by S. L. Powell
Gil managed to shake Louis off on the way to maths and locked himself in a toilet cubicle to forge a note from Dad. He wasted several sheets of paper trying out different styles of handwriting before deciding it would be safer just to print the letter as neatly as possible, but when he got to Yours sincerely he stopped. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what Dad’s signature looked like. In the end, he did a big swirling tornado of scribble and wrote Dr Matthew Walker in brackets underneath it.
At the office the secretary fiddled with her glasses as she studied the note.
‘Your appointment’s at ten,’ she read, not looking at Gil. ‘That’s over an hour away.’
‘Yes,’ Gil said. ‘I know.’ Idiot, he thought. Why hadn’t he put nine-thirty?
She slid the glasses to the end of her nose and peered at Gil through the security window.
‘Where’s your dentist?’ she demanded.
‘Brogan’s Hill.’
‘And how are you getting there?’
‘Um – walking.’
‘Even at snail’s pace that’ll only take you twenty minutes,’ she said, disapprovingly.
‘But it’s foggy. I’m worried about getting lost. And . . . and . . . I really hate the dentist. If I don’t go now I’ll bottle out completely. And my dad will be furious. Please.’
Gil could hear real desperation creeping into his voice. If he couldn’t blag his way out of the school building he couldn’t put the next part of the plan into action, and now the plan was filling his head he badly wanted to get on with it.
‘All right,’ said the secretary, relenting.
The door clicked open and Gil was out into the safety of the fog.
He was so grateful for the fog. It was like a huge invisibility cloak. It meant he didn’t have to look behind him all the time for fear that someone would read his mind and drag him back to school, and it made the fog inside his head feel less oppressive. It was only after walking for ten minutes that he realised the next part of the plan required a phone, and he didn’t have the faintest idea where to find a phone box. He couldn’t see more than a few metres in any direction. Slowly the fog wrapped itself tighter around him, making it hard to breathe. Ha ha, the fog whispered. Gotcha.
Suddenly a colourful shop front appeared, and Gil pushed the door open. A bell tinkled, and a man turned from behind a counter.
‘We not open,’ he said. ‘Later. Twelve noon. Sorry.’
It was a Chinese takeaway.
‘It’s OK, I don’t want to buy anything,’ Gil said. ‘I just need a phone. Do you know if there’s a phone box anywhere round here?’
‘We have payphone,’ said the man. He pointed to the end of the counter. ‘You need make call?’
‘Oh. Yes. Thanks.’
Gil had to tip most of the contents of his bag out on the floor before he found the animal rights number. The man watched him all the time.
‘You OK?’ he said at last. ‘Why you not in school?’
‘I’ve got an appointment,’ Gil said. ‘I just need to phone someone. I’m not sure where I’m going.’
The man half-nodded, but didn’t move.
‘Dial first,’ he said. ‘Wait for answer. Then put money.’
The phone rang and rang and rang, just as it had the night before. Gil stood with the receiver pressed too tightly to his ear, clutching a fifty pence piece, ready to drop it into the slot. Then with a little click the answerphone message cut in again. The payphone began to bleep frantically. Crap, thought Gil. There’s still no one there. Now what do I do?
‘Hello?’ said a woman’s voice suddenly.
Gil pushed in the fifty pence piece just in time.
‘Hello?’ said the voice again.
‘Hi,’ Gil said. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to speak to – to . . .’ He swallowed, trying to make his tongue feel less like a potato in his mouth.
‘Who?’
‘Jude. A guy called Jude.’
‘Jude? Are you sure? I don’t think I know anyone . . .’The woman’s voice trailed away into silence. The payphone started to bleep again and Gil shoved in a pound coin.
‘You must know Jude,’ Gil said. ‘He gave me a booklet with this number on it. He does the animal rights stall in town. Have you got a phone number for him?’
‘Who are you?’ The woman sounded suspicious.
‘I’m a – a friend of Jude’s. I met him last week. Please, I really need to talk to him.’
‘I don’t give out people’s personal phone numbers,’ the woman said sharply. ‘You could be anybody.’
‘I’m not anybody, though.’ Gil cast around in a panic for something he could say to stop the woman putting the phone down on him. ‘Can you – would it be all right if you called Jude and asked him to call me back? It’s really important.’
‘Just a minute.’ The woman was sounding very irritated now. Her voice was muffled for a while, as if she had her hand over the mouthpiece. Then without warning she snapped, ‘Name?’
‘Sorry?’ said Gil.
‘Name. Your name.’
‘Oh, sorry. Gil Walker.’
‘Number?’
‘Um – just a sec,’ Gil said, searching every available surface of the phone. He couldn’t see a number written anywhere. When he picked up the phone to look underneath it, the takeaway man silently pointed to a piece of paper sellotaped to the counter. Gil read out the number and the woman hung up immediately.
‘They’re phoning me back,’ Gil said to the takeaway man, more confidently than he felt. The man moved up the counter to stack menus, but he still looked suspicious, as if he expected Gil to pull a knife on him and raid the till. What’s the problem? thought Gil grumpily. I’m in school uniform, for God’s sake. It’s not like I’m even wearing a hoodie.
The wait seemed endless. Maybe Jude was asleep. His phone might be off. Or he might be busy doing something heroic and impressive. Or maybe Jude wouldn’t remember anything about him. Gil? he might say. I don’t think I know anyone called Gil. Must be a hoax.
No, of course Jude would remember him. It was only two days since he’d had the showdown with Dad in town. But what if Jude didn’t want to see him? And what if the woman that Gil had just spoken to didn’t even bother to pass on the message?
Gil felt dizzy. He shut his eyes and immediately a parade of wounded animals appeared in his head, marching slowly and painfully. Dad was behind them, forcing them to go faster, and scattering little white blobs on either side of him as if he was sowing seeds. ‘Live,’ he said as he flung a handful of blobs to the right of him. ‘Die,’ he said as he threw blobs to his left.
The phone rang and Gil snatched at it, praying it wasn’t an early customer for the takeaway.
‘Hi,’ he gulped. ‘It’s Gil. Is that . . .?’
‘Gil! It’s good to hear from you!’ Jude’s voice was cheerful and comforting. A great flood of relief washed over Gil. ‘Are you at home?’
‘No, I’m not. I need to come and see you. Now, if possible.’
‘Oh. Is this about what happened on Saturday?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, God, I upset you, didn’t I?’ Jude sounded concerned. ‘I’m sorry, I should have kept my bloody mouth shut. I’m really sorry.’
‘You haven’t upset me,’ Gil said. ‘Jude, can I just come and talk to you? I need to sort a few things out. In my head, I mean.’
‘All right. Come to my place. Where are you now? Somewhere near your school?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK, I’m on the other side of town. It’s a bit of a trek – you need to get yourself on a number fifteen bus, and get off just past Tesco on the Chesapeake Road. Do you want me to meet you?’
‘I’ve got a street map,’ Gil said. ‘If you just give me the address.’
Jude dictated his address slowly, then his mobile number.
‘If you can’t find me,’ he said, ‘give me another call.’
‘I haven’t got a phone,’ s
aid Gil.
‘There’s a call box in Tesco. Give me a call from there. See you in a bit.’
‘Thanks,’ Gil said.
The man from the Chinese takeaway watched him all the way back out into the fog.
As the bus bumped across town the fog started to clear. The sky became whiter and whiter until it was too bright to look at, and then the sun appeared like a ghost, even paler than the sky. By the time Gil reached Tesco on the Chesapeake Road there was enough sunlight to cast faint shadows.
Gil had never been here before. There was no reason to come to this part of town. He didn’t know anyone who lived here, and if he and Mum went to Tesco it was always the giant superstore at the retail park. This Tesco was smaller and scruffier, wedged between little shops with goods that spilled out on to the pavement – greengrocers selling vegetables he couldn’t identify, and discount stores with piles of plastic boxes and cheap toys.
Gil pulled out his city map again to make sure he knew where he was going. Albert Street, second on the left. He walked past a pub with hundreds of cigarette ends trodden into the pavement outside, past a mobile phone repair shop as small as a telephone box, then a kebab shop, and a place that looked like a jeweller’s with a sign in the window that said, Cheques cashed. Offers made on all jewellery.
Albert Street was a short road of houses with a big brick church built right across the bottom of the street. A couple of the small front gardens were piled full of old sofas and mattresses. Rubbish trickled out of people’s gates. There was no one around, but the street made Gil nervous. It was a dead end, and Jude lived all the way down at number thirty.
He counted houses to calm himself down. Sixteen. Eighteen. Twenty. Twenty-two. Nearly there now. Look, there was Jude’s house, behind a low wall. The curtains were still closed in the downstairs window, and the gate swung open into the street.
Gil was on the path that led up to the front door before he properly noticed the body lying in the garden.
She was face down, with her legs across the path. She didn’t move. The front door was open, but Gil would have to step over her to get to it. Oh God, was she dead? What was he supposed to do? There was a groan from somewhere underneath the body, and one of the arms jerked a bit. It was too much for Gil. He raced back to the main road and dived into the safety of Tesco. It was a few minutes before he could get it together enough to phone Jude.
‘Jude here.’
‘Jude, it’s – it’s me. Gil.’
‘Hey, Gil! Where have you got to?’
‘I found your house,’ Gil said, ‘but – but —’ He had to swallow hard after every word, as if they were marbles in the back of his throat. ‘There’s – someone – lying – on your – path. A wo–woman. I – can’t – get to the – door.’
‘Oh, it’s Sally again, is it? Don’t worry, I’ll sort her out. You’re in Tesco, are you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Come back, and I’ll meet you outside.’
When Gil got there, Jude was kneeling on the path. The woman had her head in his lap. She was sobbing in a way that reminded Gil of Mum the day before, when she’d broken the plate in the kitchen. It sounded as if she would never be able to stop. Jude reached across and took a can out of her hand, and then tipped the contents away at the side of the path. A small river of golden liquid ran down towards Gil’s feet.
‘She’ll be all right in a minute,’ Jude said, looking up at Gil. ‘Can you get up, Sally?’ he said to the woman.
She got herself to her knees and then Jude held her arm while she struggled to her feet. She stood, leaning on him, swaying a bit. Her hair was stuck to her wet face.
‘It’s in my head,’ she whispered. ‘They’ve put something in my head. Something – I don’t know what it is. It’s growing in there. It’s telling me what to do. It hurts.’ She started to cry again.
‘Sally, there’s nothing in your head,’ said Jude. ‘I promise you. They don’t do that to human beings. Only to animals.’
Sally suddenly turned to gaze at Gil with eyes that stared too widely, and he wanted to run away.
‘You’re a nice boy,’ she said wonderingly. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘He’s my friend,’ said Jude. ‘He’s come to see me.’
‘Don’t let them put anything in your head,’ said Sally. ‘They did experiments on me. They’re trying to turn me into a dog without my permission.’ Without any warning at all she barked at Gil, so loudly and fiercely that he began to back away out of the gate, and then she started to laugh.
‘Stop it,’ said Jude firmly. ‘You’re scaring him. Have you taken your tablets?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Sally. ‘I’m sorry. Sorry,’ she said again to Gil.
‘Come on,’ said Jude. He ushered Sally through the front door. Gil hung back in the gateway, wondering whether it was safe to follow.
‘Come on,’ said Jude again. ‘You’re not going to get eaten. Sally’s a vegetarian dog, you know,’ and he and Sally both laughed much more than Gil thought there was any need for, but he followed them into the darkness of the house.
‘Just go in my room,’ said Jude, pushing open a door. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ He began to help Sally up the stairs.
It was dark in Jude’s room too, but there was a narrow slice of daylight falling through the back window. The room was shabby but extremely tidy. In a funny way Gil felt it looked like a faded version of Dad’s study – the desk, the bookshelves, the filing cabinets, the single armchair – but it was a room that Jude obviously lived in, because there was also a bed and a wardrobe.
Above the desk, in the same place that Dad had his fossil fish, there was a framed photo of someone holding a beagle puppy. Gil went closer to look at it. The dog was cute and cuddly, but the photo wasn’t, because the person in the picture was wearing a black balaclava and Gil couldn’t see anything of their face except two shadows where the eyes must be, and a hole for the mouth. He – or she – was dressed like a terrorist, but they were carrying a puppy instead of a gun. It looked completely wrong.
Several minutes went by, and Jude didn’t come back.
There was a smell of stale cigarette smoke and damp. Gil sat on the edge of Jude’s neat bed and began to wish he’d never come. If only he hadn’t been able to come up with a plan. If only he were like Louis, too thick to have ideas of his own, the sort of person who always said, Wow! I wish I’d thought of that! He ought to run back to school while he had the chance, Gil decided, standing up quickly. Louis would just be coming out of maths and making his way to the science block. Double science – it suddenly seemed the most wonderful thing in the world, as appealing as a big roast dinner with all the trimmings. Which I’m not going to eat any more, Gil reminded himself. You stupid, stupid, stupid . . .
But before he could escape Jude came through the door, carrying two more cans which he dumped on a table.
‘Poor old Sally,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I took so long. She couldn’t find her tablets. I suppose I shouldn’t encourage her to take them, really, seeing as they’ve all been tested on animals. She freaked you out, didn’t she?’
‘Um – yeah, a bit,’ Gil said.
‘She wouldn’t hurt you. She’s more likely to hurt herself,’ said Jude. ‘She’s got schizophrenia and she drinks as well. It’s not a good combination. There’re things going on inside her head that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.’
Gil thought of Mum again. If Mum was going mad, would she end up like Sally, lying face down in the front garden with a can of lager? Was there any way he could stop it?
‘Sit here,’ said Jude, patting the armchair.
Gil sat down carefully, feeling the springs creak. The chair was covered in green velvet, but there were bald patches and cigarette burns on the arms. Jude plonked himself on the old office chair at his desk and sat twizzling from side to side. He pulled the tobacco out of his pocket and started to roll a cigarette. Gil watched him for a minute and suddenly felt be
tter. Why had he wanted to run away? Jude was safe. There was nothing to worry about. He allowed himself to relax into the chair.
‘That stuff Sally was talking about – the experiments,’ Gil said. ‘That isn’t really happening to her, is it?’
‘Not in quite the way she imagines,’ said Jude. ‘But yeah, it’s happening all right. Sally’s convinced someone’s been fiddling with her DNA, trying to turn her into an animal. But it’s not so far from the truth. You know about genetic modification, I guess?’
‘Not a lot,’ said Gil.
Jude looked down at the flimsy cigarette paper in his fingers. His voice was clear and soothing. ‘It’s a massive issue. All kinds of plants and animals that we use for food have had their genes altered without us knowing, and nobody really knows what impact it’s going to have. Strawberries, for example – well, they’ve created a strawberry that’s got a gene from an Arctic flounder spliced into it to make it more resistant to frost. Half-fruit, half-fish. Creepy, eh? But if you ate it you’d never know. They’ve probably got them on the shelves over at Tesco. So Sally’s not quite as crazy as she sounds. It’s the science that’s mad. And the scientists, who think they’ve got a licence to do whatever they want in the pursuit of knowledge and money.’
‘Like my dad, you mean,’ Gil said.
‘Yes,’ said Jude seriously. ‘Like your dad.’
‘I know it sounds stupid,’ Gil said, ‘but I never knew . . . I never knew . . .’
Gil’s throat closed up and to his complete horror he realised he was going to cry. His stomach rose, squeezing the space inside his lungs and demanding that he took a breath. But he didn’t dare breathe. If he breathed he would sob like a baby. He couldn’t let Jude see him cry. Instead he shut his eyes and heard Jude say in the darkness, ‘You never knew what your dad did, huh?’
Gil shook his head.
‘He never told you he worked in the labs,’ said Jude. ‘Doing all that stuff to animals.’
‘No,’ Gil managed to say.
‘And I was the one who dumped it on you without warning, wasn’t I?’
Gil opened his eyes. Jude was fiddling with his cigarette. He looked unhappy.
