Читать книгу The Boy In The Cemetery - Sebastian Gregory - Страница 10

Chapter Three

The sky was a miserable overcast grey of obese clouds and depressed rain. Carrie Anne knew exactly how it felt. She sat in the back seat of the car, staring through a window that all the rain in the world seemed to be pelting. Her reflection, broken by the rain giving her face a melted look, stared back with bored and uninterested eyes. Her hair was long and blonde or so she always hoped it would be. Instead staring back at her was a sad face with lank hair that fell over her dark eyes and gaunt face. Her head rocked slightly as it lay on the headrest and in time with movement of the car, no, no, no, no, no, no, over and over again. She hardly recognised the reflection that looked back. She didn’t want to be that person; she didn’t want that life. She was twelve years old but felt a lot older in an unreal way as if time had aged her beyond any human means and now she was trapped in an emotional limbo, too young to understand herself as yet and too old to change. The rain tapped the car with the sound and force of a thousand pebbles; she felt the weather echoed her mood and Carrie Anne wondered if the sun even existed any more. Her father swearing at another driver broke her thoughts.

“David! There is no need for that.” Carrie Anne’s mother squealed in surprise at the string of expletives that had left her father’s mouth.

“Oh really, Lucy? Did you see that idiot? He nearly drove me off the road.” The rain was so thick that the constant swishes of the wiper blades were making it difficult to see the motorway roaring around them, never mind a driver intent on killing them. If they had been run from the road, Carrie Anne doubted she would even care.

She looked at her parents and inwardly felt a wave of sinking from her stomach. Her father sat driving, gripping on to the steering wheel and leaning hunched, as if he was trying to squeeze his face against the windscreen. His hair was dark and greasy and slicked back on his balding head. His hair looked like it was holding on for dear life before time took more of it. However, he did have a dark beard as fairly recently he had taken to not shaving, as this made up for his retreating hair line. Her father always had a permanent scowl. He was always angry with the world and any chance to vent was taken at every opportunity. For as long as Carrie Anne could remember her father had been disappointed. Sometime before she was born her father had an accident at his job as factory supervisor (what the factory made or what he supervised she didn’t know) but since then Carrie Anne knew two things about her father. The money settlement meant he would never have to work again and couldn’t thanks to his twisted spine that made him limp. And his life disappointed him and now he was never satisfied. He had been that way even before his accident that permanently took his ability to work. Carrie Anne suspected he was waiting for the favour the world owed him. Of course there was the other side to her father that she dared not dwell on, a secret side that although hidden was always in her thoughts and followed her as an overbearing shadow. No one knew of its existence except the three in the car.

All daddies do this, it means I love you, it’s OK mummy said it was OK, but it’s a game and we can never talk about it to anyone, you understand? Good girl, good girl.

Too late now, she had thought on it and her skin crawled and panic began to deepen her breath. The familiar feeling of being trapped and needing to suddenly run made her nerves prickle. She concentrated on her mother to distract herself. Her mother was extremely thin and her skin was mapped with deep blue veins. Carrie Anne’s mother had a presence of denial about her. It was in her shuffle walk, her drooping shoulders and her dark ringed eye sockets. It soaked from her skull to her hair, which was a weave of long split ends. Despite her mother’s total inability to face reality, Carrie Anne loved her; she just wished she was different, stronger and able to think for herself rather than be told what reality was. She was too influenced by her husband, but Carrie Anne didn’t hate her for it. She knew that for her mother the truth must be too horrible to comprehend. Even when she caught him sneaking from her room. Had she always known?

Carrie Anne sat on her bed and pulled the covers around her ears to block out the sound of the shouting. There was screaming and accusations and crying. No one came to see if Carrie Anne was OK.

This is your fault; this is entirely your fault. You hurt your parents. This is your fault.

“Mum, say something.”

“How long has he done this?” The words came as easy as speaking with a mouth full of nettles. Carrie Anne could see the pain in her mother as she spoke.

“Just that one time you found him in my room,” she lied to spare her.

“Has he done anything else to you?”

“No, just…the touching.”

“Did you lead him on?” The words choked her.

“No, how could I? Why would I?” Her voice croaked through pain and upset and the knowledge that her mother couldn’t help her. She watched as her mother stood up and, like a blind woman, wandered out of the room to nowhere in particular.

That was the family: David and Lucy Jones, parents to twelve-year-old Carrie Anne Jones. It was just the three of them and they were all running away. Carrie Anne dared not think of it and tried to keep it locked in the back of her mind, whereas her parents denied the existence of any kind of problem and saw their leaving as just a fresh start somewhere new, together as a normal solid family. Yet it was there like a presence in another room, silent and unseen but there nonetheless.

Carrie Anne remembered sitting in the bathroom, hating herself and the memories trapped within her. Her mother knew they were there. But now instead of relief and sanctuary there was only confusion. Carrie Anne knew what her father had been doing all these years was wrong, very wrong. She hated her weakness in not being able to call for help. She prayed every day someone would notice she was different and help her. It never happened. When she was younger, when she lay in her dark bedroom she would pile her teddy bears and dolls in a soft wall on her bed. She had a fragile hope of the wall stopping her father, but it never did. Although, try as she may, she could not hate either her mother or father. She was their daughter and it was her duty to love them, despite the cruel loss of her childhood and alienation of her innocence. So instead, she did the only thing she could do, and hated herself. She had found what she was looking for in the bathroom. A razor blade of her father’s from a cabinet on the wall. The orange plastic around the sliver of steel was broken easily against the tiled floor. She paused with the blade shining under the gaze of darkness. She pushed the blade against her skin, slowly and softer. Then, after holding it there a moment, she pushed it deeper still. There was no pain as the skin split, the blade being so sharp it only caused a slight stinging sensation. Immediately she felt all her frustration pour from her arm with the blood that pooled around the razor. She pushed the blade against her skin again and again, creating a tally-marked pattern. Each cut taking away heaviness that crushed her ribs. Her goal here was not to die, but to create a physical pain, a distraction from the worse pain from the scars that penetrated her soul. But as the blood flowed, that relief turned to fear, as she dripped from the patterns criss crossing her skin.

Carrie Anne who had learned to keep silent for most of her life screamed and screamed and screamed.

Her mother and father ran to her, bleary-eyed from being woken, their shocked faces and fear as they stemmed the bleeding with towels from the room.

“What did you do?” they accused. “What did you do?”

Carrie Anne remembered being sat at the dining room table. The room with the red velvet wallpaper that she had always hated but had been there since she had been born. Tears were stinging her eyes and she looked at her mother for love and comfort from the seat opposite. But her mother had withdrawn into herself and couldn’t meet her daughter’s gaze. Carrie Anne’s father paced the dining room talking with the determination of a man trying to convince himself as well as those listening. He paced up and down. He wore his usual outfit of a cheap shirt and jeans a size too big. It had been a few days since she had been found in the bathroom but the memory was fresh…

“Get the first aid kit,” shouted father.

Mother was crying as she ran from the room, reluctant but hurrying. In one hand father gripped her face; the other held the soaking towel against Carrie Anne’s arm.

“Why? Do you want to destroy your mother? Is that what you want?” He spoke in an angered whisper; his teeth were gritted and spittle ran from his chin.

“If you do this, if this continues, you will kill your mother and destroy this family. Now I promise I won’t touch you again. I’m clear now; I just got confused how I loved you. This attention seeking needs to stop. Do you understand me?”

She nodded. With that, Carrie Anne resigned herself to the fact that this was her life now. As the last of her self-esteem bled from her, Mother entered the room…

Carrie Anne’s arms were bandaged. They didn’t hurt but they itched like dry scratches infected by ants.

“I’ve been talking on the phone to a few people and I’ve decided to do what is best for this family.”

“She needs medical help, David,” Carrie Anne’s mother said. “We need to get her some help.”

They both looked at Carrie Anne who had hung her head down.

“And what would you tell them, Carrie Anne?” Her father was frantic.

“Nothing,” she whispered.

“No, we can’t let things destroy this family. I’ve been busy; I told you.”

“What are you saying, David?” Her mother finally spoke but it was without conviction; there was only defeat.

“I’ve given notice on the house, and I’ve put a deposit on another, far from here, where no one knows us, where we can live in peace without fear of persecution because of a mistake. We can be a family.” Throughout his entire speech, there was no pleading for forgiveness in his voice, no real sense he had done wrong.

Carrie Anne wanted to stand and scream from the top of her lungs. To cry for help and tell the world what had happened to her. She wanted to shake her mother, to say help me, be a mum and help me. And in her mind for the briefest of moments she did just that and reality changed to match her version of it and she was away from the nightmare that was her life. But that was for only the briefest of moments. All she could do was to cry bitter child’s tears. However, things were just the way they were. Carrie Anne could see that. She saw it in the way he looked at her and in his eyes; she knew he was alluding to their previous conversation. Agree, keep quiet or destroy her mother.

Carrie Anne’s attention snapped back to her surroundings. She was still in the car.. It had stopped raining yet the clouds still loomed threatening more misery to come. They parked at a service station. There were a couple of small shops and a café. A petrol station stood not too far from the car park. People were coming and going from their cars, buying tea and coffee and sweets for their children. Living normal lives. Carrie Anne’s mother undid her seat belt; she turned to speak to her daughter.

“You’ve been daydreaming, love; what were you thinking about?”

“Nothing much, just trying to fall asleep,” she replied.

Her mother’s eyes flickered over Carrie Anne as if trying to read her mind. Satisfied at the answer her mother smiled.

“Let’s stretch our legs; still got a bit to go,” said Dad. As he left the car the wind and violent sounds of the nearby road forced themselves into the car until the door was closed again.

“Come on,” her mother added.

The breeze outside was strong and sharp. Carrie Anne wrapped her black leather bomber jacket around her. It offered little protection from the wretched day. There was a large car park with a garish yellow petrol station servicing huge trucks from the motorway. Carrie Anne’s father walked over to the café on the other side of the concrete car park. A line of bushes not much higher than Carrie Anne’s waist separated the place from the motorway itself. The cars thundered past spraying drizzle into the air in wet clouds. She could easily just walk over and turn that wet cloud red. That way all of this nightmare would be over. This fake, sickening pretence would be at an end and questions would be finally asked and the world would know what had happened. The car horn shook Carrie Anne’s ears and she was startled to find herself on the edge of that giant road. She had absolutely no idea how she had arrived there,as huge truck bellowed past like a juggernaut, honking a noisy warning. The wet air and the gust spat at her in a blinding mist.

Step in the road and it will all be over. One tiny step and all your confusion will be gone.

Carrie Anne took an inch forwards. Only an inch, such a small thing, such a tiny step but so much closer to that expanse of road. An inch closer and car brakes were screeching. Her heart was pounding. Was this it? Was it all over? She moved and…her father was grabbing her in a matter of seconds.

“Jesus Christ, Carrie Anne, what are you thinking? You could have been killed,” he shouted over the noise of the motorway. Her father and gripped her by the shoulders, again shouting in competition with the road noise.

“I…I…I…” she had no explanation; she wasn’t sure how she had arrived here. Her daydream had obviously had more of an effect on her, but she couldn’t think as he continued to shake her…

“You’re hurting me,” she pleaded as tears ran down her cheeks.

“Hurt you? You are lucky to be alive.” He pulled her in towards him and forced her face awkwardly towards the chaos of the road.

“Look,” he bawled. “You would be dead.”

“Good,” she thought or did she say it out loud?

A look of confusion crossed his face and somewhere her mother called, “David, David.”

“What?” he called back but as they turned the two saw a crowd forming and watching the show. Concerned faces and upset children. Carrie Anne’s mum stood a few feet away pleading with a look of wide-eyed terror on her face.

“Please stop,” she said. “Just stop.”

He looked again at the crowd and let Carrie Anne go. All three walked back to their familiar red car. The mother and father put their arms around their daughter. But to Carrie Anne it felt meaningless.

For rest of the journey they travelled in silence. There did not seem to be any conversation that could make sense for any of the turmoil that had taken place. She could not see any way out of her life. No hope and no light or tunnel. She felt sick to her stomach and overwhelmed with sheer hopelessness. Would there ever be a time when she would feel normal? Or would she have to carry on with confusion and senselessness? She looked out of the window and caught her sad reflection; it began to rain again. The world was grey and all the colour washed away with the rain.

Carrie Anne finally dozed off and was woken in the afternoon by her father declaring that they were there. She yawned and wiped the drool from her mouth and chin. Her eyes adjusted to the mid-afternoon gloom as she blinked awake. As they drove into the driveway they were shaded by green trees hiding the house from the street. From her window Carrie Anne could see a large removal truck. Its back doors were open and a ramp led men in blue overalls in and out of the van, as they brought their belongings into the house. Her father brought the car to a halt.

“Look how they are handling those boxes; Jesus, I will have to have a word with them. If one thing even has the slightest scratch, they won’t be getting a penny.” He violently pulled the hand brake, yanked his seat belt away and left the car, slamming the door behind him. Carrie Anne and her mother both watched him set the nearest removal man to rights. A moment or two later after exerting his authority in an arm-waving and heated exchange, father returned to the car.

“All set darling?” Mother asked.

“Yes,” he replied, irritated. “Just can’t get the staff. Come on, let’s see the house.”

The house father had moved them to was as large as it was isolated. It was situated in an estate of identical houses: red roofs, white painted stone walls and each window and door resembling a bored face. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms on the second floor, living room and diner and kitchen on the first. Oh and a garage. Let’s not forget the garage. However, the house Father had chosen was surrounded by large fir trees. The house Father had chosen was hidden from view.

He wants to keep you prisoner here.

As they went from one room to another, manoeuvring around boxes left there by the movers. Carrie Anne’s parents become more and more excited at what the house had to offer. Wooden floors that apparently were all the rage, grey and white painted walls throughout, which Father explained was the new magnolia. The kitchen had a dishwasher, a dishwasher! The thought of placing dirty dishes into the machine animated Mother and she clapped like a child seeing a balloon for the first time. But there were more treats to come: en-suite bathrooms, blinds instead of curtains, all the things a modern household needed. Carrie Anne had never been so bored in her life and she wandered off on her own. Off the side from the kitchen Carrie Anne found a door and through the door she found stairs that led to a dark cellar. It was a clue to the real age of the house and area despite all the modern things her parents had raved about. There was pull string hanging lazily from a dirty white fixture that she pulled. Immediately a single bare bulb lit the cellar with a buzzing sound. Carefully she walked down the creaking stairs. Each step of her Converse trainers flicked dust. At the bottom she found a musty-smelling room. The ceiling that held the bulb by a wire was made of thick oak beams with copper piping running parallel. Its walls were old with crumbling plaster. In places there was white paint, other places blue or red. But whatever the decorations had been they had long ago grown old and died. A single window no bigger than a crawl space was broken where green ivy had pushed its way in and climbed down the far wall. It was the most interesting room she had ever seen. Her concentration was broken by a scratching sound behind her. She turned and followed the noise with the curiosity of Alice. Except from the corner there was no white rabbit but instead a fat, greasy black rat.

Carrie Anne took a few steps back as the thing scuttled out, sniffing the air. She wasn’t afraid, more fascinated than anything. But she did gasp when she realised it was not alone. It chittered and from the shadow more came. Carrie Anne took to the stairs and stood on the first rung as at least thirty rats flowed into the cellar. They carpeted the floor in dirty fur and continued to the corner where the plaster had crumbled to reveal holes in the brickwork. Fascinated, Carrie Anne looked on as one by one the rats fled into the hole. Where they went from there, she had no idea. But she dare not tell her parents what she had witnessed; this was hers and hers alone. A happy distraction from herself. It was then she heard her mum calling her name.