The Concrete Grove cg-1

by Gary McMahon

  “A bit weird.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  Hailey paused in tying her shoelaces. “What do you mean?”

  Her mother shrugged her shoulders and pulled her dressing gown tighter. “Don’t you remember last night? When I came home?” She leaned against the doorframe.

  Hailey shook her head. “The last thing I remember was Tessa’s mum coming round drunk and waking me up to give me that telly. She wouldn’t take no for an answer because she was so pissed. I think she was trying to make herself feel good by giving us some charity.”

  Her mother smiled. “Who on earth is this Tessa? Have I met her?”

  “She’s a friend from school — one of my only close ones. You remember, the girl with the big feet who keeps knocking stuff over.”

  Mum smiled, but still she looked vaguely ill. “Ah, yes. The clumsy girl. She came round for dinner that time. Broke my bloody vase.”

  Hailey laughed, which seemed to break the mood. “That’s her. She still feels bad about it.”

  “You look tired, honey. Are you sure you want to go to school? You’ve had a… well, a rough time.”

  Hailey stood up and approached the mirror above her dressing table. She combed her hair and tied it up in a loose ponytail. “What’s wrong with me? What happened last night? I’m so hungry I could eat a scabby horse, but if I did try to eat anything I know I’d be sick.”

  “You really should have some breakfast. I’ve made toast. Just try and eat a slice. If you really insist on going to school, we’ll talk properly when you get home.” Her mother folded her arms across her chest. “There are still things we need to talk about.” She scanned the room, as if looking for something specific. “Have you been having strange dreams?”

  Hailey watched her mother in the mirror. Nodded.

  “Me too, baby. Scary ones. But I think they’re more than just dreams. Last night… things happened last night, when I left you here. Stuff we need to discuss.”

  Hailey kept her eyes on her mother’s reflection in the mirror. “I’m ill, aren’t I? There’s something seriously wrong with me.” Did she have a brain tumour, was that it?

  “I think there was something wrong,” said Mum. “But now I think you might be getting better.” The ghost of a smile crossed her face and then she turned away, heading back to the kitchen. “Come and have some toast.”

  Hailey finished getting ready. She packed her school bag and made sure that she had all of her books and her pencil case. Giving herself one final glance in the mirror — she didn’t look too bad now that she’d made a bit of an effort — she left her room and went to the kitchen.

  “Would you like some fruit juice? I could pop out and get some from the shop. Or maybe a cup of tea?”

  Hailey sat down opposite her mum. “No. I’m fine. I’ll just try a bit of that toast.” She reached out and picked a slice off the serving plate. The butter had melted and the toast wilted. When she bit into the toast it was cold. The texture of the limp bread almost made her gag.

  “Just a few bites,” said her mother, trying to smile and almost making it.

  “Where were you last night?” said Hailey, once she’d swallowed the mouthful of bread. “I remember waking up. It was late. Or early. Was that when you got home?”

  Her mother looked away. Her eyes roamed over the kitchen surfaces. “Yes, that was me. We had a little chat and I put you back to bed.”

  “So. Where did you go?”

  “I had to go out and see a friend. Nothing you need to know about, not really. Just an errand I had to run.”

  Hailey chewed the toast. The more she had the more she got used to it. Her stomach still felt empty but it no longer ached. “You’re not getting involved in anything crazy, are you?” Her eyes began to sting. The kitchen lights were too bright and they made her head throb.

  “No,” said her mother. “It’s nothing like you think. But this is one of those things we need to talk about. I made a big mistake and it’s going to affect us both.”

  Hailey’s ears were ringing. The sound was distant yet incessant, like an alarm. “Okay, we’ll sit down and talk tonight, when I get home from school.”

  Her mother shuffled in her chair. “I might have to go out again later, so it’ll probably be late. Will you be okay on your own again, just until I get back?” She paused, not really waiting for an answer. “I promise not to be too long. We can talk then.”

  “That’s fine.” Hailey put down the remains of the toast: the soggy piece of crust, with melted butter smeared along its length. “I can watch the TV now, can’t I?”

  “Yeah, I suppose you can.”

  Hailey saw the tears sparkling in her mother’s eyes, and for a moment she felt like going over there and throwing her arms around her, telling her that she loved her more than anything in the world. But something held her back. She heard a faint skittering noise from the other end of the flat, coming from the direction of her bedroom. Her mind was filled with images of tattered, flyblown shapes falling in tandem from the ceiling. She felt her nipples stiffen and fluid leaked from their tips.

  The Slitten.

  The thought came to her from nowhere, and rather than summon memories it conjured a feeling, a sensation: then she felt an overpowering urge to protect. She had no idea what was happening — or what had happened last night — but she did know that this was not the time to talk about the situation. But they must discuss things soon, and try to fathom a way of solving their problems. Hailey had the idea that a possible way out had already presented itself, and if she could only remember what it was then she could bring up the subject with her mother.

  But not now, she thought. Not yet. She has to come to the same conclusions on her own first.

  Again, she felt like her thoughts were not her own, that somebody else was putting them inside her head. There was some kind of barrier between them, and she needed to wait until it came down before digging into this subject.

  “I have to go, Mum. I’ll see you later.”

  Her mother didn’t answer; she was staring into space, her eyes large and moist.

  Hailey grabbed her things and left the flat, followed by the nagging suspicion that she was turning her back on something forever. This was not a rational thought, but somehow she felt that once she had walked out the door she would be unable to turn back. The world had altered too much; the fabric of their lives had been picked apart at the seams. Everything was too broken to be repaired, and the only way to change things was through further acts of destruction.

  Out on the street there were very few pedestrians, apart from groups of kids on their way to school or to bunk off elsewhere, far enough away from the estate that they wouldn’t be seen. Hailey kept her head down. She didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone, even her few friends or the few other kids who gave her the time of day and didn’t tease or bully her. She wanted to be left alone. Her thoughts required sorting, sifting, putting in order.

  Instead of heading along Grove End, in the direction of the school, she turned right and crossed the mini roundabout onto Grove Road. Then she cut through Grove Side and headed towards the centre of the estate.

  She knew the man was following her. She had spotted him in his car immediately, waiting at the kerb opposite the old Grove End Primary School. The fat man behind the wheel had watched her intently as she left the block of flats. She had seen him before, many times; she suspected that he had been watching her for a couple of weeks now, always keeping his distance and never hanging around for too long. Today, though, he got out of the car and followed her conspicuously. He stayed a few yards behind, never straying too close, but it was obvious what he was up to. Even Hailey could see that he was purposefully trailing her through the estate.

  She turned left onto Grove Crescent, and then used the nameless ginnel to access the Roundpath — the narrow dirt track which ran around the perimeter of the patch of land upon which stood the intimidating structure of the Needle. When she lo
oked up at the tower she saw several phantom images reflected against the windows — those which had not been broken — on the upper floors: a dark, busy mass, a flurry of wings, distant trees that were not really there. Hailey closed her eyes. When she opened them again the few unbroken windows reflected only the blue-grey sky and the pale, slow-moving clouds.

  The emptiness inside her reached out towards the Needle. For the first time she had an inkling of the reason why she was drawn here. She yearned for whatever was inside that old building, the secrets it kept within the fabric of its structure. Another world lay between the mortar joints and the connecting members of timber and steelwork, and all Hailey had to do now was find a way to get through to the other side.

  She waited at the end of the ginnel, pressing her body flat against an old timber hoarding with a faded motif. When the big man appeared, holding a mobile phone to his ear, he looked surprised for a moment, shocked to find her there. But then he smiled. It was a tired smile, as if he were pulling it up from somewhere dark and painful. He lowered the hand that was holding the phone and put the handset in his jacket pocket.

  “What do you want?” She clutched her empty belly. The remnants of whatever she had carried there gave her strength. She could remember now — she had birthed something in the night, a brood that had come to help her and her mother. “Why have you been following me?” The Needle seemed to bend forward behind her, enclosing her within the protective dimness of its shadow.

  “Am I really seeing this?” The big man stared up, his eyes huge and wet and unbelieving. “The building… it moved. It actually leaned towards us.”

  Hailey smiled. “Things are different here, in the middle. Tell me why you’re following me and I’ll show you.” She heard the creaking and groaning of the building behind her. The earth vibrated softly, as if a minor tremor were following a fault line located directly beneath her feet. “I’ll show you something amazing.”

  “I was told to keep an eye on you, and then to come and get you. My boss is a bad man. I was a bad man. But now I don’t want to be bad. Not anymore.” Tears gleamed on his smooth, round cheeks. “I’m sick and tired of being bad… I want to be someone else now.”

  The air filled with the sound of the Needle shifting on its foundations. Hailey didn’t turn to see, she just listened to the music of its movement: the high, sharp keening of twisting steel beams and stanchions, the crisp cracking of concrete, the gunshot-popping of old timber frames.

  The big man raised his arms above his head. Hailey wasn’t sure if he was fending off the sight or trying to embrace it. “I can see trees in there.” His voice was quiet, awed. “There’s a forest behind the windows. A fuckin’ forest…”

  Hailey stepped forward, out of the shadow of the Needle. Her feet felt quick and light; her body moved through the air as if carried on invisible wafts and currents. “Come on, Mr. Bad Man. Let’s go inside.”

  “My name’s Francis,” he said, softly, his gaze still locked onto the Needle.

  Francis reached out to her and she took his hand. It was huge, like a slab of meat. She gripped his fingers tightly. She was trying to reassure him, to transmit to him by touch alone that there was nothing to be afraid of, not unless whatever had possessed the building was afraid of you. It was a simple equation, one that even she could work out: Fear plus Fear equals Death. The opposite — because every force must have its equal and opposing reaction — was that Peace plus Acceptance equals Survival. This wasn’t something she had ever learned at school: it was knowledge gained from a tantalising glimpse of another world.

  And if the price of admittance to that world was suffering, then once the toll was handed over her remaining currency had to be left behind at the door. No change would be given; exact payments only.

  Hailey led her giant companion to confront whatever waited for them inside, within, and behind the walls of the estate.

  PART FOUR

  The Killing of a North-East Loan Shark

  “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

  — Francis Boater

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE BLACK-PAINTED STEEL frame of the bridge formed a shadowy grillage around her as Lana strode along the walkway. Sunlight danced through the gaps, stuttering in bright little flashes to blind her momentarily as she made her way towards the waiting figure she assumed was Tom. The dazzling light behind him didn’t allow her to make out any details: he was just a tall, dark silhouette standing with his hands in the pockets of his overcoat.

  When she’d called him on the telephone earlier, desperate to hear his voice once Hailey had left her alone in the flat, he had seemed distant and elusive. When he had asked her to meet him here, at a point suspended above the River Tyne, she had at first been filled with trepidation, but then her desire to see him had overcome any doubts prompted by his odd request. Of course she would come, she’d agreed. Of course she would meet him on the bridge.

  What else was she supposed to do?

  The riverside air was cold. The water below her looked as thick and black as crude oil. People stared at the water from the riverbank on either side — Gateshead and Newcastle — and watched as a small working boat moved slowly under the bridge, following the flow of the river towards its mouth, and then possibly out to the open sea.

  Tom didn’t turn to greet her when she approached. He just stayed in the same position, staring eastward along the Tyne, perhaps looking for a way to follow that little boat out to sea.

  “So what’s with all this Man from Uncle shit?” She tried to glimpse what it was he was looking at, but all she could see were the things right in front of her: the low-set red and white Swing Bridge with its stumpy blue watchtower, the green-webbed assemblage of the Tyne Bridge, and the broad curve of the river as it swung around to the right beyond these manmade structures. “I mean, why are we meeting here like spies, at the middle of the bridge?”

  “I… I’m not sure.” He kept staring along the river. Then his gaze drifted down and off to the right, towards the tacky nightclub-boat that was always docked at the south side, beside a grubby concrete access road. His hands remained inside his pockets. “It’s just, this has always been my favourite place. Ever since I was a kid, when I used to come down here with my parents, I loved it, the sense of being cut off and standing above everything. And I didn’t want to meet you in that awful place — the Grove.”

  “Why not?” She looked at him. The side of his face was slightly swollen, the skin shiny and red. She’d not noticed before, but there were fresh bruises smudged along the edge of his jaw. “I don’t understand.”

  Finally he turned to look at her, and as he lowered his face towards her the sun blazed behind his head, creating a glaring nova. “Neither do I. There’s been some stuff happening that I just don’t get. It’s like I’m living inside a dream.”

  “Or like a dream that was living inside you has finally broken free?”

  “You, too?”

  She nodded. “It isn’t just you. I can’t explain anything that’s been happening, but the only part of it that feels real — feels right — is us. You and me. What we seem to have between us.” She lifted her hand and opened the fingers, like a pale pink flower. Sunlight bulged through the gaps.

  Tom removed one hand from his coat pocket and grasped her wrist. “What’s going on? What have we started?” He licked his lips. The nova around his head dimmed as he shifted position, turning fully to face her. He held both of her hands with his own, squeezing them firmly but not so tight that it hurt.

  “I don’t think it has anything to do with us. Not really. A lot of different things are combining to create something that’s bigger than us all. Hailey’s condition, that loan shark Monty Bright, his hired hands… and it all starts with the Concrete Grove. I think what’s coming through the cracks we’ve created has always been there, and that it’s using our desperation as a doorway.” She tried to laugh but all she managed was a sort of croaking sound. “I know how stupid and melo
dramatic this all sounds, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I’ve seen things, stuff that I could never have thought of as real before now.”

  “I’ve seen things, too.” Tom smiled but it seemed to pain him. He raised a hand and touched the side of his face.

  “Those bruises,” said Lana. “What happened?”

  “Last night. I fell down the stairs. I’d been drinking, and thinking about us.”

  She could see that he was lying. He couldn’t even maintain eye contact; his gaze drifted back to the river, the route to the sea at Tynemouth.

  “Don’t start lying to me, not now. I think all we have is the truth. If we lose that, then everything will just turn into a series of fictions, all linked by whatever’s in the Grove. Like a giant spider in a web.” She didn’t quite understand her own analogy, but something about the words made sense. It was the image of a giant spider, sitting at the centre of a web made of human life lines and spinning its own stories. Somehow that seemed right: it was an apt image. She could feel it, right down in the marrow of her bones. “Just be honest with me.”

  Tom stared down at the ground. A soft wind ruffled his hair. He looked back up again, and there were tears in his eyes. “My wife. Helen. You know about her, of course, that she’s a paraplegic. She lost the use of her lower body, from the waist down, when the car her lover was driving crashed.”

  “Yes. You told me all about it.” She moved closer to him. A group of teenagers ran by on the other side of the bridge, laughing and throwing coins into the river. Several cars and a bus drove towards the Newcastle side of the river, thumping over the steel joints in the tarmac decking.

  “She did this to me.” He turned his face so that she could see clearly the bruising. “Last night, she… changed. She became something monstrous and she attacked me. She hasn’t been out of that fucking bed in years, but last night she managed to get out and drag herself after me through the house. I fell. She grabbed me and tried to smother me…” he turned away again, ashamed.