Furious Thing

by Jenny Downham

  The girl pretended to be sorry. She offered to make him a special breakfast as way of an apology. A mushroom omelette perhaps?

  But he clearly didn’t trust her an inch. He ordered her to remove her muddy shoes and go to her room and change out of her wet clothes. He handed her a dustpan and brush, a mop, a bucket and a packet of bin liners and told her to clean up the mess she’d made in the kitchen.

  He said, ‘Wait until your mother hears you went swanning off all night.’

  ‘You’ve heard from her?’

  He glanced at his phone. ‘ETA is ninety-seven minutes, so I suggest you get a move on with that tidying.’

  ‘You’ve got Mum on location tracker?’

  He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. He told her that her mother was driving back right now, and the clock was ticking. He was going to the bakery to get croissants and they were going to have a family breakfast and the girl would behave properly and sit quietly, and if she didn’t do those things he’d be straight on the phone to the doctor.

  ‘I’ll get him to prescribe a sedative,’ he said. ‘After your behaviour last night, I’m sure he’ll agree you need calming down.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  He held out his hand for silence. ‘I’m going out. Now get tidying.’

  She didn’t bother. She knew it wouldn’t matter if the kitchen was a mess once the magician was dead. She’d meet her mother in the car park and explain there was a corpse in the flat and they’d get back in the car and go somewhere lovely. They’d get specialist cleaners to fumigate the place before they moved in again.

  The girl waded through broken crockery and smashed eggs to wash the mushrooms under the kitchen tap. She put them in a saucepan with some water then placed them on the stove and stirred them with a wooden spoon until the water was bubbling. She made a double espresso and poured it in, then whizzed the mixture together with the milk frother. She strained out the lumps before adding two spoonfuls of brown sugar and a glug of whisky because the inkcaps were only toxic when consumed with alcohol.

  She went to the lounge and looked down at the car park. Her head hurt, and the light outside seemed too bright for an April morning. She thought of her mother and sister driving closer and she thought of how much her sister loved the magician (who was her father by blood). Every time he wanted to smoke he sent this youngest child from the room, and each time the little girl patted him on the head like a dog and told him smoking was bad for him. ‘Give up,’ she’d say. ‘There’s a good boy.’

  The girl shook these thoughts from her head and went back to the kitchen and looked at the coffee again. The kitchen was her favourite room in the flat because it was the place she’d spent most time with her mother before the magician turned up. It was here that the girl used to make up stories and act them out. She was a wonderful actress and in another, different life, she could have become famous and gone to Hollywood. But her role was to kill the magician, and for that she’d probably go to jail.

  She checked the lounge window again – nothing. She checked the time.

  ‘Come on,’ she whispered. ‘Hurry up. I can’t kill you in front of them.’

  She got the cream out of the fridge. The spoon was supposed to be cold to make the cream pour, so she put two ice cubes in a cup and watched them thaw.

  She went back to the lounge. No car. No magician. She would’ve texted him, but he’d broken her phone. She jumbled the cushions and untied the curtains. She stood on the chairs one after the other. She hid his ashtray behind a book and pocketed his lighter. These were small things, but they passed the time.

  Finally, his car came through the gate and she ran to pour the coffee. She drizzled cream across the back of the icy spoon, so it pooled like white velvet. Her hands were shaking as she came out of the kitchen and shut the door behind her.

  When the magician walked in, she was sitting in the lounge with the cup on a silver coaster. She looked innocent, like a fairy-tale daughter. She was a wonderful actress after all.

  ‘Hello,’ she murmured, ‘I’ve made you a lovely warming drink.’

  His cheeks were red, and he had the cold of outdoors upon him. He was carrying a bouquet of white roses and a large paper bag with ribbons for handles. ‘Not bad for early morning shopping, eh?’

  He sat opposite her and emptied the things from the bag onto the table – chocolates, a selection of pastries, a bottle of champagne and a card that had a picture of a key on the front with the words: The key to my heart. He grinned at the girl. ‘What do you reckon?’

  She thought of the key in that Bluebeard story which opened a door where he kept his dead wives. Bluebeard discovered his new wife had peeked, because the key bled.

  She thought of her mother coming back to these gifts, smiling at the magician’s effort. Her smile would be reluctant at first, but soon he’d cast his spell on her and she’d be back to keen and shiny, wanting to see the best in him.

  ‘Here,’ the girl said. ‘Drink this delicious coffee.’

  He leaned back on his chair. ‘You trying to win me over, so I don’t grass you up about going AWOL all night?’

  ‘I’m trying to show my appreciation for all that you do for us.’

  He shook his head as if she was a simpleton. She knew what he thought – that he’d frightened her enough to keep her under his control for ever. Well, let him think that if it made him drink the poison. She slid the coaster across the table like the most tender of waitresses. ‘I’m sorry about being such a difficult person to live with.’

  He looked suspiciously at the cup. ‘What is this?’

  ‘Irish coffee. It’s got whisky and cream in it.’

  He hunched forward and sniffed. ‘You sure that’s all it’s got in it?’

  ‘What else could there be?’

  ‘It smells very strange.’

  In Snow White, the witch eats half the apple when the girl gets suspicious. ‘Give it here,’ the girl said, sliding the coaster back.

  ‘Be my guest.’

  She picked it up and breathed it in. It smelled of sugar and fallen leaves. She took the smallest sip of cream. Cream wouldn’t kill her. The magician watched her with eyes the same colour as his son’s.

  Ah, yes – the magician’s son …

  He was the girl’s downfall. She’d accepted the magician in her life for years because he’d brought his beautiful son with him. The girl could put up with any number of terrible things to be close to such a boy. But now the son had gone away and all she had left was horror.

  Now the magician said, ‘When your mum gets back, things are going to change.’

  The girl took another small sip. ‘What things?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  She slid the cup back. ‘It’s not so bad.’

  The magician picked it up with both hands. ‘You think she’ll like her gifts?’

  ‘She’ll love them. You’re very clever. She’s lucky to have you.’

  He nodded in agreement as his hands lifted the cup.

  The hands that ruffled the hair of the boy she loved.

  The hands that cradled her sister.

  The hands that caressed the mother and made her swoon.

  The girl’s grandfather had warned her never to touch wild mushrooms. He’d known someone who died from eating the wrong ones. The guy had got cramps and started throwing up. Then his throat constricted, his head got hot, his mouth got salty and then he’d started spewing blood. After that, his liver shut down and he fell in a coma and died. ‘No antidote,’ Granddad had said. ‘Even if you go to hospital, there’s nothing they can do.’

  The girl watched the cup make the journey to the magician’s mouth. The mouth that told the son how proud he was of him, that kissed the mother, that blew raspberries against the sister’s neck while she squealed with laughter.

  How long would it take him to die?

  The girl checked the time. Her mother and sister would be where? Did they come back th
rough the Blackwall Tunnel? She imagined her sister doing what she always did and trying to hold her breath for the length of it. Her and Mum seemed so frail under all that water. The girl imagined it inky and cold above their heads.

  ‘Don’t drink it,’ she said.

  The magician looked at her. ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t give up love.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I love too many people. I can’t just stop. I’m not cruel like you.’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody rude,’ the magician said.

  The girl picked up the poisoned drink, opened the window and threw it out.

  She was afraid, shivering. She’d come so close to being just like him – to having a heart that couldn’t love. To having eyes that saw nothing but their own reflection and a mind that never once enquired how it might feel to be anyone else.

  She ran from the room. The magician called after her, but she crashed out of the door and down the stairs and away.

  25

  Ben laughed when I told him I’d tried to kill John. ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Serious, I poisoned his coffee.’

  My scalp prickled as he stared at me in horror. I stared back at him for what seemed like hours. Don’t be afraid of me, I thought.

  ‘He didn’t drink it though?’ Ben said.

  ‘I kept thinking how upset Iris would be.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a no.’ He moved to one side. ‘You want to come in?’

  He led me through to the kitchen. The clock ticked merrily away and the light through the window was butter yellow. ‘Why is your house so holy?’ I said.

  ‘Holy?’

  ‘Peaceful and good, like a Christmas story.’

  ‘Are you high right now?’ Ben said.

  I turned round and smiled for him. It was hard to summon one up, but I didn’t want him to throw me out. Where else would I go?

  He peered at me. ‘Honestly – you look kind of wild.’

  I smiled at his pretty red hair that shone like chestnuts and I smiled at his freckles that seemed dabbed on with a pencil and I told him I’d spent the night in the cemetery communing with the dead and they’d advised me how to kill John and I’d picked poisonous mushrooms and put them in his coffee, but basically, I was fine.

  ‘Shit, Lex – are you serious?’

  I liked him being so concerned. I wanted to shiver under all his lovely attention. ‘I’m not entirely sure I picked the right ones. A lot of ink caps are edible. Do you think that’ll be a point in my favour when I get arrested?’

  ‘No one’s going to arrest you. John didn’t drink it, you said. Does he even suspect anything?’

  ‘I threw his coffee out of the window. That’s pretty suspicious.’

  ‘It doesn’t make you a killer.’ He looked at me curiously.

  ‘All night in the cemetery? Didn’t anyone wonder where you were?’

  ‘My mum’s in Brighton, remember?’

  He made a noise like an angry sigh. ‘And John just let you go?’

  ‘Let me? I didn’t tell him. In fact, I ran out. If you asked him if he knew where I was, he’d say no and that he was very worried about me. But he’d be lying.’ I sat on the sofa and sank back into the cushions. There were strange shadows on his ceiling – one looked like a face and the other was a dancing bird. I had to close my eyes when the face grew horns and the bird began to shrivel.

  Ben came and sat next to me. ‘Have you got your phone back? Do you want me to get my mum to call yours?’

  ‘Why? You want me to go home?’

  ‘I thought you might like to know where your mum is.’

  ‘Well, where’s your mum? Maybe she’s run off too.’ I waved a hand at the room. ‘If someone isn’t in front of you, they could be anywhere, right?’

  ‘I guess. Though I’m pretty sure my mum’s around the corner buying milk.’

  I was so envious I had to stamp my feet on the carpet and try not to imagine Meryam carrying a basket around the local shop choosing delicious things for Ben’s breakfast.

  ‘Well, that’s nice,’ I said. ‘Aren’t you lucky?’

  He smiled uncertainly, like he agreed, but didn’t want to say so because it would be rude to compare our lives. Minutes slipped by as the kitchen clock kept ticking.

  ‘Lex,’ Ben said eventually, and his Bambi legs almost touched mine as he turned to face me on the sofa. ‘Why were you trying to poison John?’

  I knew what he wanted, but there was no point giving it to him. Every time I’d tried to explain what John did, people found excuses. Even Meryam couldn’t cope.

  ‘Do you remember,’ I said, ‘when we went to Portugal?’

  Ben shook his head.

  ‘My mum phoned your mum and said we were having a shit holiday because John flew home in a strop and left us in the hotel by ourselves. So, you and your mum got on a plane and came to join us. There was a pool with a slide, you remember that? And a table tennis table. And a lizard lived on the balcony and your mum chased it with a broom and it bit her.’

  He smiled. ‘It’s coming back to me now.’

  ‘Your mum came all that way to be with us. That’s a sign of friendship, isn’t it? That’s a sign of something good.’ I swallowed. My mouth tasted sour. ‘Last week, I told your mum we needed her, but she wouldn’t help. You know why? Because she’s afraid of what goes on with John at the flat.’

  ‘Lex,’ he said gently, ‘what does go on with John? I don’t actually know what you mean.’

  I pulled my feet up onto the sofa and hugged my knees. I wished more than anything for a power where I could touch Ben and he’d know everything without me speaking at all.

  ‘Tell me to shut up if you want,’ Ben said, ‘but does John hit your mum?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Does he throw things or break stuff?’

  ‘He broke my phone. But he’s never done anything like that before. It’s usually me who throws stuff.’

  ‘Is it a money thing?’ Ben said. ‘Does he try and control you by being the only one with cash?’

  Words took shape in me. But they were slippery, like fish in a bucket. They kept writhing and sliding over one another. Would Ben believe that John blocks out all that’s good in me, like a cloud over the sun? That he makes me afraid. Makes me clumsy. I drop things when he’s watching. I lose words around him, feel stupid saying things in front of him, forget everything I’m supposed to remember. I don’t do these things on purpose or with anyone else.

  ‘He never stops,’ I said. ‘He just never stops.’

  ‘Never stops what?’ Ben said. ‘Shit, Lex, are you talking about …?’ His voice had a tone I’d never heard before. I looked at him to see what it meant. He looked furious and terrified all at once and I knew he meant sex. ‘If he’s laid a finger on you …’

  ‘He hasn’t. He hates me. He’d rather chop his hands off.’

  ‘Then what?’

  How could I speak when there were so many words? I could have vomited words all over Meryam’s carpet. John did things that hurt Mum and made me furious, so I looked like a monster and everyone said I overreacted and why couldn’t I just calm down? And when I looked back at the thing he did to make me angry in the first place, it didn’t seem so bad and I believed everyone was right about me.

  ‘Lex?’ Ben said. ‘What does he do?’

  The room stepped sideways, and my blood thickened. ‘Get your camera.’

  ‘What?’

  I turned to him. ‘I want you to film me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You wanted to do a media project together, didn’t you?’

  ‘Is it a good idea to do it now?’

  ‘It’s a great idea.’ I could hear my own breathing like the tide gathering. ‘I want never to forget.’

  ‘Forget what?’

  ‘What he does. Who he really is. For years I’ve caught glimpses, but last night I saw it completely. He has these smiles which he uses like drugs or rew
ards, so everyone wants one. And he does this hot-cold thing, so you never know what’s going to happen next. One minute you’re an idiot and the next you’re amazing. He doesn’t let Mum have friends or a job or a bank account, and if she complains he calls her names and threatens to take Iris away. He made me sign a behaviour contract and he’s stuck it on the fridge. He’s forcing us to sell the flat and he’s in charge of the TV and Wi-Fi and phones, and he has a safe where he locks stuff when we annoy him. Please, Ben, film me. Why aren’t you filming me?’

  ‘Because this is making me really uncomfortable.’

  ‘Your mum didn’t like it either. But I have to say it before it disappears. That’s his best trick – making you forget what he does, so you trust him again.’ I grabbed his hand. ‘He sent me to a doctor and now he’s going to sedate me.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. If he drugs me, there’ll be no one to protect Mum and Iris.’

  ‘He can’t sedate you. That’s fucking nuts.’

  ‘Don’t feel sorry for me.’

  ‘I don’t,’ he said simply. ‘I feel angry.’

  ‘He’s never hit me, never laid a finger on my mum. It’s a quiet thing he does, a smoke and mirrors thing. He takes away everything good inside you and replaces it with fear. You wanted to make a film about fear, didn’t you? Well, make it about the private things John does. Because nobody sees them, and nobody believes them, and nobody wants to hear about them.’

  ‘I do,’ Ben said.

  ‘Then get your camera.’

  I didn’t notice Meryam walk in and drop her bags on the carpet. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Shit,’ Ben said. ‘Terrible timing, Mum.’

  ‘Why?’ she said. ‘What’s the matter? Lex, why are you here so early?’

  ‘I poisoned John.’

  Ben flicked her a look. ‘She didn’t.’

  Meryam said, ‘Is she drunk?’

  ‘Please,’ Ben said, ‘don’t fuss.’

  ‘Is she stoned?’

  He turned and frowned at her. ‘She’s wired, that’s all. She spent the night in the cemetery.’

  Meryam softened. She came rushing over and put her arm around me. ‘Why didn’t you come here?’ she said.