“We can move on from this, Frank. It’s okay, really it is. We can fix everything. You’ve just lost sight of a few things, that’s all.”
Frank reached into the box and pulled out a stuffed green turtle. The seam had been compromised and some of the stuffing had spilled out. It looked like it had been loved to death.
“Jesus, Frank…” Cindy looked away in disgust.
“Remember this, Jakey? Old Bill, the Great Turtle, supporting the world on his back. Remember when I told you that story?”
The boy watched him, his eyes never once leaving Frank’s, his gaze unreadable.
Frank slid the stuffed toy across the table. “Old Bill is so strong,” he said, “nothing can break his back. If you love him, he’ll protect you with his life.”
He turned away, his eyes raw, the coldness of the cottage settling into his aging bones.
“God, it’s good to have you back, Jake,” he said.
He walked across to the sink and peered through the curtains. The landscape outside was dense, unshifting. Something was moving in the air.
“It’s starting to snow,” he said. He considered for a moment the collective pressure of the flakes as they slowly floated to the ground. Wondered if the good stuff buried beneath would ever find a way of breaking through.
CHAPTER 15: A WEIGHING OF THE HEART
Mack had assumed his customary position in the wingback chair by the bay window of the recreation room. It was approaching lunchtime and there were dozens of daddies milling around, hungry and impatient, waiting for the canteen to open so that the daily gorging could begin. When his daddies behaved like this, Mack thought they looked like a small herd of nervous animals, vying with each other to get closer to the trough. It was an ugly display and Mack had no inclination to compete, preferring to wait for the jostling crowd to gradually disperse.
He turned his head away from the confluence of daddies and closed his eyes. Sometimes it was the only way to escape. He thought about that for a moment, mildly ashamed that the thought had occurred to him at all. What could he possibly wish to escape? The reassurance of being shadowed by his own father?
He was distressed to admit it, but occasionally the presence of his daddy made him feel like he had no opportunity to be alone. He hung his head, the truth of it startling him a little. He loved his daddy; he always had. Why would he possibly want to spend even a minute without him by his side?
Mack had no answer to this question. He knew only that he had been edging towards something that made him feel uneasy, a feeling he was unable to articulate; a sense of the present that he didn’t recognize and was uncomfortable trying to define.
He opened his eyes and looked around the room at his daddies. He didn’t like it when they looked hungry. It made him feel strange, as though they were changing into something else. Their love for him dripping away in the dark.
* * *
To take his mind off the impending feeding frenzy, Mack turned his attention to events unfolding beyond the bay window. Watching the endless quarrel of the birds as they chased each other across the sky was often sufficiently diverting that all thoughts of his daddy would be displaced, even if only for a brief time.
He stared out of the window and smiled at the stately rhythm of the birds, their ceaseless interplay like something caught in a mirror from the corner of the eye, there one minute, gone the next.
He leaned forward, his attention drawn back down to earth as a man exited through the main door of the facility. He walked down the uneven stone steps, guarded on either side by two featureless gargoyles, and made his way towards the path that ran adjacent to the long gravel drive. Mack knew instantly who it was; even from this distance the characteristics were unmistakable. The man had unkempt black hair and a stubbly, pugnacious face. He looked unhurried and walked with a fearless air, just like his daddy did.
Mack pressed his hand to the window and tried to reach out to him. He was suddenly terrified. Daddy was clearly abandoning him, probably because he knew that Mack had allowed improper thoughts into his head, thoughts of escaping and being alone. How foolish he had been; this was Daddy’s way of punishing him. Of showing him how reliant he was on his father’s guidance and constant support. It had been absurd to entertain any notion that he might survive in the world on his own.
He turned back and scanned the recreation room, but all his other daddies had abandoned him, too. He tried to remind himself that they were probably in the canteen having their lunch, but the part of him that measured his own worth by his father’s love knew that this could never be true. They had left him; all of them. Just like his daddy outside.
He pushed himself out of the wingback chair and made his way across the empty room. He peered into the reception booth, hoping to see his daddy filing or updating records or just lazing around having a smoke, but even the booth was deserted. He began to feel the first fluttering of panic deep inside his chest.
He turned around and peered through the bay window. In the distance he could see that his daddy had reached the end of the path and was now walking beneath the large stone archway that marked the edge of the facility’s perimeter. As Mack watched, his daddy passed beneath the archway and disappeared from view. He had to stifle a scream as the area beyond the bay window emptied of life; eventually a dark bomb of birds exploded from one of the trees, but within seconds they too had fled the scene, leaving Mack with a frozen portrait of unoccupied ground.
Without hesitation, Mack walked the length of the recreation room and began the long march towards the entrance of the facility. There was only one way to correct his error and that was to find his daddy and bring him back home, before he slipped away for good. He shuffled down the narrow corridors, running his hand across the lime green walls for support. The smell of the gruel being dished up in the canteen hung in the air and he found a moment to be grateful for the diversion, though the tight space and the heavy aroma was making him feel physically ill.
At last he reached the wide atrium leading to the lobby. If he delayed too long, his daddy would be beyond his reach. The distant shine of his face was already starting to fade even as Mack tried vainly to claw it back.
He paused and took a moment to compose himself. A man in a navy suit was standing with his back to him at the main reception. He was tapping away at a keyboard and monitoring the results that appeared on the screen in front of him.
Mack watched him, feeling exhausted, no longer sure where he was or what on earth he’d been intending to do. He searched his memory and knew it had something to do with his father, but the idea of why it was so important was unclear. He shook his head, aware that he had to try harder; the intelligence he needed hung there, trembling, almost close enough to touch.
When it hit him, Mack was unprepared for the force of it and he felt himself stagger against the wall. Perhaps what he was searching for was not Daddy, he realized, but a life where Daddy didn’t exist. Could that be it? Was he stumbling towards a realization that it would be better if he could find the courage to simply let his father go?
He leaned against the wall and started to weep, unable to fully process any more of his own thoughts. If he had been forsaken, a part of him seemed to be insisting that it might conceivably be for the best.
His breathing was heavier now, almost a rattle deep within the throat, and the man in the navy suit at the computer terminal turned to face him, alerted by the noise.
“Hello, Mack,” the man said, stepping forward to intercept him. “What are you doing down here?”
Mack stared at him. The man’s features were dark and unfamiliar, the definition unwavering. When the stranger smiled, it looked real and Mack wondered how long it might last.
“Who are you?” Mack said. He felt disconnected; he was waiting for the contours of the man’s face to retract as his daddy slowly burned his way back into Mack’s awareness.
“My name’s Dr. Webber, Mack. We’ve met before. Remember?”
Mack
shook his head and held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.
He stared at the face of the man who wasn’t his father and listened to the empty humming of the computer. The world was everywhere, and Mack immersed himself in it, a gentle prophecy of what might be waiting for him if only he could find his way home.
SESSION #F001/628
Friday 16th September, 16:30PM
Attending Physicians: Dr. Kincaid, Dr. Faber.
Faber: Hello, Mack. I hear you’ve had quite a day. Would you like to tell us about it?
Mack: I’m not sure I can. I don’t really remember too much.
[Pause]
Faber: I spoke with Dr. Webber this afternoon. He told me you and he had a very pleasant conversation.
Mack: He was very nice. He looked after me when I was confused.
[Pause]
Kincaid: Why were you confused, Mack? Can you remember?
Mack: I was looking for Daddy, but he disappeared. I expected him to come back, just like he always does. But I saw Dr. Webber instead.
Kincaid: What happened to your father?
Mack: I don’t know. I looked for him, but it was too late. He’d gone.
Faber: How did that make you feel?
Mack: Scared at first. Then ashamed. I shouldn’t have been thinking so hard. I have a feeling that’s what drove him away.
Faber: What kind of thinking?
[Pause]
Mack: I wondered what it might be like to be alone.
Faber: There’s nothing wrong with that, Mack. We all have those kind of thoughts sometimes. It’s perfectly natural.
Mack: Not for someone like me. It made me feel strange. Like I’d wondered into a forest and got lost.
Faber: Can you describe Dr. Webber for us?
Mack: He has dark skin and a friendly smile. His eyes are green. He was wearing a navy suit.
[Dr. Faber and Dr. Kincaid exchange a look. They smile at Mack.]
Faber: Did he remind you of your father?
Mack: Not at all. Why would he? He looks nothing like him.
Faber: So you spoke to Dr. Webber the whole time?
Mack: Yes.
[Pause]
Faber: Did you see your father once you’d finished talking with him?
Mack: No. Dr. Webber was really kind. He sat me down and held my hand. I felt calmer after that.
Faber: Even without your father in the room?
Mack: Yes. Even though Daddy never showed up, I felt calm.
[Dr. Faber consults Mack’s medical chart.]
Faber: [To Kincaid] When did he last take Trifluoperazine?
Kincaid: [To Faber] Over six months ago. It triggered dystonia and blurred vision. The other antipsychotic drugs that we tried should also be listed. They had little effect.
Faber: [To Kincaid] So the only medication he’s currently on is… [Consults chart again]…Mirtazapine.
Kincaid: [To Faber] That’s right.
[Dr. Faber turns to Mack and smiles.]
Faber: Mack, do you remember our conversations about why you keep seeing Daddy so much?
Mack: Course I do.
Faber: I talked to you about a condition known as Fregoli syndrome. Remember?
[Pause]
Mack: It’s the thing in my brain that doesn’t work properly.
Faber: [Smiling] Very good, Mack. Except it’s a little more complicated than that. We think there’s been some degeneration in the right side of your brain, the part that enables you to focus properly and control something called your working memory. The right-hand side of your brain is incredibly important, Mack. It takes visual information and helps you put things together in the right order so that everything’s in the correct place.
Mack: Does that mean my brain might be broken?
Faber: No, Mack. It just means your brain is special. It collects information differently to everyone else, which affects the way you see the world and everything in it. Like your father.
Mack: But I didn’t see him today! I watched him walk through the archway and then he disappeared. When I was scared, it was Dr. Webber who looked after me. I still don’t know when Daddy might come back.
Faber: Maybe a part of you doesn’t want him to return, Mack. Have you considered that?
Mack: [Frowning] But I love Daddy, and he loves me!
Faber: But perhaps it’s time you both moved on. Maybe your brain—that special part of you that sometimes gets things a little confused—is telling you that it’s time to finally set your daddy free.
[Pause]
Mack: Why would I want to do that?
Faber: Because you don’t need him anymore. You’re strong enough to live your life without him.
Mack: Never see Daddy again?
[Pause]
Faber: It might be the best thing for both of you.
Mack: Who would take care of me?
Faber: To start with, we would. Then, eventually, when you feel ready, you’ll look after yourself.
Mack: I don’t know… It sounds scary.
[Pause]
Faber: Tell me something, Mack. Have you seen your father since he left the facility?
Mack: Course not.
Faber: Is he in this room right now?
[Mack glances nervously round the room, taking in both Dr. Faber and Dr. Kincaid.]
Mack: No.
Faber: Could you tell me who you see?
Mack: You and the other doctor.
Faber: [Glancing at Dr. Kincaid] Do you know this man’s name?
Mack: No. I’ve never seen him before.
[Pause]
Faber: This is Dr. Kincaid, Mack. Can you describe him for me?
Mack: Big, shaggy hair. He has one of those mustaches like a walrus.
Faber: [Smiling] Does he look anything like your father?
Mack: No.
Faber: Dr. Kincaid has been in every single interview we’ve ever had, Mack. You’ve spoken to him on more than one occasion.
Mack: Then why don’t I recognize him?
Faber: Because you normally see your daddy’s face instead of Dr. Kincaid’s. That’s all the abnormality in your brain allows you to process.
[Pause]
Mack: [Looking agitated] I don’t understand. You’re just trying to get me confused again.
Faber: No, Mack. What I’m trying to do is help you see the size of the breakthrough you’ve made today. How you’ve moved yourself closer to an act of critical retrieval in your working memory.
[Pause]
Mack: Is that good?
Faber: [Smiling] Yes, Mack. It’s very good.
[Pause]
Mack: Does that mean I’ll never see Daddy again?
Faber: No. It just means you might start to feel less dependent on him. Which means he might not always need to be around.
[Pause]
Mack: And what about Dark Daddy? Is he gone, too?
[Dr. Faber scratches his head and looks at Dr. Kincaid.]
Faber: I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.
PART THREE: NUCLEAR FAMILY
“Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth,
and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.”
—Hebrews 12:7
“Auld Daddy Darkness creeps frae his hole,
Black as a blackamoor, blin’ as a mole.”
—James Ferguson, “Auld Daddy Darkness”
CHAPTER 16: THE SOUND OF NOTHING
As Jasper drove alongside the quiet promenade, he watched the sea’s powerful advance across the beach. The water was dark and choppy, unsettled by the winter winds. He lowered his head and peered through the windshield at the sky. A bank of tenement-gray clouds was sweeping across the bay.
“Quite a welcome,” he said. “Place looks ready for a storm.” He turned to Kate, who was seated in the back of the truck with Billy. “Want to drive on, hon?”
Kate shook her head. “A little rain won’t hurt us,” she said. “Perhaps we could find a guesthouse
before it breaks.”
Jasper nodded and returned his attention to the road. He glanced to his left and stared at the rolling strip of sand between the rock armor and the sea. A man in a hooded coat was patiently collecting shells in a margarine tub, oblivious to the wretched conditions in which he worked. Farther back, along the lip of the shoreline, a woman was walking a dog. She would occasionally throw driftwood into the churning waves and the animal would bound into the water to retrieve it. Jasper couldn’t even begin to imagine how cold it must be. It looked dangerous, too; the current was so strong it almost carried the creature away.
“I can’t remember ever seeing a coastline quite so deserted,” Alison said. “Not in the middle of the afternoon. It’s like a ghost town.”
“Can we make a sand castle?” Billy asked, peering out of the window.
Kate reached across the backseat and patted his leg. “Maybe later,” she said. “We need to find somewhere to stay first.”
Jasper caught Kate’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Any preference?”
“Somewhere warm and quiet.”
Jasper nodded. “Sounds perfect,” he said, and looked out at the deserted promenade.
* * *
As they drove on, the heavens opened, and Jasper had to turn his wipers to full speed. They passed a string of penny arcades that housed half a dozen youths in suits, smoking and staring vacantly out at the rain. Their scooters were parked at the curb and Jasper saw a Lambretta 150 Special and a Vespa VBB, heavily polished, getting drenched as their owners looked on miserably from deep inside the arcade.
They pulled away from the promenade and Jasper drove slowly down a road lined with cozy-looking guesthouses. All of them bore a sign declaring what Jasper already suspected: there were vacancies aplenty.
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