we’re proper crackpots.”
Matthew joined the laughter. “Not at all. I couldn’t have a look at my own house, could I? I’ve always wondered if I could see it from up here.” He hadn’t finished his sentence before the dual lenses were being thrust in his direction. “Oh, really? Are you sure?”
There followed a lengthy tutorial into their every nuance, but Matthew didn’t mind. Eventually he was left to enjoy the fruits of the couple’s obsession.
Buildings, undetectable with the naked eye, loomed at him through the cylinders making no sense to his mind as it reeled in surprise. Using the bridge as a datum, he swept the horizon a number of times before from nowhere his house jumped out at him.
Training the lenses back, he struggled to find what he’d just seen, but then he was certain and a little shocked at how clearly he could see into his back garden. If his theory was correct and his nightmare was at the hands of government agencies, they could have observed him effortlessly and undetected for as long as they wanted. Gulping down the bile that rose in reaction to his realisation, he felt a fool, but how could he have known?
“You finding what you want?” the binocular’s owners inquired.
“Oh yes, thank you. It’s taken me a while, but I’ve found it now. Could I look for a few more minutes?”
The couple shifted uncomfortably, glances of disdain pierced the air between them. Matthew didn’t wait for their approval. He had to know what his chances were before he could risk getting near his home. This old couple would just have to wait.
The front of the house; the driveway and the cars, weren’t visible from here, but he could see along the street. Occasional cars dotted the road; none that looked suspicious, but what would suspicious look like anyway?
There was a familiar figure: old Tom King hunched in scrutiny of the front tyre of his vintage Bentley. By the time Matthew had walked the distance dow
n the hill to Clifton Down Road, he’d probably be back inside, but he’d have to be careful not to be seen. Matthew had decided: he was going to risk it. He was going home.
Chapter Twenty-four
The room was different again. It seemed every time Debbie walked into the lounge it had been altered. Cursing under her breath, she forced on a smile as Mandy strolled in from the kitchen with a laden tray.
“Ah. You’re awake! There’s coffee here. Or would you prefer tea?”
Without answering, Debbie slumped onto the nearest sofa, checking behind her first in case it bloody moved again. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, it wore a soft throw blanket over the top.
Seeing the direction of her gaze, Mandy explained, “Makes it look more homely. Don’t you think?”
Debbie shrugged and leaned towards the coffee pot. As she poured unaltered strong black coffee into a small espresso cup, Mandy continued.
“We thought rearranging things might be good for you and Abi. A new focus, you know?”
A new focus from the fact that her husband, and Mandy’s brother had been missing for months and hope of his safe recovery was dwindling with every passing minute? Yeah. Moving the couches and displaying tasteless blankets was sure to help. Debbie grimaced at the bitter coffee, doubtless another change in their routine.
She knew they meant well. And they were worried about her, but it was frustrating never knowing how a room would look if she left it for more than five minutes. Maybe it was helping. Surprising her mind stirred up the quagmire and allowed it to function a touch more.
“Abi seems to be loving having Charlotte here. They’ve become inseparable!” Mandy carried on, and it was true.
Abi demonstrated anger more than upset at her father’s absence. She’d heard snippets from police officers and missing person’s experts in the large lounge—possible explanations, and how her daddy was a grown man who may well have decided to leave them.
She’d witnessed the theories that it might have been the stress of her illness that drove him to the edge; or work, or unknown debts. None of it sounded like her daddy at all. She felt she didn’t know him. And if he had abandoned them for any reason at all, she didn’t think she wanted to.
She understood why her mum was so distant. She still clung onto hope there was another explanation. Grownups could be so unrealistic sometimes. Abi had seen death and looked it in the eye and won. It gave her, at even her young age, an intolerance for bullshit. Life changes. Get over it and move on. That’s what she’d done, and that’s what her mother had to do. But now she too had virtually deserted her, because she might as well not be here.
Grandpa, and Nanna, and Auntie Mandy and her cousin, Charlotte wouldn’t abandon her; they’d made that very clear every day. She was pleased they were here again. They were upset her daddy hadn’t come home on Christmas Day. She knew that. But they were realistic; like her. And they weren’t going to waste their lives, nor hers, waiting for him to come home. She felt their disappointment in their son and she shared their disgust.
Moving rooms around had helped her cope. It didn’t look like the same house her daddy had left many months ago, and she was grateful.
They might have to move house. She’d heard the talk. Her daddy’s shares in the boat company couldn’t sustain them forever in his absence. The grownups talked of plans to save the business, but none of them had the skills. Selling their bit of it to her daddy’s partner had been a talk she’d overheard.
She didn’t care. This house, lovely and big as it was, had never been her home. The local hospital felt more familiar. When she’d languished in there, it wasn’t this house she’d longed for, but the small terraced house in the quiet street the other side of the city where her friends were. Friends she hadn’t seen for years and likely never would again.
If they left this house, Abi couldn’t care less. In fact she almost welcomed the idea, but she wouldn’t hope for it. She didn’t care enough. So long as she had today, she’d live it, whatever it held. And when tomorrow came—and it was when, not if, as it had been for so long, she’d live that too. Everything else could do what it wanted.
“So we were thinking about a trip to the zoo. It would be great to get out. Or maybe Cheddar Gorge. We haven’t been there for years and I know the girls love it…” Mary and Alan had joined them on the opposite sofa and were trying to plan a day out. Debbie’s constant shrugs made it difficult, but also underlined the need. “So what do you think? Zoo or caves?”
She held her hands either side of her, scales weighing up the pros and cons. When Debbie shrugged again, she added with a grin, “Let’s ask the girls.”
Running in, the two of them jostled with the choice for only a few seconds before declaring the zoo the winner. It was a short drive and the red pandas, oh they were so cute!
“…so if you get yourself showered, we’ll get going, okay?” Alan ordered, struggling not to show his exasperation with his daughter-in-law. The best way to beat depression was to get out and bloody do something. He knew that. Debbie wasn’t helping herself wallowing like this. And it certainly wasn’t the best way to bring his son back.
If he ever did come back, he’d need to see normality. Not least, to show these sorts of shenanigans had no place in adult life. He understood Debbie’s reluctance to face facts, but it was his GCSE’s all over again. He’d try to be patient with her. He had agreed to do that.
Chapter Twenty-five
Edging along the road, Matthew felt highly conspicuous. His only hope was that his surveillance had been correct and the way was clear. But why? He had to be missing something.
Still a good distance away, he could see his driveway and was surprised not to see cars. Were Debbie and Abi out somewhere? Or was he to be greeted by the stranger of Christmas Night?
Walking with a casual gait, Matthew paused and looked at an imaginary wristwatch. Ducking between two of his neighbours houses, he was able to approach his rear garden from Rodney Road which ran parallel. It was too easy. Taking note of the This is a Neighbourhood Watch Area signpost, he scaled the fence and plopped onto the lawn; his lawn, of his own house. A giddy euphoria rang in his ears. Could it all be over?
His heart pounded so fiercely in his head, he feared it might explode. Edging towards the window. Mere feet away from seeing inside, he felt sick. What would he see?
Picturing it exactly the same, even expecting to see the Christmas tree with all the family sat around in festive jollity awaiting his return with the batteries for Abi’s Furby, as the spring sun beat down on his back, he knew that was fantasy.
Leaning into the window, eyes shielded from the daylight by his hands cowling against the glass, he let out a gasp. Not only was it not the same, it didn’t look like his house at all. Dashing to another window confirmed it. Nothing looked the same.
He had to get inside. Debbie and Abi could be in there being held hostage! Or they might have been forced out. Wherever they were he would get to them and make this all right.
One of the bathroom windows was ajar. The vent was too small to get in, but if he could reach his hand round, he might reach the larger vent below. He was sure he’d squeeze through that.
Clambering onto the shed roof, Matthew hauled himself towards the open window by clinging to the grey downpipe. The soil and vent pipes that had bothered Matthew with their ugliness were suddenly very welcome as he climbed the tree of cold plastic.
He was high up now. One slip could see him badly injured, or worse, but he had to take the risk. Cursing his poor diet, he reached trembling fingers towards the sill of the bathroom. Trusting he had a strong grip, he allowed his weight slowly to transfer to his furthest fingers. When they held, he pushed forward.
There was a distinct lack of grab holes, but he was so close now he could almost reach. Exhaling hard, he flung his weight right, stretched and swung then grasped hold of the edge of the window. Holding firm, his wiry arm reached inside. It was a stretch, but he could almost touch t
he handle.
Pressing his feet on extended toes his fingers brushed against it. Straining further, he couldn’t quite move it to the open position. Pulling his stretched right foot further up the pipe, he took a risk and lunged for it.
With a gasp, he almost missed the handle as his oversized boot slipped and lost its hold on the pipe crashing him into the wall. Stifling a cry of horror, reddening fingertips hauled with all his might. Making it onto the sill, he rested, breathless, on his knees and nodded his gratitude to the concrete slabs thirty feet below that were so nearly his last view.
Offering a silent prayer, he pushed the handle and opened the window. Easing carefully from his knees to extended toes, he squeezed inside. A sigh of nervous relief and exhaustion fell fast from his lips and he closed his mouth to stop the sound. He might not be alone.
Covering his face with a towel he didn’t recognise to muffle the sound, Matthew allowed himself some good deep breaths. With his heart rate slowed, he took his first step toward the door. He would search the house from top to bottom. If Debbie and Abi were being held anywhere, he’d know before he reached the front door.
Pausing on the landing, the house had the silence he’d expected from the empty driveway. Still, he’d be cautious.
Everything was different. How and why they had redecorated he could only guess. And he guessed the government agencies responsible for his nightmare were thorough. If he described the home he remembered in a court of law, it wouldn’t match the house he stood in now. Clever.
When he creaked open the door to Abi’s bedroom; last glimpsed on Christmas morning as he delighted in her opening her presents, it was a shock. Despite his certainty it would be different, seeing its purpose reallocated as some sort of craft/knitting/crochet room struck him as heartless. They’d have done their research. They’d know what the family had been through. But they didn’t care about them, only about whatever their crazy plan was.
Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9) Page 14
