The HUM: The complete novel

by Michael Christopher Carter

  Grabbing a takeaway on the way home, the proprietor of the local Chinese (a bizarrely named Norman Smith) had given a few extras, free of charge. Geraint’s uniform often had that effect.

  Having put Carys to bed, Geraint watched television until he too fell into a deep, much needed sleep. He wasn’t sure what time it was when the telephone woke him, but it felt late. Rushing to the hallway, he snatched at the receiver, almost dropping it in his eagerness “Hello?” he cried.

  “I’m so sorry,” Diane rasped before breaking down into heartfelt sobs. “I want to come home now, please”.

  Heart racing, he reigned himself before agreeing, ‘Yes, come home.’ Was it too soon? What would have been achieved in such little time? “Of course I want you back home, cariad,” he replied before adding, “But what do the doctors say?”

  A long pause followed before she admitted they wanted her to stay.

  “I think you should, then. If they want you to. You were very ill.”

  Diane’s deep sob reverberated the handset. “I know,” she choked. “You’re right. I’ll try to stay, I promise. But I haven’t started Christmas shopping yet. And there’s the decorations, and...”

  “Huussshh...” Geraint soothed. “I’d rather postpone Christmas and have you properly well.” He wasn’t sure if he meant it, but it was important she understood the priorities. He still trusted she’d be out in time.

  They made tentative plans to bring Carys in the next night, and Diane calmed. She seemed like her normal self. The Diane, looking back, Geraint realised hadn’t been around for weeks.

  They chatted like love struck teenagers for an hour before a nurse interrupted suggesting Diane leave the phone call to have her night time medication.

  “Okay,” Diane’s voice sounded muffled as she turned away from the mouthpiece. “Night, night, cariad...” she returned with. “I Love you.”

  “Dw i’n di gari ti, (I love you), angel,” he replied. “Nos Da.” (Good Night)

  “Nos Da,” she said before the phone went ‘click’.

  Everything was going to be okay. On his way past her room, he popped his head in to check on his daughter, as he did every night. Turning away, certain she was sleeping, a little voice from the darkness croaked, “Is mummy coming home soon, Daddy?”

  “Soon, Cariad, soon.” he assured her. “We can put the Christmas decorations up then eh?” She beamed at him.

  “Yes. Ooh, I can’t wait”. She snuggled under her duvet and Geraint made for the door. “Night, Daddy.”

  “Nos da, Carys,” he smiled, eyes twinkling. Walking across the landing to his room, he allowed himself some optimism. “She’s coming home for Christmas,” he sighed.

  Chapter Nine

  Never Speak of This Again

  He strapped Carys into her seat in the back of the squad car and grinned at her. Perhaps he was being a bit too upbeat. “You know mummy probably isn’t coming home today, don’t you, sweetheart?” She nodded. “It’ll be nice to see her though, won’t it?” A statement more than a question.

  Driving from Cambridge to Royston in the rush hour, then almost immediately straight back again was the best plan Geraint had come up with for tonight’s visit. Tempted to use the blues and two’s, his conscience stepped in and removed his finger from the switch.

  Stood in the foyer, Geraint pressed the door buzzer. As they waited, they could see into the corridor. Through one of the doors Carys spotted a pool table. “Can we play pool, Daddy?”

  “Maybe. But we’ll have to see how Mummy is first. Okay?”

  Geraint told a nurse through the little window (a different one to yesterday), who they were there to see, and she keyed in the code to allow entry. He had been concerned bringing Carys might be frowned upon, but they welcomed her warmly.

  “Would you like a drink of squash, or a milkshake? How about a biscuit?” Carys was thrilled. “Hold on. I’ll just empty the family room for you.”

  She walked through double doors to the room they had seen from outside where two men playing pool. A tall man, slightly built with lank, greasy hair, and his very large opponent, bristled with bubbling rage. A glance from his ferocious face could kill at fifty paces, but the nurse ordered him from the room like a naughty toddler. “Can you finish up, you two, please? I’ve got a young family needing to use this room.”

  They showed no signs of resistance, and the large man in particular was thrilled to witness Geraint in his uniform. Muttering to one another, as if in the presence of a prized celebrity, they ushered from the room saying, “Good evening officer,” almost in unison.

  A soft look in the larger man’s eyes as he smiled at Carys surprised Geraint. She appeared unafraid and returned the gesture. Geraint, impressed with his daughter’s compassion, thought he may have judged too soon.

  “You can come in now,” the nurse directed. “I’ll go and get Mummy, shall I?” Carys smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

  She walked off down the corridor, locking the door to the family room as she left. Carys looked longingly at the pool table. “Looks like we’ll have a game then, bach,” Geraint conceded.

  It wasn’t long before a changed Diane came beaming into the room. Carys beat Geraint’s reflexes in her rush to hug her. Diane swept her up, and Geraint joined them for a group hug.

  “I’m so sorry, you two. You must’ve been so worried about me. I’m sure I was just dreadful to you both.” She broke free from the hug just enough to make eye contact.

  “You mustn’t take anything I said to heart.” She squeezed them both in her arms. “Don’t take any notice of Mummy when she’s unwell, darling, will you?” Said to Carys, it was meant more to Geraint. Her eyes couldn’t meet his. She knew how much she hurt him when she was ill.

  Too choked to speak, he sufficed with placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze. Their eyes met at last. “It’s okay,” he managed to emit from the small hole in his throat left with the plum sized lump of emotion he was trying to swallow. A large tear made its way to his cheek and he turned away. “Shall I rack ‘em up?” he gushed with false cheer, batting more tears from his streaked face before his girls could notice.

  The nurse came back to inquire after tea or coffee requirements, and then returned with them presently, along with Carys’s milkshake and an assortment of biscuits.

  Carys rushed across, grabbed a couple, and eating them greedily, was forced to answer questions about her age and what school she went to with biscuit crumbs falling from her mouth.

  “You’re welcome to use the room for an hour or so. Watch the telly and use the pool table, by all means. There’s some board games in the cupboard too,” she said, indicating a wood-effect melamine unit with graffiti of every patients name (in-between cigarette burns) achieved with various techniques—Typex, biro, scratched on, and some in what looked like blood. “I can’t guarantee all the pieces will be there,” she said. “You might have to improvise.” She beamed at them as she left and locked them in again.

  Over the hour, they played pool, watched telly and tried playing a couple of board games by using pieces from several boxes. Drafts with tiddly-winks was a challenge, but not as much as Cluedo. When Colonel Mustard murdered Professor Plum with a Ludo counter, they gave up.

  “When are you coming home, Mummy?” Carys squeezed into her, gazing up at her with innocent doe-eyes. Shuffling in her seat, she looked at her husband.

  “Will you be home for our Christmas?” Carys blinked.

  Diane took a moment to compose herself. She was obviously back to her lovely self but didn’t want to rush things. “I’m sure I’ll be home for Christmas,” she seemed glad to commit to. “It might not be until next week though.”

  “Take all the time you need,” Geraint piped up. He was proud of her for taking her treatment seriously. “I worried you might’ve been tempted to rush things.”

  “I was. Things aren’t quite right yet though...” She drifted off, troubled by whatever that meant,
but wouldn’t say in front of Carys. “The doctors are pleased,” she assured. “They’re sure I’ll be home soon if I keep up the good work. But I don’t want to come straight back in again, do I?” a phrase she immediately regretted noticing the micro-expression of horror on Carys’s angelic little face.

  The nurse came back and stood smiling expectantly.

  “I’d better get this little one to bed,” Geraint felt sad to announce, causing a group hug to launch again. “I’ll pop in tomorrow, after work,” he promised as they prepared to leave. Diane nodded, hiding a tear with a timely glance away.

  Waving their own tearful goodbyes, they paused for the door to be unlocked and walked back out into the cold night air. Before starting the car he sat in silent thought for a few minutes. Turning in his seat to face his daughter, he smiled and paused again before speaking, unsure how to begin.

  “It’s going to be lovely having Mummy back, isn’t it.” Carys nodded. “Carys?” Geraint began his question. He wanted to reiterate his request from days before. It seemed even more vital now the ordeal was almost over. She looked expectantly at him, eyebrows raised.

  He spoke in a firm, calm tone. “If you have those horrible dreams again... tell Daddy, okay? Don’t mention them in front of Mummy again, will you?”

  Carys didn’t bother saying, “They’re not dreams.” Her young head understood that her daddy already knew. He was putting his head in the sand, pretending nothing had happened.

  Diane was no fool. Carys knew she was afraid for good reason despite sometimes becoming ill and acting like a different person. But was it her talking about her nightmares, and the awful humming noise, that tipped her over the edge? Or was it the lack of support from her daddy? Why didn’t he believe her?

  Carys was certain he’d seen those strange lights when he’d stared through the hall window. The lights which seared their eyes just like before. The flashing, multi-coloured beams glowing from the huge spaceship. She knew he’d seen it too, but there was no point saying.

  Carys didn’t need telling. She’d decided already to never mention, ever again, anything about it to her poor delicate mother. No matter what happened.

  Twelve years later...

  July, 2001.

  Chapter Ten

  The Invitation

  “Bye Stella. Wish me luck,” Carys called, leaving the house. Ambling down the path, she opened the wooden gate to the busy main road roaring past Stella’s house. Unfazed by the waft of a passing juggernaut, she strolled past the well maintained park, its tennis courts full of carefree kids beginning their summer holidays; Wimbledon fever was having its usual effect on the Royston youth.

  She continued her journey along the road, passing the old cinema. It had closed down last year and was scheduled for demolition. Carys wasn’t keen on change. She’d learned to live with it lately though.

  Her mum and dad had left England to return to Geraint’s homeland. Her father had witnessed too much horror, and it had broken him. He could do no more for the community he’d chosen thirteen years ago.

  The Ellis’s might still have been seen as the new family, but Geraint would definitely take the love of the locals back to Wales. He had gained the respect of the Nuthampstead residents when he’d showed himself to be the hero he was. At what cost though, Carys mused as she recalled…

  On a dark night in the autumn of ’94, warmer than some which had gone before, but wet. After countless days of rain, frantic knocking echoed through Nutters.

  Her dad had opened the door to a hysterical looking neighbour. “Geraint! PC Ellis!” Farmer Walker stood wringing his hands, cold rain running down his grey countenance. Shakily, he croaked out the words, “It’s my boy...”

  Geraint had grabbed his coat and rushed off with the farmer without asking the details. She supposed he’d questioned him on the way to wherever they were going.

  She’d been too young to understand at the time, but she understood now. Her dad had never been the same after that night. He never told her or Diane what happened, but she’d read about it in the Royston Crow newspaper.

  ‘Heroic policeman, just too late to save boy in the dyke’

  Diving into unthinkably deep water forming part of the fen drainage system, he’d taken a while to even find the boy. It was a miracle he found him at all, the report alluded.

  The current had been so strong after the still falling torrential rain, but Geraint had refused to give in. He just wouldn’t leave without finding him.

  With no thought to his personal safety he’d dived under the icy water again and again. When he’d discovered him, he’d transported him under the chin in the style concordant with lifesaving procedure, and swum to the dyke bank.

  Old Farmer Walker was no use lifting his son from the water. Gripping onto the lifeless body, it had taken all his might to stop his son drifting under again while Geraint had hauled his own exhausted frame from the inky blackness.

  At once, he’d turned to relieve Old Farmer Walker of his burden, and with superhuman strength, he’d raised the lad out of the water, dragged him onto flat ground and begun CPR.

  There had been no hope, of course. And after more than half an hour of supreme effort, Geraint had looked at the farmer, and the farmer back at him. The glance had confirmed it. Both men had known it was time to stop. They’d both known the boy was dead.

  Not mentioned in the newspaper report was the reason the farmer’s son had ended up in the water. The reporter must have presumed he’d simply fallen in, as had everybody else.

  It wasn’t reported at the time; neither had Carys heard it herself until much later when village rumour abounded, but it was the humming noise which had spooked the Walker boy.

  He had, according to the friend he was with, gone a deathly shade while they were out setting bird-scarers in the woods together. His friend had heard the noise as well, and had assured him it was just a distant tractor or something. Walker had said he knew every type of tractor there was, and this definitely wasn’t one. With that, he’d bolted for home. His friend had been unable to keep up, he’d gone at such speed.

  From a distance, he’d seen him leap into the dyke, unsure if he was trying to cross it as the fastest route home, or was escaping the noise that had scared him so. He had seen where he’d entered the water and then not seen him again. Ever.

  He’d scurried to sound the alarm to Old Farmer Walker, but by then, of course, it had been too late, Carys remembered, eyes dewy, the prick of emotion threatening to burst forth.

  Andrew Walker had been one of very few people who Carys believed liked her. He never joined in the teasing from the other children. Carys blushed. There had been a time when she’d had a little crush on Andrew. Why did he have to go so young? Swallowing a surge of bitter bile, with a jolt and a shake of her head, she forced her mind from the disturbing reverie.

  There had been periods over the years when Carys too thought she’d heard the noise. Usually late at night, craning to decipher it before falling into a deep sleep. It coincided, she was sure, with her mother’s jittery moods.

  Her condition had been much better controlled in recent years with a range of uppers and downers. Sometimes, she’d be too sleepy to worry about anything much. Other times she was hyperactive and neurotic. But there were lengthy periods where she functioned at close to her full capacity. But her mood always worsened noticeably whenever the humming noise echoed through the village.

  Carys kept her promise and never mentioned the noise to her mother again. Beyond diligence, she’d become less and less convinced about what had happened on that fateful night when she was a young girl. She had no desire to mention it to anyone. Maybe it had just been a dream as everyone had told her.

  She walked past more change: an Indian restaurant on the site of what had been the old ‘Green Gunge’ public swimming pool, as all the school kids used to call it. Its official name: The Green Plunge wasn’t much better.

  Turning into Garden Walk, past her old middle
school, ‘Greenway,’ where she’d stayed, as all the children did, until she was thirteen, and next door the reason she’d not yet joined her parents in Wales.

  When she’d started at ‘Meridian’, the upper school she was headed to now, she’d felt so small and vulnerable. The feeling of being new had never left her. Fourteen years with many of the same people pointed to the feeling being a problem with Carys rather than her environment. As a young adult, away from her parents, she was only just beginning to consider her own peculiarity. And given her family history, it was an affliction she was reluctant to give much deliberation.

  She was treated differently. Her own bashfulness made her difficult to engage with, but people did shy away from her too. And the reason was something she was oblivious to: her striking beauty.

  At just seventeen she was a fine figure of woman kind. Her long brunette hair reached past her hips and was in glorious condition. She ate healthily and was a bit of a tom boy (used, as she was, to the country life) which made her skin a permanently tanned, golden brown. Her body, lean and fit, still swelled with magnificent curves in all the right places.

  No one in Nuthampstead was her age. Confidence boosting compliments from peers had yet to materialise. At school, she kept to herself, and when she did hear the occasional praise, she didn’t believe it. Insincerity, as some sort of teasing, was her default presumption. When she gained indisputable attention, she’d cringed with embarrassment.

  Heads turned whenever she walked the corridors of the large school building. P.E. and swimming lessons never went by without at least one wolf-whistle.

  Certain she was being made fun of, she never responded to advances. Disbelieving she was genuinely revered, loneliness in her perceived unpopularity was a bitter burden. To those who admired her, she appeared terribly stuck up. They reacted in gruff self-preservation, reinforcing within her the unattractive self-image she struggled to live with every day.