Jenny and I didn’t know what was the matter. It was only later I found out that he thought flowers were about two dollars a bunch at the most. He had got Jenny to wrap up the flowers and now he couldn’t ask her to take them back. He was too embarrassed. He pulled his grandmother’s pension money out of his pocket, looked at it frantically, then thrust it into Jenny’s hand. For a minute I thought he was going to say something to me. I tried to look as if I hadn’t been listening. He took a few steps towards me, then changing his mind, grabbed his change and fled out of the shop.
‘What a strange bloke,’ I said. ‘I bet we never see him again.’
2
I was wrong. Half an hour later he got into the same carriage as me on the train.
I groaned. Not because of Gerald and his flowers but because Scouse the skinhead was in my carriage. He was a great big hulk of a bloke and he was real mean into the bargain. He liked nothing better than picking on anyone weak and giving them a hard time. He always caught the same train as me but usually I managed to get into another carriage. He looked at Gerald, gave a twisted sneer and then spat on the floor.
Gerald was as red as ever and he stood with his back to the door, holding the flowers behind his back. He was trying to hide them from the other passengers. He didn’t want to be seen carrying flowers in the train. Every now and then he looked over at me in an agitated fashion.
The train was one of those silver ones where the two doors slide automatically into the middle when they close. As the train lurched off they shut with a bang. Right on Gerald’s roses. He just stood there shivering and twitching and holding onto the stems with his hands behind his back as if nothing had happened. The stems were on the inside of the train and the flowers were on the outside.
Everyone on the train started to grin. I bit my tongue like mad to stop myself from smiling but I have to admit that it really was funny. Gerald just looked at a spot on the roof and stood there with his hands behind his back, pretending that nothing had happened.
A few people started twittering and giggling. The poor kid just didn’t know what to do so he just kept on pretending that everything was all right. Gerald looked around desperately. I’m sure that if the door had been open he would have jumped out of the moving train just to escape from the mirth.
The only person in the train who hadn’t noticed the flowers was Scouse. He was too busy scratching his shaved head and taking swigs out of a tinny. Every now and then he would give a loud burp.
The train plunged into a tunnel and everything went black. I stopped biting my tongue and allowed myself a big grin. I just couldn’t help it. Anyway, Gerald couldn’t see me smiling in the dark. Right at that moment the lights switched on and Gerald looked into my eyes.
He had seen me grinning. His bewildered eyes seemed to say, ‘Not you too.’ It was at this moment that I realised I had betrayed him. I forced the smile from my face and opened my mouth to speak but he looked away just as the train stopped at an underground station.
The doors slid apart and Gerald stared at what was left of his twenty-four-dollar bunch of flowers. They had gone. He stood there lamely holding twelve broken stems wrapped in pink paper. There was not one petal left. They had all been ripped off in the tunnel. Now he had lost his grandmother’s money and his flowers. And even worse, he had made a fool of himself in front of a whole carriage full of people including me.
With a strangled cry he jumped off onto the platform. Scouse jumped after him. ‘Look at the little fairy clutching his invisible flowers,’ sneered Scouse.
I stepped off the train too and stood aside as it sped past me.
Scouse snatched the rose stems from Gerald’s hand gleefully. ‘Look at this,’ he mocked as he read the card that Jenny had written:
TO SAMANTHA WITH LOVE FROM GERALD.
‘I’ll bet she likes getting these.’ He shoved the prickly stems into Gerald’s face.
Gerald grabbed the broken stalks and looked around like a hunted rabbit. He looked straight at me, red with shame. He wanted to escape but Scouse was blocking his way. Without a sound, Gerald jumped off the platform onto the tracks and ran up the tunnel.
‘Come back!’ I shouted. ‘Trains come through the loop every five minutes.’
He made no reply and I heard his clattering feet disappear into the tunnel.
‘Let the little fairy go,’ said Scouse, showing his yellow teeth in a leer. Then he spat into my face and walked off laughing.
I ran screaming down the platform to find a porter. ‘There’s a boy in the tunnel!’ I yelled. ‘Stop the trains.’
The ground began to tremble gently and a rush of cold air came out of the tunnel. There was a low rumble and then a scream.
The train rushed out of the tunnel. As it slowed I noticed a bunch of broken flower stems wedged on one of the buffers.
3
There were not many people at Gerald’s funeral. Apart from the priest and the undertakers there was just me and Gerald’s grandmother. After the coffin had been lowered into the ground we walked slowly back to the gate. I told the old lady about what happened in the flower shop. She already knew the rest from the police. She smiled sadly and explained about her pension money that he had spent. ‘Not that I care about that,’ she said. ‘If only I had Gerald back I would give everything I have.’
I watched with tears in my eyes as the bent old lady slowly walked off. I had told her about that ratbag Scouse but I didn’t mention that I had smiled in the train when the roses got caught in the door. I felt too ashamed.
That night I had terrible dreams about roses and thorns. I kept seeing a dark tunnel from which a lonely voice sadly called my name.
It was no better that day at work. I kept dropping things and breaking them. And the palm of my hand was itchy. I kept scratching it but nothing would stop the itch.
I was glad when it was time to knock off. I went out into the potting shed to get my parka. A terrible feeling of sadness suddenly swept over me. It seemed to flow out into my body from the palm of my left hand.
And then it happened. From the palm of my left hand a blood-red rose erupted from my flesh. Slowly it unfolded, budded and bloomed. A magnificent flower nodding gently on the end of a graceful stem. I tried to scream but nothing came out. I shook my head wildly and my rose fell to the ground.
I fell in a chair, dazed, and watched with horror. No, not horror: awe, as eleven more perfect blooms grew from the palm of my hand.
I knew after the third one that there would be a dozen. A dozen bloomin’ roses. Blood-red and each with two dots on each perfect petal. And under the dots a downturned line.
I stared at the dots. They were eyes. Unhappy eyes. And underneath, a sad little suggestion of a mouth. Each petal of each rose held a portrait of the dead boy’s face. I knew that Gerald had sent me a message from beyond the grave.
I collected the roses in a daze and took them into the shop. Then I wrapped them in pink paper and tied them up with a bow. I ran a chewed fingernail along the ends and curled them up. After that I wrote on a small card and attached it to the ribbon.
Then I set off for home.
Scouse was on the train.
He leered as soon as he saw me. I stood with my back to the sliding doors and as they slid closed I let the roses become trapped in the door. I stood there, saying nothing as the train lurched off.
There was no one in the carriage except Scouse. ‘Another little person with flowers in the door,’ he mocked. He stood up and poked me in the stomach. It hurt. ‘Another sap. Another creep who buys flowers.’
I grabbed his wrist with my one free hand and tried to stop him jabbing me.
Just at that moment the train plunged into the tunnel and Scouse broke my hold in the blackness. I felt his powerful arms on my neck and I fought desperately for breath. I was choking. He was strangling me.
I felt my life ebbing away but I just couldn’t bring myself to let go of those roses, and so I only had one free hand and couldn�
�t stop him.
Without warning the doors burst apart as if opened by giant arms. A roaring and rushing filled the carriage. A sweet smell of roses engulfed us. The hands released my neck and Scouse screamed with terror. As the light flicked on I saw that the compartment was filled with rambling roses. They twisted and climbed at astonishing speed. They covered the luggage racks and the safety rails. They twisted along the seats and completely filled the compartment. I couldn’t move. Then I saw that the long tendrils wound around Scouse’s legs and arms. And neck.
Tighter and tighter they drew around the hapless man’s throat until at last he lay still on the floor. I knew that he was dead.
And then, as quickly as they had come, the creeping roses snaked out of the door and vanished into the black tunnel. There was not a sign that they had ever been there. Except the one dozen roses that I had started with. They were perfectly intact. Not damaged a bit by their exposure to the tunnel. I smoothed down my dress and then picked up the bunch of roses as the train stopped at the station.
I looked again at the label I had written. It said:
TO GERALD WITH LOVE FROM SAMANTHA.
When I got home Mum was amazed by the roses. ‘Why Samantha,’ she said. ‘They are beautiful. And look, each petal has two little dots that look like eyes and a little line like a mouth. They are faces.’
I could feel tears forming in my eyes. ‘Yes,’ I said, examining them closely. ‘And each little face is smiling.’
It all started when I was reading a comic called . . . what was it again . . . ? I forget now. Anyway, this comic reckoned you could hypnotise chickens by staring them in the eye and making chook noises.
Well, it was worth a try. See, Dad had this prize chook named Rastus. It used to win ribbons at the show. He kept it in a cage in the garage and gave it nothing but the best to eat. Dad loved Rastus.
It was a smart chook. I have to admit that. You probably won’t believe me when I tell you that Rastus could understand English. ‘Rastus,’ Dad would say. ‘Count to four.’ Rastus would peck on the cage four times. No kidding. It could go all the way up to twenty-two without making a mistake. It sure was brainy.
Anyway, I wanted to see if the comic was right. It would be great to hypnotise a chook. I sneaked out to the garage and let Rastus onto the floor. Then I did what it said in the comic. I stared straight into Rastus’ eyes. ‘Puck, puck, puck, puck,’ I said.
Rastus didn’t take any notice. He just started scratching around on the ground. It didn’t work. Things in comics never do. Still, I decided to give it one more try. This time I changed pitch. I made my voice higher. More like a chook’s. ‘Puck, puck, puck, puck,’ I went.
Well, you wouldn’t believe it. The silly chook froze like a statue. Its eyes went all glassy. It stood as still as a rock. Not a blink. Not a movement. It was out to it. Hypnotised. I had done it. Fantastic.
2
I walked around and around the staring chook. I poked it with my finger. It still didn’t move. I grinned to myself. I could hypnotise chooks. Maybe this would make me famous. I could go on the stage. Or the TV. People would pay good money to see the boy who could put a chook into a trance.
Still and all, Dad wasn’t going to like it much. He wouldn’t win many ribbons with a chicken that just stood and stared.
The back door banged. I could hear Dad packing his fishing rod in the car.
I clicked my fingers at the chook. ‘Okay, Rastus,’ I said. ’You can snap out of it now.’
Rastus didn’t move.
I tried something different. ‘When I say bananas,’ I said to Rastus, ‘you will wake up. You will feel happy and well. You will not remember anything that has happened.’
I took a deep breath. ‘Bananas,’ I said.
Rastus stared to the front like a solid, feathered soldier.
I picked him up and looked into his eyes. ‘Speak to me, Rastus,’ I said. ‘Puck, puck, puck.’ I gave him a vigorous shake.
Rastus was rigid. The rotten rooster was out like a light.
Dad’s footsteps came towards the garage. ‘Oh no,’ I said.
I grabbed Rastus and my school bag and nicked out of the back door. Dad was going to be mad when he found out that Rastus had gone. But not as mad as he would be if he knew what I’d done. I wasn’t even supposed to go anywhere near the bloomin’ chook. And if I couldn’t get it out of its trance it might die of starvation.
3
I made my way slowly to school with the frozen fowl tucked under my arm. Its glassy eyes stared ahead without blinking.
‘What have you got there?’ said a loud voice. It was Splinter, my best mate.
‘It’s Rastus,’ I said.
Splinter whistled. ‘Wow. How did he die?’
‘He’s not dead. He’s hypnotised. I can’t bring him round.’
By now we had reached the school gate. ‘Pull the other one,’ said Splinter.
‘No, it’s true,’ I said. ‘I’m a hypnotist. I did it.’
‘Okay,’ said Splinter. ‘Hypnotise me then.’
I looked around the school ground. Kids were staring at me because I was standing there with a bit of petrified poultry under my arm. I could feel my face going red. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I will. But first I have to hide Rastus.’
We found a little trap door under one of the portable classrooms and hid Rastus inside. He looked kind of sad, staring out at us from the dark.
Splinter stretched himself out on a bench. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Get on with it. Put me in a trance.’
A group of kids gathered around. They were all scoffing like mad. They wanted to see me hypnotise Splinter. They didn’t really think I could do it. Neither did I. A chook was one thing. But a person was another.
I took a silver pen from my pocket. ‘Follow the tip of this pen with your eyes,’ I said.
Splinter did as he was told. He had a big grin on his face. His eyes went from left to right like someone watching a tennis match. Suddenly the grin disappeared. Splinter’s eyes went glassy. He stared to the front. Splinter was as solid as a statue.
Was he fooling? I didn’t really know. I couldn’t be sure. He was the sort of kid who was always playing jokes. ‘You are a chook,’ I said.
Splinter jumped to his feet and started crowing like a rooster. He was very good. He sounded just like the real thing; not like someone trying to copy a rooster. The kids around all gasped. They were impressed.
But I wasn’t sure about it. I had a feeling that Splinter was tricking me. I had to find out. ‘Splinter,’ I said. ‘When I count to three you will be your old self. You will not be a chook any more. But whenever you hear the word “no”, you will be a chicken again for thirty seconds.’
Splinter was just opening his mouth to start crowing again. I had to be quick. ‘One, two, three,’ I said. Splinter shook his head and blinked. He was back to normal.
4
The school bell rang and everyone made for the doors.
‘What happened?’ asked Splinter. He really didn’t seem to remember. I smiled to myself. I was a hypnotist. From now on nobody could give me any cheek. I would make them think they were worms. Or maggots. Life was looking good.
But not for long.
We went into the first class. Maths. With Mr Spiggot. He sure was a mean teacher. If you hadn’t done your homework you had to stand up and be yelled at. Or do a Saturday morning detention. Three girls were expelled because of him. Just for giving cheek.
Mr Spiggot looked at me. ‘Have you done your homework, Robertson?’ he growled.
I looked at my shoes. I was in big trouble. ‘No,’ I answered.
‘No?’ he yelled.
At that very moment Splinter jumped to his feet as if someone had just switched him on. He walked around the class pecking at the floor like a chicken. ‘Puck, puck puck,’ he said. The class gasped. Some kids tried to smother a laugh. Splinter was in big trouble. You couldn’t fool around in front of Mr Spiggot and get away with it.
I can tell you one thing. It was the longest thirty seconds of my life. And there was nothing I could do except watch poor Splinter scratch around on the floor in front of the whole class.
Suddenly Splinter stopped. The thirty seconds were up. He looked around with a silly expression. Everyone was laughing. Except Mr Spiggot. He looked straight at me. He knew Splinter was my mate.
‘Right,’ he said in a very quiet voice. ‘You two think you can get out of your homework by acting the fool.’ He walked over to his desk and picked up two sheets of paper. He gave us one each.
I groaned. It was Maths homework. Twenty hard problems.
Splinter didn’t know what was going on. ‘Why?’ he asked, ‘I haven’t done anything.’
‘No?’ said Mr Spiggot. ‘What . . .’
He didn’t finish the sentence. As soon as Mr Spiggot said the word ‘no’, Splinter went back to thinking he was a chicken. He hopped up onto the front desk and squatted down. He put his elbows out like wings and flapped them. Then he sort of bounced up and down. He thought he was a chook laying an egg. ‘Puck, puck, puck, puck,’ he went.
Everyone packed up. The whole class was in fits. Mr Spiggot picked up two more sheets of sums. He held one out under Splinter’s nose. Splinter pecked at his hand with his teeth. Just like a broody hen. Peck, peck, peck. ‘Ouch,’ shouted Mr Spiggot. He shook his hand and jumped up and down.
Splinter was still trying to lay an egg. Suddenly he stopped. The thirty seconds was up. He blinked. He stood up on the desk. Mr Spiggot was so furious that he couldn’t speak. He staggered back to the desk and grabbed a handful of problem sheets. He gave us another one each.
Unreal Collection! Page 28
