Officer Campen stared at me as I waited.
“Where on his arm?”
I was dangerously close to falling out of the house.
“On his forearm. The right one. Look, I’ve got to go.”
I pulled myself back inside and closed the door, knowing that before long the police would be knocking again and asking the same question in ten different ways. Dad was in the conservatory using a roller to paint beneath the window ledges; the pool table was covered with an old, stained beige cloth.
“What’s going on, Matthew?” he called.
I walked to the edge of the conservatory, stopping at the white, shiny tiles that harbored a trillion germs. Nigel was nowhere to be seen.
“I remembered something, so I told the policeman next door. Teddy scratched his arm when he was in the front garden; that’s probably why there was blood on the blanket.”
“And what did the police say?”
I just shrugged, and Dad huffed. I knew he was embarrassed that I looked out the window so much. He’d have preferred me to be on an Xbox or something, doing something normal.
“Pass me that brush, would you, son? I need to get around the edges.”
In the corner of the conservatory and lying on top of a few sheets of newspaper was a thin, black brush. It was just within my reach. Without stepping onto the tiles I stretched awkwardly around and picked up the brush between my bare thumb and index finger. There was no way I was going to walk across Nigel’s vomiting playground, but Dad wasn’t making any sign that he’d walk toward me, so I was now stuck with the brush in my hand.
“Come on, Matthew. Give it here, I haven’t got all day.”
Dad stared at me, his roller in one hand, as I stared back, the brush in mine. We stood there like two bizarre cowboys waiting to see who was going to draw first. Just when I was considering throwing the brush at Dad and making a run for it, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it!”
The brush clattered to the floor as I made my escape. Officer Campen was on the step with the man in the suit who’d tried to comfort Melissa Dawson when she’d collapsed.
“Matthew Corbin? Can we come in for a chat?”
I stood back and let them in as Mum and Dad appeared.
“Mr. and Mrs. Corbin, your son has said he remembered something else about the day Teddy went missing. We just need to ask him a few more questions.”
We all shuffled silently toward the kitchen.
“Everyone for tea?” said Mum and she got some mugs out of the cupboard and filled the kettle up even though no one had said yes. The policeman in the business suit introduced himself as Detective Bradley and gave Dad his business card. He then asked me more of the same questions I’d heard before. How could I see so much from the window? What was I doing looking out in the first place? Was I aware the boy was on his own? And then he moved on to the blood. How much blood was there? Did I actually see it drip onto the blanket? Did I see Teddy use the blanket to wipe the blood? Why did he not call out to his granddad if he’d hurt himself enough to bleed?
“I don’t know. He just looked at the cut for a bit and then carried on doing what he was doing. He’s quite a tough kid, actually.”
The detective looked up, puzzled.
“And why would you say that?”
I was on a bit of a roll now.
“Well, he didn’t seem that bothered when he got pushed into the pond …”
I screwed my eyes shut. The detective looked at Officer Campen, who shrugged.
“What pond? Who pushed him in the pond?”
Mum and Dad stopped fiddling with the tea things and everyone stared at me. The kettle rumbled away and then clicked off.
“The day after they came to stay, Casey pushed Teddy into Mr. Charles’s pond. He went in headfirst and she just stood there watching him.”
The detective rubbed his face and his hand made a scratching noise against stubble that hadn’t been there yesterday.
“And you saw this out of your window as well?”
I nodded, and then Mum piped up.
“It was a different window though, detective. It would have been in his bedroom, which is at the back and looks out on the yards. Isn’t that right, Matthew?”
I nodded, uneasy. A sinister, dank fog oozed out of the creases of the kitchen cupboards. I coughed a little as it caught in my throat.
“Okay. We’ll need to take a look at that. And then what happened? While you stood there in your bedroom watching a small child nearly drown.”
The kitchen fell silent and I bit my lip as tears filled my eyes. I opened my mouth to say something but Dad stepped in.
“Look, detective, I think you should know that my son, my Matthew, has a serious condition that renders him practically housebound. You might think he’s a bit of an oddball, but did you know that in a school of three thousand students around twenty of them have this condition?”
I gave Dad a smile as Detective Bradley raised his hands.
“I just want to establish how this child was put in danger and why it appears that an adult wasn’t supervising him. Again. I’m not blaming your son, Mr. Corbin.”
“I didn’t just stand there,” I said, my voice gruff. “I ran to the front of the house and shouted for Mr. Charles. He was across the street talking to Penny and Gordon, and when he got back to the pond, Casey had pulled him out.”
Detective Bradley went to say something, but I spoke over him.
“Isn’t it a bit odd that Mr. Charles hasn’t told you about this himself? And don’t you think it’s unusual that he’s been out in that yard today, mowing his lawn while the rest of the world is out looking for his grandson?”
My voice had become louder until I was practically shouting at him. It felt good, and to make it even better, Dad winked at me. Detective Bradley glared at Officer Campen.
“You didn’t stop him mowing the lawn?”
Officer Campen looked stunned.
“I-I didn’t know he was … I heard a mower but thought it was a few doors down, I …”
The policemen began to discuss who was where and when and then Officer Campen began to bark orders into his radio. Mum switched the kettle on again as she and Dad talked in hushed voices in the corner.
“I knew she looked wicked. Did you see her eyes, Brian? And that weird doll? Urgh, it gave me the creeps.”
“Now come on, Sheila, you can’t assume she had anything to do with him going missing.”
I ran upstairs to the bathroom and washed my hands over and over. I gave a final rinse in hot water and heard the front door bang closed as the policemen left. From the top of the landing I could see the fog from the kitchen slowly rolling in waves across the floor, creeping its way upstairs.
Back in my room, the sunlight made flickering stripes across my carpet. My room didn’t feel right; everything needed to be cleaned. Every pencil, book, chair leg, lightbulb, the walls, all of it. I’d start at the top and work my way down to the baseboards and then I’d tackle the smaller items. I put on a pair of gloves and set to work.
Standing on the bed, which would need changing afterward, I began to wipe at the wall with a cloth soaked in antibacterial spray. The Wallpaper Lion had an ear—I’d never noticed that before. But it was there, peeking out from his matted mane: a small golden triangle.
“Melody thinks I’m lonely,” I said to him. “Can you believe it? And she’s collecting memorial cards. How sick is that? I know she got the gloves for me, but … that’s just beyond wrong. Isn’t it?”
The Wallpaper Lion’s face shone and his drooping eye sparkled. He almost appeared to be smiling at me, enjoying his little wash.
I stopped and stared at him.
“What if she knows, Lion? What if she sees my note and realizes Callum’s death was all my fault?”
The Wallpaper Lion carried on smiling. I imagined him shaking his mane, the tiny droplets of moisture raining everywhere.
Voices were coming from outside,
and from here I could see Penny drinking from a mug as she stood on the patio talking to Mr. Charles. I got off the bed and put my cleaning stuff down, picking up my notebook.
1:25 p.m.—Penny Sullivan is next door. She’s talking to Mr. Charles and every now and then she pats him on the arm.
He said something about going to see his sister for a few days and then his home phone began to ring and he lolloped back indoors. She watched him go into the house, then walked down the lawn to the mound of toys that Mr. Charles had dumped next to the shed. Shaking her head a few times, she looked over the pile and picked up a red bucket, which she tipped onto the grass. A few of Teddy’s chunky, plastic cars fell out and she reached down and picked up a small, orange bulldozer, studying it closely before rolling it up and down her arm.
“What’s she doing?” I said. I moved closer to the window.
Turning the bulldozer over, she spun each wheel using her thumb and then Mr. Charles reappeared.
“What is it? What’s happened?” said Penny.
Mr. Charles had his head in his hands.
“It was my daughter … doesn’t want anything to do with me … said it’s all my fault …”
Penny put an arm around him as he began to cry, and they turned and slowly began walking back to the house. She was trying to hold her mug and the orange toy in one hand, and her tea slopped onto the grass.
Penny pats Mr. Charles on his back as he sobs. “He’s such a dear boy,” he says. “I’d never see him come to any harm. He’s such a dear, dear boy.” Turning her patting into a rub, Penny rests her head on his shoulder for a second. “I know, I know,” she says. “He’s such a funny little fellow.”
I looked up from my notebook, and she was staring straight at me. I gave her a weak smile and saw her physically shudder.
Penny Sullivan hadn’t liked me since Callum died.
I didn’t have any grandparents—they’d died before I was born—and Mum always seemed to see Penny as a bit of a mother figure. She was around a lot when I was little, telling Mum what to cook and what to buy. She was the local agent for a catalog called Harrington’s Household Solutions, which promised to revolutionize your home with an assortment of items you can’t live without! Mum loved that catalog, and every month she would pore through it, oohing and aahing at some new fancy gadget that we’d never use.
Dad wasn’t a fan of Penny. He thought she was too overbearing, and I don’t think he liked the fact Mum took her advice so seriously. One winter Mum asked her what type of Christmas tree she should get.
“Stick with a fake one, Sheila. You’ll still be hoovering up needles in August if you get a real one. Harrington’s are doing a lovely synthetic Nordic spruce in the catalog next month. That’ll look picture-perfect in your window.”
That particular year, Dad had wanted a real tree for a change, but Mum would never go against Penny’s advice.
“She’s life-experienced, Brian. That woman knows what she’s talking about.”
“Life-experienced? She’s an interfering old bag, that’s what she is. Always thinking she’s right, never listening to what anyone else says. It’s no wonder she’s driven both of her kids away …”
But Mum didn’t agree, and it was Penny she called in a panic when she had to rush to the hospital to have Callum. She arrived on our doorstep wearing a bright, fluffy, multicolored sweater and jeans, and she was carrying a large bag stuffed with games. I’d never seen her in casual clothes before. Gordon hovered behind her as always, a newspaper tucked under his arm. Over the afternoon and evening she taught me how to play Hangman, Dots and Boxes, and Battleship using just a pencil and paper, and we played some old board games that used to belong to her children, like Chinese Checkers. Gordon sat in Dad’s armchair filling in a crossword puzzle and looked up every now and then when she told him what a good player I was.
“He’s such a quick learner, Gordon! Not like our Jeremy. He could never get the hang of board games, could he, Gordon?”
Gordon just grunted and shook the paper before squinting down at it again.
Every now and then I asked if my new baby brother had arrived yet. I was so excited, and I couldn’t understand why it was taking so long. Penny just answered:
“These things take time, Matthew. These things take time.”
While we played our games I kept picking at a large spot that was just above my right eyebrow, which was annoying Penny.
“Pick, pick, pick, Matthew! Stop it now. If you carry on picking you’ll end up with a scar, you know …”
She made beans on toast for dinner and we sat together at the kitchen table, waiting for news. I’d never seen anyone eat so delicately before. I remember sitting up straighter than I normally would, and I made sure I held my fork the right way.
“Penny? Do you think he’ll have blond hair or brown hair like mine?”
“I don’t know, Matthew. Eat your dinner now.”
Pick, pick, pick.
“He might have no hair at all! Did your babies have hair, Penny? Do you have a boy or a girl?”
Pick, pick, pick.
“I have a son named Jeremy and a daughter named Anna and yes, they both had hair. Stop fiddling with that spot, now. There’s a good boy.”
I ate three more forkfuls of beans and put my cutlery down. Gordon got up and put his plate in the sink and then wandered off to the lounge without a word and I heard the TV turn on.
“Where are your children, Penny? Do they live near here?”
Pick, pick, pick.
“They don’t, no. For some unfathomable reason they both decided to move abroad. Jeremy lives in Brazil and Anna in New Zealand.”
I gawped at her.
“Wow, New Zealand is a million miles away. Do they come back to see you?”
She shook her head.
“Oh. Penny? What does un-un-fatha-umble mean?”
“It means inexplicable or incomprehensible.”
She looked at my blank face.
“It means they both made a silly mistake and should have stayed here. Life would be a lot happier for both of them if they stopped being so stubborn and listened to what I said. Now eat up.”
Her face was red, her lips pressed tightly together. I ate a few more forkfuls in silence, then picked at my spot again.
“Penny? Do Jeremy and Anna not like you very much?”
SLAM. Penny banged her hand down hard on the table.
“Matthew, I said stop picking that bloody spot or everyone will know what you did for the rest of your life!”
My orange juice had splashed over the edge of my cup and onto my dinner. Penny picked up her knife and fork and carried on eating as if nothing had happened.
I blinked back tears and told her that I wasn’t feeling very hungry anymore, and she let me leave the table and go to my room.
It was pitch-black outside when I heard Dad’s car pull up and I crept a little way down the stairs and sat quietly in the darkness. Penny opened the door and waited as Dad lifted two suitcases out of the trunk—an overnight bag for Mum and a hospital bag for the baby, the tiny white clothes inside still unused. Mum headed straight for Penny’s open arms, but just as she stepped into the hallway her legs went out from under her. It was as if she’d fallen into quicksand, and she sank slowly, deep, deep down. Penny knelt on the floor beside her and held her in her arms, stroking her hair and rocking her back and forth as my mum sobbed.
“It’s okay, let it all go … It’s okay … I’m here, Penny’s here …”
I crept upstairs and went into the bathroom, locked the door, and began to wash my hands. I knew I was to blame for this, and I knew that if I washed away all the germs then they couldn’t hurt anyone else. I just needed to keep on top of it from now on, like a big boy, that was all. That’s all I needed to do.
And that’s when it started. Secretly at first; for years I could easily sneak off to the bathroom and wash my hands over and over without anyone noticing. But then Hannah and Mr. Jenkins a
nnounced to everyone that they were expecting a baby, and bam. Things got a lot worse.
Fortunately I didn’t think anyone had stopped to look back through time and figure out why I was doing what I was doing, but it was simple really.
I cleaned because Callum died, and Callum died because of me.
“It’ll say it on that thing that scrolls along the bottom, won’t it, Brian? The tickle?”
Dad had taken time-out from decorating to watch the news.
“It’s called a ticker, Sheila. A ticker. Not a tickle.”
Mum had called us both into the living room saying that Penny had texted and there was some kind of update about Teddy on the news. I paced around the carpet trying to relax. My knuckles were cracked and bleeding from my constant washing; the blood had freaked me out, so I cleaned them over and over, but then they just bled even more. Around and around I spun, back on my stupid wheel.
“Stop going back and forth, Matthew. You’re making me dizzy.”
We all stared at the TV. Dad kept tutting, saying would it just hurry up.
“Penny’s always sticking her big nose in where it’s not wanted. Are you sure she’s right?”
Mum fiddled with her phone to try and find the text again.
“Look—it’s on!” I said. Mum dropped the phone and grabbed the remote control, turning the volume up even though it was only being reported on the ticker for now. Dad read the scrolling white words out loud.
“Breaking News. Police investigate a suspected sighting of the missing toddler, Teddy Dawson, boarding a ferry with a man and woman in Harwich yesterday. Police in Holland are working alongside the British forces.”
As the ticker ended, Dad turned back to the conservatory to carry on painting.
“See?” he said. “I told you they’d find him. He’ll be all over the CCTV cameras—he’ll be home before long, I bet.”
Mum turned the TV off and went into the kitchen. I followed, stopping when I reached the tiled floor.
“That would be good, wouldn’t it? Maybe we could have a little party or something? I’ll see what Penny says. She’d love to organize that.”
The Goldfish Boy Page 14
