Tell the Story to Its End (3 page)

She shook her head and looked away from the walls. ‘No, you're right. Silly thing. Maybe I should drink less coffee. I swear, I saw it, but … Less coffee it is.'

‘Or more?' said Mum with a smile.

‘You should lock me up in the attic, Rob,' said Bekah.

‘Best place for madwomen. And bats. Did you get your head up there, Oli?'

I looked up the stairs as I answered. ‘I was just going up when I heard Bekah shout.'

‘Ruining the boy's adventures, wife!' said Rob. She stuck her tongue out and punched him lightly on the chest.

There was a dull thud and a crash in the kitchen. Mum jumped and turned around.

‘What the—?'

‘What was
that
?' said Bekah.

‘Sounded like a window,' I said. ‘Like when a football hits one. I did that in school…'

‘Oh, yes,' said Mum slowly. ‘Several times, I remember.'

We rushed to the kitchen, looking around, but everything was quiet and still. A clock on the table ticked softly. Everything looked normal – the window, the plants outside, the sink underneath – but Bekah nodded her head towards the glass.

‘Look at that,' she said. ‘See those marks? Like oil stains on the window?'

I moved next to her and squinted in the light.

‘Feathers on the glass,' I said.

‘A bird must've whacked into the window. I bet it's still alive,' said Rob. ‘I'll go check outside and see.'

‘Flew into the window?' asked Mum, resting her hands on my shoulders. ‘How'd it do that? It's a very weird angle. I wonder what it saw?'

‘What kind of bird? It looks
massive
,' I said. I wasn't joking, either – the marks on the window were huge, the wings spread open like the flag of an old Roman soldier, stamped across the glass. Rob came back in from the garden.

‘No sign of a body,' he said. ‘Looks like it got away. I'm sure we'll get the bugger next time!'

‘Poor guy,' said Bekah.

‘You mean Rob or the bird?' asked Mum.

‘Very funny, sister,' said Rob. ‘But I'm not the one seeing bats in the mirrors.'

Mum looked between them and laughed. ‘I see we've got an interesting summer coming.'

‘The very best kind!'

‘Oh, good.'

We all fell silent. Somewhere a clock was chiming. Bekah checked her watch and leaned on the table. ‘Maybe … maybe some fresh air'd be nice. Think I'd like to get shot of this place just for a bit.'

‘Could be good,' said Mum.

‘Want to give us a hand with the shopping? I can show you around, if you like. You can check out where things are.'

‘The menfolk will stay here and guard!' said Rob.

‘Hush, dear heart. We know.'

Rob slapped my shoulder. ‘We'll make fire!' he said. ‘We'll kill mammoth.'

‘I think maybe Oli should come,' said Mum. She knelt down and touched my face, looked into my eyes. ‘It'd be good for both of us to know our way around.'

‘Mum,' I said.

‘Please, Oli.'

‘Boy's got to explore,' said Rob, but Mum hushed him with a look.
I want to be left alone
, I thought.

I thought about the loft and the dark and the cold.

‘Well, why don't we all go then?' said Bekah. ‘It'd be good to be out of the house, don't you think? You two apes can carry the bags.'

‘Heavy things!' shouted Uncle Rob, throwing his arms up high. ‘Heavy goods!'

‘I think getting out'd be best,' said Mum.

I looked across at Bekah. She was staring at the window, lost for a moment in the echoes of the feathers. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes.

‘Not really spooked, are you, pet?' asked Rob. He rubbed her shoulders with a frown.

‘Hmm? Oh, I'm fine. It's just … that bat in the glass. Gave me a fright. Nothing, really. We all off, then?'

‘Looks like,' said Rob.

I tried to smile at Mum.

A treat of a visit
, she'd said.

You liar
, I thought.

*   *   *

What did I care about shopping? We moved through the aisles, choosing fruit, squeezing bread. I stole a grape and chewed it slowly, picking seeds out of my teeth. Bekah showed Mum where things were. I kept quiet, hands in my pockets. It was all wrong, all strange. I hated the grubby floor, the food I didn't recognise. Cans stood in columns on the shelf. I thought about knocking them over, bowling them down with a big, sticky melon. Mum chatted and laughed and moved through the store.

We got all the bags back to the car. ‘Enough to feed an army,' said Uncle Rob. ‘Enough to feed one boy for one day!'

He turned the key and the engine roared. ‘Off we go!' he called out.

‘Wow, wait!' said Bekah with a gasp. A cat, black and shining, had jumped from nowhere onto the bonnet of the car, its tail held high and its shoulders hunched and quivering as it glared at us through the windscreen.

‘Ha!' I said, leaning forward and clicking my fingers. ‘Here, cat. Come on!'

‘Oh, Oli, don't,' said Mum. I ignored her.

‘What
is
going on today?' said Rob with a quick laugh. He tapped his knuckle against the glass. The cat hunched forward and opened its mouth in a lazy yawn.

‘Beep the horn,' said Bekah.

‘Here, cat, c'mon!' I whispered, sucking in my breath against my teeth, trying to make it stay. The cat pounced forwards, up over the window, landing with a tiny click on the roof.

‘Flipping thing!' said Rob, sounding the horn and revving. ‘It can jump off on its own, don't worry.'

‘Aw, you'll give it a fright!' said Bekah. Above us the cat's claws clicked as it shifted its weight.

‘Oh, I'll give
it
a fright, eh?' said Rob. He moved forward slowly and I turned in my seat to watch for the jumping cat. We were getting faster. Uncle Rob kept checking his mirrors. We all kept listening for meows. Sharp claws clicked on the roof.

‘It's not off yet,' I said. ‘Can't we stop and see?'

‘Might be best,' said Mum.

Rob frowned. ‘Fine, fine,' he said. ‘Hop out, dear nephew. Give the beast a poke.'

We stopped again. I clambered out, looking around. The roads were empty, the gardens bare.

‘Don't let it scratch!' called Mum from inside.

‘He's gone,' I said, looking around. I
swear
I'd heard him right there, right in front of me.

I walked backwards, making sure I could see. Up and down the street, nothing moved.

‘Hop back in, Oli,' said Rob. ‘Let's get off.'

A gust of wind had started to blow, stirring up bits of leaves and dust from the ground. I raised my hand to my eyes, shielding them from the churning dirt. I could see something moving up ahead.

‘What's that?' I said, pointing. The others followed my hand, peering ahead to see. Uncle Rob leaned against the steering wheel and stared.

Pages and pages of books were blowing down the street towards us, all torn and broken, fluttering and rustling along. Ten, twenty, soon too many to count, they tumbled and blew, catching on trees, sticking to the road and then getting swept up again in tiny, dying twisters. I stepped forwards. The paper danced around my feet, wrinkled against the windscreen of the car, caught on my chest. They were old, dirty, stained pages, printed and written, readable and not. I spread my arms out and laughed.

‘Oli, you nut, get in and shut the door!' called Mum. The paper was flapping and falling in the wind, moving on, pushed forward by the storm. I grabbed at a page stuck to my leg and pulled it tight, smoothing it out to read.

‘Oliver, get in, now!' said Mum. I looked at her, crumpled the paper, stuffed it in my pocket and jumped back into the car. She frowned at me and muttered under her breath.

‘A paper storm!' said Bekah. ‘What d'you think of that?'

‘A recycling bin pushed over by the wind?' asked Rob.

‘Maybe a library exploded!' I said. The pages spluttered past as we started off again.

‘Binmen not doing their job, I'd say,' said Mum.

Uncle Rob nodded as Bekah twisted in her seat. ‘What'd you get, Oli?' she asked. I smiled, pulled the page from my pocket and read from the faded yellow sheet:

… not long now. Too much sleep, that's the thing. And wasting my energy writing and blowing. Has to be more, going in and not out. In and not out - up and not down! Up, up, up, like … like … who goes up? Somebody does. I know, I know! Jack, and the beanstalk. Jill, to get water! Someone up a mountain? People always do. Truth and hope and answers, all up. Who'd go down? Under things and underworlds. Pah! Go up. Up and away, up in a sleigh! That'd be Santy. Father Christmas, he goes up. All the good 'uns do …

I stopped reading. ‘That's mental!' I said. ‘What's it from?'

‘Sounds like the ravings of a loony,' said Bekah.

‘It's handwritten,' said Mum, leaning over. ‘Probably private. A diary or something.'

‘
Go up, go up!
' I said, waving my hands about.

‘
All the good 'uns do!
' joined in Bekah. She pulled a face and kept laughing.

‘
If
you two are quite done,' said Uncle Rob. ‘Enough loons right here to keep us going. Best throw the paper away, eh, Oli?'

 

FOUR

‘What comes first? Stuff or stories about it?'

He looks at me with blank eyes. He sniffs the air and shuffles forwards.

‘Why do you ask me that, matey boy?'

‘Well … it matters. What came first.'

‘Hoo! Such a human answer. It matters. Like it matters what was here first. You rate things wrong, that's your problem.'

‘Then it doesn't matter?'

He shifts again and I'm not sure where he's gone. I turn around and try to squint through the night and the dust.

‘I'll tell you an answer, if it's answers you want,' he says, somewhere. ‘It was the stuff. The stuff, and then the stories.'

‘Stuff, like … Everything? Life?'

‘Or … maybe the stories led to the stuff. You think I know? You think I care?'

‘I—'

His voice erupts in anger and heat, shaking the air, knocking me down to the floor.

‘It doesn't concern me what led up to the stories. There's nothing outside of them now! Nothing! Nothing outside!'

Suddenly I'm angrier than I've ever been. I grind my teeth and lash out at the dark. I grab at the floorboards and pound them with my fists. ‘No! NO!' I shout. ‘We were here first! We made you! Us, people! We made you!'

And we can end you, too, I think. I want to say it, but I don't.

M
UM WAS
upstairs unpacking the last of her things. I knocked. When she saw me she smiled, bright and eager, and I realised she'd been humming under her breath. ‘Oli! How's it going?'

‘Oh, yeah, it's great here,' I said, rolling my eyes. I felt angry. She shouldn't be
pretending
so much.

‘I know it's just your gran's old house, but what a house, eh? I was happy here, way back. It was … calm. Not crowded, dirty London.'

‘It's the
countryside
, Mum.'

‘Yes!'

She started humming again. I clenched my fists. Deep breaths. One, two.

‘Mum?'

‘Yes?' she said. She was folding clothes, looking around the room. She looked so much better. Her eyes were less red.

‘Nothing. Don't worry. Nothing.'

‘Good lad. Hey, love, close that hatch to the attic, would you? Dratted thing gives me a chill. It's been open all day, and the dust alone is dreadful. I don't know what Rob was thinking.'

‘At least it's
something
interesting,' I muttered. She was watching me suddenly, chewing on her lower lip. She always did that when she was worried. She did it when she thought I'd heard her fighting with Dad again.

‘What your Uncle Rob said about seeing London … you know that's silly, don't you?' she said.

‘What? Of course.' I couldn't believe she thought I was so dumb.

She'd moved her eyes to the floor now, suddenly looking at something else, somewhere far away.

‘It's … Mum, this place is boring,' I said at last. ‘Maybe up there there's—'

‘Oh, forget the loft, Oli!' she said, shaking her head. ‘Forget that. And London. London isn't
here
. You need to live
here
.'

‘I
know
!'

‘Don't interrupt. You don't understand. Things are—' She stopped again and looked at me, a strange half-smile frozen on her face. She touched my cheek. I glared at her. ‘We live here, for now, OK?' she said. ‘London's … far away.'

Far away?
Far
away?
Only because she'd dragged me here. Only because of her. I stepped back. One, two. I looked at the floor.