Part 20 (1/2)
”You've done a good job, Paul.”
John noticed the way his son's eyes flicked up suspiciously into his, probably wondering if this was a subtle build up to another ear-bas.h.i.+ng.
”Got any plans for today, Paul?”
”Why?”
Again, suspicion.
”I wondered if you fancied lighting the barbecue for me later?”
”I'm going with Mum to the library first. Some books need to go back.”
”There's no rush. Don't worry.”
Paul twisted the water from the wash leather like he was ringing an enemy's neck.
”Paul. I apologize for snapping at you like that a few minutes ago. I didn't mean it.”
”Then why do it?”
”Call it first chapter blues. I've just started on a new booka it gets me all tense and on edge, which I know is a rotten excusea so if you want to tip that bucket of water over my head be my guest.”
It broke the ice. Paul smiled. ”All right, Dad. No worries.”
”See, even we saints get bad tempered sometimes.”
”Some saint. Oh, Dad?”
”Yep?”
”OK, if I have my allowance before I go into town?”
John felt a grin steal onto his own face. ”You'll go far, Paul, won't you, son?”
”Just a chip off the old block, Dad. Now what was that about a bucket of water and your head?”
”I'll get my wallet.” John made for the house.
4.
Stan Price knew what he must do. As he stood looking out of the window he experienced one of those all too rare moments of lucidity. There, in the sunlight, the ma.s.s of trees that crowned the old Necropolis on the hill moved in the breeze. For a while it looked as if the whole cemetery was breathing-some colossal beast that inhaled, exhaled, then shook itself as a stronger breeze ran through the branches.
”Telephone Dianne Kelly. She's the only one left who knows what to doa she's the only one left.” Murmuring the same words over to himself, he crossed the bedroom to the door. As he did so he happened to glance into the mirror. ”Oh, dear Lord, that's you, Stan. You're olda you're old.” Stan couldn't take his eyes from the reflection. The neck appeared too thin to support the head. The fingers looked like bird's claws, mere talons of hands with precious little flesh. ”Oh dear, Stan. What happened to you?” He looked to the window. ”Harry.” His voice croaked. ”Harry. Where are you?”
Harry's dead, he told himself. He died years ago. Only you're too far gone to remember.
But he did remember now. He remembered Ezy View, his chain of TV stores. He remembered Cynthia and Robert's move into his house- they weren't invited, he remembered that. But then he'd become so forgetfula he'd cook breakfast at midnighta he'd walk miles to one of his storesa but it wasn't an Ezy View TV rental store any more. He remembered his confusion standing there at the dead of night, key in his hand, looking at the Chinese Restaurant and wondering why the new color TVs weren't displayed in the window. More flashes of memory came to him. Walking through the village in his pajamas. Wetting the bed. Always hungry. Yes, always hungry these daysa Robert Gregorya color TVs by the scorea He clenched his fists. There was an oily quality to his mind now. All too easily it slipped away into a dream world. Then he believed he was ten years old again. A ten-year-old who didn't know why his best friend didn't call for him anymore. Oha the times they'd caught fish in the Ebeck. Roach. Perch. Once a ma.s.sive pike that had been the size of a whale. They'd fought the monster untila His mind began to slide again. No, he couldn't let go yet. ”Dianne Kelly. Phone her. She's the only one left.”
He went downstairs to the telephone in the hall. There was his telephone book. Nine tenths of the people listed there were dead now. But not Dianne Kelly. No, sir. He was sure she was still alive. Made of tough stuffa Willing his fingers to move, he flicked through he pages.
From the living room came the sound of the television. Robert Gregory and Cynthia were watching comedy. He heard bursts of canned laughter, then a deep voice made some comment about the show. Robert Gregory was master of the house now.
Didn't Robert once slap Stan? Images flickered in his mind. Slaps across the side of the head where the marks wouldn't show. When he asked Robert for food. Many, many slaps.
Kelly, Dianne. Therea the telephone number. With an effort he held onto a splinter of rationality. He knew what he had to do. He must telephone Dianne Kelly then tell her the letters had started again. She was there the first time. Only fourteen years old, though. But her mind was clear as gla.s.s. She'd know what to do. She was their only hopea Yes, yesa his heart beat faster. The telephone was ringing. Suddenly he felt younger, his veins tingled. He hadn't spoken to Dianne in years.
”h.e.l.lo,” came the familiar voice in his ear. She sounded so bright. You wouldn't have guessed she was in her eighties.
”h.e.l.lo?” she said again.
”Dianne. This is Stan Price. Dianne, listen, the-” Suddenly he realized he was hearing the dialing tone. Puzzled he went to re-dial. Then he saw a finger resting on the cradle. His eyes went from the finger to the face beside his.
”Now, Dad. What are you playing with the telephone for?”
Robert's face loomed forward. The eyes bulged into his. Stan saw his own face reflected in the man's pupils.
”I was calling a friend.”
”You don't have friends any more. They're all dead.”
”I need to speak to Dianne.”
”Don't you realize, you stupid old man? Everyone you knew died f.u.c.king years ago.”
Robert's hand closed around Stan's elbow in a crus.h.i.+ng grip. ”Now, Dad. Get up those stairs before I lose my temper with you.”
”Dad? Did you want anything?”
Robert released his cruel grip when Cynthia appeared. ”I caught him messing around with the telephone.”
”Dad, you know you're not allowed to touch it,” she scolded affectionately. ”Now come through into the kitchen. I'll pour you a gla.s.s of milk.”
”Don't give him anything else to eat,” Robert said quickly. ”He ate a huge breakfast. He'll make himself ill if he keeps stuffing himself.”
”I need to telephone Dianne Kelly.”
”Yes, Dad, plenty of time for that later. Come on, we'll get you a nice drink.”