Woodhill Wood (22 page)

"Dad..."

"She turned... my sons against me. Used them." He sniffed in the smell of burnt wood. "Can... can she do nothing right?"

  "She's gone now."

"Oh, no. No, she's not gone. She'll be back. You'll see."

"Move back?"

"No. Never. Never. But you'll see. She knows I'm not finished. She'll be planning... right now... with her so-called friends. It's not over yet. She'll be planning how to finish me. But I won't let her... hurt me any more, Matt."

"What will you do?"

"Pour me a drink, will you son? Have... have one yourself."

"No, thanks."

"No?... No."

Gurde walked over to the desk and unscrewed the top of the new bottle. An empty glass was already sitting beside it. Gurde poured in a little and offered it.

"Bit more son, if you don't mind."

"OK."

Gurde doubled the amount in the glass. The father took it and sipped at the brown liquid.

"Right," he said and slumped back into the depths of the chair. His face solidified and the distant look that Gurde had seen that morning returned to his eyes. He said "quem deus vult perdere, prius dementat" and fell silent again. Gurde stood for a while, wondering what to say, watching the occasional ripples on the calm surface of the whisky in his glass.

"Dad?"

He didn't look up as Gurde left the room.

The nightmare woke him again. Gurde stumbled across the landing towards the bathroom. It was still the middle of the night but there was enough light from the frosted windows to line his face with silver as he stared into the mirror.

His face was a dead boy's face; pale and grey and empty. For a moment he felt the tremblings of loneliness. But he stared on, and Matt's piercing eyes appeared from the darkened image, angered that a dream should question so much. Gurde backed away.

He leapt out of bed in the morning and met the mother on the landing.

"Matty!"

"Mum? What are you doing here?"

"I've come to collect a few things."

"Oh. Is Ben with you?" Gurde asked.

"No. He was still asleep when I left Margaret's. How are you?"

"All right."

"You getting enough to eat?"

Gurde nodded.

"Where's your father?" she asked.

"Isn't he here?"

She shrugged. "I haven't seen him. His bed doesn't like it's been slept in. He wouldn't leave you here on your own, would he? He hasn't left you here, has he? If he's left you here on your own you'll have to come back to Margaret's with me. You're not old enough to be left on your own. It's against the law."

"I'm fourteen, Mum."

"It's still against the law. Where is he?"

"Is the study door locked?"

"Yes... Why?"

"That's probably where he is, then."

"Locked in the study?"

"I think so."

"Oh. Is he all right?"

"I'm not sure. He's... he doesn't seem very happy."

"No. Well, I suppose that's a good sign. At least he's not pretending it hasn't happened. He's facing up to it, then?"

"Sort of."

"Good. Getting lost in his work, I suppose."

"Not exactly."

"I'm sure his work will see him through. That's one thing about your father: he can shut himself off from everything and just work. Don't worry about him. He'll be fine in a few days, you'll see. Back to his usual, cheerful self." She smiled. "It's quite a relief that he's not around. To tell you the truth, I was a bit nervous about coming here today. Margaret says that it'll be better if I don't see him for a while. She says they need time to adjust to having to look after themselves. But I had to come and get some things. Do you know if he has tried to contact me?"

"I... I don't know."

The mother checked the carpet around her feet as if looking for flaws. "Things will be all right. I'm sure he'll calm down in a few days. You tell him I'm waiting for him to phone me and apologise, then we'll see. He had no right to take it out on me like that. He had no right. You saw what he did."

"Yes, Mum."

"It's nice at Margaret's. You'd like it there."

"You're not coming back then?" Gurde asked.

"I... not straight away. A week or so and then we'll see. I think you should come to Margaret's with me. I still think about what he did the other night. I think about it all the time. Are you sure you're all right here? It worries me. You sure you don't feel pressurised into staying?"

Gurde shook his head. "I'm all right Mum, honestly."

She smiled again. "Well, I'm not happy about it but I can't force you to do anything you don't want to do. Ben would like it if you came back though. I think he misses his big brother."

"Maybe."

"No, I'm sure he does. He's always talking about you and the things you used to get up to. It's just as well I didn't know about half of them at the time. I'd have been worried sick."

"Like what?"

"Oh, you know. Things. Anyway, think about it, will you. Your father will be perfectly all right on his own. I think he'd probably prefer it."

"You think he doesn't want me here?" Gurde asked.

"No. No, I didn't say that. I didn't say that at all. Right, I'd better get on with my packing before your father hears something. I'm not in the mood for an argument just at the moment and Margaret will be back to pick me up in about fifteen minutes. Do you think you could make me a cup of tea without disturbing him?"

"I should think so."

"Thanks."

She stepped forward and gave her son an unwelcome hug that lasted too long. She didn't seem to notice that Gurde's arms remained by his sides.

"You don't have to do this," she said finally. "I understand what you are trying to do but you don't have to."

"What's that Mum?"

"Tea, please!"

"OK."

She disappeared into the parents' bedroom. Gurde heard her open the wardrobe door and start to rummage amongst the hangers.

He knocked gently on the study door. "Dad?" he whispered. "Dad? Can you hear me? It's Matt."

"What is it?" the father replied.

"Mum's here."

"I know."

"Oh."

"Did you tell her I don't want to see her?" the father said.

"No, not yet."

"Tell her."

"Yes, Dad."

"And tell her she can't have anything in here. Nothing. She can have anything else she wants in the house. I don't care what she does. But she's taken enough from here already. You tell her that."

"OK, Dad. Do you want anything?"

"I want her out of my house before... I want her out!"

"She's going soon. Margaret's coming to pick her up in a little while."

"Margaret. Bloody woman," he muttered.

"You don't want anything?"

"I want her out."

"Yes, Dad."

Gurde made two cups of black tea and carried them upstairs. She had a suitcase open on the bed and was piling in small items of clothing by the handful.

"Did I hear you talking to your father?"

"No. I... I was just singing."

"Singing?"

"You know," Gurde said.

"Singing."

She took one of the cups from him and put it on the little table by the double bed. "Thanks. How are things then?" she asked. "I mean, really. How are things at school?"

"Same. It's only been a few days, Mum."

"Yes, I forgot. It seems longer than that. It's like a great weight has been lifted off me. I would be really happy if you would come back to Margaret's with me. Then I would have nothing more to worry about."

"I have to stay here, Mum."

"Why?"

"You wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

"No. It doesn't matter."

"Is something the matter?"

"No."

"Something's wrong, isn't it? I've noticed that you've been very tense recently. I thought it was your father and I, but that's over now."

Gurde turned the cup through his hands. "I thought you were coming back after a few days. You said..."

"Well, we'll see. Don't forget to tell your father I expect him to phone me this weekend. Tell him if he doesn't phone then... "

"Then..?"

"I need him to phone me. Tell him, won't you?"

"Yes Mum."

"Your sure you're all right here?"

"Honestly."

She picked up her cup and peered inside. "There's no milk in this tea. Has your father given you any money?... No? Has he bought any food? He hasn't, has he? What's he playing at. There'll be nothing in the house."

Gurde shrugged. "Not much."

"Jesus Christ! What's wrong with the man?! I'll give you some money in a minute. I haven't got much with me. I suppose you'll have to go shopping then?" She sighed and slammed the suitcase shut. "Right. I'll need my folders."

"Where are they?" Gurde asked.

"In the study."

"I... I'll go." he said.

He was halfway out of the door when she stopped him.

"No, it's all right. I'll pick them up next time."

"Right."

"I don't want him to know I'm here."

Gurde sipped from his cup and watched as she tried to force the clips on the suitcase.

"Had this suitcase for years.... ever since I was... " She sat down heavily on the bed and rested her forehead on the palms of her hands. "I'm packing my things. I can't believe I'm packing my things." She shook her head with determination. "Ten years since the McGurk case, since he put those poor people away, innocent people, and he knows. In his heart he knows. But he’s always refused to accept it.  Eating away at him.” She sat up. “No. No, come on," she said to herself. "Not this time." She sniffed once and reached for the cup on the table. "Off you go, Matty. I don't want you standing there watching this."

Gurde turned in the doorway to step towards her but she ushered him out and closed the door. He stood there for a few seconds, cup in hand, staring at the blank expanse of wood in front of his eyes.

Gurde sprinted out of the house. The tension inside him was enormous. The circle was closing. All the months wondering when the time would be right and now it was obvious, just as he knew it would be. The Wizard's waiting was over. Even the weather was just as he would have had wanted: cold and clear and bright, so that the echoes of the splintering Skull would ring on for hours.

"I'm coming!" Gurde called in song towards the Woodhill as soon as it came into view. "Hello? Can you hear me? I'm coming!" He started singing in time to his stride "We're all going on a summer holiday...", each breath forming a billowing cloud that rose across his face before vanishing over his ears. "...no more worries for a week or two..." He rubbed his palms together against the cold as he walked. The gloves were lying in the house but he didn't care. He wanted to feel bare flesh on the metal. "...fun and laughter..." Why was he singing that song? Why that...? Cliff! He laughed out loud. "I'm coming! Cliff, I'm on my way! It's the end."

No, too soon. He forced himself to think about something else. Don't spoil the moment by thinking ahead and building up hopes. They had been dashed before. Instead concentrate on... the parents. Trapped in the house, together. Who was the more afraid as they crept around from room to room? Their thoughts were easy to imagine. Will she come in? Will he come out? It's not my fault. I did nothing wrong. How could she? How could he? How long would they spend listening to each other's breathing before Margaret rang the bell and broke the spell. That was their problem: life for points. The Wizard knew all about life for points, which was why the Skull's fall was meant to be set in a permanent scar on the hillside. The father looked different when he was drunk. He didn't look like a lawyer. Why had Gurde been so worried about trying to save the father? The killer would probably have been doing him a favour, putting him out of his misery. But Gurde had been wrong about that. The killer always creeping in. No, keep him out too. Keep those eyes out. Keep Matt Duff out too. Nobody in. Those green eyes were in a safe place, locked away behind metal doors. The father, an important man. In the Who's Who after all. The lawyer that bad people feared, sitting in his stinking study, hiding from her like a startled rabbit under a hawk's glare.

What could she do now? Take that frightened animal under her wing? Mum and Dad. What had been one had now become two. They couldn't help it. Gurde had started it rolling, crushing its path through their lives, scattering debris all around and leaving the long scar that they would see from a distance. He had started it rolling. It was too much. His head hurt. Matt was rising. It hurt to think about what he had done... but it wasn't his fault.