“Dad?” I said and I slowly opened the door. My room was unrecognizable. The frame of my bed had been moved to the middle of the room, and dust sheets covered the carpet, my desk, and the bookcase. The Harrington’s Household Solutions cardboard box that Gordon had delivered earlier was empty and sat next to the door. The stench of wet, sodden wallpaper made me want to vomit.
“What are you doing?”
Dad was standing halfway up a stepladder, holding a wallpaper steamer in his left hand. He hadn’t heard me come in, and I stood frozen in the doorway as I watched him press it against my wall. Curled vapors of smoke seeped from the edges.
“Ah, Matthew, there you are! I thought I’d freshen it up in here a bit for you as a surprise! These walls are good; I’ll get this off and then give it a couple of coats of paint tomorrow and it’ll be done.”
He lifted the steamer off and, with his other hand, scraped the paper away in one clean sweep. The yellowing strands fell to the floor in a wet shlump. He moved the steamer down the wall, and it bubbled away again like a boiling kettle.
“Stop it! Stop it, Dad,” I said, but I said it too quietly.
“Mum’s going to make up a bed in the office for you for a couple of nights,” he said loudly over the noises and the radio. “You won’t want to sleep in here with all this mess, eh?”
Behind him I could see the Wallpaper Lion was still there, cowering in his little corner. A line of sweat was seeping through Dad’s T-shirt, making a dark trail down his spine.
“B-but I didn’t want you to decorate. Why are you doing this? IT’S MY ROOM!”
I wondered if I could just push him off the stepladder and put a stop to the whole thing. He scraped off another section, and the paper peeled away like curls of soft butter.
“Don’t be silly, Matthew,” he said without looking at me. “It needs doing. And it’ll be nice and clean then, just how you like it!”
SCRAPE.
Another strand fell to the floor. Behind him the steamer was just inches away from the Wallpaper Lion’s mane. Condensation glistened across the paper and tears streamed out of his drooping eye and down his flat, wide nose. He’d always been there for me, day and night. What would I do without him? I ran to the ladder just as Dad placed the square, plastic steamer over the Wallpaper Lion’s face.
“No! Please! Take it off! TAKE IT OFF!”
He frowned down at me, his arm held still as he waited for the heat to slowly work through the layers of paint. When he turned back to the wall and released his hand, a cloud of steam escaped and, with one swift sweep of the scraper, the Wallpaper Lion was gone. A soggy curl fell down and landed on top of the mound of old paper beside me. I picked it up and desperately tried to unfurl it, but it was falling apart in my hands.
“Matthew, what are you doing? What is the matter with you?”
I began to cry.
“You don’t know what you’ve done! You’ll never, ever know! You’ve killed him, Dad. You’ve killed him!”
I ran from the room with the wet wallpaper in my hand and locked myself in the bathroom. Laying it carefully down on the floor, I pieced it together, sobbing as I tried not to damage it any further. I couldn’t make out any part of him: his mane, his flattened nose, his domed forehead. It all just looked like a slimy mess.
Dad was on the other side of the door, pounding away.
BANG, BANG, BANG!
“Matthew! What’s going on? Come on out and stop being so silly.”
I turned the paper this way and that, trying to work out which way was up. Another piece fell off in my hand.
BANG, BANG, BANG!
“I thought you’d be pleased! You like things clean, don’t you? Make up your bloody mind!”
BANG, BANG, BANG!
And then I saw it, barely visible along the side of the paper: I spotted his eye. His weird, droopy eye, which had watched over me for so long.
“Matthew! Are you listening to me?!”
“I heard you, Dad! Can you leave me to go to the bathroom, please, or is that too much to ask?”
I braced myself for more bangs, but he just huffed and I heard my bedroom door slam shut. I gently tore around the eye and threw the rest of the paper down the toilet, flushing it with my elbow. I carefully put the piece on the windowsill in the corner and hoped it would dry.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered as I washed my hands. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Thirty-seven times I washed my hands. Thirty-seven times. My worst count ever. Dad came back now and then and knocked on the door, but I told him I had an upset stomach and to go away. I heard them both murmuring on the landing and then the sounds of them shifting my mattress into the office. The cupboard door opened and Mum must have got out some clean sheets.
The Wallpaper Lion’s eye curled and crisped as it dried on the windowsill and eventually began to look like the old, yellowing eye I knew so well. I picked up the fragment, not much bigger than my thumbnail, and slipped it into my back pocket.
When I came out of the bathroom, Mum was on her knees in the office making up a bed using my mattress. She looked like she’d been crying.
“We’re just doing what we think is right for you, darling. Okay? No one is trying to upset anyone.”
I didn’t say anything and she turned back to tuck in the sheet. I went onto the landing to get a pair of gloves. Dad was still banging about in my room. I went back to the office and Mum stood up.
“Me and your dad have had a chat and your dad is right. We need to be tougher with you, Matthew, to help you get over this. I won’t be bringing food up to you anymore. We’re going to eat around the table like a proper family. Starting tonight.”
She didn’t look at me when she spoke.
“You’re seeing Dr. Rhodes on Monday. It’s a new beginning. For all of us. And you can make a start by getting rid of those gloves.”
When she said the word gloves, her head jerked toward me, but she still couldn’t bear to look in my direction. Then she walked out and went downstairs.
The latest Harrington’s catalog, the one I’d picked up for Gordon, was open on the desk at a page advertising slow cookers. Still wearing my gloves, I closed the catalog. There was a headline on the front cover: Want the Ultimate Protection from Germs? See Page 7! I casually flicked through the catalog until I reached the cleaning section. The first two pages were dedicated to a new steam mop that promised to eliminate dirt from a variety of surfaces. Mum had already bought this mop a few months ago but I’d never seen her use it, which probably meant it had ended up in the attic along with the juicer, pasta machine, and bread maker. I carried on, but the glossy pages became more and more crumpled and creased. Someone had scrawled deep, jagged lines over the bottles of disinfectant and antibacterial wipes. They’d scribbled so hard in places the paper was torn. I slammed the catalog shut and pushed it to the back of the desk. Mum must have lost her head for a moment and taken her anger out on the catalog. Shame seeped into my veins and flooded my body.
At 5:24 p.m. Dad announced loudly to the house:
“Quick! Something’s going on at the Rectory!”
I jumped up from my mattress on the floor and went to the window. The police must have taken Melody and Claudia seriously. I looked at number three, but Claudia’s car wasn’t back yet.
“This is it, Lion, this is it! They’re going to find him!” I said to the Wallpaper Eye in my pocket.
Detective Bradley and a female officer in plainclothes were standing on Old Nina’s step and appeared to be asking her some questions. She kept the large black door as closed as possible while she poked her head around the side. The female officer leaned in, her head nodding intently, and then slowly, very slowly, Old Nina opened the door and stood back as they both walked in and the door closed behind them. I could hear Mum and Dad muttering downstairs; they must have been watching as well.
I waited.
Five minutes passed. Any minute now the door would open and a grubby but happy Teddy wo
uld appear in the arms of the female officer, followed by a handcuffed Old Nina being led away by Detective Bradley. But the door remained shut. A shadow appeared behind the curtain near the orange lamp and an arm brushed against the window. Whoever it was, they seemed to be fiddling with the lamp.
Twenty minutes passed. I waited, and nothing. I heard the kettle switch on downstairs as Mum and Dad lost interest. I was just considering washing my hands again when at 6:22 p.m. the door of the Rectory opened again.
“Here we go. Come on, Teddy, where are you?”
Detective Bradley appeared first, closely followed by the other officer. They were both smiling. Any second now Teddy would appear, a little stunned but no harm done. I was surprised they weren’t carrying him though. I tried to see around their legs, looking for the lost boy, but he wasn’t there. Perhaps they’d called for backup. Is that what they did in cases like this?
They both stopped on her step and turned to face Old Nina, who stood at the threshold. I couldn’t see any handcuffs, and she didn’t seem to be following them out. She had her body turned to one side and there was something in her arms. I blinked, trying to see what it was, but Detective Bradley’s head was in the way. The female officer moved slightly to one side and then reached a hand out toward the old lady as Detective Bradley took a step backward. And then I could see exactly what it was in Old Nina’s arms. There was no toddler; there was no Teddy. She hadn’t taken him to replace her dead son—she’d just gotten herself a little companion and had been trying to hide it so she wouldn’t be evicted.
It was a kitten. A small, tabby kitten. The officer tickled it under the chin and then they walked away.
Detective Bradley glanced up at me. I swallowed. They both climbed into a black car and it slowly edged out of the close. I looked back over at the Rectory and saw the lamp in Old Nina’s window was glowing once more.
“What do you mean you’re not going?”
As he spoke, Dad jabbed his forkful of roast chicken across the kitchen table at me.
“Come on, son, spit it out. Me and your mum are dying to know why you’ve suddenly changed your mind.”
He shoveled the chicken into his mouth, dropped the fork on his plate with a clatter, and sat back, waiting for me to answer.
Up until this point things had been going quite well with my attempt at trying to eat a meal with them—my first for many months. Mum had tried to dish me up some roast chicken, salad, and potatoes, but that was just a step too far. I was quite happy with my sterile, microwave meal. The doors to the conservatory were open and Nigel was asleep on the pool table, safely out of the way. I’d started off with a bit of light chat about the cat:
“So, Nigel’s still alive, I see?” I’d said, nodding toward the conservatory.
Dad smirked, a pleased look on his face at having his family all sitting around the table for a change. Plus, like me, he wasn’t a big fan of Nigel.
“Flipping cat, shedding his fur over my table.”
“Leave him alone, Brian. At least someone is getting some use out of it, aren’t you, Nigel?”
We all looked over at the sleeping, furry mound glowing yellow in the evening sunlight.
“You still owe me that game, remember, Matty? It’s not much fun playing on your own, you know.”
I didn’t meet his gaze but kept focused on my dinner and shrugged, noncommittal.
“Have you got any paint for my room yet?” I said. Keep it normal. Keep it neutral. Mum spooned a large dollop of mayonnaise onto her plate, tapping the spoon three times.
“You’re going to love it, Matty,” she said, grinning. “Mockingbird’s Breast, it’s called. Cream with a tiny touch of ocher.”
Dad looked at me and we both smiled and raised our eyes.
“Those paint guys are having a laugh! Sitting around drinking tea all day while they come up with a hundred ridiculous names for something that’s basically white.”
He chuckled to himself.
“I figure we could do better than Mockingbird’s Breast, don’t you, Matthew?”
I smiled, took a deep breath, and went for it.
“How about: Dirty Dishwater.”
Dad grinned and his eyes darted to the pool table.
“Good one. I know: Cue Ball Cream.”
I laughed as Mum tutted and pretended to be offended.
“What about … Wait for it … A Hint of Denture.”
Dad put his fork down.
“Excellent! Hold on, hold on … How about Tired Eyeball?”
“I’d love that on my walls, please, Mum …”
We were both laughing so much we couldn’t eat, and Mum had a big smile on her face.
“Come on now, you two, those paints are expensive. You know they’re good quality when they’ve got fancy names like that.”
Dad raised his eyebrows and nodded toward Mum and we both spluttered out laughing again.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” I said, wriggling on my seat. “How about Soiled Diaper!”
It went quiet. Dad sort of chuckled, but I’d ruined it. The whole moment of happiness had been crushed because my imaginary paint color had reminded everyone about Teddy being missing. The kitchen fell into silence. We all picked up our forks and prodded at our food, and then I looked at the empty chair opposite me: the chair where my brother would have been sitting.
“Melissa and Casey are back staying with Mr. Charles. Did you know? I think she realized how much she needs her dad after all.”
I nodded. I had noticed her car was back but was parked farther up the road so there was room for the police to come and go.
“How’s your pasta, darling? Does it need another twenty seconds?”
The Bolognese steamed into my face, and I gave her my best smile as I blew on a forkful.
“It’s fine, Mum. Thanks.”
She smiled back at me.
After a few minutes of silence I thought it might be a good moment to divert the attention away from Teddy and explode my own little news bomb, so I told them that I wasn’t going back to see Dr. Rhodes. Not ever. I just couldn’t do it. There was too much bad stuff going on around me: my baby brother dying, Teddy going missing, hearing about what happened to Old Nina’s son. And she’d make me talk about Callum, I just knew it. That’s what they did, those therapists. They made you talk about stuff in the past that you’d rather forget. She might find out exactly what I did, and I couldn’t cope with that.
I had been wrong about it being a good moment.
“Oh Matthew. Why? You’ve hardly even given it a chance!”
“You don’t understand, Mum. It’s too hard. I can’t do it.”
I pushed the pasta around the warped, brown plastic tray with my fork.
“Hold on a minute, hold on. So, you’re telling me that you’re not going back to see one of the best therapists in the area … because it’s too hard?”
Mum put a hand on Dad’s arm.
“Brian, don’t shout.”
He turned and faced Mum, and small pieces of chicken fell out of his mouth as he spoke.
“But he’s not even started, Sheila! What does he expect? A smiley sticker on a chart or something? Of course it’s hard! If it was easy I’d cure him myself!”
He pushed his chair back and stormed out of the kitchen, through the conservatory, and into the yard. Mum stood up and scraped her food onto Dad’s plate. She’d hardly eaten a thing.
“See what you’ve done now?” she said. “I’ve backed you up on so many things, Matthew, SO many things!”
It looked like dinner was over.
“Buying you those stupid gloves, bringing food to your room like some silly servant, making excuses for you when you didn’t want to go anywhere. The least you can do is get some help. If not for your sake, for us.”
She grabbed my dish of pasta and threw the whole thing into the bin. Keeping her back turned, she leaned on the kitchen counter as if the conversation had exhausted her.
“You’r
e pulling this family apart, Matthew. We can’t take it anymore.”
She then went out into the yard and joined Dad, who was standing by his runner beans. She wrapped her arms around him, and they stood holding each other.
I had the Wallpaper Lion’s eye in my pocket, but suddenly I felt very, very alone.
The computer clicked and hummed as the little red light blinked. I began to count the flashes, then stopped when I got to ten and looked away. Not because I was worried about getting to the bad number, but because I just didn’t want to count. The little black beetle was back, gnawing away at my insides. Punishing me for what happened to Callum.
The Harrington’s Household Solutions catalog was behind the monitor where I’d pushed it after finding Mum’s angry scrawls over the cleaning products. I’d move it later.
I sat and waited for the computer to get to the home screen, and then I logged into my email.
To: Matthew Corbin
From: Melody Bird
Subject: What Shall We Do Now?
So Old Nina is off the suspect list. What now?
Melody
I didn’t have an answer.
A car drove into the cul-de-sac, and I stretched up to take a look. There were no police around tonight. Penny was just getting out of their blue Fiat on the driveway of number one, which was odd. Gordon usually did all the driving. I sat back. Now that I came to think of it, I hadn’t seen Penny and Gordon together for a while. They were usually inseparable. How long had it been exactly? I got up and went to the landing and grabbed my notebook from my bedside table, flicking through it as I returned to the office. I sat back down and read through some of the entries.
… it looks like they are organizing a search party. Gordon, Sue, and Claudia are all taking part …
The Goldfish Boy Page 18
