Pressure

by Betsy Reavley

  I was speechless. She had always been cruel to me but to think that I was responsible for what Nick did to me made me want to curl up and die.

  ‘You’ve been keeping secrets from me for too long. You thought you were smarter than me, but you were wrong. I found out. I always find out.’ A twisted smile spread across her face and she bent down to retrieve something from the ground beneath her seat. Producing a small box she put it on the table between us. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.

  ‘You see, last night, I watched you. I watched you with him and I saw that look on your face, the enjoyment, and I thought to myself that I would be better off if you were dead. But then’—she waggled her finger in the air—‘Mummy would go to prison and Mummy doesn’t want to go to prison because of a little scrote like you. So I got rid of him instead.’ She sat back in her chair.

  ‘Then when I heard the backdoor open and I looked out of my window into the garden.’ She was enjoying herself and her eyes shone. ‘Guess what I saw in the garden late last night?’

  It was then that I realised she had discovered my secret.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I saw you, pathetic you, slithering like a worm into the shed, and I thought to myself, I wonder why this worm is heading to the shed. So, after you’d come back and gone to bed I went and had a look for myself. Guess what I found?’ She shoved the box violently with one finger and I heard Robin cheep.

  ‘That’s right. I discovered the other secret you were keeping from me.’

  I felt the blood drain from my face. My throat was too dry to speak and I couldn’t take my eyes off the box.

  ‘So.’ She leant forward, opened the box and removed Robin carefully with one hand. ‘I wonder to myself, what am I meant to do when my child starts keeping things from me?’ She cupped Robin in her hands and brought the bird to her mouth, planting a small kiss on the creature’s head.

  ‘This is the bird and you are the worm. Oh the irony!’ She threw her head back and cackled while I held my breath waiting for something terrible to happen.

  ‘You must understand I can’t let you get away with this treachery.’ I wanted to close my eyes but I couldn’t look away from Robin as Mummy transferred the bird into one hand. Slowly, she unfolded one of the wings so that all of the feathers were fanned out. ‘This is happening because of you. You are responsible for this,’ she said calmly as she twisted then ripped the wing off of the bird. It cried out in agony as Mummy threw the broken wing onto the floor before turning the bird over and doing the same on the other side. Robin’s black eyes looked bigger than ever and its little beak opened and closed silently and the life seeped out of the bird.

  I could not move. I could not speak and I watched in frozen horror as Mummy then dropped the wingless bird onto the floor before bringing her foot down hard on top of it.

  She clapped her hands together and pretended to dust them off.

  ‘Now, worm, clean this up.’

  30

  The Pica Explorer

  Day five. Hour 21:20.

  We’ve been down here for five days now and only six of us remain. Ten got on board but only six are still breathing.

  Luke is locked in a room and Anya is missing. We have no idea where she is. We’ve looked but there are so many corners in this place it is difficult to know where she might be hiding. We aren’t as familiar with the submarine as she is, which puts us in a vulnerable position. She must have killed Fiona but is she responsible for the other murders? It is the only explanation. But now she is out there somewhere. She has the upper hand. She is in control.

  We four — me, Susie, Frank and Sam — have all agreed to spend our time together in one room, only leaving to visit the loo. But we always go in pairs. Frank and Sam, despite the tension, agreed it makes sense to stick together. We’ve collected all the knives and keep them on the living room table, just in case Anya appears.

  It’s increasingly hard to sleep. This is something we do in turns. One of us will remain awake while the others sleep. We need to be cautious and vigilant.

  Now it is my turn. We all sat and ate a meal of baked beans before settling down for the night. I say ‘night’ but down here there is no real concept of time. No daylight exists this far down.

  The men dragged some mattresses from the other bunkroom into the living area and we’ve made this our quarters. There is a loo close by and we have quick access to the kitchen and storeroom where the food is kept.

  Once in a while one of us goes and checks on Luke. We open the door and take in bread and tea. He is still just sitting on the bunk, looking up at the ceiling. He refuses to look at any of us, but the singing has stopped, which is something. Yesterday he pleaded with Susie to let him out. I think she probably considered it but didn’t want to risk endangering any of us, which was the right decision. She did say that he seemed a lot calmer and much more in touch with reality. I wonder…

  I sit at the table while the rest of them lie on the mattresses. I watch them sleep. Has Anya been the one bumping everyone off or is there another explanation? When they are sleeping they have pained expressions on their faces. We can’t even escape this place in our dreams.

  I wonder if anyone will come and rescue us. I wonder whether there will be anyone on board left alive to rescue.

  Picking at a piece of bread and jam, I struggle to stay awake. My eyelids are heavy and I long to rest my head. The wound by my eye is less sore than it was and I can see a little bit more now, but fatigue is forcing my eyes closed. Getting up I shake my head, trying to fight the sleep that is threatening to drag me under. I pace back and forth, trying to work out a way out of this nightmare. There must be a way out. There has to be something I can do to survive.

  The scent in the air makes it hard to think. The dead are rotting and the smell of death hangs in the air like a fog that grows stronger with each passing day. It clogs my mind and I can’t focus on any one thought for more than a few moments.

  Now that I have acknowledged the smell again I can’t escape it and feel sick once more. All I can do is sip on a bottle of water to fight it. I’m not sure it is helping but at least I feel as if I am doing something to combat the nausea.

  Convinced that the only solution is to leave the safety of our makeshift living space, I tiptoe past the sleeping bodies and step out into the corridor where the smell is worse. But turning right, away from where the dead lie, I make my way towards the bunkroom Luke is kept in. Once outside the door I put my ear to it to see if I can hear anything. There is silence.

  ‘Luke?’ Nothing. ‘Please talk to me. It’s Zara.’ Still nothing. ‘Are you okay? I have just come to check if you need anything.’ That is a lie. I’ve come to escape the smell of rotten flesh and because I feel frightened and alone.

  On the other side of the door I hear a loud sigh. I know he is awake and listening. I whisper, ‘Thank you’, close my eyes and rest my forehead against the cold door.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Frank’s low voice makes me jump.

  ‘You scared the crap out of me.’ I feel myself shaking.

  ‘Why are you talking to him? Why did you leave us sleeping alone? That mad bitch could have snuck in and cut all our throats.’ The skin around his eyes is dark and his face looks grey.

  ‘I just came to check on him. That’s all.’

  ‘At the possible expense of our lives.’

  ‘Don’t be so dramatic.’ I push past him and head back towards the quarters we have been living in. As I walk I hear Frank’s heavy footsteps behind me. He doesn’t speak.

  Once back in the room I find Susie and Sam still sleeping. Moments later Frank appears. He stands over the sleeping pair and looks at them for some time before bellowing loudly.

  ‘Wake up!’ he shouts over and over again.

  Susie and Sam both sit bolt upright, rubbing their eyes before looking at Frank with shock and horror.

  ‘We’re awake,’ Susie says with irritation and gets to her feet.

  ‘
We can’t trust her. She is the killer!’ Frank swings round pointing a finger at me. ‘She wants us all dead.’

  ‘You, maybe,’ Sam laughs.

  ‘She left us all here while she went to visit Luke. When I found her she was whispering something. She cannot be trusted.’

  ‘I just stepped out for a minute.’

  ‘A minute is all it takes. The devil only needs a minute.’

  ‘The devil?’ Susie looks at me with pity.

  ‘She’s no devil.’ Sam rolls his eyes.

  ‘There is a devil here, on this submarine.’

  Susie comes and put her arm around me for support.

  ‘You need to calm down, Frank,’ she says.

  ‘Do you want to die?’ Frank’s crazed eyes search Susie’s face.

  ‘I was checking Luke was all right. That’s all.’

  ‘I’m sure. It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. The pressure is getting to us all.’

  ‘Frank, you need to fucking relax.’ Sam yawns and starts to make himself a cup of tea. ‘No harm done.’

  ‘There is a mad bitch on board killing people. We are living like animals at the bottom of the ocean, surrounded by dead bodies. The harm has already been done.’

  ‘Not by me!’ I start to blub, my shoulders shaking. ‘I’ve never hurt a fly. I just wanted to talk to Luke. I’m sorry.’ The tears feel cold on my cheeks. ‘I didn’t mean to let you down.’

  ‘You’ve not let anyone down,’ Susie soothes. ‘We are all feeling the pressure.’

  ‘We agreed,’ Frank growls, ‘that we would stick together. All she had to do was keep watch. Not exactly fucking rocket science.’ He reaches over and picks up a knife.

  ‘I’m keeping hold of this. I don’t trust any of you. Not one of you. Come near me and I’ll kill you. Do you understand?’

  Susie and I share a look.

  ‘You are the one who cannot be trusted,’ Sam says with spite. ‘You are the only devil on board.’

  ‘Shut up, boy.’ Frank turns to face Sam. ‘I could gut you like a fish.’

  ‘Come on now,’ Susie pleads, ‘enough is enough. We are all scared but we have to work as a team. This isn’t helping.’

  Frank takes a large step towards Sam, holding the large kitchen knife in his hand as Sam’s eyes widen and fill with fear.

  ‘I’ve had enough of your backchat,’ Frank says through gritted teeth.

  ‘He didn’t mean it,’ I sob, ‘you didn’t. Did you, Sam?’ I look at him, hoping he will agree and apologise but there is a long silent pause before Sam starts clapping.

  ‘At last, we get to see your true colours. At last you show us all who you really are. Ladies, I present to you the real Frank Holden.’

  I take a step back and hold my breath as the lights start to flicker again.

  ‘You are not welcome in this room anymore. If you want to live, you need to leave. Now. I don’t care where you go but you will not set foot back in here unless you want me to drag this blade across your throat.’ Frank brings the knife up to his mouth and kisses it.

  ‘Don’t do this,’ Susie begs. ‘We have to stay together. If you kick him out, he is as good as dead.’

  ‘I would rather die alone than be anywhere near this monster.’ Sam turns to her and smiles sadly. ‘I will gladly leave.’ Sam picks up a blanket from the floor, throws it over his shoulders and turns to leave. ‘Good luck, ladies.’

  ‘No.’ Susie goes to him and grabs him by the arm. ‘You mustn’t leave.’ The blue lights flicker again.

  ‘If he stays here, I will kill him.’ Frank chuckles like a madman.

  Unable to move or say anything, I look at them all. It doesn’t feel as if I am part of the scene, it is as if it is happening to someone else.

  ‘Frank.’ Susie’s soft voice is comforting. ‘You need to put the knife down. There has been enough bloodshed. This isn’t you. You aren’t a killer. It doesn’t have to be this way.’

  Sam hangs his head and shakes it slowly, as if he believes Susie is wasting her time on him.

  ‘Come on, Frank.’ Susie lets go of Sam’s arm and approaches Frank. ‘Give me the knife. We can all sit down and talk this through calmly.’ But Frank shows no signs that he is willing to relinquish his weapon.

  Susie is now very close to him. She reaches out her hand asking for the knife again. I cannot take my eyes off the blade glinting below the electric light.

  ‘Come on, Frank. Give me the knife.’ Susie edges closer still. Just then there is a crackling noise and the lights start to flicker before we are all plunged into darkness.

  Unable to see in the blackness, I strain to hear. There is no sound and this time the blue lights stay off.

  31

  Child

  I remember one morning, soon after Mummy killed Robin, putting on my uniform. It was not something I liked doing but something I had to do, even if I felt like a visitor, a tourist, out in the world.

  But first there was something I had to do. It was out there, calling. I could hear it in the rustle of the trees, in the songs of the birds. It called to me and only me.

  It wasn’t simple, learning how to blend in undetected and how to avoid the bullies but I worked out a way to do it at school, even if I couldn’t at home.

  The penny dropped one day when the doorbell sounded, echoing around the empty entrance hall of the house. I hadn’t been used to being disturbed – no one ever visited us. Gingerly, I approached the door and opened it a crack, peering around to see who had disturbed my solitude. Standing in the early morning sunlight was a middle-aged man wearing a Royal Mail uniform.

  ‘Delivery for’—the postman looked down at the parcel—‘you?’

  I hadn’t been expecting anything but wanted to get rid of the intruder as soon as possible so accepted the package, mumbled a thank you and closed the door. Holding the brown paper parcel in my hands I turned it around a few times, inspecting it cautiously. It did indeed have my name on the label but I couldn’t think who would send me anything or why.

  Returning to the kitchen, where I had been reading happily before being disturbed, I sat back down on the rickety old chair and opened my post. As I did so an envelope fell to the floor. I inspected the writing, trying to identify the sender before putting it down on the table beside me.

  Turning my attention back to the parcel I peeled the wrappings away carefully. Beneath the brown paper was another layer of colourful wrapping paper. It was sky blue crepe, which had been tied with a navy ribbon. It was a birthday present. I had almost forgotten that the day was approaching. Living in that house with Mummy, I felt the days all melted into one.

  Putting the present down on my lap I picked up the card and removed it from its crisp white envelope. ‘Many Happy Returns, Love Uncle Ross and Aunt Sharon’.

  My uncle, Ross, lived somewhere up in Scotland with his wife Sharon. He was my mummy’s brother and I had only met him once or twice in my life. He had never bothered to visit and I wondered why he was choosing to send me a birthday present now, for the first time ever.

  But at fourteen years old my curiosity got the better of me and I ripped the wrapping off the gift, eager to learn what was inside. Inside was a green woollen jumper and a book. Holding the jumper up to get a better look at it, I decided it was the ugliest thing I had ever laid my eyes on and dropped it to the floor. The book was far more interesting. The faded red leather cover was old and worn. On the spine, embossed in gold text, were the words The Oxford Book of English Verse.

  Holding the book up to my nose, I inhaled the smell of the musty paper before resting it in my lap and carefully turning the front cover.

  My thoughts soon turned to the nondescript postman who appeared unexpectedly and who I opened my door to without hesitation. Such men exist and make their way through life without ever really being seen; I envied the way the postman remained more or less invisible.

  Having adjusted my uniform in the mirror in the hall, so that my appearance was just right, the f
eeling returned once again and I closed my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to be swallowed by the weightlessness I carried inside.

  That weekend, while I was walking along the lane, I was passed by a group of men on horses. If I’m honest, I’d never liked horses. They were large cumbersome creatures with staring, glossy eyes that made me feel awkward. They smelt like dung. Their muscles were unnatural. My admiration matched my distrust but I was excited as the hunt trotted past.

  I ran along behind them for a while and noticed a dead fox hanging over the back of one of the horses. Its tail had been removed and only a bloody stump remained. It was barbaric. The smell of that blood is something I will never forget. It was my second introduction to death and it thrilled me more than I thought possible.

  It is something I still dream about. That tail, which should have still been attached to the fox, soft at one end and the other wet and messy; the fleshy part of the stump looking like butchered meat.

  I remember seeing a dead rabbit that Percy once caught. Its eyes were glazed over and had a cloudy film. But the rest of it was almost alive. Its fur still had sheen and the blood remained bright red – almost living.

  That is my first and most vivid memory. It crawls through my body like an insect that marches with relentless precision. That is where it all started; on that wet autumn day in late September. The noise of the horses’ hooves on the road, the gentlemen and ladies chatting gaily, the dogs barking and panting all swirled around in my head like an orchestra preparing to play.

  There was one dog in particular that I watched with fascination. He was a large hound, white and tan, with dark eyes. Unlike the others that all pulled on their leads and sniffed each other’s arses, he stood still and upright, his nose in the air searching for the scent he was waiting to follow. With his eyes half closed, his large black wet nostrils expanded sucking in the air. He was in his element. This was where he was meant to be. This is what he was born to do.