The Sand Men

by Christopher Fowler

  She was certain she hadn’t purchased it; she didn’t collect rare books, and had only ever watched the film version. Turning it over, she tried to recall if she had ever seen it before. Either Rachel had confused her with someone else, which seemed unlikely, or she’d been sending her some kind of a message.

  There were pictures of the crying old lion and a creepy, bald tin-man. The winged monkeys looked too jolly and Oz was just a castle. There were no soaring emerald towers to remind her of this city.

  A terrible thought crossed her mind. Could Rachel have simply lost her wits and committed suicide?

  The phone rang, making her jump.

  Cara was stranded at the mall. ‘The stupid ATM ate my card,’ she said. ‘Can you come and pick me up?’

  ‘Oh honey, can’t you take the bus?’

  ‘I have no cash. That’s why I was trying the ATM.’

  ‘Okay, give me twenty minutes.’ Lea leaned over the bannisters. ‘Lastri, could you keep bagging everything while I pick up Cara?’

  It had been a long time since her daughter had asked a favour of her, and she decided that the trip back from the mall would give them time to talk. But Cara proved as uncommunicative as usual, and instead of having a proper heart-to-heart they spoke of clothes and homework. Even the subject of the beach house seemed not to interest her. When they arrived back at the house, Cara headed straight for her bedroom.

  ‘I’ve got an English essay to finish,’ she called down. ‘I have to imagine that a famous historical figure has written a book for future generations. Could I use Lady Gaga?’

  A book by Lady Gaga, thought Lea with a sigh. The book. She ran upstairs to the spare room and searched, but it was gone.

  ‘Lastri,’ she called, ‘did you take the books that were on the floor?’

  ‘Yes, Miss.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘I take them out to the garbage with the boxes. You want me throw them out, yes?’

  She ran downstairs and out into the street. Looking around, she saw that the bins had been emptied. The truck had moved several houses up the road and was about to turn the corner. She ran after it. ‘Wait,’ she called, ‘wait!’ It was picking up speed.

  ‘Please! Stop!’

  The driver saw her coming and slowed down.

  ‘I need to get something.’ She pointed into the crusher.

  ‘It is too late,’ said the garbage man riding the rear of the truck, a white worker who sounded Polish. ‘I am not allowed to open the back.’

  ‘Please, it’s very important.’

  She remembered the folded bill she always kept in the pocket of her jeans for tips, and passed it to him. He looked at it, pocketed it and called out to the driver. The truck jerked to a stop. The driver pulled a red steel lever that opened the crushers at the rear of the truck.

  The sweet, hot reek of garbage punched out into the still air. She climbed onto the fender and looked inside. There, behind several burst and leaking garbage bags she could see the box of books that she had intended to be taken to the children’s centre.

  ‘Wait, I’ll get it,’ said the garbage man, climbing inside. ‘You’re not allowed to go in there.’ As he pulled the box toward him, it split. Half of it had already been crushed into a pulp.

  ‘There,’ she said, pointing, ‘that’s the one I need.’ She could see the book’s faded green cover, but it was soaked in something that looked like vinegar or oil. Half the pages were sodden. Clutching it to her chest, she ran back inside the house. The garbage man looked on in puzzlement.

  Lea tried to unstick the reeking pages but they were too wet to pull apart. She saw now that Rachel had written something to her in violet fountain pen on the blank page after the title, but the ink had formed a Rorschach blot that rendered her words indecipherable. She needed to dry it out first, so she placed it in the back of the airing cupboard. After an hour the warmth had turned the page brown and brittle. Taking the volume to her study, she held the page beneath the desk light.

  Lea

  Look behind the curtain

  Love

  Rachel

  There were no other markings on the pages. She settled herself on the end of the bed and began to read. In places, the narrative was very different to the film version. The wizard appeared to each of the main characters as something different: a horrible monster, a beautiful woman, a ball of flame. And the wicked witch tried to kill them by sending hungry wolves, and crows to peck out their eyes, and a storm of black bees to sting them to death. And there were no ruby slippers. Dorothy wore silver shoes, like Rachel’s trainers.

  She made a hot drink before continuing to the next chapter, but caught the arm of the sofa as she returned, sending the ginger cat mug to the floor. It shattered, spattering tea like a bloodstain over the tiles. Roy had bought her the mug in Spittalfields market soon after they met. Breaking it felt like a bad omen.

  As Lea mopped up the mess, she thought about the inscription Rachel had written. Perhaps she felt she couldn’t leave behind anything explicit in case someone else read it. But what did it mean?

  The thought was pushed from her mind as doorbells began ringing.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The Accident

  NEWS OF BEN Larvin’s accident spread around the compound within minutes of its occurrence. It was impossible to contain. Long before the husbands had returned home, the wives had visited each other to compare notes.

  Mrs Garfield’s cookery class was interrupted by Mrs Busabi, making her first reappearance on this side of the compound since her house had burned down. She took a vicarious pleasure in informing everyone of the drama. It was not that she had anything against Ben Larvin, but to die like that, well, it had to be a case of negligence, and although the story was truly awful it tinged the bright dead days with the stain of scandal, and made her life a touch more exciting.

  The first wave of gossip merely outlined the dreadful fate of the hypertense American. The second package of information, endlessly embellished and altered to fit the opinions of the spreader, described the circumstances of the tragedy, a collapse of some kind, legs trapped, screams, appalling injuries.

  Naturally Mrs Busabi, who called at Lea’s house next, ostensibly to collect money for the compound residents’ sponsored run, had a theory involving immigrants. Thank God her timely petition had resulted in the underpass being blocked up. It was a disgrace that things had got this far, and who might be next? The company did nothing to ensure the safety and well-being of their executive employees and their families. They should all buy guns and keep them under their beds.

  Lea listened with impatience, then did her best to remove Mrs Busabi from her kitchen. She needed to think. For the first time, seemingly random events began to take on a terrible geometry. The book preyed on her mind.

  Colette’s phone went straight to voicemail and her car was missing from the garage, so she was presumably at the hospital. Lea was tempted to head there, but was hardly likely to be welcomed. She decided to wait until Roy could accompany her.

  ‘YOU HEAR ABOUT Norah’s old man?’

  ‘No, what’s happened?’

  ‘He only got fucking crushed flat, that’s all,’ said Martin Tamworth, unable to stop himself from grinning. Cara had been heading back from the beach house when he had come lolloping toward her. ‘Hey, where is everyone?’ he asked, looking around. The others had taken to avoiding him lately. ‘A concrete pipe steamrollered him. There was a whole stack of them and the top one rolled down over him and turned his legs to mush. Imagine, man! How fucking gross is that?’

  ‘Don’t believe everything you hear,’ said Cara.

  ‘It’s true, everyone’s talking about it. Nobody knows why it fell. There might have been another pipe bomb. They’re really easy to make. You and Norah are good at science. I bet even you could figure it out. I seen all that stuff you do.’

  ‘What stuff?’

  ‘Designs and shit. It can’t be harder than buildin
g a website, right? Imagine being flattened! What are they gonna do at his funeral service, roll him into a cardboard tube? Where’s Norah?’

  ‘She’s at the hospital, where do you think? said Cara in annoyance, pacing away across the sand.

  ‘Right, of course. Hey, when you see her, can you ask for my Warhammer shirt back?’

  Cara ignored him and kept on walking.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, a little after 9am, a small group gathered in the antiseptic white waiting room at the Creek Hospital. It was becoming an uncomfortably familiar place. Hiromi Morioka found Roy and Lea waiting for news. ‘I was in the area when Leo Hardy called me,’ said Hiromi. ‘Where’s Colette? Is she all right?’

  ‘I couldn’t get hold of her. There’s no reception here. We can’t use phones because of the scanners,’ said Lea. ‘I just saw her out in the corridor talking to her son. Have you heard anything?’

  ‘Ben’s still unconscious.’

  Lea blinked in surprise.

  ‘They didn’t expect him to survive the trauma, but apparently he’s stabilising. I don’t understand.’ Hiromi sat down, defeated. ‘How could this have happened? When the medics arrived they thought he was dead. His legs are shattered. They filled him full of antibiotics and gave him a transfusion, but it doesn’t sound as if it was enough.’

  ‘What do you mean, not enough?’ asked Lea.

  ‘Blood poisoning. They’ve completely removed his right leg from the hip, but even that may not halt the spread of infection.’

  ‘—infection—’

  ‘There was some untreated sewage in the ditch where he fell.’

  ‘But if he’s alive there might be something I can do for the family.’

  ‘I think Colette is in shock,’ said Hiromi. ‘She doesn’t want to see anyone.’

  ‘Ben knew his way around the place,’ said Roy. ‘He knew the risks. It’s a good job Leo was on site when it happened. You’re not supposed to try and fix things yourself without someone else there.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me you’d spoken to Leo Hardy,’ said Lea. ‘What was he doing there so late?’

  ‘Christ, I don’t know, Lea.’ Roy tried to think. ‘He’s always around. He’s upset that he couldn’t do more for Ben.’

  ‘Do you think this was negligence?’

  ‘It was an accident,’ Roy replied, ‘but someone from their team should have checked that everything was okay. Ben shouldn’t have been down there by himself.’

  ‘That poor family,’ said Lea. ‘Doesn’t it seem odd to you that this pipe-thing should suddenly go wrong just when he was near it?’

  ‘Sometimes if you need to check on something and there’s no access ladder you hang onto the nearest pipe. Maybe it came away. They’re stabilised with steel ties but the ties can sometimes expand in the heat. Nobody knows the truth yet, okay?’

  As Colette came back into the waiting area it was clear she had overheard the last part of the conversation. ‘You know the truth as well as I do,’ she told Roy. ‘If my husband lives, it’ll be without his legs. He’s thirty-nine, for God’s sake. This isn’t about someone forgetting to put a tick on a timesheet. There was no-one on duty. Nobody ever accuses Leo or his cronies in the police.’

  ‘Leo is as shocked as the rest of us,’ said Roy. ‘I’ll make sure Ben gets the best care available. And he’ll be granted the maximum compensation allowed.’

  ‘I didn’t know you and Leo were such close buddies,’ said Colette. ‘When you next speak to your homie, you can tell him I’m hiring the best damned lawyer I can find—a real East Coast shark—and I’ll find out exactly who is responsible for Ben’s injuries. I’ll find out what’s going on around here if I have to shut down the entire fucking resort to do it. Excuse me, I have another meeting with the physician scheduled in a few minutes.’

  Turning away from the waiting group, she marched off toward the ward doors.

  ‘Roy, I’m going outside for a cigarette,’ said Lea.

  ‘When did you start smoking again?’

  ‘I never stopped, I just don’t do it in front of you. I figure we shouldn’t keep any secrets from one another. You should try it. Smoking, I mean.’

  She stepped through the tinted glass doors and stood in the last of the evening light, lighting up and angrily savouring the smoke in her mouth. The endless shifting of blame changed nothing. She knew what was expected of her; to show no concern and mind her own business.

  An engorged red sun sank below the horizon in a haze of smoky pink pollution. Feeling slightly sick, she ground out the cigarette and returned to the waiting room. Something had been bothering her for hours.

  Roy was talking with Hardy and an elegant Arabic man she had not seen before. She waited for a break in the conversation and touched Roy’s arm.

  ‘Where were you?’ she asked.

  Roy looked confused. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When Ben had his accident. You called to say you were working late, but I tried your mobile and got no signal.’

  ‘I was working over at the main office. I went for a quick drink with a couple of the lads.’

  ‘Which ones? Are they here?’

  ‘No, Lea, you don’t know everyone I work with. What’s the matter with you?’

  She sighed wearily. ‘It’s as if everything’s become poisoned here. In case it’s escaped your attention, we’re being decimated, family by family. Anyone with a disagreeable opinion is being removed. For all you know, I could be next.’

  ‘You spend too much time at that computer. All that imagination’s not good for you.’

  ‘I’m writing about this place,’ she told him. ‘I’m putting down what I see.’

  ‘Maybe you should take up a different kind of hobby and renew your sleeping pill prescription.’ He turned away to catch something Hardy had said.

  ‘Thanks for the advice,’ she said aloud, digging out her keys and heading for the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Dream World

  EVEN WITH THE help of some of the area’s best doctors, the infection in the tissue of Ben Larvin’s remaining leg proved too virulent to bring under control. By the time it subsided, he had also lost his left below the knee. His therapy sessions were expected to last many months, but his state of mind was of greater concern. He had sustained serious head injuries, and would have to undergo months of cognitive testing. His wife remained at home with the blinds drawn, and stopped speaking to any of her neighbours.

  Lea searched the web for any details about the accident. All she found was Colette’s own angry account on her blog.

  Elsewhere, as August came to a close, the surface of life returned to normality. The swimming pool was repaired and refilled. A wooden construction fence went up around the remains of the Busabi house. New smart-ID cards were printed, but proved hopelessly faulty. Extra guards were placed at the entrances to the compound and the resort, and a strange late-summer lassitude descended upon the area.

  The heat outside was beyond endurance. Lea was tired of spending her time scurrying between ice-blasted public buildings as if sheltering from meteor showers. The wives reduced their visits to one another’s houses, as if they could no longer be bothered to keep up the pretence of friendliness. Mrs Garfield took to holding court at the golf club on Friday lunchtimes with the other military wives. Only the children maintained their loyalties to one another, living separate lives.

  Their worlds were disconnected now, and Lea wondered what it would take to repair the damage. As the final countdown to Dream World’s September opening began, Roy spent most of his waking hours at the resort. During the weekends he seemed distracted and barely capable of speech. If Lea interrupted him, he would look at her as if trying to place her name.

  Their plans to visit other states or take trips into the desert evaporated. Even a trip to the movies seemed impossible to organise. She knew it wasn’t just her family who was affected; life for everyone in the compound was deeply and irrevocably altered. Standi
ng at the window, she sometimes thought she could sense its pattern brushing at her fingertips, only to feel it dissolve.

  Ramadan came to an end. The celebration of Iftar took place on the last evening of the month-long fast. After dark, meals would be laid out all across the city. Muslims were heading home to be with their families. There were just three weeks left before the resort’s grand opening. In the cool shadows of their courtyards the Arab women prepared their feasts. At the Dream World resort, workmen erected the steel bleachers for their honoured guests. A stadium stage had been constructed in front of the Persiana, but without its decorative lights turned on it looked more like an arena designed for public executions.

  One afternoon the doorbell rang, making Lea start. Madeline Davenport stood on the step with a snuffling highland terrier on a plaid lead. She stared down at the dog as if waiting for it to improve its behaviour.

  ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you,’ she began. ‘I was just passing. I wonder—can I come in for a minute? Outside it’s too—’ She looked around uncertainly.

  ‘Of course, please come in.’ Lea stepped back.

  ‘I haven’t spoken to many of the neighbours since Mr Larvin’s accident. I imagine Colette has her hands full and I wouldn’t want to interfere.’

  ‘Let’s go in the kitchen. I think Lastri has a coffee pot brewing.’ She led the way.

  Madeline set down her dog and lowered her wide-beamed bulk onto a bench. She looked as if she was about to speak, but suddenly stopped herself.

  Lea tried to help. ‘Roy and I have been to the hospital a few times. There hasn’t been much change in Ben’s condition. He’s on so much medication that he doesn’t know you’re in the room with him. He’s dosed up for pain control and depression.’

  ‘The poor man, one feels so helpless,’ said Madeline. She sipped her coffee, watching the dog. Lea was puzzled as to why she had stopped by. She waited for her to explain the purpose of her visit.