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.’
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 Death House Page 9
