Not long after, and I suppose, to further alleviate any misgivings I might still harbor, the Camden Town carpenter brought photos to us that his assistant’s twelve-year old lad had taken of the operation. I remember the boy had his phone’s camera up the entire time. There they were exactly as I remembered them: the men shoving in the door. The next photo with the door down showed a strange white smudge of some sort in the photographed doorway. The one after showed the white smudge again, and the last photo, too, and there, the white smudge which rose halfway up our bodies in height was past where Martin and I stood as we were about to go in. “Don’t you see, Mum?” the carpenter gently asked. I looked and looked, so he explained, “It’s kind of distorted, but see! This white? It’s a spirit! That’s how they photograph. Here he’s running past you out into the air! And here,” at the third photo, “he has his hands up in the air. The little boy. At last he’s free!”
I let him and all of them believe that I believed his explanation; but to me, those white blotches were merely weird refractions of the light and dust that day. I let everyone believe that I understood and was comfortable with their explanations. What else could I do? I was now the Doyenne of the Shire. It was shortly after that when the local CID came to interview me. She was very proper and delicate and sensitive to any possible queasiness I might still have had. She asked me many questions Martin and I had both answered before and then asked if, while I stood on the lintel not daring to go in, I had seen what was carved out by the little boy on the immured room’s wainscoting.
“It’s with the historical society now, I believe. The entire wall,” I told her. Yes, she knew. But had I read it? Yes, I had. In looking away from his body, I’d lit upon it. Starting a few feet off the ground, as though by a small child standing, I’d read:
The dor is loct agains me.
I nock and nock but no one cums
Further down, as though he might be kneeling or sitting, and possibly upon another day entirely, he had carved out:
The windo is no longr ther
I hav no fud I hav no drinc
I nock and nock but no one will cum
And at the very bottom, mere inches from the ground, was carved out very raggedly:
I nock and nock but no one will cum
now I must go sleep
She was content with my answers, meaning, I suppose, that no one had added to or taken away from the messages, and she left saying I would not be bothered again.
I am bothered. Although we’ve settled into the house and it is filled with guests and friends and folks from the village, and our family visits often, there are still moments when I lie tossing in bed, having awakened too early, unable to go back to sleep. I always think back to those messages and I hope and pray that after having carved those last letters, he never woke again.
And then there are those times that I awaken suddenly out of a bad dream I’ve barely escaped, in the blackest middle of the night, and I hear him tapping.
Elsewhere
Bill Davidson
Colin Gregory came awake just before the radio-alarm sounded, reaching out a long arm to turn the volume to silent, just as he did every morning. Then he lay very still, also just as he did every morning, a Godless man praying that this would be a good day for Beth.
One without pain.
Soon enough, the usual irritating patchwork of noises intruded. The closest was Denise, snoring lightly beside him. Not an unpleasant sound exactly, but it was so close that it was right on top of him.
A year ago, before his mother moved in with them, there was a little bit more legroom as their bed was a super-king. The sort where you could retreat a few feet, get yourself some space. But the old woman had been forced to fit an entire life into a single bedroom, so he and Denise gave the master up. The super-king had barely left space to stand in this, much smaller, room, so it had given way to a standard double.
The resident on the floor below, someone Colin didn’t know, wouldn’t even recognize, had left the radio on. Capital probably, maybe Radio 1, something with noisy music and brash young voices. It occurred to Colin that it would be a lot less irritating if it was tuned to another station, music he knew and liked.
Mum, a poor sleeper and relentlessly wheezy breather, was already up, wandering the apartment, going to the toilet without closing the door, a habit she struggled to leave behind now she was sharing this apartment. The main noise, though, was traffic. That rumble never really stopped, even in the early hours, and living on the tenth floor didn’t seem to help. At this time, it sounded like everybody in London was out there, revving engines and laying on horns, already irritated with their days and each other. A police siren wailed in the distance, sounding like it was just as stuck as everybody else.
Colin closed his eyes and let himself drift. Allowed himself to imagine the cars and buses gone, evaporated clean away so the street was silent as the grave and empty of people. Imagined Mum wasn’t brushing her teeth, Denise wasn’t snoring, inches away. The family downstairs had no radio to play.
Silent as the grave. The edges of his mouth tugged, almost making it to a smile as he floated, until the hard, bony ridge of Denise’s elbow drove its way into his consciousness.
“You’re sleeping in again.”
Finding himself back in bed in a cramped apartment in the middle of the horribly crowded, noisy city, he groaned theatrically. Denise rolled over and held him tight for a moment, kissing his face.
He shook his head, “Nah. Wasn’t sleeping.”
“Course not. I’ll get coffee on, you jump in the shower.”
He kissed her. “I’ll just check on Beth first.”
“Best let her sleep for a bit.”
That stiffened his skinny shoulders and brought him up on one elbow. “What? Did she have a bad night?”
“Not so you’d notice. I was only up once.” She frowned lightly, pulling back to focus on him. “Don’t you remember?”
He shook his head. “Did I wake?”
She ruffled his already tufty hair, red and wiry and thinning fast. “You came in with me. Stood in the middle of her room, blinking. She said you looked like a long, skinny owl.”
“Seriously?”
“Don’t worry. Beth thought it was hilarious. And, before you ask, she wasn’t in pain. Just needed to get to the toilet.”
Colin slid his spectacles on and stood, stretching some of the kinks out while staring at the slow-moving mayhem of the street below.
“Everybody in this house treats me like I’m some kind of pet.”
Coming into the kitchen, dressed and shaved, Colin found Denise and Beth sitting at the table, giggling over something or other, while his mother cooked scrambled eggs. He stopped to take the scene in, not noticing his little surge of relief. Everybody looked happy. Beth, not yet in her wheelchair, turned as her grandma scooped some eggs onto the waiting toast.
“Yum. Gramma makes the best breakfasts.”
Then she looked at him, and burst out laughing.
“Dad!”
“What?”
Whatever it was, everybody was amused and didn’t mind showing it. Denise stood and came over, her hands up and fussing.
“How long have you been wearing ties? They go under the collar.”
Everybody was laughing, shaking their heads, not noticing he wasn’t joining in. Even Mum. He knew from her expression that she was going to tell the story of the odd shoes again, the one she told at least twice a week, never remembering she’d done it.
“Did I ever tell you about his graduation? What he wore on his feet?”
Denise, still fussing with his tie, crossed her eyes at him. “No, Eleanor. You never did.”
Colin took the exhaust filled air of the street in tiny sips, thinking it would be much worse on the way home. The traffic was a bad-tempered trail of hot metal, moving slower than him deep within the current of pedestrians. Soon enough, the stream of people split, some pouring with Colin into the airless bowel
s of the station, hugging the side of the escalator as commuters in a hurry barreled past. He found a spot to stand on the platform that had space to breathe but had to steel himself to force his way into the crammed carriage.
Being tall helped, but not much. Hemmed in hard by a density of over-warm bodies, Colin tried to relax, using the techniques Dr. Tambini had given him. She had said, look for the warning signs: heart rate, shallow breathing. When it starts to happen, press your finger and thumb together to ground yourself. Then go inside and put yourself someplace safe, someplace you were happy. Find your safe space.
In the sessions, his safe space was normally an empty beach or a remote meadow. The watchword was empty. The essential element was a complete lack of people.
He allowed himself to drift. His safe space, in this moment, turned out not to be a lonely mountain pass, but someplace much more nearby and mundane. Surprising, really; it surprised Colin. It was the train itself, the one he was riding right now, but empty. In his mind, he looked around the carriage as it slid beneath London and found himself entirely, deliciously alone.
At school, few students had arrived yet, so the corridor was quiet. Colin walked rapidly to his classroom to savor the solitude, like he was saving it up. Soon enough, he knew, it would be packed with noisy students, and the battle for control, and to avoid disrespect and insult, would begin. The corridor, when he next walked it, would be a solid stream of kids.
Denise was waiting for him to arrive, gym bag in hand and itching to escape the instant he got through the door.
“I’ll be back probably around nine. Might stay with the girls for a glass or two.”
“How was it today?”
She was already on the landing, wanting to be gone, but paused.
“Ok, actually.” She dropped her voice. “For both of them. Eleanor was almost like her old self. We went out.”
“Out where?”
“Hyde Park. It was mobbed.”
Colin held up a hand as the elevator doors closed, then turned to his apartment, having to take a moment before he entered. His mother was standing in front of the television, pointing a remote at it and pressing buttons. As always when she was frustrated, her already thick Scottish accent became more pronounced.
“Can never get this bloody thing tae work. Why does it have to be so complicated?”
Beth rolled her eyes, a good imitation of Denise. Her voice was an imitation too, but of her grandmother. “Ach, ye’ve got the wrang remote again, Gramma.”
She pushed out of her wheelchair, coming to stand by the coffee table and pick up the correct one, quickly hitting buttons. Eleanor squinted at the screen, then held her hands up, eyes coming open in concern. Beth knew very well that her grandmother was happy with the channels she had always known, one to four, and would sometimes stray as far as five. Beyond that, she became nervous.
“Yer awa up intae the high numbers!”
Beth smiled sweetly. “Dinna worry yersel, I ken the way back doon.”
From Eleanor’s expression, it was plain that she was far from convinced. She said, “You’re takin’ the piss, you wee bugger.” But with a smile in there.
Beth stepped right up to her grandmother and pulled herself straight. At twelve years old, she looked pale and skinny and frail, but was already almost six feet tall. With her white-blonde hair and sharp features, she was like a stretched version of her mother. Now, she loomed over her grandmother. “Less of the wee, shorty.”
A conspiratorial look between them, then, and Eleanor pointed to her pride and joy, the electric piano pushed against the wall. “You should play Clare de Lune for your Dad.”
Beth shrugged, trying for casual but not quite getting there. Snapped off the television. “Ok.”
Eleanor patted her back and she walked to the Clavinova and beamed at her son.
“She’s really getting the fingering. Could take her next exam any time now.”
School had proved too much for Beth around eighteen months ago, but her grades still mattered to her. Having teachers for parents, English and History, helped, but when Eleanor and her Clavinova moved in, she discovered something she was could get properly excited about.
Now, she walked over and got herself settled.
Even though he knew he shouldn’t say it, Colin couldn’t help himself. “Don’t overdo it now.”
“Daaad!”
Eleanor was right. As Beth progressed through Clare de Lune, he found himself tearing up, it was so beautiful, and struggled to keep his chin from wobbling. His mother took a step beside him, and quietly took his hand.
When Denise came back it was almost ten, and Beth was in bed, having spent most of the evening with her headphones plugged into the Clavinova, practicing. Eleanor watched re-runs of Inspector Morse. As she herself said, laughing about it, she could watch Morse over and over because she could never remember what happened.
Colin looked up from his laptop when Denise walked in, quietly angling the screen away from her. He wasn’t ready to talk to her about what was on there.
“You look bushed, love.”
She smiled and stretched. “Yea. Just going to brush my teeth and turn in.”
Colin joined her only minutes later, bringing his laptop to bed. Her habit was to read a novel for twenty minutes or so before sleep, and she was doing so now.
She looked up and stretched out her hand for him to take. “You know, we should get out more. Just you and me. Make time to be with each other.”
“When?”
“The evenings.”
“That wouldn’t work. You always go out in the evenings.”
She stared at him for a moment, her expression suddenly flat.
“Seriously? I gave up work to look after Beth. In the damned house all day, and now with your mother here too. She’s getting worse all the time and you begrudge me some time out?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you do, don’t you?”
He took a breath and held it before answering. “No, I’m agreeing with you. The only time we can speak to each other is here, when we go to bed at night.”
“I’m never alone, Colin. Never.”
“Me neither.”
“But you can go out to work. What do I have now?”
“Look, one of us has to work. And maybe…”
“Maybe the operation will work.”
It was said as a statement, not a question. If the operation worked, and Beth’s heart functioned normally, life would be very different. For everybody.
Colin started to speak, then stopped.
“What is it? Spit it out.”
He stalled a moment, then turned the laptop so she could see. “Have a wee look at this.”
It was a house, a large Victorian with tall windows and four bedrooms. A living room twice the size of their current one. And a garden, with a full acre of lawn.
He could feel her stiffen beside him.
“Not this again. Scotland.”
“I’ve seen a job, Forfar Academy, same school I went to as a kid. This house is on the outskirts of the town, fields and woods all around. If we sold this apartment, we could buy all that and still be almost mortgage free. We could employ somebody to help with Mum, and our lives would be transformed.”
“I don’t know anybody in Scotland. We’ve been through this.”
“We’re cooped up in here. It’s such a struggle to get Beth outside and when we do, it’s not fresh air is it? All these people, millions and millions of them, like a weight, surrounding us all the time. The noise of them!”
“I wouldn’t know a soul.”
“You’d know us.”
“Get this through your head. The only thing keeping me sane, and it’s only just about working by the way, is my sister and my friends. Going somewhere where I don’t have that…I would go down. I know I would.”
“But…”
“I look after our daughter. All day and all night. I look after your mother and I have n
o clue what any day is going to bring. Don’t put this on me.”
Colin took another long look at the house and closed the page. Behind it was the advertisement for the job in Forfar. He hit delete and closed the laptop.
Two days later, when he got home from school, Denise made a face and jerked her head, telling him she needed to talk to him in the bedroom. His heart speeded as he followed her through; he felt it beating high in his throat and made a little circle with his thumb and forefinger, down by his side where it wouldn’t be noticed. It didn’t always work, but he did it anyway.
“What’s happened? Is she…”
“It’s not Beth, it’s you.”
That stopped him. “Me?”
She was holding her tablet and now she lifted it so he could see the screen. “This is a video one of your students made.”
“How did you get it?”
“Little bastard sent it to Beth.”
“Shit. What is it?”
“You.”
Colin shifted uncomfortably. Forgot about grounding his thumb against his finger and rubbed his palms against his knees, as if they had suddenly gotten itchy.
“Happens all the time these days. They record us in secret when we…”
The Half That You See Page 17
