It doesn't appear to be anything actually, coming to think of it. Where is it? What is it? This is getting frustrating. I got promised a present and there are clearly no presents here. I want my present! There's the double bed cloaked in white sheets, the mirror wardrobe, the sea foam green walls, the piano in the corner by the window. Everything is exactly as it was yesterday. The only thing different about this room is the person leading me into it, who appears, luckily, to be in a much happier mood than then.
It already seems a lifetime ago since he was hyperventilating in my arms. I was careless; I almost spoke. The words were there, they had already hooked their pickaxes to the air outside, they were about to escape. It was too close. I can't let that happen again.
“Come on; don't just stand there,” he shatters through my dislocated thoughts and jumps over to the piano - yes, jumps, in an odd, animalistic way; as though suppressing transforming into a rabbit.
He plants himself on the right side of the piano stool and motions me to sit next to him. Cautiously, I pad over to him, my footsteps leaving their marks on the fluffy white rug below. I sit down, but the piano stool is too small really for the both of us, made even worse by the fact I am subconsciously pulling away from him and so I am left half hanging off the end.
“It's just something I have been working on. It's not very good or anything, but I hope you like it.”
He lifts the lid of the piano and waits for the room to still. Slowly, he presses one of the keys, and the high, haunting note hums in the air for a few seconds. He hangs his head, hunches his shoulders, almost protecting the piano, and I wonder whether he even realises he is doing it. There is a sudden concentration creasing his eyebrows and clogging up his pupils like thick cement.
His fingers begin to clamber along the piano keys in a gentle, unpredictable way. It all melds together beautifully - the soothing low notes and the peppering of haunting high notes. They sends a tingling feeling across my neck and lodge themselves into my throat. I'm... speechless.
And then he starts singing, his voice low and husky and although occasionally crackles over the higher notes, it still sends goosebumps shivering all over my skin. The song is slow and simple, but the emotion he breathes into every word is raw and real and I almost forget how to breathe.
*****
I know the asphalt cracked your throat
So just keep speaking in your thoughts
And I know you're not really there
So keep praying you won't get caught
It's true that it's hard to see the light
When you only see regret
And I know this doesn't mean anything
But it's never been harder to forget.
Because it's just no good
You're too proud to crawl
You want to hear me tell truths
I want to hear you say anything at all
The mute and the liar
What a funny pair we make
I'd tell you it's all just a game
But that would give the game away
It's going to be a bumpy ride
But it will be over far too soon
And I'd tell you to hold onto your mind
But you've already lost that, haven't you?
You must be an addiction
You've seeped into my bloodstream
I know this makes no sense
But does anything in our dreams?
Keep singing at the top of your thoughts
On this carousel of lies
And keep learning to fall again
Before they steal you from the skies
Because it's just no good.
You're too proud to crawl
You want to hear me tell truths
I want to hear you say anything at all
The mute and the liar
What a funny pair we make
I'd tell you it's all just a game
But that would give the game away
It's going to be a bumpy ride
But it will be over far too soon
And I'd tell you to hold onto your mind
But you've already lost that, haven't you?
The mute and the liar
What a tragic pair we make
You'd be crying if you took it seriously
So just laugh the pain away.
It's going to be a bumpy ride
But we were over before the ride began
So don't hold onto your mind, Love
Just let me be your reason to start again.
Chapter Fifteen
We sit in a silence. It’s a haunting silence, the sort of silence you don't just hear, you can feel. He's too close to me. Or maybe I'm too close to him. That's the problem with dislocated moments like this; you lose your grip on space and distance. You can't tell what's near and far; you can't tell what's right in front of you. Everything feels like a photograph - you're frozen in one place, one moment.
“It's awful, I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I should have just… given you a card or something,” he begins jabbering, his apologies taking on the coherence of monkey chatter. He slams the lid of the piano down, an unfamiliar hollow resonating that rips through the silence so sharply and unexpectedly it makes me jump.
The thing is, I'm not sure what I should do now. I'm even more scared than I was before – I can still hear the song sizzling through the air like static. He can't be serious. He can't seriously think that I didn't like it, that he shouldn't have written it. The song has some kind of narcotic quality to it; I've surged a dependency for it. I need to hear it again.
I don't understand why he wrote me a song. It's such a weird thing to do. Is this just another way to try and scare me? To make me go mad? Why is he doing all of this? Is there some kind of meaning behind this or is he just really... odd?
The mute and the liar.
That's something he was singing. Maybe that's what we are. Just two polar opposites connected only by an 'and' between our names.
I want to tell him I liked the song. A lot. Whether he wrote it for me as a scare tactic or not.
It moved me.
For those few moments, the rest of this world slipped away. I forgot I am a hostage. I forgot today is the last day Father has to kill Lauren.
For those few moments, everything felt... perfect.
Before I have even considered what I am doing, I have placed my hand on his shoulder. He swivels around with a gasp, wide-eyed, as though I have just given him an electric shock.
We simply sit there, side by side, connected only by my hand on his shoulder. He's pulled away from me slightly, but I can forgive him for that; I was already leaning backwards away from him. I can't tell what he's thinking, what those evasive lips mean or what those puzzled, turbulent eyes mean. All I know is I have placed my hand right through a wall between us, a wall I was the one who built up in the first place.
Ding dong.
I startle at this foreign, sudden sound I neither expected nor understand.
A few seconds of confusion are suspended in the air around us before I realise it was the just the doorbell. Jayce, who appears to be faster than me in everything, seems to have understood this straight away and jumps out of the chair.
“He’s here,” he states softly.
What’s he talking about? Who is here?
He doesn’t look ecstatic about this but gives me a small smile in reassurance. “Come on. Get dressed and come down in a few minutes and we can go.”
Although I’m confused, I decide just to go along with it and I follow his orders. I go to my bedroom and change out of my nightdress into a short grey skirt and a plain white three-quarter-length-sleeves t-shirt. I head downstairs and brace myself for what I’m about to see.
Downstairs, Jayce is sitting at the dining table with a young man. He’s tall and muscular with smooth, dark skin and he’d be good looking if it weren’t for an unnerving faraway look he’s got about him, like he’s not really here, only wa
tching his life through someone else’s eyes. His eyes are droopy and his face drawn, and his mouth is pulled down at both corners, caught in a permanent frown.
“This is Jasper. Jasper, this is Alicia,” Jayce introduces us and Jasper and I nod at each other. “Have breakfast and we’ll go.”
I fumble about the kitchen making myself cereal and the two continue the conversation they’d been having before I entered the room. They seem to be discussing someone, but there's a sombre, draining cloud around them - they are speaking in hushed voices with impassive expressions.
“I’m telling you; he doesn’t want to see you. It’s been booked now, but it took me ages convincing him to accept more visitors,” Jasper tells him. He’s got a very harsh, brittle voice, peppered with slight Northern accent - just now he pronounced the word 'convincing' like 'convincen.'
“I’ve got to see him. I haven’t seen him for, what is it, two years now?” “I know. I reckon it’s good for him to see you. It’s just that my brother still thinks it’s too soon. Time moves differently in there; it still feels like it’s only just happened. And seeing you lot just brings it all back to him, you know,” Jasper explains solemnly in his accent where every ‘r’ is pronounced distinctly and the word ‘all’ it comes out like ‘awl.’
“He’s got to move on sometime, though. He can’t just sit in there miserable forever. Have you spoken to him recently? How is he?”
“Not doing well. They’re worried about him because he’s not eating much and he hardly speaks.”
“Have the others visited him?”
“I’m not sure. I know Sasha used to all the time, and he used to visit Alex too when he could. But I don’t think he’s been up there for a while.”
“How long’s he in for? Can he get parole?”
“He’s got nineteen years and the court’s set a minimum of five years before he can apply for parole. I talked to him about it though and he said he didn’t want it even if they offered it to him.” Jayce looks visibly surprised at this, and Jasper quickly goes on to explain: “you’ve got to understand things aren’t looking good for him right now. He thinks… He thinks he’d have nowhere to go. Home’s been difficult. You know Mum didn’t take it well. She hasn’t gone up there for months, and Dad’s still not around. Donny could come stay with me for a bit but what’s he going to do up in Swindon?”
“Yeah, I suppose. It’s a shame though,” Jayce says understandingly, and he takes a sip from the glass of water in front of him. “Is he doing the education thing?”
“It’s compulsory, but it’s not looking good; the last thing I heard was that he’s stopped trying. He’s in a bad place. Just kind of given up on everything.”
Jayce looks down solemnly. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do something for him.”
“We all do. He’s a good kid. He doesn’t deserve this. At least he’s got you, though. Maybe you can knock some sense into him. You already know what I thought about Ryo’s gang, but you’re all right, Jayce. You’re all right.”
*****
1:50 PM
When we got into Jasper’s car I was finally told what was going on and where we were going, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise when we pulled up in front of Ashfield Prison.
“This is a prison for young offenders, from fifteen to eighteen. I didn’t really want to take you here, but I’ve got a few loose ends I need to tie up while I’m here. Jasper had already booked to see Donny today, so I asked if he could book us in as well. You’re lucky they’re letting you in; you’ve got to be sixteen, and you’ve only just turned sixteen today. Oh, and they wouldn’t have let us in if Jasper wasn’t coming with us, because we’re both under eighteen. I know it’s not ideal considering it’s your birthday, but don’t worry, we’re only going to stay for a bit. It’s just I owe Donny a lot, and I figured you might as well come too and see how we live once you and your gang of detectives have done your jobs.”
At first, when I heard we were visiting someone in prison, I imagined them being some muscular, middle-aged bald guy with skull and motorbike tattoos (and tattoos of skulls riding motorbikes) and a goatee. Once we had checked in and gone through unnerving masses of security that makes you feel your every move is being watched and taken note of, and entered the visiting room, I realise I was completely wrong.
The boy waiting for us is not the Harley Davidson fanatic with an abundance of body hair I pictured. He’s just a kid.
I’m stunned because he’s just so… young. I’m guessing he’s our age, but compared to his tall brother, he looks like a kid. It doesn’t help that he’s got a slight slouch, which just pulls him down even more. He’s s o t hi n his d ark skin stretches like elastic over his bones, especially around his drawn- in cheeks. This is a person who has never harmed an ant, not a person people lock up for nineteen years.
What’s even stranger is the way he moves. Straight-faced, he nods to Jayce and then walks back to the chair and sits down. It’s a simple enough movement, but the way he does it is unnerving. Every step he takes is slow and heavy and seems to drain him of all energy, as though he’s already so worn out and weak just the smallest step becomes an Indiana Jones trek. He drags his feet across the floor like they’re made of lead and he’s too weak to carry them around anymore. I finally understand. This is the way people walk when they have given up.
*****
“Just another three years and you can get parole. And I’ve heard so many stories about people who have had their sentences cut short. You know Martin, Mrs Keeler’s son? He was supposed to have nine years and he got away with only seven. Isn’t that great?” Jasper says enthusiastically.
“Hmm,” is Donny’s feeble reply.
“Don’t you want to get out of here? There’s so much you can do now. Do your exams and you can get yourself an apprenticeship, maybe get some work skills like construction work.”
“My cousin Nick is doing some construction work right now and he really likes it. He says it’s better than any job he’s done before,” Jayce inputs.
“Isn’t that great, Donny?” Jasper says for the second time this conversation, and this time it comes out a little too forced and eagerly, like he’s baby-talking a toddler.
It’s all for nothing though; Donny is looking at the exit sign and doesn’t appear to have heard a word they’ve just said. “Donny?” Jasper asks, his voice sharper than before. Slowly and uneasily, Donny turns his attention back to him. Jasper gives a brief smile, looking relieved.
“Donny, I said you can take some exams soon, and with those you can maybe get yourself an apprenticeship. They might even let you get some practical skills, like some construction stuff, so you can get yourself a job.”
For a moment it seems Donny won’t say anything, like what he’s done this whole time, but, surprisingly he takes a deep breath and mumbles tonelessly: “I don’t want to.” It’s the longest sentence he’s said so far.
“What do you want then, Donny?” Jasper asks with a forced-pleasant voice, trying to keep the conversation light-hearted, but his voice breaks a little at the end. “You’re not going to stay here your whole life. What do you want to do when they let you out?” Donny continues to remain both wordless and motionless. “Listen, I heard Alex is doing some cooking. They had some people come in from the Ministry of Justice the other day and him and some others in his class did a meal for them. Do you want to do something like that, Donny?”
There is a pause and Donny remains still and silent. I can’t really tell what he’s thinking, but he definitely isn’t contemplating what Jasper has just told him, that’s clear enough. No, something else is clouding his mind. After a few seconds, he asks in a croaky, almost inaudible voice: “Why doesn't Mum come to see me anymore?”
The silence that ensues is cold, draining and painful. Jasper, taken aback, parts his lips slightly, caught somewhere between speech and gasping, then gives up and pulls them back together again. Pained, he just looks down, his shoulders hunching over, not kn
owing what to say or do. Donny silently pleads for reassurance from him, but no one says anything. Giving up, Donny settles back in his chair and folds his arms. I notice he’s deliberately squeezing them tightly into his chest, like he's holding his whole body together.
“Donny,” Jayce begins, strained, then appears to lose whatever he was about to say and just sighs. “Just…” he tries again. “Just keep going. I know… I know that’s just words to you and doesn’t really mean anything right now, but… but believe me. There’s a better life out there.”
Donny watches him carefully. Curiosity pulls at the corners of his lips and I can almost hear his mind racing, trying to decipher what Jayce is trying to do, or why he’s trying to help him. It’s quite a mediocre motivational speech really, trying too hard but failing at being something out of Touchstone Pictures film, but, Donny actually seems to be listening to him, and I suppose at least that’s something.
“Just try and get yourself an education,” Jayce concludes confidently.
“You think you’re out of time, but you're not. T he y ’ r e helping you get some qualifications so you can start again in the future; don’t start giving up now. Get yourself those qualifications and start again. That’s all you can do.”
Jayce smiles at him reassuringly. Donny does something odd with his lips, like he’s trying to return that smile, but doesn’t know how to. It’s enough, though. For a moment, they’re back to the way they were. For just a moment, Jayce isn’t lecturing; he’s talking to an old friend.
Everything is still as Donny takes this in. He’s thoughtful for a moment, and I guess we assumed he was just going to stay silent, which is why we’re all so surprised when he slowly parts his lips and murmurs out: “But… It’s no use.”
That’s done it; whatever sliver of hope had been fuelling in that cold, unnerving room where you’re being watched from everywhere falters away. Jasper sits up straighter, more alert; there’s a solid wooden stiffness here that there wasn’t before. It jerks us upright and leaves us all wary. I can’t look at Donny because once again I get that unsettled feeling I had when I first entered, the kind of troubling, uncomfortable feeling you get if a stranger stands too close to you.
The Mute and the Liar Page 12
