John’s parents were there. The school had invited them to come along, and they were standing at the back, watching. It was only our class, with us all sitting on the grass and Mrs Palmer out the front with Mr Inglehart. He gave a speech first about how John was a special child. He was my friend and everything and I really liked him, but it felt funny only saying all of this good stuff. It didn’t seem true. He didn’t find maths easy at school and I always had to help him, and he could be a bit of a show-off, but I guess when someone dies, they only want to talk about all of the good stuff. I suppose if I was gone and people were talking about me, I wouldn’t want them bringing up that I was a bit puny, and I couldn’t lift a hay bale over my head. But there was great stuff that should have been said about John that wasn’t. He had the power to make me laugh when I was feeling down, he was generous and would share anything without being asked, and he made me believe that I could achieve anything that I wanted to.
“Thomas, can you come up here?”
I hadn’t been paying attention and didn’t realise they were ready for me. I went up to the front and Mr Inglehart handed me the spade. Mr Jenkins came along with a wheelbarrow and plonked it down beside me. John’s Mum and Dad were still standing at the back. She looked much smarter than the other day when she’d come to the house. She was wearing this posh black dress, and her lipstick was really red, but her eyes were all black and she kept dabbing at them with a handkerchief. John’s Dad was in a suit. I don’t think I’d ever seen him before. He probably wore a suit every day for work. John said he had an important job ‘in the city’ and I don’t think he meant Ely, or even Cambridge.
I put the spade into the ground, and then lifted the clump of grass into the wheelbarrow. People started clapping, and then Mrs Palmer pointed back to where I was sitting before, so I sat down again. Mr Jenkins had dug out a bit more mud and as he wheeled the wheelbarrow away Mr Inglehart brought the tree out from round the back. I could tell everyone was looking at it the same way I did: it was a too small and didn’t do a good job of representing John at all. I whispered to Daniel, who was sitting next to me, “It’s a monkey puzzle tree, spread it.” That made people giggle, and I think John would have been happy with that.
After the ceremony we were allowed to stay out on the field to “share memories of John,” as Mr Inglehart put it. I was standing on my own when Laura came over to me.
“I’m glad that you’re on your own,” she said.
“Oh,” was all I could mutter.
She must have seen that I was hurt. “No, I don’t mean it like that. I’m glad your friends aren’t here because they can be a bit… silly.”
I figured that she was talking about Liam.
“I wanted to tell you something, something that I’ve never told anyone.”
“Not even Becky?”
“No, not even Becky.”
Was she going to declare her love for me? If she did, I would say that I liked her too.
“It’s hard to say.”
“Go on.”
“I… I really liked John.”
“Oh.”
“I had a huge crush on him, and now he’s gone there’s nothing I can do about it, so I’m telling you because you were his friend. Is that okay?”
I nodded. John was my best friend, and he was dead, and for a second, I hated him because of what Laura had said, but then I was overcome by guilt and took back all of those terrible thoughts. Of course, Laura fancied John. He was the cool one. No one would ever fancy me. But it also made me realise something else about John. He was the only one that liked me for being me, not because we were related, not because of who my brother was, not because a teacher had made us work together. Now I’d lost him and was left with people in my life who tolerated me because they had to.
Aunt Anne dropped us at the end of the drive, and as Will and I walked towards the house, I could see that it looked different. As we got closer, I knew why. Half of the ivy had been pulled off, and Mum was busy tackling the rest.
“Afternoon, boys,” Mum said. She mopped at her forehead with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. “I don’t suppose one of you would grab your mum a glass of water?”
With a puzzled expression on his face, Will went into the house.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“Taking down the ivy.”
I looked up at the house. The ivy had been there as long as I could remember, and the brickwork appeared strange without it. Where the ivy had grown into the brick, it left a pink trail, like veins spreading across the face of the house.
Mum snipped again with the sheers and then set them down to grab the vines.
“Why?” I asked.
Mum pulled at the ivy and stepped back. As the ivy tore away from the wall, flakes of loose brick drifted towards us. Mum stepped back into a rose bush and grunted in annoyance. She stopped what she was doing and turned to face at me. “It makes it look like we’ve got something to hide,” she said before stepping aside, away from the rose bush.
I noticed that her dress had snagged on the thorns, and, seeing a couple of other small tears, I realised it wasn’t the first time she’d stepped into it.
Mum tugged at the vines again, stepping back and yanking at them until they’d either come away from the house or snapped, leaving small worms of vine clinging to the house.
Will returned holding a glass of water. He handed it to Mum. “Do you need some help?” he asked.
“No thanks, love,” she said before taking a gulp of the water. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.” She put the half-empty glass down on the ground, unfazed by the odd angle at which it sat, and picked up the sheers again, pretending we weren’t even there.
I went inside, through the scorching kitchen and upstairs to the bedroom. I picked up the Secret of the Scythe. The dice were kind; I went inside, through the scorching kitchen and upstairs to the bedroom. I picked up the Secret of the Scythe. The dice were kind; I had a good chance as long as I made sensible decisions. I ventured into the witch’s house to explore, knowing I was strong enough to take on any surprises that the book offered. It was worth going in too. Written on a scrap of paper, hidden behind a broomstick in the witch’s kitchen cupboard, I discovered the secret of the path to the Underworld. You had to push on a tiny branch on the trunk of the tree that looked like a disgusting wart near its mouth. I thought of the tree in our field, visible from our window, sure that it had a similar knot. That damn thing was responsible in some way. That damn tree was covered in ivy, just like the house. But if the house could be freed from its dark influence, the tree could be defeated too.
Friday 29th June 1990
They’d taken the name from John’s peg, and his P.E. bag was gone. It left a gap between Steven Farley and Brian Harper. For the first time since he’d gone missing Mrs Palmer also completed the register, flowing from Steven to Brian smoothly, not even stumbling at the point where John used to be. They’d had their memorial and they’d moved on. Even his name sticker had been torn from his tray, but not cleanly, so it left jagged white fragments and sticky patches. They were all ready to move on. Was that also the influence of the Underworld? Was the tree sending out some kind of brainwaves to erase John from people’s memories?
“We can’t let it go,” I said after finding Will at break time.
“What else can we do?” he said.
“Keep an eye on the tree. See if anyone else is visiting it. Follow Shaky Jake.”
“Shouldn’t we let the police get on with it?”
“They’ve done nothing.”
“We’re stuck though. We’re not allowed out after school, so we can’t follow anyone. You can sit around watching a tree if you want, but I’ve got better things to do with my time.”
“He was your friend too,” I called out as he started to walk away.
“And I can’t bring him back. What do you expect from me?”
To be the hero. That’s all.
> There was a surprise waiting for us on the playground after school: Uncle Alan.
“Hey boys,” he said as Liam and I came out of school. Andy was already with him.
“What are you doing here?” Liam asked.
“Car’s had its M.O.T. Got to pick it up from the garage.”
Once Will came out (almost last) we made our way to the garage. It was next to the post office, and unfortunately, we were walking not far behind Laura and her family. We were also much quicker than they were as her little brother was on a tricycle, which made him slower than walking pace. I desperately didn’t want to have to pass them or talk to Laura at all. I’d done such a good job of avoiding her during the day. Andy went marching in front of them first of all, and then they came to a stop, ready to cross the road. I was going to have to pass them. Laura didn’t even look back though. She crossed beside her mum, who was holding her brother’s tricycle in one hand, and his hand in the other. If she knew I was there, she didn’t care enough to even look at me.
There was a low wall outside the garage which Uncle Alan told us all to sit and wait on while he collected the car. I was still looking over at Laura’s house, having watched her and her family go in a minute ago.
“Look who’s coming,” said Liam.
Shaky Jake was crossing the road almost directly opposite us. Andy leant back, hiding himself behind Will, who was staring up at Jake. Shaky hadn’t noticed us until he was halfway across the road, and when he did, he swerved back into the road, turning back on us, only to snake back the other way again, and walk down the middle of the road in the direction of the Post Office.
“Shit, look,” said Will.
A car had come around the corner and was heading straight for Jake. It blared its horn and came to an abrupt stop. Jake hurried onto the pavement and shrunk into himself as the driving started shouting abuse out of the window.
“At least we’re not the only ones who think he’s a freak,” I said.
A couple of minutes later Uncle Alan pulled up in his car, which shone in the sun having been washed and polished. “Hop in,” he called.
We all got in the car and buckled our seatbelts. As he was about to pull off the man with the Fu-Manchu moustache came running out of the garage.
“Mr Carter,” he cried. “Don’t forget your receipt.”
As Uncle Alan was thanking him, I saw Shaky Jake walk by, having left the Post Office. Under his arm was a copy of Fiesta. It had to have been him that was spying on kids outside the school.
When we got home, Will was in no mood to talk, so I picked up my notebook and took it downstairs. I was sitting at the kitchen table drawing a map of the farm, marking out the drove and the tree and the bypass and the spot where I found John’s body and there was a knock at the door.
Mum was peeling potatoes at the sink. I don’t think she’d noticed me come down and sit at the table, but she rested her hand on my shoulder as she went by to get the door. I looked around. It was John’s mum. I closed the book.
“Hello Mrs Tilbrook,” she said, “I just wanted to pop around to let you know that John’s funeral will be on Monday.”
“Thank you for letting us know.”
John’s mum leant around my mum a little to look at me.
“Thanks for what you did at the school, Tom,” she said.
I didn’t know what to say, so I smiled, and she looked back at my mum.
“If Tom wants to come along to the service that’s quite alright. I know they did their own thing at the school, but he was John’s best friend.”
“We’ll see,” Mum said, then John’s mum backed away from the door.
“Okay, goodbye. Bye Tom,” she said, but before I could say goodbye Mum pushed the door closed.
“Can I, Mum?”
“Can I what?” she said as she headed back towards the sink.
“Go to the funeral?”
“I don’t know, Tom. Funerals are really quite difficult things, and you’ve already had the memorial service at the school, as Mrs Glover was saying.”
“But she also said that I was his best friend.”
“Let me speak to your dad about it,” she said.
“I know it’s a sad thing, but I want to be there.”
“See what Dad thinks,” she said, and she started on the spuds again.
Saturday 30th June 1990
Dad had said I could go, but that meant I needed a suit. The most smartly I’d ever dressed before was for school, and that wasn’t even a proper uniform. For this I was going to need a proper shirt and tie.
Dad knew a tailor who had a shop in Ely. It was a man he’d gone to school with, though you wouldn’t have thought that from looking at him. He was half the size of Dad, and the only hair he had on top of his head was a thin comb-over from the side. He had round little glasses which were slid all the way down to the point of his particularly long nose, a tape measure hanging around his neck, and a pencil tucked behind his ear.
“Do my eyes deceive me or is that Trevor Tilbrook?” said the tailor as he came over to Dad and shook his hand.
“Alright Fred, how’s business?”
“We have thin days and fat ones. I prefer the fat ones; they use more material.”
He was odd.
“Still at Little Mosswick?” he said, and he rubbed his hands together.
“Yep, we don’t go far.”
“I drove through a week or two back – I won’t be doing that much longer, what with the bypass and all that.”
Dad cleared his throat.
“So, what can I do for you today? New suit?”
“It’s for my son.”
“Ah, is this one your eldest? Will, is it?”
I shook my head.
“No, this is my young ‘un. Thomas.”
“And what’s the occasion?”
“It’s for my friend’s…” I muttered, but Dad cut in.
“Funeral.”
“Ah,” said Fred. “Not that young lad that was killed in your village?”
“Yep, that’s the one,” Dad said with a sigh.
“Terrible business that. Has anyone been arrested?”
“Not as far as I know. Police are struggling to come up with anything. They keep combing over my land, looking for clues, but they ain’t getting nowhere.”
“Of course, it was on your farm that the body was found. Terrible.”
“It was Tom here that found it.”
I looked up at Fred and he stared down at me. I was worried his glasses were going to fall off and hit me in the face.
“And he was a friend of yours?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He sighed, shook his head, and then took the tape measure from round his neck. “Let me measure you up and we’ll see what we can do for you.”
He took his tape measure from around his neck and measured up my leg. He scrawled something on a pad of paper with a little pencil he took from behind his ear. Then he asked me to hold out my arms. He demonstrated; “Like this,” he said, and put his arms out in an airplane pose. When he did so his shirt rode up his arms on both sides and I was amazed by how hairy the tops of his arms were. It was like he had a full-on hairy sweater underneath his shirt. I glanced at his hands as he held the tape around me. No wonder he didn’t wear a watch, it would forever be getting caught up in his arm hair.
He breathed out heavily onto my face, probably accidentally, but that didn’t stop it smelling like the tubs of maggots in Granddad’s garage. It made me think of The Maggot from the Top Trumps cards, but other than the smell Fred was nothing like him. He didn’t look like any of the cards I could think of, but those arms put the werewolf into my head. The Top Trump werewolf was even wearing a fancy blue suit. I made a mental note to check if it was a full moon when John went missing.
Fred looked at the numbers he’d written down.
“Yes, we should have something in black in your size, young man. You’re lucky; we only have a limited stock of junior-sized s
uits.”
He went into the back room and came out a minute later with a black jacket and trousers in one hand, and a white shirt in the other. He handed them both to me. “Would you like to try them on?”
I had to hold them up high to stop them trailing all over the carpet. I went into the changing room and stripped off. I could hear Dad talking to Fred.
“It must have been hard on the young man, finding the body of his friend like that.”
“He could do with some toughening up.”
I started to hum to myself to drown out the rest of the conversation. I didn’t want to hear what else Dad had to say about me, but it was no good. I heard every word.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t wish a sight like that on anyone, especially one so young.”
I got the shirt buttons in a muddle first time and had it lop-sided. When I undid them all and put it on again it was much better.
“Was the young boy interfered with in any way?” said Fred.
“Police aren’t saying, but there’s some weird fuckers about.”
I pulled on the trousers.
“A beastly business,” said Fred. “There’s some real monsters out there.”
I heard a rustle from behind me and stepped out of the changing room, straight through the curtain without lifting it. The trousers were long, and I was stepping on the backs of them when I came out.
“Ah,” said Fred, “Yes they’ll need turning up a touch, come here.”
He had me lift my arms up again and he looked at the shirt. He put a finger between the collar and my neck which caused me to bend my neck over to that side, so he had to struggle to get his finger out.
“Jacket and shirt fit fine,” he said.
Then he put his finger into the front of my trousers.
“Not too tight?” he said and took his finger out again. I could feel his wiry hand hair scratching at my skin.
“No, they’re okay, just a bit long,” I said.
“Are you happy with that, Trevor?”
“Looks fine to me.”
Dead Branches Page 20
