A Monster Calls (10 page)

“He wants you to kick his arse,” Anton said.

“Is that right?” Harry asked, seeming genuinely curious. “Is that really what you want?”

Conor said nothing, just stood there, fists clenched.

Waiting.

And then the bell went, ringing loudly, and Miss Kwan began to cross the yard at that moment, too, talking to another teacher, but eyeing the pupils around her, keeping a close watch in particular on Conor and Harry.

“I guess we’ll never find out,” Harry said, “what it is O’Malley wants.”

Anton and Sully laughed, though it was clear they didn’t get the joke, and all three started to make their way back inside.

But Harry watched Conor as they left, never looking away from him.

As he left Conor standing there alone.

Like he was completely invisible to the rest of the world.

“Hey there, darling,” his mum said, pushing herself up a bit in her bed as Conor came through the door.

He could see how much she struggled to do it.

“I’ll just be out here,” his grandma said, getting up from her seat and walking past without looking at him.

“I’m going to grab something from the vending machine, sport,” his father said from the doorway. “Do you want anything?”

“I want you to stop calling me
sport
,” Conor said, not taking his eyes off his mother.

Who laughed.

“Back in a bit,” his father said, and left him alone with her.

“Come here,” she said, patting the bed beside her. He went over and sat down next to her, taking care not to disturb either the tube they had stuck in her arm or the tube sending air down her nostrils or the tube he knew occasionally got taped to her chest, when the bright orange chemicals were pumped into her at her treatments.

“How’s my Conor then?” she asked, reaching up a thin hand to brush his hair. He could see a yellow stain on her arm around where the tube went in and little purple bruises all the way along the inside of her elbow.

But she was smiling. It was tired, it was exhausted, but it was a smile.

“I know I must look a fright,” she said.

“No, you don’t,” Conor said.

She brushed his hair again with her fingers. “I think I can forgive a kind lie.”

“Are you okay?” Conor asked, and even though the question was in one sense completely ridiculous, she knew what he meant.

“Well, sweetheart,” she said, “a couple of different things they’ve tried haven’t worked like they wanted them to. And they’ve
not
worked a lot sooner than they were hoping they wouldn’t. If that makes any sense.”

Conor shook his head.

“No, not to me either, really,” she said. He saw her smile get tighter, harder for her to hold. She took in a deep breath, and it ratcheted slightly as it went in, like there was something heavy in her chest.

“Things are going a little faster than I’d hoped, sweetheart,” she said, and her voice was thick, thick in a way that made Conor’s stomach twist even harder. He was suddenly glad he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“
But
,” his mum said, voice still thick but smiling again. “There’s one more thing they’re going to try, a medicine that’s had some good results.”

“Why didn’t they try it before?” Conor asked.

“Remember all my treatments?” she said. “Losing my hair and all that throwing up?”

“Of course.”

“Well, this is something you take when that hasn’t worked how they wanted it to,” she said. “It was always a possibility, but they were hoping not to have to use it at all.” She looked down. “And they were hoping not to have to use it this soon.”

“Does that mean it’s too late?” Conor asked, setting the words free before he even knew what he was saying.

“No, Conor,” she answered him, quickly. “Don’t think that. It’s not too late. It’s never too late.”

“Are you sure?”

She smiled again. “I believe every word I say,” she said, her voice a little stronger.

Conor remembered what the monster had said.
Belief is half of healing
.

He still felt like he wasn’t breathing, but the tension started to ebb a little, letting go of his stomach. His mum saw him relax a bit, and she started rubbing the skin on his arm.

“And here’s something really interesting,” she said, her voice sounding a bit more chipper. “You remember that tree on the hill behind our house?”

Conor’s eyes went wide.

“Well, if you can believe it,” his mum continued, not noticing, “this drug is actually
made
from yew trees.”

“Yew trees?” Conor asked, his voice quiet.

“Yeah,” his mum said. “I read about it way back, when this all started.” She coughed into her hand, then coughed again. “I mean, I hoped it would never get this far, but it just seemed incredible that all that time we could see a yew tree from our own house. And that very tree could be the thing that healed me.”

Conor’s mind was whirling, so fast it almost made him dizzy.

“The green things of this world are just wondrous, aren’t they?” his mother went on. “We work so hard to get rid of them when sometimes they’re the very thing that saves us.”

“Is it going to save
you
?” Conor asked, barely able to even say it.

His mum smiled again. “I hope so,” she said. “I believe so.”

Conor went out into the hospital corridor, his thoughts racing. Medicine made from yew trees. Medicine that could properly heal. Medicine just like the Apothecary refused to make for the parson. Though, to be honest, Conor was still a little unclear about why it was the parson’s house that got knocked down.

Unless.

Unless the monster
was
here for a reason. Unless it had come walking to heal Conor’s mother.

He hardly dared hope. He hardly dared
think
it.

No.

No, of course not. It couldn’t be true, he was being stupid. The monster was a dream. That’s all it was, a
dream
.

But the leaves. And the berries. And the sapling growing in the floor. And the destruction of his grandma’s sitting room.

Conor felt suddenly light, like he was somehow starting to
float
in the air.

Could it be? Could it really be?

He heard voices and looked down the corridor. His dad and his grandma were fighting.

– • –

He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but his grandma was pretty ferociously jabbing her finger towards his dad’s chest. “Well, what do you want me to
do
?” his father said, loud enough to attract the attention of people passing in the corridor. Conor couldn’t hear his grandma’s response, but she came storming back down the corridor past Conor, still not looking at him as she went into his mother’s room.

His father walked up shortly after, his shoulders slumped.

“What’s going on?” Conor asked.

“Ah, your grandma’s mad at me,” his dad said, giving a quick smile. “Nothing new there.”

“Why?”

His father made a face. “I’ve got some bad news, Conor,” he said. “I have to fly back home tonight.”

“Tonight?” Conor asked. “
Why
?”

“The baby’s sick.”

“Oh,” Conor said. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Probably nothing serious, but Stephanie’s gone a bit crazy and taken her to the hospital and wants me to come back right now.”

“And you’re going?”

“I am but I’m coming back,” his father said. “On Sunday after next, so it’s not even two weeks. They’ve given me more time off work to come back and see you.”

“Two weeks,” Conor said, almost to himself. “But that’s okay, though. Mum’s on this new medicine, which is going to make her better. So by the time you get back–”

He stopped when he saw his father’s face.

“Why don’t we go for a walk, son?” his father asked.

There was a small park across from the hospital with paths among the trees. As Conor and his father walked through it towards an empty bench, they kept passing patients in hospital gowns, walking with their families or out on their own sneaking cigarettes. It made the park feel like an outdoor hospital room. Or a place where ghosts went to have a break.

“This is a talk, isn’t it?” Conor said, as they sat down. “Everybody always wants to
have a talk
lately.”

“Conor,” his father said. “This new medicine your mum’s taking–”

“It’s going to make her well,” Conor said, firmly.

His father paused for a moment. “No, Conor,” he said. “It probably isn’t.”

“Yes, it is,” Conor insisted.

“It’s a last ditch effort, son. I’m sorry, but things have moved too fast.”

“It’ll heal her. I know it will.”

“Conor,” his father said. “The other reason your grandma was mad at me was because she doesn’t think me or your mum have been honest enough with you. About what’s really happening.”

“What does Grandma know about it?”

Conor’s father put a hand on his shoulder. “Conor, your mum–”

“She’s going to be okay,” Conor said, shaking it off and standing up. “This new medicine is the secret. It’s the whole reason why. I’m telling you, I know.”

His father looked confused. “Reason for what?”

“So you just go back to America,” Conor carried on, “and go back to your other family and we’ll be fine here without you. Because this is going to work.”

“Conor, no–”

“Yes, it
is
. It’s going to work.”

“Son,” his father said, leaning forward. “Stories don’t always have happy endings.”

This stopped him. Because they didn’t, did they? That’s one thing the monster had definitely taught him. Stories were wild, wild animals and went off in directions you couldn’t expect.

His father was shaking his head. “This is too much to ask of you. It is, I know it is. It’s unfair and cruel and not how things should be.”

Conor didn’t answer.

“I’ll be back a week on Sunday,” his father said. “Just keep that in mind, okay?”

Conor blinked up into the sun. It really had been an incredibly warm October, like the summer was still fighting to stick around.

“How long will you stay?” Conor finally asked.

“For as long as I can.”

“And then you’ll go back.”

“I have to. I’ve got–”

“Another family there,” Conor finished.

His father tried to reach out a hand again, but Conor was already heading back towards the hospital.

Because no, it
would
work, it
would
, that was the whole reason the monster had come walking. It
had
to be. If the monster was real at all then that
had
to be the reason.

Conor looked at the clock on the front of the hospital as he went back inside.

Eight more hours until 12.07.

“Can you heal her?” Conor asked.

The yew is a healing tree
, the monster said.
It is the form I choose most to walk in.

Conor frowned. “That’s not really an answer.”

The monster just gave him that evil grin.

Conor’s grandma had driven him back to her house when his mum had fallen asleep after not eating her dinner. His grandma still hadn’t spoken to him about the destruction of her sitting room. She’d barely spoken to him
at all
.

“I’m going back,” she said, as he got out of the car. “Fix yourself something to eat. I know you can at least do that.”

“Do you think Dad’s at the airport by now?” Conor asked.

All his grandma did in response was sigh impatiently. He shut the door and she drove away. After he’d gone inside, the clock – the cheap, battery-operated one in the kitchen, which was all they had now – had crept towards midnight without her returning or calling. He thought about calling her himself, but she’d already yelled at him once when her ringtone had woken up his mum.

It didn’t matter. In fact, it made it easier. He hadn’t had to pretend to go to bed. He’d waited until the clock read 12.07. Then he went outside and said, “Where are you?”

And the monster said,
I am here
and stepped over his grandma’s office shed in one easy motion.

“Can you
heal
her?” Conor asked again, more firmly.

The monster looked down at him.
It is not up to me.

“Why not?” Conor asked. “You tear down houses and rescue witches. You say every bit of you can heal if only people would use it.”

If your mother can be healed
, the monster said,
then the yew tree will do it.

Conor crossed his arms. “Is that a yes?”

Then the monster did something it hadn’t done until now.

It sat down.

It placed its entire great weight on top of his grandma’s office. Conor could hear the wood groan and saw the roof sag. His heart leapt in his throat. If he destroyed her office, too, there’s no telling what she’d do to him. Probably ship him off to prison. Or worse, boarding school.

You still do not know why you called me, do you?
the monster asked.
You still do not know why I have come walking. It is not as if I do this every day, Conor O’Malley.

“I didn’t call you,” Conor said. “Unless it was in a dream or something. And even if I did, it was obviously for my mum.”

Was it?

“Well, why else?” Conor said, his voice rising. “It wasn’t just to hear terrible stories that make no sense.”

Are you forgetting your grandmother’s sitting room?

Conor couldn’t quite suppress a small smile.

As I thought
, said the monster.

“I’m being serious,” Conor said.

So am I. But we are not yet ready for the third and final story. That will be soon. And after that you will tell me
your
story, Conor O’Malley. You will tell me your truth.
The monster leaned forward.
And you know of what I speak.

The mist surrounded them again suddenly and his grandma’s garden faded away. The world changed to grey and emptiness, and Conor knew exactly where he was, exactly what the world had changed into.

He was inside the nightmare.

– • –

This is what it felt like, this is what it
looked
like, the edges of the world crumbling away and Conor holding on to her hands, feeling them slip from his grasp, feeling her
fall
–