Not part of the Jack and Danny Universe: A story in two parts.
MOVING ON: Part One.
The dreams returned the night after the visit to the car boot sale. I woke up with a start, sweat dampening my brow, t-shirt clinging to my body. I could still hear the voice from my dream, a whisper that seemed to rush from my mind and reverberate accusingly around the room.
I lay for a moment fighting back the sense of panic and unease, then got up and headed downstairs, much to Bobs delight. He didn't often get company at this inauspicious hour. He rose arthritically from his basket and tottered towards me to be petted. I leaned down and scratched him gently behind the ear. He gave a rusty purr of appreciation and I scooped him up, rubbing my cheek against his craggy old face for a moment.
"How about you and I have a little nightcap together Bob?"
His cloudy orange eyes gazed at me approvingly and I gave a small laugh and set him down. Going to the fridge I got out the milk and poured some into a bowl for him, reasoning that at his age, he was entitled to have a treat once in a while. He fell on the forbidden fruit greedily. I helped myself to a large measure of brandy, downing it in one. Just as I refilled the glass, Bob alerted me to the fact that our party had been gate crashed. He let out a small mew of pleasure as his favourite human being made an appearance in the kitchen. I didn't echo the sentiment, especially not when said human removed the glass from my hand and tipped the contents down the sink. I gave a cry of indignation and protest. "I hadn't finished with that!"
He re-corked the brandy bottle and put it away. "If you're having trouble sleeping, the last thing you need is alcohol, it's a stimulant."
"Not if you drink enough it isn't!" I glowered at him resentfully. He ignored both the comment and the look. Grabbing my hand he dragged me out of the kitchen, switching off the light and saying calmly, "if that cat's sick because of the milk you gave him, you're cleaning it up."
He stroked my hair as we lay in bed. "What's come over you today? You were full of the joys of spring this morning, persuading me to go out with you to that wretched car boot thing, and then suddenly you're snapping and snarling and being a complete pain in the neck. What's wrong?"
I turned on my side away from him. "Nothing! I just fancied a little drink and you act like an outraged Salvationist."
He let out a psychoanalytical sigh. "Listen sweetheart, when you get out of bed at two in the morning to get a brandy, then that tells me that something is bothering you. Either you tell me what it is, or I assume you're not getting enough rest and start sending you to bed straight after dinner each evening."
"Huh," I gave a disparaging grunt, "I won't go."
He leaned over and kissed my cheek, "oh, believe me Andrew, you'll go, and if I catch you near that brandy bottle again, you'll regret it. I've told you before, alcohol isn't a problem solver."
No, I thought sourly, but it's a bloody good listener and it doesn't nag. I kept the thought internalised.
A few days later, turning the car into the road, on my way home from work, a ray of spring sunshine hit the chrome bumper of a passing car, momentarily dazzling me. I closed my eyes for a split second against the glare and when I opened them she was there, standing by the side of the road, waiting.
"Andrew!" Thomas came into the hall, his homely features shaping themselves into a frown as I slammed the door behind me and hurled my briefcase aside. "I take it you've had a bad day at work, but is that any reason..."
I didn't give him chance to finish his sermon on the morality of door slamming and case hurling. "Give it a rest Thomas, for Christ's sake. I pay half the _f_u_c_k_ing mortgage, I'm entitled to slam a door when I feel like it! In fact," I opened the front door and slammed it shut again, "I'm entitled to slam it as many times as I like!" His frown deepened and he took a step towards me. I flew up the stairs and locked myself in the bathroom. Turning the taps on I ignored his request that I should open the door and tell him just what the heck was going on.
"Open this door immediately Andrew!"
I turned the taps off, leaning my hot forehead against the cool grained wood. "Leave me alone Thomas...please. I'm truly sorry I swore and slammed the door, I didn't mean to take my mood out on you. I've got a headache...I had a pig of a meeting at work today. I just want to have a quiet bath."
His voice softened, "take a couple of aspirin, there's some in the bathroom cabinet. I'll make a start on dinner, don't stay in there too long, okay?"
"Okay," I managed to prevent the tears that were running down my face from sounding an echo in my voice. Leaning against the door, I slid down to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees. Closing my eyes, I began rocking slowly back and forth.
Mile upon mile they stretched out ahead of us, a great carpet of flowers, blue flowers reflecting the colour of the sky. It was like a painting, the whole scene was a painting. The blue wash of the sky, the brown barked trees with their fresh green leaves, the cast of gold shed by the sun, and there, beneath the trees, the bluebells. A Monet painting, that's what she said, we're inside a Monet painting.
"Andrew!"
I jumped as Thomas knocked sharply on the door. From the tone of his voice, it wasn't the first time he'd called me. "Coming." I scrambled to my feet and pulled the plug in the bath, watching the unused water flow away. Changing quickly out of my clothes I splashed water on my face and pulled on my bath robe before opening the door.
His verdant eyes surveyed me searchingly. "About time, I was beginning to fear that you'd drowned." He followed me into the bedroom. "Dinner's ready, don't bother getting changed, you can eat like that. The pasta will spoil if you dawdle much longer."
I felt a flash of irritation. "I'm not hungry. I'm going to get dressed and go out for a walk."
"You can get dressed and go out after you've eaten. I don't expect for a moment you had anything at lunch time. Hunger always makes you snappy."
Slipping the robe off, I walked across to the chest of drawers to get out fresh underwear and socks. My hands were trembling slightly as I fumbled among the chaotic mess looking for a pair of socks that matched. My fingers brushed a small object usually concealed at the very back of the drawer. I stared at it, my stomach tightening.
"Did you hear what I said Andrew?"
I whirled round and glared at him furiously, "Of course I heard what you said. I'm not deaf am I? It seems to me that you're the one with the hearing problem. I told you, I'm not hungry, I'm going out." Turning back, I savagely rammed the drawer home.
"Would you care to tell me what this childish paddy is in aid of?"
"No." I pulled on my boxers and sat on the bed to put on a pair of odd socks. Thomas moved across to the window and began to pull the heavy curtains closed, blocking out the evening light. "What are you doing?" I paused in my sock pulling to scowl at him, I had a fair inkling of what he was doing, but still felt compelled to ask.
"Drawing the curtains," he said, stating the obvious, in that infuriatingly calm way of his.
"Why?" I snapped.
"Because you haven't been sleeping well lately, and consequently you're behaving like an over tired toddler. It seems to me that you'd benefit from an early night. I'll bring you something to eat, then you can settle down." He briefly ruffled my hair, then walked out of the room, leaving me fuming.
As soon as he was out of sight, I defiantly flung the curtains open and dragged on Jeans and a heavy knit jumper. It might well be spring, but as yet the sun still carried a hint of winter's breath in its caress.
We met on the stairs, me halfway down, him halfway up carrying a tray. He played the Grand old Duke Of York to my man at arms, marching me straight back up to the top of the hill. Well, not so much marching as forcing me to back up, as he had no intention of halting his intended journey and I couldn't get past him on the stairs.
Like the stairs, the upper landing was narrow and he positioned himself dead centre, elbows out, so I couldn't squeeze past him, not without upsetting the contents of the tray. I was pushed back faster than the British Expeditionary Force to Dunkirk, though unlike those brave souls, I had no opportunity to turn defeat into a glorious triumph of the human spirit over adversity. Using his right heel he closed the bedroom door behind him and swiftly set the tray down on a chair. I was, metaphorically, stranded, with the enemy to the fore and the unfriendly sea to the rear and not a rescue craft in sight.
"Get ready for bed Andrew."
I shook my head, I wasn't giving in without a fight. Forcing back a pout, I tried to make my voice sound reasonable and steady, like the adult I was, and not the seven year old child I was beginning to feel like. "I'm not going to bed Thomas, I'm not tired, I'm not hungry, and I want some fresh air, is that asking too much?"
"No," he gave an eloquent shrug. "Fresh air is no problem at all. Open a window, you can have all the fresh air you need. Close the curtains while you're over there."
"No." I folded my arms and stared at him stubbornly. We faced each other off for a few moments, then without taking his eyes from my face, he moved across to his bedside table. Pulling open the drawer, he brought forth a certain beastly little bat and laid it on the bed. "As you know Andrew, I'm a fair man," he gave a cool smile. "I'll give you a choice: bed without further ado, or a paddling, then bed."
"Fine," I fought back tears as I dragged my jumper over my head and flung it on the floor. "In other words no choice at all. You always get your way don't you? You're just a bully and a _d_a_m_n_ dictator!"
"Sticks and stones Andrew, sticks and stones." He calmly set about picking up my clothes from the four corners of the room where I'd flung them, neatly folding them and putting them away. "The end justifies the means. You can call me as many names as you like, as long as you wake up in a better mood tomorrow. Eat your pasta before it goes completely cold, I'll be up presently to get the tray."
He placed the paddle on top of his bedside cabinet where I could see it. "Just to remind you that the sting is in the tail," he wagged his index finger jovially, "or at least it will be, in yours that is, if you attempt to get up and go out."
I pulled a face and stuck a hearty two fingers up at Mr Proverb man as he exited the room. "Bossy, impossible, overbearing..." I gave up muttering and opened the drawer of my bedside table, tipping the tagliatelle inside and closing it again. I shoved the empty plate back on the tray and leaned my head back against the headboard.
"See, you were hungry." Thomas smiled when he came back up for the tray and saw the empty plate. I felt a momentary spasm of guilt at deceiving him. He compounded the feeling by balancing the tray on his left hip in order to free his right hand to pat my face. "You'll feel even better after a rest." He struggled heroically for a second, his untidy brows bristling slightly with the effort, but gave in to temptation, quoting another of his beloved proverbs. "One hour's sleep before midnight is worth two after."
"The darkest hour is before the dawn," I countered, sarcastically, "and there will be sleeping enough in the grave."
"Much more cheek from you young man and we'll be putting that last one into practice." He peered at me over the top of his half moon glasses, the effect was endearing rather than intimidating, "try to sleep."
The last thing in the world I wanted to do was sleep. Even without closing my eyes, I could see the dolls house standing on that makeshift stall. It was the same, the very same. I knew exactly what it would look like if I removed the little metal hook from the eye and allowed the front of the house to swing open, revealing the rooms inside. My skin prickled as I tried desperately to blink the vision away.
Getting quickly out of bed, I wandered across to the window, pulling aside the drapes to stare outside. I watched as the evening paper boy cycled down the opposite side of the street, pedalling for all he was worth. The lowering sun caught the whirling spokes; flashing spears of silver. I blinked, then felt my heart leap violently in my chest as she appeared again, standing on the edge of the curb, waiting...waiting...arms wrapped tight about her thin body. "Jesus!" I stepped hurriedly back from the window before she could glance up and fix me with accusing eyes.
"What on earth are you doing in here Andrew?"
"Picking _f_u_c_k_ing daisies what does it look like?" I uncorked the bottle, grabbing a glass from the drainer I poured out a generous measure, gulping it down, spluttering and coughing as the strong liquid burned a path from mouth to stomach, undeterred I slopped more into the glass. I had every intention of getting very drunk. Thomas had other intentions.
"ANDREW!"
He raised his voice, a rare occurrence that in other circumstances would have scared the hell out of me. Right now, other things were scaring me. I gulped at the contents of the glass again, almost gagging.
He strode quickly towards me. "Give me that glass Andrew, do you hear me?"
I smirked at him. The brandy, taken on an empty stomach, was already having an effect. "Know what Tom, you've missed your vocation. You should have been a _f_u_c_k_ing ear specialist instead of an Optician, cos you're obsessed with whether or not I can hear you." I pointed to my mouth, "read my lips Thomas...Bog off and mind your own business."
"Put the glass down Andrew, you've got exactly three seconds to do as you're told."
"Whatever you say Tom," I drained the glass and flung it across the room; it shattered against the wall. "Hey, how about that, the glass is down and I've still got half a second to spare. Who needs a glass anyway." I made to push past him, still holding the bottle.
I suddenly found myself nose to nose with Bob, who, sitting under the kitchen chair that Thomas was sitting on, looked as astonished as I felt. "Owww!!" I let out a yell as Thomas brought his hand down hard on my bottom. Bob fled. I wish I could have joined him, but I sensed that I was going nowhere for a while yet. Thomas wasted no words, he simply concentrated on spanking. My sleep shorts offered little in the way of protection. All the same, I mourned their loss deeply as they were tugged down to my knees, exposing my buttocks to the full scope of his punishing hand. I was almost in tears, when he stopped and began rubbing my sore behind soothingly. Seeing as he was the one that had made it sore in the first place, I didn't really appreciate the gesture.
"Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"
"Not being able to have a drink when I want one and the pain in my bum." I said facetiously, which was a mistake considering my vulnerable position; bare backside at three o clock high.
"You don't need the first," he said sternly, "and you earned the second. I don't like to see you in these unbecoming moods Andrew. I wish you'd tell me what was troubling you, instead of bottling things up. You leave me no alternative." His hand left my backside and pulled open the drawer on the pine table.
_s_h_i_t_. I knew what was kept in that drawer and I hurriedly tried to lever myself off his knee. "Let me up you bastard!" I let out a shriek as he whacked the wooden spatula across my already inflamed cheeks. Perhaps I should have asked more politely? "Oh God! Please Thomas..." I cried out again as the spatula contacted my bottom, the _d_a_m_n_ thing hurt just as much, if not more than the paddle.
"I hate you Thomas! You do know that don't you?" I spoke thickly, my voice roughened with my recent crying.
"If you say so baby." There was a slight rustle as he turned the page of the book he'd been reading for the past hour. "I'm pleased you're speaking to me again."
"What are you reading?"
"Justinian, The Digest Of Roman Law."
"Sounds like real laugh an hour stuff."
"It's fascinating actually. Do you want me to read some to you?"
"No, I don't want anything from you. I loathe and despise you."
"Saying is one thing, doing another."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He gave a low rumble of laughter, "what it means, my darling, is that you don't mean what you're saying."
"I do, I really hate you."
"Love me little, love me long."
"I don't love you at all."
The mattress rose a little as he got up. I glanced over my shoulder. "Where are you going?"
He took his glasses off and laid them aside, "does it matter if you despise me so much?"
"Yes, I like to have you close by while I'm hating you."
"Now you're calmer, I'm going to sweep up the mess you made in the kitchen, let Bob out for his evening constitutional and do a little work. I'll be back up before you know it, then you can despise me to your hearts content."
He winced slightly and I felt a spasm of guilt. "Is your foot badly cut?"
"I'll live," he said dryly, "but I'd prefer you not to break glass all over the kitchen in future." He bent to kiss me, "go to sleep."
I lay awake, fighting Hypnos every inch of the way. If only I hadn't insisted we go to that _d_a_m_n_ed sale. I'd wanted a change, a break from the usual ritual and routine of Sunday mornings. The moment I'd set eyes on the dolls house it was as if someone had jerked aside a heavy curtain in my mind.
I was still awake when Thomas came back up, still awake long after he'd succumbed to sleep. Hypnos eventually outfoxed me and won the battle, my eyes closed and Morpheus took over from his father.
I could almost smell the flowers, the cool, earthy scent of bluebells on a May breeze. The scene opened up before me. I watched my child self, laughing, shouting, a typical eleven year old boy, crushing the delicate blooms beneath my feet as I ran and played among the trees. Not her though, she picked her way slowly, delicately through the blue green sea of flowers and grass, sitting silently beneath a tree.
"The trees are whispering, can you hear them?" She spoke to me as I flopped down beside her for a rest, "they're telling secrets. Listen Andy," she put a finger to her lips, "listen and you'll hear a secret."
"You're mad Issy," I teased her, "it's just the wind rustling through the leaves."
"Look," she held out her hand, in it was a tiny doll, her counterpart from the dolls house. "She likes it here Andy, she told me, she wants to stay here forever."
"Well, she can't, we're going home tomorrow."
She gazed at me. "Did you know that you mustn't pick the bluebells, that if you take them away from the trees they love, they'll fade and die." She paused, then whispered, "I'll die if I leave here, I'll die."
I laughed at her, "you're weird Issy, really weird, of course you won't die."
The dream shifted in that sudden way dreams do. The front of the dolls house swung open revealing the rooms within. The sitting room, the kitchen, the tiny flight of stairs, the bathroom, the bedrooms. All so neat, so clean, and the dolls, those _d_a_m_n_ dolls. I was shouting, angry. "Why do you do that Issy, why? You drive me mad! Anyway, you're too old to be playing with dolls now. Why don't you go out, make friends, get a life?"
Secrets...secrets...secrets... Whispers, leaking out of the walls, echoing from room to room, invading my mind. I sat up with a gasp, wiping away the sweat that was trickling down my face. I was shaking. I forced myself to breathe deeply, focussing on the soothing, steady rhythm of Thomas' breathing as he lay beside me.
She always came, always. Just when it seemed I'd forgotten, she came back, forcing me to move on and away from anything that made me remotely happy. Only this time, for the first time, I didn't want to move on. I wanted to stay with Thomas, and that's why I had to go. I didn't deserve to be happy, and he'd hate me anyway, if he knew, he'd hate me, just as I hated myself, just as Issy hated me because...
Because...because...because...The word echoed madly around my head. I had to get away, she was closing in on me. I had to move on, away from her, away from the past. I got up and dressed, wincing as I pulled jeans up over my still tender rump, moving quietly around the room stuffing things into a holdall. I stood for a few moments, looking down at his sleeping form, drinking in the plain, kind features that I had grown to love so much.
"Look after him Bob," I crouched down to stroke the cat's soft marmalade coat. He mewed and followed me to the door, looking at me askance as I gently pushed him back when he tried to step outside with me.
I was crying as I drove away in the dim light of early dawn. If this didn't appease her, nothing would. I felt as if I'd given up my soul. Surely she could ask no more of me.
end of part one. .