The Unusual Possession of Alastair Stubb

by David John Griffin

  Both the nurse and Dr. Snippet stood immobile. ‘Dear boy,’ said the doctor finally, ‘what on earth are you talking about?’

  Alastair did not answer. His face lost its tautness and the expression of hate vanished. His eyelids fluttered and he fell back onto his pillows. The doctor went over to him and after checking his pulse and listening to his heart, he turned slowly to the nurse with a shrug.

  ‘Well?’ said nurse Pump.

  The doctor sighed. ‘He is asleep.’

  A bicycle bell was heard to ring from somewhere in the lane outside. A dove landed onto the bedroom window sill and flew off shortly after. The doctor took nurse Pump by the arm and led her to the door. ‘I want a word with you,’ he said.

  ‘And I want a word with you,’ was the reply.

  They sat in the kitchen. Dr. Snippet took a sip of his tea. ‘Mrs. Pump, I did not employ you to upset my patients. What on earth is the matter?’

  She blushed and twiddled with the rings on her fingers. ‘You know the reason.’

  ‘Yes, I most certainly do. But you still went against my wishes. I told you that your boy’s head and scratches will heal in time. I hope, by the way, you are rubbing them twice a day with the cream I prescribed.’ She nodded. ‘But to tell Alastair about his mother, that was quite unnecessary. Physically, your boy will heal but mentally, you could scar Alastair’s mind for life.’ The doctor looked grim and took another sip of his beverage. ‘As for asking him why he was in the attic in the early hours of the morning, I specifically told you to leave that to me.’

  Nurse Pump became serious. ‘Perhaps I do owe you an apology. I was a bit nasty. But Sidney wakes up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep again worrying about his bald patch; he gets all of the other kids at school pointing and laughing behind his back. Underneath it all he is sensitive. Half our problems would go tomorrow if only my husband would pull himself together and not live in public houses for hours on end. I don’t see him from one day to the next sometimes. I’m sorry, you know all that.’ Blinking and sniffing, she rubbed her smarting eyes but then her face became hard again. ‘Alright, I’ll apologize to you and Alastair, if you apologize to me.’

  Dr. Snippet replaced the cup which he had been holding to his lips and looked surprised. ‘Apologize? For what?’

  ‘For talking behind my back. What have you said to Alastair about my husband?’

  The doctor raised his generous eyebrows and leant on the table with his arms crossed. He spoke quietly. ‘I can assure you Mrs. Pump, I have not said anything to anyone on any such topic concerning you or your husband. I am sure it was a symptom of Alastair’s serious breakdown. After all, he spoke of being burned which is, of course, quite ridiculous. And then you saw for yourself how quickly he fell into a deep trance of a sleep. He has had a severe mental bludgeoning, and in confidence I am not sure as to all of the reasons. There are still many things puzzling me.’

  ‘I accept that then. But how did he know about my husband’s accident? That happened years ago, before Theodore Stubb went off and even before I was married. Anyway, it wasn’t so much what he said as how he said it. There was hatred; it didn’t sound like Alastair at all; and what did he mean by saying that me and my husband would pay?’

  The doctor shook his head slowly. ‘He has had a severe trauma to his mentality, Mrs. Pump. You must try to understand. Most unusual that it should happen to one so young. There is a long way to full recovery, even when he leaves here.’

  ‘I still don’t think it’s any excuse to be so rude about my husband, specially that sort of language from a thirteen year old. I think his father has got a lot to answer for, filling Alastair’s head with rubbish.’

  ‘I will have a word with Mr. Stubb the next time I see him,’ answered Dr. Snippet, though knowing he was sure to forget.

  She seemed satisfied and nodded and they both sat sipping their drinks. The conversation thus punctured remained so until Mrs. Pump remarked, ‘And while we are talking, there is something else. I’ve changed the sheets on Alastair’s bed every day for almost a week.’

  ‘That is one of the tasks for which I employ you.’

  ‘Of course. But do I have to have the sheets soiled in that way?’

  ‘I didn’t know Alastair had bowel trouble as well,’ the doctor answered in surprise.

  With a shake of her head, nurse Pump replied, ‘I’m not talking about his bowels.’

  ‘But you have told me that the sheets are soiled. Soiled with what then?’

  ‘With insects, doctor; squashed, dead insects.’

  CHAPTER 33

  Departure

  A SKY, DIRTY AND dismal, scowled from above. Rain began to spot the ground and tap the window; it steadily increased to a snare drum roll. The wet spots were quickly joined and the sound outside became alive with dancing droplets. All colours seemed to have been washed away in the rain to leave endless variations of grey.

  The fast-moving clouds took a more definite form. There was nurse Pump sitting on a broomstick, crying out: ‘She’s your mother, your mother, your mother!’

  Alastair felt his lip twitch twice so he put his hand to his mouth and snorted; tension bound in his stomach as the depression which he had become acquainted with took possession of him again. When his lip twitched once more he stamped his foot in annoyance. He heard the click of the door and turned from the window in time to see it open.

  Dr. Snippet did not enter but stood on the threshold in conversation with somebody in the lobby. ‘But everybody has to pay their way I am afraid. Oh indeed, everyone. Even Mrs. Battlespoke. Yes, even her.’ He gave a ridiculous grin.

  ‘Do me a favour, I’ve—’ Stubb was promptly interrupted.

  ‘Mr. Stubb, if I did a favour to everybody in Muchmallow, where would I be then? Hmm?’ Dr. Snippet backed through the doorway into the sitting room followed by Stubb.

  ‘Look here, I’ve already told you three times that I am going into Grinding tomorrow to get my money from the building society. And it’s Muchmarsh, you old fool.’

  ‘Very poetic I’m sure, Mr. Stubb,’ remarked the doctor, procuring a wider grin.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘What is what?’ replied Dr. Snippet for it was at that moment that he had forgotten what they were talking about. He looked enquiringly to Stubb who grunted impatiently.

  ‘Let me remind you, Snippet, what we were discussing. You seem to be under the impression that I am trying to avoid paying, when I have attempted several times to get it through your thick skull that I am asking for a reduction in the price. A favour; if you would only remember, I did a favour by selling this house to you at a considerably smaller sum than it’s worth. It’s a stupid place to have a practice anyway. And what’s more you should have retired years ago.’ In preparation for a verbal retaliation Stubb half-closed his eyes with a distorted nose and mouth but it was well proven that slander or rudeness did not have the slightest influence upon the doctor’s temperament.

  ‘I will consider your words carefully, Mr. Stubb. I cannot be fairer than that can I?’ is all that Dr. Snippet said in reply. Then, both Stubb and the doctor, realizing they were not the only occupants of the room, looked to Alastair; and Alastair, not wishing to meet either pair of eyes which were scrutinizing him, threw his sight to the intricately patterned carpet. He felt trapped and helpless.

  Stubb stepped closer to his half-brother he thought of as his son, and ordered, ‘You’re coming home. You are better.’ Alastair turned his back to look through the window again, unable to stop the nervous twitching of his lip he had acquired. Clouds still obscured the sun and sobbed rain.

  The doctor parted his lips to give an airing to his teeth. He tittered and spoke: ‘Well young man, it is time for you to go home. You have made an excellent recovery. Indeed you are better and you will stay that way as long as you take life steadily and do not get excited. And take the herbal preparations. So, come along now.’

  Alastair bit firmly onto his
lip and passed a hand across his brow. He wished they would both leave him in peace. He watched bubbling water outside the window as it flowed into a drain.

  ‘Come on then, boy,’ shouted Stubb. His patience was rapidly evaporating. ‘Get a move on.’ He strode across to Alastair and stood before him with his arms folded across his belly, about to speak again. Alastair turned without warning. With his eyes glowing with enmity, he glared at the father figure and their sights locked together. Dr. Snippet smiled gleefully at what he saw as a happy reunion.

  Being so taken aback by the disturbing expression from Alastair, Stubb lost the words he had wanted to say. Those narrowed eyes filled him with a sense of foreboding and fear. The chilling look upon Alastair’s face was alien to the boy, yet it seemed somehow familiar. Stubb dismissed the incident with a shake of the head.

  Alastair became aware of his surroundings again – the hissing rain and the occupants of the room and the swirling patterns on the carpet.

  All three moved at once. Dr. Snippet shuffled towards Stubb with a question quivering on his lips while Stubb turned to face him, then Alastair turned away from them both and headed for the door. He walked through from the lobby to the hallway, followed closely by a scowling Stubb who, in turn, was followed by the beaming doctor.

  Alastair took his jacket from the peg of a coat hanger in one deft movement and then, ignoring his collected belongings, he opened the door and walked into the rain, pulling his jacket on as he went. Stubb angrily tore an umbrella from the stand and picked up the valise.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said the doctor looking smug with himself as he had remembered what he had wanted to say, ‘about the payment.’

  Stubb gave a fretful sigh.’ You idiot,’ he said as he opened the umbrella.

  The raindrops bounced off the umbrella and onto Dr. Snippet’s trouser legs. His smile did not falter. As Stubb walked briskly over the gravel to the open gates, the doctor closed the door. He chuckled and muttered, ‘Now, I wonder how the lad is getting on,’ while strolling through to the study.

  Alastair had walked half the length of Daisytrail Lane with William Stubb trotting after him, panting and cursing. The rain began to ease to a fine drizzle. Stubb was irritable and tired of the small suitcase hitting his legs as he jogged along. He placed the offending article down and gave it a hefty kick. He felt better after that, picked it up and began to trot again. Once he had caught up with Alastair – at the end of the lane where it widened out onto the village green – he placed a hand onto his shoulder. Quite out of breath, he whispered, ‘Wait a minute.’

  Alastair did as he was told, waiting at the side of The Bulldog Fish Tavern. Stubb paused to catch his breath. ‘What has got into you, young whelp?’ he scolded. ‘Running off like that. There was no cause. Now you take your case and get on home. Do you hear? If you’re not careful you’ll be getting another of those breakups.’ Alastair looked to his feet. ‘Answer me, will you. I didn’t give up my drinking time to collect you from the doctor’s to be ignored.’ After letting go of the valise and umbrella for them to fall onto the lane, Stubb clipped Alastair’s ear with a swipe of the hand. ‘That’ll teach you. Now get on home before you get wetter.’

  Alastair yelped and clutched his stinging ear and threw a hateful glance. ‘I’m the queen, the queen,’ he shouted at the top of his voice and running across the village green, stopped occasionally to bounce up and down and croon as loudly as he was able.

  Stubb stood still, horrified and stricken. All that he had strived for to keep the tragedy a secret was lost; it had all been for nothing. Alastair knew and was using the knowledge as a weapon against him. Within a matter of seconds, the boy had slashed open the already raw and bleeding wounds of the past. As the raindrops ran down Stubb’s crumpled face, he picked up the case and the umbrella before turning the corner to the entrance of The Bulldog Fish Tavern. He was going to get drunk again.

  CHAPTER 34

  Abergail

  KNITTING LAY ON an armchair with the needles sticking up, the bundle thrown in frustration and annoyance. The antique sideboard had been polished so that once more Abergail could almost see her face reflected. Her mother would not be taking her through the next chapter of English Grammar for Young Ladies until the next day. Because her watercolour painting bore scant resemblance to any real scene, Abergail decided she had painted enough and it would remain an unfinished sketch only. So all she had to occupy herself with was to sit near her bedroom window and look out onto the village green.

  In case she might be seen by a villager outside – which would surely not do – she sat well back from the window. Many times her mother had told her that she was different from other people. At one time, Abergail had believed she looked like her mother, possessing the same infliction. But why did the reflection in the windows tell her differently? If a mirror was to be found she would be certain.

  There was a boy: he was sitting on a bench by the horse trough and the trees on the far side of the green. Despite the distance, Abergail could see that he held the end of a piece of string and swinging freely from the other end was a round, shining object. If only she could speak with him for a while, she wished. As much as she liked to talk with her mother and aunt, she could not recall ever conversing with anyone else.

  Abergail was tiring of her observation and so turned into her room; and anyway, she remembered that her needlepoint needed to be finished so went down to the sitting room to do exactly that.

  CHAPTER 35

  Pump and Gristle

  THE RAIN HAD stopped, leaving the bushes drooping and dripping with the cobwebs glistening and Mrs. Battlespoke’s washing looking sorry for itself. The sky was not rid of all the storm clouds though eventually the last of them was dismissed by a zealous wind.

  Sidney Pump’s hair was sent splaying in all directions like a sea anemone while the cropped style that had residence on Gristle’s head stood prickled. They dawdled aimlessly along Cinnamon Street, neither caring to speak, both engulfed in their own thoughts.

  ‘…Alastair has lost his brains, though what with his mum round the twist, it must run in the family. Wait till I see him again. He’ll know it…’ Such were the thoughts of Pump. He did not consider a butt in the stomach as revenge for the pain he had felt from the hands of Alastair. He gently rubbed the sore patch on his head. ‘Bloody boring,’ he finally spoke out loud and he kicked a pebble, sending it skipping along the road. It landed in a rain puddle with a plop.

  ‘Pork chops with loads of spuds. Covered in gravy. I’m so hungry. A cream cake. That’s it, I’ll buy a cream cake dolloped with thick cream…’ and such was the rumination dominating Gristle’s mind. He was sure he was wasting away. ‘I’m hungry,’ he complained dolefully and, to keep his mouth occupied he sucked his fist.

  ‘That’s all you think about isn’t it? Your fat belly.’ The offending part of Gristle’s anatomy received a prod from Pump’s finger. ‘Let’s do something. I didn’t come out to listen to you moaning. Think of something.’ Fixing his gaze onto Gristle’s stomach he added scornfully, ‘Apart from anything to do with food.’

  They walked in silence again. Gristle pouted thoughtfully but then abruptly stood still with a look of revelation on his chubby features.

  As though petting a cat, Pump stroked his bald patch and asked, ‘Well, what’s your bright idea?’

  After a deep breath Gristle gasped, ‘Let’s go to Spittle’s. I want to buy an apple pie.’

  ‘Shut up, will you,’ replied Pump. ‘you make me sick,’ and he tried his best to look so.

  They reached the end of Cinnamon Street for it turned the corner to become the bottom of Pepper Lane. Pump walked briskly past the lane and along a muddy track which was an extension of Cinnamon Street for he did not wish to be reminded of the incident outside Alastair’s house. Lagging behind, Gristle called out loudly, ‘What about Alastair, then? Coming out today, isn’t he.’

  Pump’s face lost its colour. ‘Shut your mouth. Belt up.’
/>   ‘He’s probably after you. Do you reckon? In fact he’s—’ Pump wheeled around and ran the few paces between them. He clouted Gristle around the head and Gristle buried his neck into his shoulders. ‘What was that for, mate?’ Offended, he shuffled around in circles, kicking at invisible stones. ‘I was only telling you…’ He became quiet, then suddenly brightened and in an attempt to calm Pump’s agitation continued, ‘Still, he’s a real softy anyway. A raving nut. I tell you…’

  With as much force as he could muster, Pump projected his foot into Gristle’s backside and Gristle let out a sharp cry as he was pushed to the ground. ‘Shut your stupid mouth for five minutes,’ Pump shouted. ‘And you had better not mention his name again until I do, or else.’ He strode swiftly along the track.

  His companion rose to his feet and ignoring the clumps of mud soiling his clothing, massaged one of his buttocks. It was a mystery to him as to what had upset his best friend Sidney Pump, and he was agitated with the idea that he had lost the friendship with his blustering comrade. But then he shrugged his shoulders and followed Pump, calling after him, ‘Sorry Sidney, sorry mate. Won’t mention Alastair’s name again. Where are you going?’

  ‘To the canal,’ was the stern reply.

  In an awkward fashion, Gristle ran after him along the track that was thick with grey-black mud. Though his boots were breached by the mud which oozed into his socks, he did not notice for food began to take control of his thoughts once more.

  CHAPTER 36

  The Confectionery Shop