“So she turned off a lamp and has got something in her tree …”
Nine rings. I screwed up my eyes.
“Your phone is ringing, Mr. Charles,” I interrupted.
“You saw something in her window, but you don’t know what it was …”
“Yes, but it was small and fast. And she’s not watered her flowers.”
He just stared at me. The phone sounded so loud in the silence. Eleven rings. This was getting dangerous now.
“Okay, mustn’t forget the flowers. She’s neglected to water her flowers. And this all makes her a kidnapper?”
“Aren’t you going to answer it, Mr. Charles? I—”
I couldn’t speak as I counted two more rings.
And that was it.
The phone had stopped after tenplusthree rings.
I really needed to concentrate.
“I’m sorry, Matthew. I appreciate the effort, but it all sounds pretty unlikely to me. Nina is an old friend of mine, and there is no way she’s behind all of this.”
The dangerous number seeped out from under Mr. Charles’s front door, looking for me. Looking to take ahold of my throat and not let go. I had to be quick.
“Her lamp was always on for her dead son and it’s been turned off because she’s found a replacement … Her flowers have died because she hasn’t got the time to water them anymore … It all makes sense!”
Mr. Charles’s mouth was slightly open.
“And she’s got a cellar, damn it!”
“Watch your language there!” he said sternly.
Thirteen.
13, 13, 13, 13.
THIRTEEN.
The numbers scrolled through my mind like the news ticker we had watched the other day.
… BREAKING NEWS … 13, 13, 13, 13, 13, 13, 13, 13, 13, 13, 13, 13, 13 …
I tried to count in my head.
“You’ve got to tell the police!”
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
It wasn’t working. The counterbalancing wasn’t working now and the number still had power over me. I just wasn’t concentrating hard enough.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
I was making twenty, but it still felt like I was stuck on tenplusthree. The number rolled toward me on a poisonous fog.
“Son, I don’t want to upset you, but don’t you think you’ve just got too much time on your hands … ?”
He stooped toward me, his head to one side. I coughed as the fog seeped up into my nostrils. I closed my eyes and began again.
One, two, three, four—
“Do you understand what I’m saying? I’m not trying to be rude, but …”
One, two, three—
“… you’re stuck in that house most days and …”
One, two, three, four, five—
“… I don’t know what your parents are doing to help you, but …”
I opened my eyes.
“Would you just shut up a minute? I’m trying to think.”
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven …
The old man stood upright.
“Did you just tell me to shut up?”
“No—I mean yes … I just have to concentrate on something real quick.”
The tears were close now so I began to walk backward, continuously counting to seven.
“I’m just … I’ve just got to think of something in my head …”
Mr. Charles unfolded his arms and stepped back into his house before he called out:
“No more interfering, eh, Matthew?”
When I got back Mum was waiting for me in the hallway.
“Matthew? Where’ve you been?”
I didn’t look at her.
“I just, I just told Mr. Charles something.”
She folded her arms.
“Told him what? What’s going on?”
I couldn’t think what to say. Dad appeared behind her eating a slice of toast.
“I-I said I thought maybe Old Nina might know where Teddy is.”
“You what?” said Dad, his eyes wide. “What on earth …”
“It’s what you said about her son!” I said.
Mum clucked her tongue at Dad. “Brian, you didn’t …”
“She’s got him in there, I swear!”
I kicked off my shoes and ran upstairs, slamming my door.
The Wallpaper Lion looked disappointed with me. Ashamed, almost. I cleaned and cleaned while continually counting from one to seven in my head until the morning had gone. I was exhausted.
“I know why they don’t believe me. They think I’m useless. That’s why,” I said to the Lion as I stood by the window.
“But I’m not, am I? I’m not useless. I was the last person to see him! If it wasn’t for me, they wouldn’t know about the blood on the blanket. And that’s just for starters!”
The Wallpaper Lion’s eye stared ahead. Even he was bored with me. I looked out at the pile of toys by Mr. Charles’s shed. It looked like they were ready for the dump. I went to the office to write it down in my notebook, but something else outside caught my eye.
Thursday, July 31st. Bedroom. Hot and cloudy.
2:03 p.m.—The door of the Rectory just opened and Old Nina came out with a shopping bag on her arm.
That was weird. She never went shopping on Thursdays.
She’s wearing a pale blue blouse and navy skirt. Taking a quick look around first, she makes a dash for it, heading down the street.
Maybe this was my chance to prove to Mr. Charles and Mum and Dad that something was going on. I quickly typed an email.
To: Melody Bird
From: Matthew Corbin
Re: Quick!
Old Nina has gone out. Can you follow her?!
The minutes ticked by with no reply. What if Melody was out? With every second, Old Nina got farther away. How long could I afford to wait?
I paced around the office. No one else would realize how strange this was. The only time that Old Nina ever went out was on Friday mornings, when she would leave at approximately 10:30 a.m. and return around 11:30 a.m. with one bag of shopping. I quickly flicked through my notes to check I was right. Apart from watering the flowers on her step each morning and shopping on a Friday I had never, ever seen her leave the house. She was up to something, and it was down to me to find out what it was.
I hadn’t given myself a chance to think about it—I’d just yelled at Mum and Dad that I was going out, and then I sprinted down the road. The policeman with the yellow tape at the end of the road had gone. The neighborhood was open once more.
It wasn’t long before I had to stop and walk. Aside from the fact that I was unfit, the heat was suffocating and the traffic deafening. My head vibrated with the noise.
As I got closer to town, Teddy’s face began to stare out at me. On lampposts, bus shelters, on the sides of trash cans and in every shop window—“MISSING: TEDDY DAWSON” posters were everywhere. It was the same photograph the TV reporter had held up on the news—the one of him in his little suit with his still-damp eyes.
I puffed along High Street like an old man, my heart pounding, but I felt good. I’d done it! I was out and I was actually doing something. I was investigating.
I looked through every shop window that I passed to see if I could spot a pale blue blouse. I got to the crosswalk and waited for someone to press the button, my gloved hands hidden in my pockets. Suddenly she was there, on the opposite side of the road. She shuffled along, her back bent over as she put her bag down on the ground so that she could push the button. It tipped forward and two balls of blue wool dropped onto the curb. She quickly grabbed them and stuffed them back into the bag, her pink scalp showing through her thin, white hair. The lights changed and I tucked my chin low and quickly crossed, avoiding any eye contact as we passed each other in the middle of the road. A few people were waiting at a bus stop and I hovered nearby, keeping my distance from anyone as I watched her go into a newsstand.
Balls
of wool. Balls of blue wool. Was she making an outfit for a small boy? Or maybe she was planning on knitting something to replace his blue blanket! An old man walked up behind me and placed his shopping bags down with a huff. I realized he thought I was part of the bus line so I edged back slightly, keeping an eye on the other side of the road.
My throat was dry and I needed to wash. I needed to wash very, very soon. But a tiny little voice deep inside me was telling me that I could do this. If I didn’t touch anything and kept at a good distance, then I could watch Old Nina and get all the proof I needed that she had kidnapped Teddy. Then I could sprint home. Or maybe jog—yes, definitely jog home, then I’d tell the police and get straight into the shower and everything would be all right again.
Everyone in the line began to jostle around as a bus arrived. I turned to go but walked straight into the old man behind me, stumbling over his bags.
“Whoa, slow down! What’s the rush?” he said and he put his hands up. As I fell forward my cheek brushed against his dirty, brown cardigan and I got wafts of peppermint, vinegar, and stale aftershave. There was an orange, crusty stain near the buttons that looked like dried egg. I steadied myself, revealing my gloved hands, but he didn’t notice them.
“You all right, boy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. I know I’m old, but I’m still alive, you know!”
As he laughed, stringy, white saliva stretched like elastic bands in the corners of his mouth.
“I-I … I’m sorry,” I said as I stepped over his bags. “I’m so sorry.”
So that was it. There was no way I could cope with that degree of exposure. I’d have to go home and wash immediately.
“Listen, son, if it’s worth knocking an old man over for, it must be important. Off you go!”
And then he threw back his head and laughed again and a gold molar twinkled in the sunlight. Putting my head down, I turned toward home. It was no good; I’d failed. My face was burning where it had brushed against the old man’s cardigan. I felt dizzy and my heart was pounding so badly it felt like it was about to erupt through my rib cage. My eardrums were throbbing and my throat felt gritty, but most of all I really, really needed to wash. I needed clean water—gallons and gallons of it—and lots and lots of soap. New packets of soap. Unopened and sterile.
I walked back to the traffic light and began to cross the road. Old Nina was just coming out of the newsstand, a magazine poking out of the top of her bag. She was headed in the direction of home but suddenly paused. Something had caught her eye in the window of a pharmacy. She put her shopping bag down and leaned forward, her forehead inches from the glass as she blinked at the display. I stood still, trying to look as if I was just waiting for someone. After a few seconds she picked up the bag, brushed her wispy hair from her forehead, and carried on along her way.
I jogged toward the window. Displayed symmetrically in a pyramid shape were boxes of pull-up diapers, the repeated photograph of the single toddler on its packaging faded in the sun. I looked up and watched as her pale blue blouse disappeared around a corner.
“So you’re out again! Who’d have thought it? The Goldfish Boy seen out twice in public!”
Jake grinned from ear to ear like some manic Cheshire Cat as he stood astride his bike at the top of our road. In the distance I could see Old Nina just closing her front door behind her.
“What did you call me?” I took a step toward him and he held his hands up.
“Whoa! All right, freak! No need to have a fit.”
I tried to walk around him but he rolled his bike back, blocking my way like he’d done in the alleyway.
“What’s with the gloves?” he said.
“None of your business,” I said as I put my hands in my pockets.
Jake scratched at the back of his neck and a red mark appeared where he’d broken the skin and drawn blood. He studied his fingernails and I darted around him.
“So, you do think it’s Old Nina after all then?”
I stopped and turned to him.
“What?”
He looked smug.
“I saw Melody trying to see into Old Nina’s yard earlier. Is it to do with that thing in her tree?”
I didn’t say anything.
He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“Anyway, I don’t know why you’re bothering. The kid’s clearly dead. You and Melody are wasting your time if you ask me.”
“You have no idea what’s happened to Teddy Dawson, Jake.”
Two plainclothes policemen were talking in front of Mr. Charles’s house, and they both looked up at us for a moment and then carried on with their conversation.
“No I don’t,” said Jake. “But maybe you do, eh? Maybe you know where he went, Goldfish Boy?”
My throat tightened.
“Don’t call me that.”
Jake laughed.
“Ah, come on. Everyone is saying it! It was that little kid next door to you who started it. Teddy’s sister. Mum told me she’d called you that when she was there phoning the police. She said, ‘The Goldfish Boy probably knows where he went.’”
I swallowed.
“So, what did you see from that window of yours then, hey?”
I blinked away the tears.
“Stop it.”
Jake laughed again, his head up high.
“You should be pleased—you’re famous!”
He adopted a news anchor’s voice.
“The Goldfish Boy was the last person to see Teddy Dawson alive. How exactly does that make him feel?”
He waved an invisible microphone at me and I took a step to the side. I felt like I was gasping for air. I swallowed and swallowed again.
“He’s not dead!” I shouted and my voice echoed down the street. One of the policemen stretched his neck to watch us.
“Look, I’m sorry to burst your fluffy little bubble, but if a kid goes missing and a few days later they find blood on his blanket, then it’s not exactly going to end happily ever after, is it? Life’s tough. Deal with it.”
He rolled his bike back and adjusted his pedal to leave. My legs were trembling.
“He scratched his arm. That’s why there was blood on his blanket,” I said.
Jake turned back.
“How do you know?”
“Well, you said it yourself. I was the last person to see him al—to see him. He was playing in the front garden and he scratched his arm on a thorn and blood got onto his blanket. That answer your question?”
He did a kind of shrug.
“Melody didn’t even try to get the thing out of the tree, you know. She just stared at it over the fence. I can help if you want. With this investigating you’re trying to do?”
I laughed.
“You? Help? When have you ever wanted to help anyone besides yourself?”
His face fell, and then he let me have it.
“Me?! You should talk! I didn’t see you trying to help me when everyone said my eczema was infectious! Or when Mr. Jenkins called me a loser all those times. I didn’t see you sitting next to me when no one else dared. Where were you, eh? Where were you, friend?” He said friend sarcastically, eyes shiny with tears that he quickly blinked away.
I opened my mouth to say something, but he held up his hand.
“You know what, Matthew? Forget it. I wouldn’t want a friend like you anyway.”
He was speaking the truth and it hurt. He pushed his pedal up with the top of his foot and cycled away.
The policemen outside number eleven had gone indoors and Gordon was just coming out of number one with a large box in his arms. He crossed the road and walked toward our house. That was all I needed. I just wanted to get home.
I followed him up our path and stood behind him as he rang our doorbell, trying to find the space to slip past. The box was covered with the Harrington’s Household Solutions logo: Mum must have been ordering from Penny again. Tucked awkwardly under one arm was the latest catalog, which dropped onto our step.
“Could you pick that up for me, son?” he said, without saying hello. I stared down at the open pages. A man with a tanned face holding a silver cocktail shaker in one hand smiled up at me. He looked like the happiest man on earth.
“Matthew? The catalog?”
I reached down and picked it up using my finger and thumb, not caring he’d see my gloves. Dad opened the door.
“Ah, Gordon. Wonderful. Thanks for bringing it over,” he said, taking the box and leaning against the doorframe. I stepped to one side to try and get around, but the entrance was completely blocked now.
“No problem, Brian. No problem at all. Sorry it’s late. Penny’s a bit behind with the orders, you know, what with …” He wiped the top of his balding head with his palm as he nodded toward Mr. Charles’s house.
“Well, if she needs Sheila to help, just say.”
“Thanks, Brian. And let me know if you need a hand with this.” He tapped his fingers on the top of the cardboard box.
“I hate decorating, but I can’t keep putting it off. Sheila won’t let me anyway!”
Dad shook the box in his arms and gave a little laugh. I jiggled around on the step. I just wanted to get in and straight into the shower to wash all the disease away.
“Excuse me,” I said and I made a dash for it, brushing against Gordon’s arm and crashing into the box in Dad’s arms. I threw the catalog onto the stairs.
“Matthew, be careful!” said Dad, stumbling. “Sorry about that, Gordon.”
“No problem. Anyway, I’d better be off. You know … back to Penny, indoors,” said Gordon, nodding toward his own house now.
“Thank you, Gordon. And remember, if Penny needs a hand, just say, okay?”
He pushed the front door closed with his foot and carried the box to the conservatory while I kicked off my shoes.
“Matthew. I need to talk to you about your room,” he said, but I was already upstairs, heading for the shower.
To: Jake Bishop
From: Matthew Corbin
Subject: Old Nina’s Tree
Hi, Jake.
You’re right. We do need your help. How about trying to get that thing out of Old Nina’s tree?
The Goldfish Boy Page 16
