Cthulhu Land of the Long White Cloud AU

by Cthulhu- Land of the Long White Cloud (retail) (epub)

  “You don’t like it?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Better than fine, little brother. It’s a year’s worth of free accom­m­odation in the most expensive part of Auckland.

  “Well, there is that.”

  Lisa opened the back of the van. “You going to sit there all day, or do I need to set up your new, already-furnished, free house all by myself?”

  Peter walked through the front door to the smell of fresh paint.

  Samuel shouted from upstairs. “I call dibs on the corner bed­room!”

  It didn’t take long to unpack, but by the time they’d got things sorted they were all exhausted. Peter went out for fish and chips and they ate them at the kitchen bench straight from the paper. Peter had worried that Samuel might be too nervous to sleep. But by the time dinner was finished he was already yawning and his eyes closed as soon as his head hit the pillow.

  “Dad?”

  Peter hesitated, his hand over the light switch.

  “You’re really good at looking after me. I’m glad you’re my dad.”

  “I’m glad I’m your dad too, buddy. You’re my favourite child.”

  “I’m your only child.”

  Peter kissed Samuel on the forehead. “Still counts. Now sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

  Lisa had made them both a cup of tea. “Have you seen this?”

  She handed Peter an envelope. Inside was a small card: ‘On behalf of all faculty and students, please allow me to congratulate Samuel Wilson on winning the Blake scholarship and welcome you both to the Saint Enoch family. Welcome to a year that will change your life.’

  “Well, that’s nice, isn’t it?” Lisa said.

  “Yeah,” Peter said. “It’s just that after the last couple, I’d was quite looking forward to a boring, non-life-changing year.”

  Lisa put the cups on the coffee table. “Oh, honey. Come here.”

  I’m not crying, Peter told himself.

  Lisa held him until the worst had passed. His tea was cold by the time he sat down and took a sip. He didn’t mind. “I keep telling myself I’m over it,” he said, “that I can move on. But it keeps hitting me when I least expect it.”

  “It’s not either-or, little brother. You’ll never be over it,” Lisa smiled, “but you have to keep moving, for Samuel’s sake. Coming up here is the right thing to do—a year at one of the best schools in the country. There’s been, what, three Prime Ministers who attended Saint Enoch’s?”

  Peter snorted. “That’s not necessarily a ringing endorsement.”

  “Come on. You’re setting him up for anything he wants to do in the future, and it’s what Melanie wanted. She applied for the scholarship, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah,” Peter said. Melanie hadn’t said anything to him about the scholarship as far as he could remember, but it was possible she’d mentioned it. She would have applied at the start of February and by the end of that month things were changing so fast Peter could hardly think. He had found the acceptance letter in a pile of bills on the coffee table in June, and by then he couldn’t ask her. She was still breathing then, but only technically. The machines were doing all the work.

  Peter blinked. Lisa had been saying something. “What?”

  “Hurry up with your tea. It’s not just Samuel that’s got a big day tomorrow.”

  He tipped the remains into the sink. “Sure you won’t take the bed? I don’t know how much sleep you’re going to get on the couch.”

  “I’m not kicking you out of your bed on your first night in the house. Anyway, the couch might be great and the bed terrible.”

  “Thanks for helping us get set up.”

  “We’re family, little brother. It’s what we do.”

  The sound of heavy shoes stomping down the stairs made Peter look up.

  Lisa was already in the hallway. Samuel stood on the bottom step wearing his new uniform. The blazer was too big and his trousers flowed over his just-polished shoes like a robe.

  “Christ, Peter,” Lisa whispered. “He looks like a rich wanker.”

  Lisa wrapped Samuel in a hug that he grudgingly permitted. “You look so grown up.”

  “I look like a rich wanker,” Samuel said.

  “Samuel Aaron Wilson,” Lisa said, “what kind of language is that? Be careful—I hear boys who talk like that get their mouths washed out with soap at Saint Enoch’s.”

  Samuel looked frightened.

  “Hey,” Peter said. “Buddy. They don’t do that. Aunt Lisa is pulling your leg.”

  “I know,” Samuel said. The look on his face did not change.

  “It’s all boys. No girls at all.”

  “You told me you didn’t like girls.”

  “When I was eight. I’m eleven now.”

  “So you like girls now?

  “You know what I mean. It’s just weird, a whole school with no girls.” Samuel looked in the rear-view mirror, twisting his tie. “And I don’t like this. Feels like I’m being strangled.”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Peter said. “It’s good to know how to knot a tie. You’ll need to wear one when you’re out in the real world.”

  Peter had already driven past the school entrance three times, looking for a place to park. He’d seen a few gaps, but nothing big enough for the van.

  “You don’t wear a tie.”

  “I’m wearing one today.”

  “Today’s different.”

  A BMW pulled out just ahead. An Audi on the other side of the road saw the gap the same time Peter did. He pulled in before the Audi could move. The van lurched to a stop. Something heavy in the back slid across the floor and crashed into the opposite wall.

  It was nearly eight-thirty. The footpath on both sides of the street was a sea of blue blazers. Every other vehicle was black or silver, mostly Mercedes’ or BMWs. There were no other vans. Parked next to a cluster of Land Rovers was a red Porsche convertible. A balding man leaned against the driver’s side, talking on his phone, nearly in the middle of the road. Nobody seemed bothered.

  “Dad, I—” Samuel blinked, looked away.

  “It’s okay, Samuel. I get it. You’re thinking this is a giant mistake. You want to go back to Thames, your old school, your old friends, our old life. The next few weeks won’t be easy, but we’ll get through. Before long you’ll be walking around like you own the place.”

  “I know. I’m just scared, I guess.” Samuel wiped a palm across his eyes.

  Peter blinked. “Fear of the unknown is nothing to be afraid of.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just—” He gestured at the window. “I don’t mind the new school, but I don’t want to change. I don’t want to change into one of them.”

  “That’s never going to happen.” Peter brushed a speck of dust from the shoulder of Samuel’s blazer. “Just because you wear a rich wanker’s uniform doesn’t make you one. You’ll always be you. You’ll always be my boy.”

  “Dad! Language!”

  Peter raised his hands, “Sorry, buddy. But it’s true.”

  Samuel sniffed. “Thanks, Dad.”

  The bald man was still on his phone. He seemed to be staring straight at Peter, although it was impossible to tell. He wore mirrored sunglasses, the kind that always made Peter think of American cops.

  Peter unclipped his seatbelt. “Come on then. Let’s get in there and see what’s so special about this school where you need to wear a tie.”

  Principal Bridwell met them at the door of his office

  “Peter Wilson,” Principal Bridwell wrapped Peter’s grip in a fist like a shovel blade. “And this must be Samuel. Welcome to the Saint Enoch’s family.”

  The wall behind Bridwell’s desk was covered in framed cert­ificates.

  “How have you found Auckland so far? Getting used to the t
raffic? Quite a change from Thames, I bet.”

  “It’s a bit busier, yeah.” Peter found his mouth suddenly dry. He left school twenty years ago, got married, built a career and raised a kid. A memory surfaced: him and Martin Morgan in Form Two, waiting outside the headmaster’s office. Waiting to be asked who threw Martin’s bag and broke the window.

  “And you’re a builder, I understand?”

  “I run my own company these days. Well, I did. I’m wrapping up a couple of projects back in Thames, and then I’ll be looking for something closer. Although the way the property market is at the moment, going back to swinging a hammer might not be a bad idea.” Peter realised he was waffling and closed his mouth.

  “Indeed. And Samuel. I’m sure you’re keen to meet your new classmates.”

  “Yes…yes sir.” Samuel stared at his shoes.

  “No sirs round here,” Bridwell said. “I know we don’t look it, but Saint Enoch’s is a modern, progressive school. Call me Alastair, if you’d like.”

  Yes sir—I mean Alastair.” Samuel raised his eyes up like he was looking at Father Christmas. Bridwell smiled.

  Someone coughed in the doorway.

  “Ah. Fullerton. Come in,” Bridwell said. “This is Samuel Wilson and his father. Samuel’s the recipient of the Blake scholarship this year.”

  Fullerton inclined his head. “Welcome to St. Enoch’s.” There was a smile on Fullerton’s face, but it felt more mocking than friendly.

  “Fullerton is a prefect in your year,” Bridwell said to Samuel. “He’ll look after you until you’ve got used to things. You’re in the same homeroom. Speaking of which, you should both be there,” Bridwell looked at his watch. “Now,” he said at the same time as the bell rang.

  “Come on then,” Fullerton said, already halfway to the door. Samuel gave a backwards glance but by the time Peter opened his mouth to say goodbye both boys were gone. He thought of Samuel blinking back tears in the van fifteen minutes ago.

  “He’ll be fine,” Bridwell said. “Fullerton’s a good lad. His father attended St. Enoch’s. His grandfather too. Fullertons are part of the fabric of the school.

  “Yeah,” Peter said, sounding more confident than he felt. “He’ll be fine.”

  Bridwell leaned back in his chair. “I’m glad you decided to take the scholarship. Fullerton isn’t the only third-generation student. It’s good to see past pupils return with their children. But it’s nice to get some new blood too.”

  Peter tried to smile. “We’re happy to be here.”

  “There’s a small social event in the hall this Friday evening,” Bridwell said. “I’d be honoured if you could attend.”

  “I’ll be there,” Peter said. “We both will.”

  The street was nearly empty by the time Peter got back to his car. A crumpled muesli bar wrapper lay on the passenger seat, the remains of Samuel’s breakfast.

  Peter heard the front door slam, then footsteps on the stairs. By the time Peter followed, Samuel’s door was already closed. Peter leaned in but couldn’t hear anything. The door opened just as he raised his hand to knock. Samuel had changed into jeans and a black sweatshirt. His uniform lay crumpled on the floor.

  “So? How was it?”

  “Fine.”

  “That’s it? Just fine?”

  “Just fine.”

  “Can I get you something to eat?”

  Samuel shook his head. “I’ve got homework to do.”

  “You sure? I can—”

  “Sorry, Dad.” Samuel closed the door.

  Lisa had a little more luck over dinner.

  “It’s okay,” Samuel said, “Might take some getting used to.”

  “In what way, honey?”

  Samuel pushed macaroni cheese around his plate. “I dunno. Just different.”

  “What are the teachers like?”

  “Just teachers.”

  “What about the other kids,” Peter asked. “How’s that one who took you to class…Fullerton?”

  Samuel stopped chewing. He stared at his plate for a while, then took a sip of water. “He’s okay.”

  “Well you’re a real mine of information,” Lisa said.

  Samuel shrugged again and smiled. “Sorry. There was this big ceremony in the afternoon but I can’t tell you anything about it. They swore us all to secrecy.” There was the hint of a smile on Samuel’s face, so small Peter wondered if he was imagining it.

  Lisa looked up from her laptop. “He’s got a bruise.”

  “What bruise?”

  “Christ, Peter, you really are blind sometimes. On his arm. Thought it was weird, him putting on that sweatshirt. I went and had a look once he fell asleep.”

  Peter was already out of his chair. “I’ll go wake him up.”

  “Sit down, you egg.”

  “It’s only his first day at the school. If someone’s laid their hands on him I’ll—”

  “You’ll do nothing. Not yet. Leave it until he’s ready to talk. Otherwise he’ll clam up and never say a thing.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because that’s what you do.”

  Peter flipped through the channels but there was nothing on.

  “I could talk to Bridwell tomorrow.”

  “What are you going to tell him? Your son’s got a bruise you haven’t seen and he won’t tell you about? He’s a good kid, Peter. He’ll talk to you. Just give him a few days to get used to things, huh?”

  “Yeah, but—” Peter found himself stifling a yawn.

  “Look at you. Just as worn out as Samuel. Go get some sleep.”

  “But the bruise…”

  “Will still be there in the morning. Worry then. Sleep now.”

  Peter let himself be bundled off to bed. He turned off the light and stared out at the darkness.

  Peter woke feeling like he hadn’t slept at all, but that couldn’t be true. The dream was proof of that. He lay in the darkness, trying to grab on to whatever was left, but he could only summon a single image: a long plain of cracked earth. He was alone under a purpling sky. Though it was cold, the stars rippled as if viewed through a heat haze. The plain was absolutely barren—no trees, or even rocks—just that earth, cracked as if it hadn’t seen rain for years. And although the plain was empty, Peter knew there was something just beyond the horizon. He knew what it was, he realised. Or at least, in the frustrating way of dream-logic, he remembered having known what it was. But even that thought was fading now. He felt a weight on his chest and for a second he struggled to breathe.

  Then the dream and the suffocating feeling were gone.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and took a few more deep breaths. The air felt stale in his lungs. In the last few weeks of Melanie’s illness, he’d woken like this every morning: terrified, struggling to breathe as if he were drowning. But he hadn’t experienced any since she died, until today. He pulled himself to his feet and went to make breakfast.

  Being up early had its advantages. Someone from the school had done a pretty good job of stocking the fridge and pantry. Peter found eggs, bacon, wholemeal toast and some expensive looking coffee. By the time Samuel wandered downstairs, already dressed, but still rubbing his eyes, Peter had put together a feast.

  “What’s this?”

  “Breakfast.”

  “Expecting a rugby team to drop in?”

  “Aunty Lisa has to go back to Thames today. Thought we should send her off properly.”

  “She has to go? So soon?”

  Lisa emerged from the bathroom, still towelling her hair. “Things to do and people to see, I’m afraid. But I’m not far away. I’ll pop back up in a couple of weeks.”

  Nobody talked while they ate breakfast. Peter had hoped he’d be able to catch a glimpse of Samuel’s bruise, but he couldn’t see anything through S
amuel’s long-sleeved shirt. Samuel ate quickly and walked away from the table before Peter was halfway through his coffee.

  “What’s the hurry?”

  “Thought I might walk to school this morning. I want to get out the door early.”

  “Really?” Peter put down his cup. “Aunty Lisa’s bus doesn’t go until eleven. There’s plenty of time for me to run you to school.”

  Samuel shook his head. “Nah. It’s okay. I just want to walk.”

  Peter shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  “What do you think?” he asked after Samuel had headed back upstairs. “Think he’s trying to keep me from asking about the bruise?”

  “Maybe. But maybe not. Perhaps he really does just want to walk. Get a feel for the neighbourhood.”

  “Maybe.”

  Lisa stifled a yawn.

  “You’ll be pretty happy to get back to your own bed,” Peter said.

  “No, I was right. Your couch is actually really comfortable. But I kept waking up. Weird dreams.”

  “How do you mean weird?”

  “You know, just weird.”

  “You’re as informative as Samuel.” Peter grabbed the empty dishes from the table and carried them to the sink.

  “It was like I was lost. In some kind of desert?”

  The plates slipped from Peter’s grip. Most of them landed noisily in the sink, but one smashed on the floor. Peter stood, barefoot, amidst sharp shards.

  “Ah, you egg. Look what you’ve done. Don’t move.” Lisa went to fetch the broom.

  There was no sign of a bus when they arrived. He walked Lisa to the stop but they were the only people there. “Sure there’s a bus coming?”

  “We’re just early. You were in too much of a hurry to get me out of the house.”

  “That’s not—” he started to say, but Lisa held up a hand.

  “I’m only yanking your chain. I know it’s going to be weird. Call me any time you need, okay?”

  “I’ll wait with you.”

  “Unnecessary, little brother.” She pointed to the departures sign. “Thirty minutes. I can look after myself for thirty minutes. Anyway, looks like I’m not the only one who turned up early.”