Four British Mysteries

by Thomas Brown

  He doesn’t remember how he’d slumped against the wall at the hospital, or how the receptionist shook him, or how he’d sworn and muttered incoherently about things even he couldn’t have made sense of, how he’d pushed the woman off him and sped out of the door into the street, into the city, into more unknown things and more unknown people. Even the people he thought he knew have become false.

  Standing in the doorway of the bedsit, the room seems to pulsate and all the objects in it begin to contort. Thom rubs his eyes and shakes his head. Yet the phenomenon continues and he slowly lowers himself onto the bed, pressing against the mattress to steady himself. Thom fears he is about to vomit when a voice distracts him.

  “Thom”. A happy tone but tight. A familiar voice but distant.

  “It’s you”, he says, not using either of her names. He doesn’t know which one fits her anymore. Like the objects, the names warp at the thought of attaching to her.

  She smiles and takes a seat beside him. She doesn’t move to touch him. Instead, she stares at his still purple and grey knuckles. He wonders how long this will be the case and, at the same time, wonders how much he cares. He is in the middle of a field with space stretching in every direction with nothing else in even the farthest sight. Which direction should he choose? Which might lead him to somewhere familiar that won’t implode?

  “How are you, Thom?” She takes a strained breath, clutching onto her left arm with her other hand.

  “I don’t know what to call you anymore”, Thom says, not answering on purpose. She meets his gaze, trying to remind him of the exact colour of her metallic blue eyes.

  “Call me Sarah…” she says and adds hopefully, “if you can”.

  “If Sarah’s what you want”. Thom shrugs. She nods happily, reaching across and clutching his fist in her hand. “How is Michael?”

  “He’s okay, still a bit bruised”.

  “You shouldn’t have lied to me”. Thom’s face crumples. He snatches his hand out of hers and massages it. He doesn’t want her poison seeping through his skin. All he can think about, as he looks at her, is her kissing Daniel. Had she enjoyed it? Which one did she prefer? How can she have kissed them both?

  “I’m so sorry”, she says quietly. As Thom listens to her words, he realises how human she sounds. When he first met her outside Aunty Val’s house, she spoke in a methodical way, every word considered. Now, she seems to speak more impulsively; perhaps more honestly. After all, what is there to consider when you’re telling the truth?

  “You understand why I did it, don’t you? I’m ill Thom, and felt completely ashamed and afraid that you would push me away if you knew”. Sarah bows her head knowingly. “I didn’t realise my lies were hurting people…”

  “You told me you had a different name, a different history, you told me your brother raped you. You didn’t think that would hurt anyone?” Thom enunciates each word, his saliva thick with distaste.

  “I didn’t think you would hurt him”. She kneads her forehead.

  “I was just trying to defend you”, Thom snarls.

  “Let’s not go over all this again. It’s not helping either of us”, Sarah says, turning to face him and lifting her head up with effort. “I came to tell you about everything”.

  “Everything as in...?” Thom leans towards her expectantly.

  “Why I was in the hospital”, she tells him solemnly. He wonders if she will include the part where she met Daniel and then somehow ended up living with his family after his death. Doubtful, he decides.

  “Okay. I’m listening”. Thom pushes himself back and leans against the wall. Sarah copies him, smiling at him gently as she settles. It feels like they are two children sharing secrets. Thom is tempted then to reach towards her and press his hand over hers that is squashed against the bed.

  “Right, well… I guess I should start… I guess… the start is…” Sarah trails off. Thom is mesmerised by her fumbling. When he’d found out she had been lying to him and he’d found out about her knowing Daniel, he felt sure he would only hate her. Yet as he watches her lips struggling to form words, he feels an explosion of warmth rising inside. This unexplained warmth is what troubles him, not the hate.

  “I was raped”, she finally begins, holding her breath, as though she is the one who has been told something difficult by him. He merely waits for her to continue. “I didn’t lie about that, Thom; I promise you on my life”. She meets his eyes, water flooding them, as she pulls desperately at his sleeve. He nods gently and she lets go of his clothes. “It ruined everything. I dropped out of uni, I couldn’t go out, I was afraid of men… I couldn’t trust people”. She shakes her head, still unable to comprehend all these facts even now.

  “Is that when you ended up in the hospital?” Thom asks, trying to rescue her. She seems to be sinking into the mattress, her past suspended over her like a noose.

  “No”, she sighs. “I wish”. She chuckles sadly. “My Mum… she really helped me get through it, or she did until…” Sarah rolls her eyes upwards, wishing she could shoot through the ceiling, away from him, away from the truth, “she died”, she exhales quietly.

  “She died”, Thom repeats. He can’t tell if he is unconvinced. If someone can lie about rape, can they lie about death? Yet Thom can’t imagine she would lie to him about this. It seems too large a lie to slide out of her small delicate mouth.

  “I came home one day and she was lying there, her slippers were… she was cold, and there was blood and she didn’t move…” Sarah looks like she is lost in the middle of a supermarket, beginning to cry loudly and crush her curls until Thom thinks they will flatten permanently. Perhaps to stop her from losing her curls, he gathers her up and presses her against him.

  Thom cradles her but, at the same time, has an urge to crack her neck. Just one sharp pull like the snap of a Christmas cracker…

  Her words are now tiny injections stabbing at him through a waterfall of tears. “Her skin... so pale... a line of blood... twisted legs and bruises and... she didn’t move...” Thom feels her words have physically penetrated him and he checks his arms for puncture wounds. He worries that when she moves away from him again; she will uncover holes she has made in his chest and allow the blood to ooze out like uncontrollable foam blistering from a champagne bottle.

  She pushes back from him. Her eyes are swollen and bloodshot, her eyelashes clumped together in a moist huddle, her hair glued to the sides of her face as though she has dipped her face in a sink full of water. Thom feels nauseated by the display of raw emotion. Much like Aunty Val, he feels like he is being forced to hold Sarah up.

  “So that’s when you ended up in the hospital?” Thom asks again but is greeted by Sarah’s shaking head.

  “I didn’t understand, Thom”. She squashes her lips together, trying to stop them from trembling further. “I think I’ve only just fully accepted it”.

  “What do you mean?” Thom snaps, slightly impatiently.

  “I stayed in the house with her, for weeks… I still didn’t know when they took me to the hospital and even months after… I don’t think I knew properly until recently”.

  “That your mum had died?” Thom clarifies. Sarah closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths. Her eye twitches gently, her muscles stubborn and wavering at the same time.

  “Yes, she’s dead”, she nods weakly.

  “Wait, you kept her in the house… when she was dead?”

  “Yes”, Sarah admits tight-lipped. “I told you… I was ill”.

  “That’s terrible. That’s so sad”, Thom spurts breathlessly.

  “I was already distraught and I guess her dying just shoved me over the edge”. Sarah holds her hands out in front of her and stares at them intently. Thom stares at them too, watching the veins swell and throb, watching the skin swirling as if he is looking at them through a kaleidoscope.

  “Do you feel better now?” Thom inquires hopefully. Sarah faces him, her eyebrows creasing together in the middle of her head, thinki
ng.

  “I’m sorry Thom but I don’t know yet”, she smiles meekly. Thom’s posture drops in response.

  “You still feel like you’re ill?”

  “I’ve only just realised properly so yes, I’m still ill, whatever that means…” she trails off, still considering this. Thom puts his hand on her knee, his hand that continues to ache; his hand that looks like someone has drawn lines on it with a red biro.

  “So that’s everything? Everything you lied about?” Thom verifies, pressing down on her knee, staring into her eyes. She doesn’t twitch, blink or look away.

  “That’s everything”, she says. All Thom’s ribs seem to crumble apart in one rapid moment. All the air in his chest sucks down-wards, to where he can’t tell, but all he is concerned with is the fact that he can’t feel his own heart.

  “Everything, huh?” Thom echoes, taking his hand off her knee and burying it in the duvet. He crushes the duvet with both his hands to stop himself from crushing her neck between his fingers.

  “Thom I think I should go now. We’ve said enough for today”. Sarah stands up. Thom jumps up after her and feels his muscles locking, except for his facial muscles that keep rolling into different expressions.

  “There’s nothing else Sarah?” Thom persists, almost desperately. His tone is strained. He is a man asking for the truth, for the piece of information that is the hook to pluck him from the angry sea he has been battling in for weeks.

  “No Thom”, Sarah says firmly. She bends her head sideways, with an expression of confusion, a trace of anxiety? She pushes her shoulders back as he stares at her, a hard stare that hammers into her.

  “You’re really sure?” Thom offers her a last chance.

  “Nothing else”, she reiterates hollowly. She is insistent but unconsciously falls back slightly, hiding in daylight. Thom can’t help the chuckle that vibrates feebly in his throat. Sarah’s mouth quivers momentarily.

  “So you don’t want to tell me about the hospital?” Thom moves closer. Sarah has to force herself not to move back, Thom sees it in her shaky legs that are set apart like someone about to burst into a sprint.

  “What do you mean, Thom?”

  “What do I mean, Sarah?” Thom’s words are clouded by the thunder of his heartbeat. “What-do-I-mean?” he shouts. Sarah gives a distasteful glance at the spit that jumps from his mouth onto her body. She doesn’t say anything. What can she say except to tell the truth? And apparently she doesn’t know how to do that, despite her attempts to prove otherwise.

  “Were you ever going to tell me you met Daniel at the hospital?” Thom snarls, the blood thrashing at his cheeks and tears assembling in the corners of his eyes, preparing for an assault.

  Sarah doesn’t react initially. She watches him, his arched back and his teeth sharpening, her expression unchanged. For a moment, she reverts to the woman he met in the front garden of Aunty Val’s house with mechanical movements, thoughts and functions.

  Then a full minute later, the signs of shock set in. Her eyes widen as though he has jumped out on them, her body stiffens like an exclamation mark and she suddenly spins towards the door. Taking a few desperate leaps, she reaches the door and scrambles with the handle. Before she can manage to make her fingers function properly, Thom pounces on her and slams her against the door. She groans as though he has punched her in the stomach and sags in his hold.

  “You’d better tell me, Sarah. I’m tired of your fucking lies”, Thom spits as they both fall back onto the floor. She looks exhausted, as though he has clubbed her with a blunt object. He feels a moist patch on the back of her head and worries it might be blood but gratefully realises it is only sweat. Thom wrenches her up to a sitting position and pushes her against the door.

  “If you lie to me again, I think I’ll go insane”, Thom whimpers. Sarah nods and tucking her curls behind her ears, she opens her mouth.

  41 The Red Secret

  “I promise you, I only found out a few days ago”, I tell him, grabbing onto his arms.

  He is on his knees before me, a man pleading for honesty.

  “What?” he growls. His dark expression makes him look strangely attractive, but I don’t think this is the time for sharing these types of thoughts.

  “I didn’t know I’d known him”, I swear, tightening my fingers around his arms like a clamp. He doesn’t move. Perhaps I am holding him up or perhaps he is too weak to move away.

  “How could you not know?” Thom shakes his head hopelessly. If he’s ever been certain of anything, I think he’s finally lost his last ties to it. He seems to have no comprehension of the divide between certainty and uncertainty anymore.

  “I don’t remember a lot of things from that time. I guess… I guess I blocked it out or something. But I only found out when I read the letters”.

  “The letters?” Thom’s neck snaps up. His eyes are burnt wood still lit with a tiny ember.

  “I found a combination and an address in Daniel’s room”, I admit quietly. How could I have trespassed on their grief the way I have?

  “You were in his room…” Thom broods but instantly shrugs it away and adds, “how did you find anything in there? I searched everywhere”. His mouth is slightly open, with an expression of minor admiration at someone doing better at investigating than he has.

  “It was inside the closet drawer written in red pen. It wasn’t easy to find”.

  “But you found it”, he says sulkily.

  “I think it was meant for me to find”. I smile gently, hoping he will accept this. He shrugs. A moment later he reaches up and pulls at one of my curls, making it spring back at my face. After he does this several times, he moves his fingers over my lips, dabbing them as though he is pressing against tacky glue.

  “So the letters…” he reminds me, squashing my lips down with his thumb.

  “They were in a locker”, I mumble incoherently, due to his probing. He takes his thumb away for a moment and waits for me to continue. “There were letters inside. They were written by me”, I reveal, still unconvinced by them. I cradle my head in one hand, remembering the handwriting that looked so familiar. Of course it was familiar – it was yours! I hadn’t seen my handwriting for so long; it is no wonder I didn’t recognise it. And the things my own hand created!

  “They said horrible things about… about me… and Daniel”. I feel the nausea solidify and mushroom up my throat. I have to close my eyes and concentrate on trying not to vomit on Thom. When I open my eyes, Thom is staring at me. He moves his arms so he is holding onto me instead. I blink and nod my head in gratitude.

  “They sounded like love letters, Thom”, I moan, kneading my eyelids until the threatening tears are squashed out. With my eyes closed, I jolt slightly when I feel his warm skin clashing with my clammy cheek. I reopen my eyes and gaze into his.

  “Do you think I loved him, Thom?” His hand drops.

  “I hope not”, he mumbles.

  “I can’t believe I don’t remember meeting him”.

  “Is this the truth Sarah? Is this really the truth?”

  “Yes, Thom”, I vow.

  “But why did you end up at the house? You can’t tell me it’s just coincidence?” I shrug his hold off and move away. Thom scrambles after me. I watch his movements, a lost infant chasing a parent, and my heart feels like someone has plunged a skewer through it. Although I want to tell him the truth about everything, this is the blockade in the road.

  “I saw the article in the paper and I don’t know what happened… I just found myself…” I pause, “…at the house”. I stand by the window looking out at the street. I imagine myself walking along the pavement, under the quivering trees, inhaling the fumes and the sharp air. Thom hovers behind me, hanging on the silence. “I didn’t know you would talk to me”, I stress.

  “If I hadn’t found out”, Thom moves to stand beside me, “would you have ever told me?” I don’t look in his direction but I feel his awkward stance contorting in my peripheral vision.

>   “I can’t tell you that”.

  “At least that’s honest”, Thom says. He is silent but I feel he isn’t finished. This is clarified when he grabs my arm and pulls me in his direction. “Can you tell me Sarah?” He stammers for a few seconds. “Was it nice… to kiss him?”

  This isn’t the question I expected. I fall back on myself. The bind between our gazes seems unbreakable. I think about the question and wonder if I even know where to begin. Do I really remember kissing Daniel? Since reading the letters and talking to Michael and Doctor Rosey about it, there had been vague flashes about the hospital and Daniel. Yet, I can’t be sure I actually remember anything. After all, I could’ve invented recollections now I have the information.

  I haven’t spoken for several minutes. I only realise when I see the colour draining from Thom’s face. His body begins to quiver quietly, but he pushes his shoulders back and tries to maintain the gaze we are sharing.

  “I’m sorry, Thom, but I don’t remember…”

  “But you must have some recollection now”, Thom insists.

  “I wouldn’t trust any memories that came to me anyway”. Thom slumps at my words and finally snaps our stare. He turns away. I reach out and touch his back gently, feeling his back muscles tensing and bulging.

  “I love your curls”, he says suddenly. I move closer, circling him with my arms. I think he will flinch but he leans back into my body. He smells of sweat, as though he has been running for days without stopping. I am so close I can see his broken strands of hair, the loops that have formed at the back like an army waiting to conquer the rest.

  “Since I first saw you, I couldn’t stop thinking about them”, he confesses. I can’t see his face but I imagine his cheeks have rashes of blood rising on them.

  “I didn’t want to kiss him, Thom”, I say. His body shudders in my hold but he quickly recovers himself, knowing I can feel each movement. “But I wanted you”. My whisper claws its way through his beard and up to his ear. Some of my hair is stuck to his beard as though it is Velcro and when he pulls out of my hold, it clings on until it has to accept defeat.