The Amazing Mind of Alice Makin

by Shea, Alan

  But suddenly my body is shaking. I hear myself sobbing. Crying as though I will never stop again. As if there is nothing left in the world now except tears. The tears stream down my face. On to my arms. Fall in blotches on to the table. A flood of emptiness washes over me. Takes my breath away. Chokes me. Fills me. And I cry. And I cry.

  I cry for Flash. I cry for Reggie. I cry for myself. I cry for everybody.

  21

  Flowers

  I get up from the table. Fill the tin bowl with cold water and wash my face. The chilled water sucks out my breath. Refreshing. It wakes me. I look quickly in the mirror. Red eyes stare back.

  I climb the stairs to Reggie’s. Knock in a whisper. Hold my breath.

  The door opens. Granddad smiles. He seems pleased to see me. Steps aside. ‘Hello, Alice. Come on in.’

  Flash is lying on the settee, the blanket still around him. Reggie crouches by his side, one arm around his dog. Flash lies quite still. On the floor is a blood-soaked strip of cloth. Looks like it’s been torn off a sheet. The bare bulb in the ceiling gives off hardly enough light to disturb the gloom.

  I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. I crouch alongside Reggie, put my arm around him. He looks at me. He feels cold.

  ‘Will he be all right?’

  Flash stirs. Grumbles.

  ‘Your voice, he knows it’s you . . . I don’t know. It’s a bad injury. We can’t move him.’

  I feel better. If he can recognize my voice . . . I leave the thought unfinished. I reach out slowly, put my hand on Flash. He doesn’t move. It’s like he’s asleep, the way I’ve seen him so many times before. Dreaming. Twitching at other dogs, chasing the ghosts of cats – just dreaming.

  Light drifts in lazily. The sun blinks in through the curtains. Space yawns yellow.

  The knock wakes me. I open my eyes slowly. Granddad is asleep in the chair, head back, mouth open. Gurgling out a thin snore. Reggie is stretched out on the floor, one hand reaching up. Keeping in contact with his dog. Refusing to let go, even in sleep. Flash is cocooned in the blanket, the tip of his nose sticking out. I go to the door.

  Norman stands there. A tin helmet on his head. A bunch of daisies and thistles in a rolled-up piece of newspaper in his hands.

  ‘All right?’

  ‘Not bad. Like your helmet.’

  ‘Thanks. I made it. One of my mum’s old saucepans.’

  ‘Right. Looks . . . er . . . nice.’

  He seems disappointed. ‘Nice?’

  I backtrack. ‘Well . . .’ Can’t think what to say. ‘Not nice?’

  He puts me out of my misery this time. ‘Brought these.’ He hands me the bunch of daisies and thistles.

  ‘Right.’

  He sees my look. ‘For Flash.’

  ‘’Course. I don’t think you can give dogs flowers, Norm.’

  He seems puzzled. ‘They’re weeds.’

  ‘’Course. Silly me.’

  ‘Our goats eat ’em all the time.’

  I see the connection. ‘Right. Thanks.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Don’t really know. I only just woke up. Reggie’s asleep.’

  ‘Maybe I can come back later and see him?’

  ‘Sure.’

  He turns. ‘Don’t forget to give him the weeds.’

  ‘No. I won’t.’

  I turn back into the room. It’s so still. Nothing moves. It’s like I’m looking into a painting. I tiptoe over to the couch. Carefully move Reggie’s hand. He mumbles and goes back to sleep.

  I want to be the one to keep watch. If it’s good news, I’ll be the first to tell him. If it’s not, I don’t want him to be the first to find out. I push the thought away. Reach out and slowly move the blanket away from Flash.

  22

  Talking

  I’m about to climb over the banisters, but I stop myself. I don’t need to do that now.

  I’ve been dreading seeing Reggie. Putting it off. I just don’t know what to say. I saw Granddad in the street yesterday. He came up to me. Took hold of my hand. Told me that they took Flash to Swan Island, rowed out and buried him there. Reggie thought Flash would like that.

  I knock gently. It seems strangely quiet. After a while the door opens.

  Granddad smiles. ‘Good to see you, Alice. Reggie shouldn’t be gone too long. Come in for a while?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  The room is cosy and warm. It smells of sleep and cooking. There’s an old settee, shedding horsehair. A brown armchair with two patches worn away where Granddad rests his elbows. A big wardrobe like the one Mum wants. It has patterns spreading out in the wood like they’ve been painted on, except no artist would have been good enough to have painted like that.

  He looks at me.

  ‘How are you?’

  He’s asking a question but it’s as if he knows the answer.

  Under the window is a piano, black as polished coal. It looks somehow powerful. Gold patterns twist in the wood like lace. It shines, reflecting the light. I go up to it. Touch it.

  ‘I’m all right. What about Reggie?’

  He shakes his head,

  ‘He’s taking it badly. After you, that dog was his best friend.’

  I think about the two of them. Always together.

  ‘Things have been a bit rough for you too, lass. So much happening; so much to take on. Still, you’ll come through it. Just like he did, like he will now.’

  He stares into space. His eyes seem miles away. I sit at the piano. Open the lid. After a while he says, ‘Can you play, Alice?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Can you hold a tune?’

  I touch the keys gently. Run my fingers up and down, looking for a pattern. I thought, stupidly, that I would just have to touch the keys and that would be it. Almost as if the piano would recognise me and could play itself through me. It’s not like that. The keys are a black and white mystery. A confusion of noises waiting to make themselves heard.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He hums a tune I’ve never heard. ‘Hum that back to me.’ I do.

  ‘You’ve a good ear all right. Look, just try these keys to begin with.’

  He plays a Christmas carol. ‘You have a go.’

  I get stuck in the middle.

  ‘Watch again, carefully.’ He plays again. ‘You have to have faith, Alice. Believe in yourself. Go on, have another go.’

  I repeat it.

  ‘Excellent. I think we’ll make a pianist of you yet. Don’t play much myself these days. It seems a shame that it doesn’t get used. Move over a bit.’

  He sits beside me and plays the carol properly. It sounds like a running river, like the sun in summer and the snow in winter. When he finishes, we both just sit there for a while in the silence.

  ‘Will you show me how to play like that one day?’

  He smiles. ‘I think we might be able to manage that.’

  I hear Reggie come up the stairs. Even recognize his footsteps now. He opens the door. Looks different. Grown up.

  Granddad gets up. ‘Ah, there you are. You’ve got a visitor.’

  Reggie smiles. There’s sadness in his eyes, but something else too. Something in the way he’s looking at me. Like he knows something. It’s as if now there’s some strong force between us. Tying us together, now and always.

  We cross the bridge over the canal and go down the steps on to the towpath. I like it here. Not many people. A world inside the world. It’s quiet. The sun sleeps in the sky, tucked up in its blanket of cloud. A soft breeze barely whispers; even the wind is holding its breath. It seems strange without Flash. I keep expecting to look around and see him. Sometimes Reggie stops. Waits, like he’s forgotten he’s gone.

  The canal runs parallel to the back of our school. You can see it from the playground. Often there are barges making their way to the docks or the wharves. Today there’s nothing. The water ripples gently. Distorts images. Shimmers reflections. We sit on the low wall. Moss spills out of
the brickwork, damp and green. I pick bits off, Reggie does the same.

  A pale sunbeam dips its light in the water and winks. It’s like neither of us want to talk but I guess sooner or later someone has to.

  ‘I’m really sorry about Flash.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘It was so unlucky. That horrible cat appearing from nowhere, then vanishing like it had never been there at all.’

  Reggie looks at me. ‘It wasn’t just unlucky.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Don’t you think it was all a b-bit too much of a coincidence, Flash, the cat, Daisy . . .’

  I say it at last.

  ‘You think my stepdad’s behind all this, don’t you? You have from the start. You think he’s the one who’s been trying to scare us?’

  Reggie looks away from me. ‘I’ve never trusted him. He’s out to get us, Alice. I know he is.’

  ‘But why? Why would he do that?’

  ‘To show us what he can do, that he’s more powerful than we are.’

  ‘I just don’t understand all this. It all sounds mad. It just doesn’t make sense. Nothing does, any more. Sometimes I think I’m just imagining everything. That’s it’s all a bad dream and I’ll wake up.’

  ‘It’s real all right. What he d-did to Flash was real enough. That’s how I know we’re in danger.’

  I reach out, take his hand. He fumbles for a handkerchief and blows his nose.

  ‘Flash was a good d-dog.’

  ‘The best. Remember that time he bit Gary Spicer on the bum?’

  ‘It was Gary’s own fault. He shouldn’t have been t-trying to climb over that fence.’

  I think about this. ‘No. Mind you, it was his own fence he was climbing over.’

  Reggie picks up a cardboard box from the ground. Throws it into the water. ‘True. But Flash wasn’t to kn-know that, was he?’

  He picks up a stone. Throws it at the box bobbing on the water. Misses.

  I don’t want to think about my stepdad any more. I pick up a stone too. Throw it. Miss. ‘No, s’pose not.’

  He picks up another stone. ‘Mind you, Flash n-never did like the Spicers.’ Takes more careful aim this time. Throws it. Misses again.

  I do the same. ‘No, I s’pose he’d have bitten him sooner or later. He had good taste, Flash. He knew who to bite.’

  He smiles for the first time. ‘It probably wasn’t.’

  ‘Wasn’t what?’

  ‘A good t-taste.’

  It takes a while for the penny to drop. I laugh. ‘See what you mean.’

  He picks up a big stone. Throws it. It hits the box. I pick up another, but before I can throw it the box rolls over and sinks.

  Reggie gets up and walks on. I watch him for a while as he moves down the towpath with his hands in his pockets, his head slightly bowed.

  We walk under the bridge. He takes out a packet of Refreshers, breaks the tube. Finds a mauve one. Hands it to me.

  A narrowboat glides out of the tunnel behind us, bright with reds, golds and greens. I can see the name in gold on the prow. Theresa. That’s my favourite name. A good sign. It moves through the water, engine purring, spluttering dribbles of water from the bilges.

  ‘Oh, I almost forget to tell you. G-Granddad is taking Mrs Gilbey to the pictures on Saturday. I think they like each other.’

  ‘That’ll be good.’

  He nods. He doesn’t look at me, but in my mind’s eye I can see exactly the kind of look he has on his face.

  ‘I only hope she remembers to fetch some money.’

  The boat passes. Coughs black smoke from the red and black funnel. A woman appears on deck. She’s carrying a baby in her arms. She has a short, fair ponytail tied back with an elastic band. She smiles, showing off a gap between her two front teeth. Girlish. Like her mouth has stayed twelve years old. She waves with one hand. Turns the baby towards us. It reminds me.

  ‘Remember you said you had something to show me? Something to do with that old photo. A surprise.’

  ‘The one with your funny h-hat on? Well, half on.’

  ‘I think I look really cute.’

  ‘Mmm, you did, what h-happened?’

  ‘Shut your face. Well? When you going to show me?’

  He looks thoughtful. ‘It’s your birthday s-soon, isn’t it?’

  ‘Couple of weeks. It’s on a Saturday.’

  ‘Good, that’ll be a g-good time. I’ll show it to you then. Make it into a little bit of a birthday p-present. I think it might help to explain what’s going on.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘You’ll h-have to wait and see.’

  ‘This present.’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘Give me a clue.’

  ‘Ask Sherlock Holmes. See if he can f-figure it out.’

  ‘Spoilsport.’

  I start scuffing the toes of my shoes on the ground – I do that sometimes when I’m thinking – and I start to see little pictures in my head, of the times we’ve been together, the things Reggie has said. Funny how things that seem so stupid one day can startto make sense the next. I don’t want to admit he’s right, even to myself, but there’s something in me that wants to believe him. I mean, what if there really is something called mind-touching and I can do it. It would be like making all the stories I’ve thought about come true.

  ‘Oh well, if you’re right about this mind-touching, the next few weeks could be . . . interesting.’

  ‘It’ll be that, all right. Just remember; we have to be on our guard. Together.’

  I look at Reggie and know I want to be an Indian. I want to believe him. I want my mind to fly like a bird in the bright blue sky. I want to ride my imagination like a wild bucking bronco. What’s wrong with a bit of magic?

  ‘Hey, look. The sun’s comin’ out.’

  23

  A fair time

  I get myself ready for school. Have a quick wash. Spread some jam on a crust. I haven’t seen Bert for days now, only a humped shape under blankets in the bedroom sometimes when I come home. There’s a knock at the door.

  ‘It’s only m-me.’

  ‘Hold on a minute.’

  I open the door. Catch sight of myself in the mirror. Look a wreck. Reggie walks in. Sits on the table.

  ‘You look t-terrible.’

  ‘Thanks. I was just thinking how nice I looked.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I meant to s-say.’

  ‘Creep.’

  ‘Granddad said if you want to, you can c-come and have your d-dinner with us tonight.’

  ‘Double creep.’

  ‘No, he d-did. Honest.’

  ‘Thanks. But I’ll have to check Bert’s not home. You comin’ to school, then?’

  ‘Not today. There’s s-something I’ve got to do.’

  ‘You can’t just keep bunking off whenever you feel like it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘’Cos you can’t. You’ve got to go to school.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To learn things.’

  ‘W-why?’

  ‘I don’t know. Stop asking stupid questions. So you can get a good job. Anyway, what d’you want?’

  ‘I’ve just been over to Watney Street, there’s a fair there. Fancy c-coming tonight?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘Come on, we both n-need cheering up. We can just forget about things for a while.’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Go on, it’ll be good.’

  Part of me wants to go and part doesn’t. He smiles, a wide smile like a tin of beans opening. I get my coat.

  ‘I’ve gotta go. I’ll be late for school.’

  ‘We can go on the dodgems if you want.’

  I can’t help smiling. Sometimes talking to Reggie is like talking to a little boy. Other times it’s not.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘I’ll knock f-for you.’

  ‘Best not. I’ll meet you in the passage about six.’

  ‘Cor, is that the t-
time?

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Just thinking, you’d better hurry up or you’ll be l-late.’

  ‘Cheeky beggar.’

  The day seems to linger. The hands of the clock in class drag themselves round. I suppose the more I think about it, the more I’m looking forward to the fair. It seems ages since I’ve just done something ordinary. For the fun of it. Not thinking about anything else. That’s the thing about a fair, there’s so much going on you just lose yourself for a while.

  When the bell finally goes I rush home. I start to clean up. Sweep the back yard. Seems to take ages. I do some work on the play. It’s getting nearer and nearer. Trouble is, I’m getting stuck. Maybe it’s all this stuff that’s going on around me. I just can’t seem to think of a good ending.

  Then I get hungry. I spread some jam on a thick crust, and wolf it down. I look at the clock, go out into the passage. I’m just going to go up for Reggie when he comes down the stairs. He’s got a grin on his face.

  ‘Good, you’re on t-time for once. Ready?’

  ‘For anything.’

  ‘Come on, then. Let’s go.’

  Outside, the twilight sky plots dusky seas. A lighthouse moon warns galleon clouds. Shipwrecks ahoy. We turn into Sidney Street and walk down towards Commercial Road to the fair. Caravans and lorries, tents and stalls, machinery and people. Mayhem. Noise. Fun. The lights glare, edging out the growing darkness. Coloured bulbs garland tents, merging into a warm haze of colour. Sounds ripple, music rolls like waves. We stop to take it all in. Listen to the magic.

  ‘What’s that noise?’

  ‘It’s the merry-go-round. I think its proper name is a carousel.’

  Reggie thinks for a while. ‘Merry-go-round is better.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  The sound drifts towards us. Draws us like a magnet. Stallholders call. Men and women laugh. Children shout. Bright lights scald the darkness, sandpapering our eyes. ‘You got any money?’

  He digs in his pocket. ‘Not a l-lot.’ Pulls out some coins. ‘What about you?’

  ‘One and six. Share?’

  He nods. We walk into another world. Dodgems and merry-go-rounds, helter-skelters and ghost trains. Technicolour toys waiting to be captured on hoopla stalls. Goldfish in plastic bags, longing for new homes.