Nailed by the Heart (11 page)

"Well,
feel free to look around," said Chris. Ruth shot him a look.

"Oh,
I'll snatch your hand off for that invitation. I'll give you notice,
though I can see you're up to your ears in crap today. But
fascinating place. Manshead here was mentioned by the Romans in 97
AD. A Roman tax collector wrote about it in a letter to his wife in
Rome. I managed to get a stat of the thing from the British Museum.
It also gets a fair bit of press in ecclesiastical chronicles of the
sixth and seventh centuries."

"Manshead,"
said Ruth. "It's just a lump of rock they built the seafort
on."

"Just
a piece of rock, my dear? This is a rock and a half. Have you noticed
there're no shellfish stuck to it; not a ruddy one. The rock's a
freak. Look at the geology around here, it's boulder clay with a few
bits of sandstone. Manshead is igneous, probably volcanic. If you
could make the sea and sand and stuff around here all invisible, the
picture you would get would be of the seafort standing on a big black
pillar-what?-maybe two, three miles high, a bit like Nelson's
Column."

"But
people from centuries ago wouldn't have known that. Why did they make
all the fuss about it?" said Ruth.

"Magic,
my dear. Place is soaked in it." He gave a wheezing laugh.
"That's what they believed yonks ago anyway. You know, ley-lines
and geomantric forces and that kind of crap. They believed this was
one of the focal points. Where they could get closer to their god."

"We'll
put that in the advertisements when the hotel opens."

"Anything
to get the punters in is a good thing," agreed Tony Gateman. "Ah
... must get on." He glanced at his watch. "I was just
passing so I thought I'd call in. Cheerio."

Just
passing? thought Chris. In those shoes? They were highly polished
brogues. And just passing to where? Apart from the beach and the
marshes there was nothing for miles.

Tony
began to walk across the cobbled yard and then stopped abruptly. "I'm
having a barbecue at my place tomorrow evening. It'd be lovely if you
could come."

To
Chris's surprise Ruth said: "We'd love to."

"Six
o'clock. Make use of the daylight. The name of the house is "The
New Bungalow." On Main Street. You can't miss it. See ya,
folks."

Tony
hurried away with that amazingly fast stride that only small men seem
able to manage.

"A
barbecue, eh?" said Chris. "With the natives. I only hope
we're not on the menu."

"Ungrateful
sod," said Ruth good-naturedly. "If we're going to become
part of the community, we might as well make a start. If we can ...
Chris ..."

"What's
wrong?"

"Look."

Through
the window of the caravan he could see the flicker of the television.

"Jesus
... I'd forgotten all about the bloody goldfish."

They
ran to the caravan.

David
stood with his back to them, a drum of fishfood in his hand, while he
sprinkled ants' eggs onto the surface of the water.

"Don't
worry, kidda. We'll get a new one."

"A
new what, Dad?"

"Well,
a new ... "

His
voice dried.

Instead
of lying lifeless on the surface, its big eye pressed to the
underside of the water like a fishy peeping tom, the fish was racing
around the bowl with powerful flicks of its tail.

"A
new what, Dad?"

"Oh
... I... just thought a bigger bowl ... Give Clark Kent a bit more
room."

"Thanks,
Dad."

Chris
crouched down beside him so he could see the fish more closely. The
shrunken look had gone; its scales blazed with a healthy gold color.

Shaking
his head, he rose and ruffled David's hair. "Back to work."
As he passed Ruth he kissed her on the back of the neck and
whispered, "I think I'll keep you on the payroll."

"Why?"

"For
quick thinking in the face of adversity."

"You've
lost me, lover."

"For
buying another goldfish and switching it for poor old Clark Kent when
we were out."

"I
did nothing of the sort. That is Clark Kent."

"But
it was dead."

"It
looked like that."

"But-"

"But
nothing. Let sleeping dogs lie. It's alive. David's happy. Now"-she
pecked him on the lips-"forget all about it."

The
UFO, trailing smoke and flames, crashed into the gray lunar
landscape. With a fanfare of thin electronic notes the score on the
left-hand corner of the screen flickered up to 1600.

David
pressed the button marked START. He had one life left. The next
invading UFO began to float down toward his lunar base.

"Are
you getting the hang of it now, David?"

"Yes."

He
felt his mum's arm around him tighten into an affectionate squeeze.

They
sat side by side on the sand, their legs outstretched in front of
them. Down the beach the tide was slipping in over the dry sand; each
wave brought the sea a little closer. Above their heads, seagulls
floated like scraps of white paper.

"Do
you miss your old friends? Chrissie Fawley and Matthew?"

He
concentrated on the UFO, his thumb hitting the fire button.

"No,
not really."

"We
think it's really nice here, don't we? Living in a caravan by the
sea. It's like being on holiday, isn't it?"

"Will
I still have to go to school?"

"Yes,
you'll go to a new school in Munby-near where we stayed in the
hotel."

"I'll
make new friends."

"Of
course you will. There will be lots and lots of children your age. We
can invite them across to the seafort to play on the beach. And when
the building work's all done, Nan and Grandad can come across to
stay. It won't be as quiet as it is now; there'll be lots of people
about. Look ... Well done, David.",

The
fanfare sounded again. All the UFO army had been despatched to UFO
heaven; GAME OVER flashed up with a score of 2000.

"That's
the first time you've won, isn't it?"

"Yes."
He gazed at the flashing figures. After months of failed attempts,
suddenly it seemed easy. And dull, really.

Now
he wanted a-what was the word Dad used to say over and over at the
old house?

CHALLENGE.

Yes,
he wanted a CHALLENGE.

When
he thought of his toys all spoiled by sea water, it still hurt
inside. But again David thought of what his dad had said about the
seafort. He said it would cost a lot of money. That for a while they
wouldn't be able to buy many treats. They would have to sacrifice
some things they liked. But in the end the sacrifice would be
worthwhile.

96

The
loss of his favorite toys still hurt him; he had nearly cried.

...
but the sacrifice would be worthwhile.

The
green numerals of the clock radio glowed 11:11 across the caravan
bedroom. Chris lay flat on his back, one hand pillowing his head. By
his side Ruth lay sleeping on her stomach. The only sounds were his
wife's gentle breathing and the faint hiss of the surf.
Shuu-shshu-sh...

Exhausted
from the day's work, his eyelids began to grow heavy in the
comfortable darkness of the room. He tried to resist sleep, wanting
to enjoy the flow of the day's memories. He would never have believed
that hard labor could be so satisfying.

He
glossed over memories of David's odd behavior. Deliberately leaving
his precious toys and Superman comics on the rock to be washed away
by the waves. Kids do funny things. Hadn't he once taken to
swallowing small pebbles when he was five years old? God alone knew
why.

Shuu-shh-shuu-sh-sh
...

Chris's
eyes closed.

He
dreamed:

The
tide had rolled out. This time it had not stopped. It had rolled back
somewhere beyond the horizon.

Now
there was only a plain that had once been the bottom of the sea.
Starfish and shells gleamed like stars in the sand. Here and there,
seaweed patches, green and wet-looking, the size of football pitches.

He
walked out across the plain.

As
he approached an expanse of seaweed he noticed a ship in its center.
How long had it lain at the bottom of the sea?

He
ached to take a closer look. This was the kind of mystery that every
schoolboy loved. The sunken ship; the anchor hanging from a rusted
chain, brown kelp stuck to the funnel. Was there treasure in the
hold? Get closer. Read the name painted in white across the stern.
See what's inside.

He
walked across the sand toward the ship. He was about to climb onto it
when, in his dream, he noticed Ruth standing beside him.

"Careful,
Chris," she whispered, "there are poisonous snakes in
there."

98

They
woke up hugging one another tightly; the clock flickered to 12:39.

"I
love you, Chris. Hold me."

"You're
not tired?"

"Mmmm,"
breathed Ruth. "But I'm too hungry to sleep."

"Hungry?"

She
kissed him firmly on the lips. "Hungry for you. Make love to
me."

His
heartbeat quickened. Kissing her hard, he pulled her nightie up
higher, up over her breasts, which were firming and rising in the
cooler air. He kissed each breast, then ran his tongue across the
hardening nipples.

"Oh
..." She pulled his head against her bare breasts. "Do
anything you want to me. Now."

David
sat up in bed rubbing his eyes with his fists and yawning. It must be
very late. No television sounds or voices, so his mum and dad were in
bed.

He
looked across the room, his eyes adjusting to the dark. Oh no. The
headless boy was there against the wall again.

He
pressed his knuckles into his eyes.

He
wanted to shout. But his dad would be mad if he had to get out of bed
at this time. He'd come in saying: "David, how many times have I
got to tell you? It's only your dressing gown. Take it down if it
frightens you."

It
always did frighten him. The headless boy. A dark humpy-backed shape.
He risked a glimpse.

Ye-essss
...

It
was getting closer.

He
kicked his way out of the quilt and stood up. Managing to cover both
eyes with one hand, he walked forward with the other outstretched.

Headless
boy. You won't get me. Headless boy, how did you get that way? Heard
a funny joke? And laughed your head off? Ha! Ha!

David
kept up the flow of nonsense thoughts to stop his imagination from
supplying too many scary pictures.

Headless
boys are big asses-

They've
got no ears for their glasses ...

Still
shielding his eyes from the figure, David reached out for the
dressing gown.

He
clutched at something smooth and cold.

Instantly
his mind said WET.

A
wet, headless boy from the deep blue sea.

Got
a kiss for David; if you can find my mouth.

Shouldn't
be cold and smooth.

It's
the silly wall, he thought, relieved. Caravan walls are plastic.

His
hand swept to the left, catching the dressing gown. Roughly he
dragged it from the hook. The headless boy just became a naff old
dressing gown that he never wore anyway. Screwing it into a ball, he
threw it into the corner of the bedroom, then hopped back into bed to
lie looking up at the darkened ceiling.