This part of the graveyard was overgrown and the ground was uneven where the coffins had rotted away, leaving spongy soil ready to swallow someone up. Most of the stones were illegible, their surfaces mottled with lime-green lichen. I spotted Melody behind a cross that was leaning at an awkward angle.
“Oh good, you’re here!” she said and she glanced at my hands but didn’t say anything.
“I’ve just come to say thanks again for getting the gloves, but I’m going back now. I’m not feeling great and I think I’ve tried to do too much. I feel dizzy. I need some water, I think.”
As she stood with her hands on her hips the dappled sunlight danced around her, picking out flecks of auburn in her hair.
“But you’ve come this far! Honestly, it’s really worth it. Just come over, have a quick look, and then go. Okay?”
She crouched down next to a grave and pulled at some weeds. I just needed to walk five more paces, see what it was, then run home, sprint home. I could go straight upstairs and into the shower. It’d be fine. I could then clean my room, wait for the hot water to warm up again, then have another shower if I felt like it. I edged my way toward her and she turned to me, her face beaming. My feet twisted as the mounds of earth pressed against the thin soles of my shoes. I stood at the other side of the grave from her, my gloved hands tucked under my arms.
“Look,” she whispered. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”
At one end of the grave stood a typical oblong headstone with some faded words, but in front of it and lying on a large, gray slab of stone lay an exquisitely carved mermaid. It was about half the size of Melody, and the detail was extraordinary.
“Isn’t it amazing?” said Melody and she brushed some soil and leaves off the mermaid’s tail. I knelt down for a closer look.
“Wow. Did someone carve this?”
“Yep, they certainly did …”
She gestured at the headstone.
“… in 1884.”
The mermaid was facedown, her shoulders slightly hunched with her forehead resting in the crook of her right arm. Her hair cascaded around her in stone waves that covered her naked back. The tail curved upward, the contours of its muscles supporting the large, uncurled fan at the end, slightly chipped on one side. As the sunlight flickered along her scales, the mermaid shimmered. It was as if she was still wet from the sea and was just here resting for a moment. I bent down to take a closer look and could almost imagine I saw her back rise and fall as she breathed. I tried to see the expression on her face, but it was hidden, never to be seen.
“Is she asleep?”
Melody pulled at a few more weeds.
“I don’t think so; I think she’s crying. She’s a mermaid in mourning.”
I studied her hair and for a fraction of a millisecond was tempted to touch a curl, but I didn’t.
“Why a mermaid? Who’s buried here?”
I didn’t want to get any closer, so I squinted at the headstone as Melody recited it by heart.
“Elizabeth Hannah Reeves. She died on the twenty-ninth of October in 1884, aged twenty-eight, but it doesn’t say anything else about her. I’ve tried looking in the church records to see if I can find out more, but I didn’t get anywhere. Maybe she went to sea once and thought she saw a mermaid but nobody believed her. Or maybe she just loved the idea of them. Who knows? But whoever she was, she’s left behind this beautiful grave.”
I watched her tugging at some ivy and thought maybe I’d been wrong about her all along. The constant talking I’d seen at the doctor’s was probably just nerves; this calmer, relaxed Melody was actually quite nice to be around. And she’d bought me gloves without asking questions. And she still seemed to like me even though she knew everything. Nearly everything. Maybe knowing what I’d done to Callum would change her mind though.
“I started coming over here after school before Dad moved out to avoid all the arguing. That’s when I found her.”
Standing up, she folded her arms.
“When I was having a bad day I thought about the mermaid, secretly sleeping here day in and day out. It took my mind off things.”
Reaching down, she brushed some more soil from the mermaid’s tail.
“It’s a sad grave though. On nearly all of the headstones here there’s more than one name—husbands, children, parents, they all seem to share a plot, especially the older ones. But Elizabeth Reeves is here all on her own. She only has the mermaid for company.”
I know how she feels. I thought about the Wallpaper Lion, and the thought of my clean, safe room sparked my anxiety again. The distraction of the mermaid faded as my chest tightened and my breathing got faster.
“Melody, I really need to go home now. The grave is great, thanks for showing me.”
I turned and carefully stepped through the tall grass back onto the footpath.
“I know you watch me from the window,” said Melody, catching up with me. “I know you were wondering what I get up to here. Do you think I’m weird?”
I shook my head.
“Good.”
We walked along a little way in silence, and then I saw her reach into her pocket and bring out the little white card. I stopped as she held it up for me to see. In one corner there was a pale, cream-colored lily with a dark green stem. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust from the dazzling sunlight, but the pale blue printed text eventually came into focus:
IN LOVING MEMORY.
Underneath in black ink was a handwritten note:
Forever in my heart. C.
It was a memorial card.
“Where did you get it?”
She put the card back in her pocket.
“Over by the church. It was on the grave of a man who lived to ninety-eight. How great is that? To live to such an old age.”
She was smiling but I wasn’t smiling back.
“I don’t understand. Why have you got it? Why have you got someone’s memorial card in your pocket?”
“I collect them.”
I stopped and faced her and her smile disappeared.
“You do what?”
She folded her arms. “I go around the graveyard and pick them up and put them in albums. I take them so that—”
“You collect them? What, like stickers? Like a kid’s sticker book?”
“No, it’s not like that at all. If I didn’t take them, then—”
“How many of these have you got? I mean, can you just take them? Off of people’s graves? These are people’s private thoughts—you shouldn’t be taking them, it’s theft!”
She looked horrified. “No, you don’t understand—”
“Don’t understand what? That you’re taking personal things that don’t belong to you?”
Melody wiped her face with her hand. The whites of her eyes glistened with tears.
“It’s not like you’re saying. I’m not stealing! They’d be thrown away if I didn’t take them. Why are you so angry?”
I was thinking about the card I’d written a few months ago on the anniversary of Callum’s death. It wasn’t a card exactly, just a scrap of paper. I’d scribbled a message to him telling him I was sorry. Saying I didn’t mean for him to die. I had gone to his grave before school, tucking the paper underneath the angel’s toe.
Melody stood hugging herself as a tear trickled down her cheek. I couldn’t tell her.
“I’m going home,” I said and I ran toward the alleyway, leaving her crying behind me. I needed to get away, from her and the graveyard. This whole thing had been just one big mistake. The gloves she’d bought didn’t feel right—they weren’t as thick as the ones Mum had gotten, so the germs were probably seeping through already.
When I passed the Rectory’s backyard Old Nina was standing on a stepladder trying to reach something that was stuck in her apple tree. Something made of white fabric was twisted in the branches; she was jabbing at it using a broom. Frowning as she bit her bottom lip, she was concentrating so hard she didn’t notice as I
ran past, toward home.
Jake was waiting for me at the end of the alleyway on his bike.
“What you two up to?” he said, his arms folded across his chest. I put the plastic bag behind my back. “You know something, don’t you?”
“No.”
“Do you two think you’re going to find Teddy? You saw something, didn’t you? From the window?”
He leaned forward on the handlebars and edged his way toward me.
“You saw something and you’re not telling anyone.”
“No I didn’t! Now get out of my way, Jake.”
He was blocking the alleyway and there was no room for me to get around.
“That Melody ain’t going to be any use. If you need a partner, I can do some stuff, see what I can find out.”
He shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or the other, but I couldn’t believe he was asking to get involved. What was he up to?
“You?” I said, stepping against the wall of his house so I could get by. “Thanks but no thanks.”
He sniffed and jutted his chin toward me, and when I tried to squeeze past him he rolled his bike forward and squashed my leg against the wall.
“Jake! What do you think you’re doing?”
I tried to wriggle free, but he pushed the bike harder.
“You think you’re so great, don’t you? Well, you know what, Weirdo Corbin?”
He leaned so close I could see the painful cracks of sore skin in the creases of his eyes.
“You’re nothing.”
He twisted the bike against my leg once more, then pushed away and pedaled off down the road.
When I got home Penny had left and Mum was whispering with Dad in the living room.
“It’s a start, isn’t it, Brian? He went out on his own accord. How long has it been since he’s done that?”
I sat on the bottom of the stairs and kicked my shoes off. My leg was throbbing and every inch of me was swarming with germs. If I didn’t get in the shower immediately I’d get ill. And if I got ill then Mum would get ill and then Dad and then … and then whatever happened next would be all my fault. All because I hadn’t washed in time. Mum came out to see me.
“Give him some space, Sheila! You don’t want to frighten him back into his room now, do you?” called Dad, as if I couldn’t hear.
“I am giving him space! I’m just pleased to see him, aren’t I? How was your little outing, Matthew? Did you go anywhere nice? What’ve you got in that bag?”
I couldn’t speak.
If I spoke then the germs would be able to crawl into my mouth. Dad appeared, taking his turn.
“How about that game of pool, eh, Matthew? I got all the cat hair off while you were out, so it’s as good as new.”
As if this was his cue to join in, Nigel appeared from the kitchen, meowing loudly as he brushed himself against Mum’s legs.
“Oh look, Matty! Nigel is pleased to see you as well. Aren’t you, Nigel-wigel?”
She picked him up and cradled him like a baby as the cat shut its eyes and purred loudly, tipping its head back as Mum scratched him under the chin. I had my very own welcome party.
I suddenly remembered I was still wearing the gloves, so I quickly ran upstairs as Dad yelled after me.
“Matthew? You wearing those bloody gloves again?”
I turned the shower on and twisted the dial to the hottest setting, waiting for it to heat up.
Mum knocked gently on the door.
“Are you okay, Matthew? Is everything all right?”
“Yep, fine, Mum,” I called, trying to sound as cheery as possible.
There was silence but I knew she was still there, listening to the blast of water.
“I’m always here for you, darling. We both are.” Her voice broke a little but she carried on. “You can tell us anything. Don’t ever think we won’t understand, because we will, okay? You’re our very special boy.”
I looked at my reflection in the mirrored cabinet. Tears were streaming down my cheeks, my nose running.
It was all because of me, Mum. The baby you wanted so badly died because of me.
I quietly cleared my throat.
“I know, Mum. I’ll speak to you in a bit. Okay?”
There was more silence and then I heard her pad back downstairs. We both knew I wouldn’t be speaking to her in a bit. I got in the shower and rubbed at my skin with soap. The water was scalding, but I carried on. Killing the germs was vital, and if it wasn’t hot, then they wouldn’t die. After the shower the tightness in my chest loosened a little, and I brushed my teeth five times to make sure nothing had reached my mouth. When I got to the office I knew there would be an email waiting for me. I used my shirt to cover my finger as I clicked the email open.
To: Matthew Corbin
From: Melody Bird
Subject: My Mistake
I thought out of everybody you’d understand.
There’s not much difference between us, Matthew Corbin. We’re loners, you and I. We don’t fit in. At least I don’t pretend that I do.
Melody Bird
I sat back in the office chair, stunned. A loner? She was calling me a loner? I wasn’t lonely and I certainly fit in! I read the message two more times, then put on a fresh pair of latex gloves.
A second email was waiting for me. He must have sent it before he blocked my way in the alley.
To: Matthew Corbin
From: Jake Bishop
Subject: Old Nina Witch
What are you two up to? I saw you both heading to the graveyard. What’s going on? Is it something to do with Old Nina? She’s a witch, you know. She’s probably got a whole load of dead bodies in that house! Remember Halloween?!
Underneath the email he’d inserted a photograph of an old lady, her face distorted and her eyes dangling in two different directions on red-veined stalks.
I knew the Halloween he was talking about. It was the last time I’d been trick-or-treating, three years ago …
It was the first time that we’d been allowed to go on our own, but we were under strict instructions to only knock on the houses in the cul-de-sac, including our own, and not to bother Old Nina at the Rectory. Our mums would be watching us from their living rooms, so all in all it wasn’t looking like a particularly exciting Halloween.
It seemed a bit pointless knocking on our own houses, as our mums had already seen our outfits, but it was worth it for the candy. We started at Jake’s and Sue opened her door and let out an ear-piercing scream when we yelled: “Trick or treat!”
“Oh my goodness, look at you two! Well hello, Mr. Scary Alien and hello, Mr. Scary Werewolf! I think you both need a treat, don’t you?”
“All right, Mum, don’t overdo it,” said Jake as we rummaged around in the candy bowl, each taking a handful for our booty bags before we moved on.
Hannah and Mr. Jenkins’s house was dark, but Jake still insisted on ringing their doorbell over and over until I told him to quit it.
My house was next and Dad answered. He’d only just got home from work and he pretended he didn’t know who we were.
“Good outfit there, boy!” he said to Jake, who was wearing an all-in-one green jumpsuit with a padded tail and a white, rubber alien mask with two black slits for eyes.
“And who is this monster? It looks like you need a decent haircut!” he said to me. I was wearing normal clothes but hairy gloves with claws and a werewolf mask that went over my head. My face was sweating and I tried not to laugh.
Mr. Charles was next. He answered the door and stumbled backward when he saw us.
“Trick or treat!”
“Blimey, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” he said, resting his hand on the wall for support. “Is it that day already? Gawd. Hang on a minute … And I don’t want any of your tricks on my garden …”
Jake and I giggled as he went off to try and find something to give us. He didn’t need to worry about us doing a trick. We didn’t have anything with us; no one ever chose “trick
” instead of “treat.” He came back with two apples.
“Is that it?” said Jake and I elbowed him.
“You’re lucky you’re not getting a clip to the ear to go with it, lad!” said Mr. Charles, and he slammed the door as we ran down the path laughing.
It was Penny and Gordon’s house next. The best-decorated house in the street. Garlands of black-and-white paper spiders were strung across the window, with webs in each corner that lit up and twinkled. Three beautifully carved pumpkins glowed orange on the step. Mum had bought a pumpkin carving kit from Penny’s Harrington’s Household Solutions catalog, but ours didn’t look anything like these. I glanced back at our house and saw her outline in the window keeping an eye on us.
“Trick or treat!” we yelled as we rang the doorbell of number one.
The door swung open and a faceless figure in a long, black cloak appeared. We both gasped.
“Wooooooohhhh,” it said as it waved its arms at us, stepping outside as we took a step back.
“Gordon? Gordon!” yelled Penny, from the kitchen. “Come and help me with these!”
Gordon ignored her and lifted up the shroud, his face rosy as he laughed.
“Ah, who do we have here then? A scary werewolf and an alien!”
He bent forward to take a proper look, but Penny appeared, all elbows, and barged him out of the way. She was wearing a black-and-white polka dot dress with a tiny silver witch’s hat placed at an angle on her bouffant hairstyle. She was carrying a large tray in the shape of a bat that was filled with pumpkin cookies, candy apples, and muffins decorated with miniature gravestones. The smell was amazing.
“Wow, did you make these, Penny?” I said, giving our identities away.
“Of course, Matthew. Now, you can only take one each. I’ve got to make sure I’ve got enough to go around.”
The Goldfish Boy Page 12
