‘Yes?’
‘Do you know a boy called Ted Roberts?’
‘Yes. Nice boy – very frank and open. Good sportsman.’
‘Is he still away from school?’
‘Got some kind of virus, I gather. We had a certificate sent in. Why?’
‘I just wondered. He’s a mate of mine.’
‘Got plenty of friends, have you, Gary?’
‘I’ve got Ted.’
‘Yes – I know it’s not easy coming from the mainland – the Islanders aren’t always very forthcoming. I’m an ovener myself. But I’ve found a lot of good qualities in the Islanders, you know. They love this place for a start. And once they are a friend, they’re fiercely loyal.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now, I want to see you getting that rest. Going to bed early. Getting yourself in better shape. So let’s book a meeting for today fortnight and see how you’re getting on. If you’re not so tired, you’ll be able to concentrate better in class, won’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
When Gary returned home that evening he could sense that his parents were in the middle of a big row and at tea-time it came to a head.
‘You were too soft with them – always have been,’ she said and Gary looked at his mother wonderingly. Her voice was more bitter than he had ever heard it before and there was a hard look in her eyes.
‘These Islanders –’
‘If you say that again, I’ll scream.’ And she looked for once as if she really would.
‘What happened, Dad?’
His mother answered. ‘I said it would happen.’
‘What would happen?’
‘Those builders have walked out.’
‘Why?’ asked Gary, guessing but dreading the answer.
‘They say the conversion’s impossible. Something about the foundations having shifted. But my architect from London says it’s a load of tommyrot.’
‘They also say they won’t work with the architect,’ said Mrs Baxter savagely. ‘If you’d been tougher –’
‘Tougher when?’
‘At the beginning. They were working like snails. That polythene’s been on the floor for weeks. You should have given them a deadline.’
‘That’s got nothing to do with it,’ said Bill Baxter indignantly. ‘They just walked off the job. I’ll sue ’em.’
‘And where will that get us?’
‘I’ll go to another builder.’
‘I doubt if they’d do it.’
‘’Course they’re prepared to work on one condition,’ said Bill slowly.
‘And that’s a condition we can’t afford.’
‘What is the condition?’ asked Gary, wishing they would stop ignoring him. Didn’t his parents know he was there, able to talk – able to be intelligent?
‘That they pull the building down,’ said his father gruffly. ‘And destroy the foundations.’
‘And start again?’ Gary’s voice shook.
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Isn’t that exactly what the letters wanted you to do?’
‘Sort of.’
‘So what are we going to do?’ asked Gary.
There was a long silence from his parents. Then his mother said slowly, ‘I think we should try and sell the place.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ snapped Bill. ‘After all the work we’ve put into it? Anyway, no one would buy it.’
‘What we’re really saying,’ said Gary, ‘is that everyone thinks the place is haunted.’
‘Rubbish.’ His father turned away.
‘Gary –’ began his mother.
‘But it’s true, isn’t it? The letters, the builders –’ He almost mentioned Ted’s name but stopped. He knew he couldn’t tell them about the dreams. For a start he didn’t think they’d believe him. And if they did they’d make a stupendous fuss. It just wasn’t worth it.
‘They may think it’s haunted,’ said his mother, ‘but there’s no such thing as ghosts. Anyone rational knows that.’
‘These –’ began his father.
‘Don’t say it,’ yelled Gary and his mother simultaneously, and burst into paroxysms of hysterical laughter.
‘I don’t get the joke,’ said Bill Baxter after his wife and son had laughed uncontrollably for quite some time.
Gary sobered up with difficulty. Then he had an idea. ‘Dad, they really do think it’s haunted. It’s nothing to do with the foundations having shifted – or the architect. Honest.’
‘I know,’ said his father miserably. ‘But what the hell are we going to do?’
‘There is one thing they might accept,’ said Mrs Baxter slowly.
‘What’s that then?’
‘We could get a priest.’
‘What?’
‘And have an exorcism.’
Gary looked at his mother with a new respect. ‘Brilliant idea, Mum. Even if the priest is a fake, it might get the men back to work.’
‘Fake – priest a fake? What are you on about?’ His father was almost apoplectic.
‘Look, Bill.’ May was adamant. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts – and I don’t believe in exorcism – but if you want to get this job done, get those builders back to work, well, maybe it’s the only way.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘Bill –’
‘Total cobblers.’
‘But, Dad – it might work. What else have you got in mind?’
His father shrugged, suddenly defeated. ‘What priest would be prepared to indulge in that kind of mumbo-jumbo?’
‘I’ll ask the builders,’ said May quietly.
‘Mr Roberts?’ Gary hated using the telephone; he always felt his voice sounded weird and he could never really gauge the reaction of the person he was talking to.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s Gary Baxter.’
‘Gary.’ At first he thought he had detected hesitancy in his voice. Then Alan Roberts suddenly sounded jocular and welcoming. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m all right. I was wondering if I could see Ted?’
‘Glad you phoned.’ His voice was so relentlessly jolly that Gary felt suddenly tired. Also there was a kind of over-enthusiasm to it that seemed phoney, or was it just his own battered imagination playing tricks? ‘Ted would be delighted.’
‘Is he there?’
‘Not at the moment. Gone fishing. But tomorrow’s Saturday. Why not come over?’
‘Is that OK?’
‘Of course it is.’
‘Is Ted still ill? I mean – he’s off school.’
‘Yes.’ Mr Roberts sounded more hesitant. ‘This damned virus.’
Gary hadn’t noticed anything wrong with Ted at all. On the contrary, he seemed to be exceptionally fit.
‘He’s making a good recovery though.’ As if he detected Gary’s suspicions, Mr Roberts’ voice went into overdrive. ‘Soon be right as rain. And back at school. But I know he’ll be grateful for your companionship. As I said, Ted’s been pretty lonely.’
‘I’ll cycle over. Tomorrow, about ten.’
Gary lay awake, the dream light-years away from him and sleep impossible. He kept thinking about the priest and what he would do – if he ever did it. How would whatever was there in Jackson’s Garage react? Or was there nothing there at all? Was it all just local rumour sparking off his over-active imagination? But he’d started dreaming before he realized there were any local rumours. Anyway, he’d never had an over-active imagination. He liked sport, didn’t watch many movies, had never read much. Gary was good with his hands, a practical sort of person, able to knock nails into walls straight, mix cement, make cupboards, take his bike to bits and put it together again accurately. But now he was dream-bound, dream-obsessed; horrified by its persistence yet pining for its loss.
Click. What was that? Clack. The smallest of sounds, like someone having successfully tiptoed over the yard and now opening the back door of the garage. No, he was imagining it. Click. Clack. The door couldn’t be l
ocked now – the builders had done something to it – so it was only the yard gate that was secured. And that could be climbed, softly, quietly, gently, by someone who was athletic enough to do it. Then he definitely heard the subdued squeak of a rusty hinge. Someone was breaking into Jackson’s Garage.
I should tell my father, thought Gary. Wake him up at once. But some strange instinct stopped him, and he suddenly realized that he had a feeling of ownership, of acute involvement with the garage, and he wanted to see who was invading his property by himself.
Gary realized how dangerous his initiative could be, but he still climbed out of bed, over the new baby-gate at the top of the stairs and down towards the back door. He was not afraid, but tense and wary, with a growing anger.
Gary crossed the yard softly and noticed the back door to the garage was swinging open. He paused, but the anger pushed him on and he tiptoed through it into the cold, dark space. The moon was full overhead, and because there were glass panels inserted into the roof, wan light shone in milky pools on the polythene. At first he could see no sign of movement at all, but he could smell petrol. Gary glanced round cautiously and then began to inch along, his back against the wall. Half-way along was an alcove which had previously been used for storing oil drums. Forgetting its existence, Gary plunged into the dark space, almost losing his footing. He felt a sudden, acute pain, and it was as if he was on a helter-skelter sliding down towards a hard bright light. Then the light went out.
Gary came to with the smell of acrid smoke in his nose, and the cursing of his father in his ears. His head, which was aching, was being cradled by someone, and when he looked up he saw that it was his mother.
‘What –’
‘Don’t talk, Gary.’
‘Mum –’
‘I said – don’t talk. Your dad’s got the fire out and the police are here. We’re going to take you to the hospital.’
A blurred face bent over him and then focused into a young policeman with a helmet. He looked nervous. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am – but I’ll have to ask him a few questions.’
‘But he might have concussion.’ His mother’s voice was shrill with indignation.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Not many then,’ she compromised acidly.
‘Listen, son.’ The policeman’s breath smelt of onions. ‘What happened? Try and tell me slowly and clearly.’
But Gary didn’t feel at all clear as he stumbled into speech. ‘I woke up and heard something – like the back door of the garage opening.’
‘Why didn’t you tell your parents?’
‘I dunno. I s’pose I wanted to save them the trouble.’
His mother sighed and the policeman said, ‘Go on.’
‘I went in, looked around and got banged on the head.’
‘You didn’t see your assailant?’
Gary tried to shake his head but it hurt as he moved it. ‘No.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yes.’ But Gary knew he wasn’t telling the truth. There had been a glimpse – half a second maybe. But a glimpse.
‘These Islanders –’ His father appeared, choking, his face blackened.
His mother winced.
Five
Gary lay in the hospital bed considering his position. He should tell his parents; he really should tell them. His head hurt, but not that badly. Should he tell them? Shouldn’t he? Maybe he was wrong. But he knew he wasn’t. That glimpse he had caught. It was of Ted.
Ted must have set fire to the garage. Why? Was he that superstitious? If he had really been as fiercely worried as he had seemed that day at school, why had he been so normal and so friendly when they had met at Black Gull Chine?
Then, with an abrupt shock, Gary realized something he had not taken into account before. His parents had found him safely outside the garage, so Ted must have dragged him out. Slugged but saved, thought Gary wryly. He should tell the police, he should tell his parents – he should tell them all. And if he didn’t, he’d be in trouble. Big trouble. But even so, Gary knew in his heart of hearts that he was not going to tell. Not until he had seen Ted, anyway – and confronted him. Meanwhile, he felt tired. X-rays had been taken, he had been checked over – spent the night and all day in hospital – why couldn’t he go? He was quite sure that there was nothing wrong with him.
The doctor returned with his mother and father. They both looked exhausted. Only the doctor seemed calm. He was black and distinguished-looking and his white coat enhanced his good looks. Gary could see immediately that his mother had faith in him and that his father was awkwardly respectful.
‘You’ll live,’ said the doctor, smiling at him.
‘Good,’ replied Gary feebly.
‘You’ve got a nasty bruise, but no concussion and no brain damage.’
‘What’s the time?’
‘Nearly six.’
‘I was meant to be at a friend’s this morning,’ said Gary, suddenly remembering.
‘You won’t be able to go out for a few days yet,’ began his mother, but the doctor interrupted.
‘I don’t know – a good blow would do him good.’ The doctor laughed. ‘If that’s not too bad a pun in the circumstances. What were you going to do with your friend?’
‘Beach fishing.’
‘Sounds great. I should go tomorrow – fresh air and complete relaxation.’
‘Are you sure, doctor?’ began May Baxter.
‘Yes,’ he replied with quiet conviction. ‘I’m quite certain.’
When Gary got home, his father brought him up a cup of tea in bed and sat down for a talk.
‘That wasn’t very bright, old son,’ he said gently.
Gary decided to pretend not to understand. He was too tired for his father’s probing. The hospital routine had been relentless and didn’t leave much time for sleep. ‘What do you mean, Dad?’
‘I mean, you should have woken us.’
‘Sorry.’
‘That’s OK.’ His father stroked his hair, something he had not done for quite a while.
‘Dad –’
‘Yes?’
‘Is the garage all right?’
‘Sure. Just a wall blackened. I turned a fire extinguisher on it and the fire was out in seconds.’
‘Did you hear something?’
‘Yes. Must have been the fire-raiser dragging you out into the yard. When I arrived you were lying there with a few wisps of smoke coming out of the garage.’
Gary gazed at him blankly, his mind racing.
‘We’ll have to have better security,’ said his father.
‘Is the priest still coming?’
‘No.’
‘But why not?’ Gary tried to sit up but Bill Baxter pushed him back.
‘Because it’s a damned silly idea – and I’ve talked your mother out of it. This has all got out of hand.’
‘Why do you think this – person – tried to burn the garage down?’
‘God knows. Local yobs. These –’
‘Don’t say it, Dad.’
‘Sorry.’
‘I’m tired.’
‘Get some sleep then, son.’ He stroked his hair again. ‘Sleep tight.’ And Gary did.
*
When he woke the next morning, Gary felt totally refreshed and his head was hardly even aching. He sprang out of bed and hurried down to the kitchen. The clock said it was ten and his mother was outside in the garden. Gary hurried to the phone. This time it was Mrs Roberts who answered.
‘It’s Gary.’
‘We were expecting you yesterday. Ted was very disappointed.’ Her voice was cold and disapproving.
‘Don’t you know what happened?’
‘Happened?’ She sounded alarmed.
Gary told her, and as a result her tone changed completely. ‘How awful!’
‘I’d like to come up this morning – if Ted still wants me to.’
‘But –’
‘The doctor said I should get some fresh air.’
‘We
ll –’ She sounded as doubtful as his own mother.
‘Really,’ he pressed.
‘But Ted’s gone out.’
‘Where?’
‘Where else? Fishing at Black Gull.’
‘I’ll cycle over.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Thanks.’ Gary put down the receiver firmly.
After more protests from his mother, Gary set off, but she made him promise that he would be back at eight. The morning was clear and the sky above him an innocent blue with fluffy clouds like distant flocks of sheep. Nothing bad could happen on a day like this. But as he cycled towards Black Gull Chine Gary was gripped by tension to such an extent that his heart was thudding painfully as he rode along. The tension increased as he neared Black Gull Chine, and spilled over into sheer panic as he arrived at the top of the steps. What would he say to Ted? Should he confront him? Would Ted confess everything? What the hell was he going to say? What would Ted do? What would he do? What would they both do?
Ted’s bike was leaning against a sign which said ‘Beware – Crumbling Cliffs’. Looking down the long narrow chine he could see the water was gentler and there was no surf, no booming. At least they could talk. Gary clambered down, feeling sick and shivery. Once on the beach he turned to the rock. Ted was there, fishing, his black hair glinting almost wickedly in the sunshine.
‘Ted.’
‘Hi there.’
‘Good fishing?’
‘Not bad. Come up.’
Gary climbed up the rock and stood, tongue-tied, beside Ted who seemed completely relaxed and casual, as if nothing had happened. Maybe nothing had happened. Could his imagination have played him false? Was there another intruder? At last Gary found his voice.
‘How you feeling?’
‘What do you mean?’ He was staring down at the azure sea which was calm, almost listlessly lapping at the small beach.
‘The virus.’
‘Oh that. I’m fine.’
‘Will you be back at school soon?’
‘When I’m ready.’ Ted grinned that special mischievous grin at him.
‘When’s that?’
‘Beginning of the summer holidays.’
Gary laughed as hard as he could but, to him, his laughter sounded hopelessly fake. Then there followed a long silence, during which Gary screwed up his courage. He was determined to ask him. Absolutely determined. But there was something in the way. A kind of block; the same kind of block that forbade him to talk about his dream – or about Ted to his parents and the police. Eventually he spoke, but something else came out instead.
Dead Man at the Door Page 4
