Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller (15 page)

‘Is
that everything?’ asked Gracie, turning the radio down as Max entered the room
carrying a small suitcase. ‘Are you sure you haven’t left any dirty underpants
lying around?’

‘Aunt Gracie!’ Max
said, his face flaring up with embarrassment. ‘Of course I haven’t. I’ve even
made the bed.’

‘Well, aren’t you a
good boy?’ she said, winking at him. ‘Whoever heard of a twelve year old boy
who doesn’t leave a mess? I think that deserves a hug, don’t you?’

‘What about a cookie? I
opened the curtains and remembered to turn the light off as well.’

‘Don’t push your luck,
young man’ Gracie said, smiling as she wandered into the kitchen to fetch the
biscuit jar. When Sarah had called her from King’s Cross station to say they’d
be collecting Sam within the hour, Gracie’s initial reaction had been one of
disappointment. Not because she was lonely – her regular visitors and clients
made sure of that – but because she had genuinely enjoyed having Max stay with
her, even if it had only been for a couple of days. It was good to have
somebody to fuss over: having spent the majority of her working life caring for
other people’s children, she often missed the feeling of having people depend
on her; whether that was cooking for them, or changing their nappies, or merely
giving them a hug and making them feel safe and loved. Besides, Max hadn’t been
any bother; most of the time he’d kept himself to himself, only showing his
face at mealtimes or to say goodnight, but that was good enough for Gracie.
She’d never had any children of her own – she hadn’t been able to on account of
what doctors had said were her undeveloped ovaries – but instead of bemoaning
her misfortune and turning bitter about it, she’d devoted herself  to doing the
best job she could for the thousands of children who’d passed through the
nursery where she had worked. In a way, Max was the final link to that happy
time, which in her eyes made him all the more important. In another two or
three years’ time, he would no longer need her to babysit him after school;
he’d be old enough to take care of himself. She rarely allowed her mind to
dwell on that inevitable day, but when she did - when she was sitting alone by
the fire at night and having one of her more introspective moments - she
couldn’t help but feel sad and lonely and redundant. As her old friend Elsie
was fond of saying:
you come into this world alone, and you go out of this
world alone, but it’s what you do in between that really matters.
And
whatever happened, one thing was certain: Gracie had lived a full and rewarding
life, and it wasn’t over yet. Fortunately for her, when that day of reckoning
did eventually arrive, she believed with all her heart that there was a better
place waiting for her on the other side. She’d witnessed enough first-hand
evidence to convince her that death wasn’t the end; it was only the beginning.

The calm inside number
thirty-nine, Chaytor Avenue, was suddenly interrupted by a knock at the front
door.  ‘I’ll get it,’ Max said, hurrying across the room towards the hallway.
While he loved his Aunt Gracie very much, she couldn’t compete with his
parents. Especially his father.

When Max opened the
door, however, his reaction at seeing his father was not one of unbridled
enthusiasm. It didn’t take long for Sam to understand why his son was staring at
him as if he’d contracted an incurable dose of leprosy. In the turbulence of
the previous few days, he’d almost forgotten about his swollen eyes and bruised
cheeks.

‘Hi, son,’ he said, embarrassed
by his appearance. ‘You should have seen the other guy.’ His smile was
unconvincing. ‘Have you got a hug for your old man?’

Max didn’t need asking
twice. ‘What happened?’ he said, his face pressed against his father’s chest.
‘Did somebody beat you up?’

‘If I told you that I fell
over, would you believe me?’

‘Yes…if I was an
idiot.’

Sam laughed, wondering
at what age children switch from unquestioning belief to calculated sarcasm.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, not wanting to let go. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’

‘Me too,’ Max said,
forcing himself out of his dad’s arms. ‘But what really happened to you?’

‘Your dad’s tired,’
Sarah said, taking her turn in hugging Max. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for
questions later, okay? Why don’t we go inside and see Aunt Gracie? I want to
find out how naughty you’ve been while we’ve been away.’

‘I think you’ll be disappointed,’
Max said, moving aside so his parents could enter. ‘I’ve been the model guest.’

‘I’ll believe that when
I hear it,’ Sam said, leading them into the house.

Gracie’s
initial reaction at seeing Sam was not much better than Max’s. She was about to
quiz him about what had happened when Sarah headed her off at the pass by
asking about Max.

‘What’s that, dear?’
Gracie said, unable to take her eyes off Sam, who in turn stared awkwardly at
the floor.

‘I was just wondering
if Max has given you any trouble. He told me he’s been a model guest, but
somehow I don’t quite believe him.’

‘Well,’ Gracie said, prising
her attention away from Sam, ‘I’m afraid your son is telling the truth. He’s
been no trouble at all, in fact it’s been an absolute pleasure having him.
We’ve had a great time, haven’t we, son?’

‘Certainly have,’ Max
replied, crumbs falling from his mouth as he gobbled down the last of his
cookie.

‘Max, where are your
manners!’ Sarah said, bending down to pick the crumbs up from the floor.

‘Come on,’ Sam said,
eager to get back home. ‘I’m sure Gracie is ready for a little peace and
quiet.’ As Max and Sarah busied themselves with making sure they hadn’t
forgotten anything, Sam took Gracie aside, and when he was confident of not
being overheard, said: ‘I need to talk to you. Alone.’

Gracie looked at him calmly.
‘I had a feeling you would.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Not now,’ she said, lowering
her voice to a whisper. ‘Come back in the morning, when Max is at school. Right
now, you need to be with your family. And get some rest, do you hear? It’s
amazing what difference a good night’s sleep can make. I’ll see you tomorrow…sometime
around eleven would suit me best.

‘Okay. Thanks.’

‘Don’t mention it. But
promise me one thing, will you?’

‘What’s that?’

‘Don’t trouble yourself
with what you may or may not have seen. There’s nothing out there that can’t be
dealt with.’

Sam froze at this
comment. ‘I haven’t
seen
anything. Nothing real, anyway.’

‘Tomorrow at eleven,’
Gracie said, ignoring him.

Sam stared at her and
nodded weakly. He was certain he’d been seeing things and that it was all in
his mind. All the same, he needed to speak to someone about it…someone who wouldn’t
merely laugh and accuse him of losing his mind. Maybe Gracie’s experience would
be helpful to him. After all, strip away the hocus-pocus bullshit and she was
as close to a therapist as Sam was prepared to get. He had his doubts about her,
but he wasn’t about to confide in Sarah or Max. They were worried about him enough
as it was.

‘Is
he asleep?’ Sam asked, his eyes on Sarah as she entered the lounge and collapsed
onto the sofa next to him.

‘He went out like a
light,’ she said, closing her eyes and yawning. ‘I don’t think I’ll be far
behind him. I’m exhausted.’

‘Did you get much sleep
when I was away?’

‘What do you think?’

‘I don’t know…I guess
not. I’m not sure what to think anymore.’

‘Well, to answer your
question, no, I didn’t sleep well at all.’

Sam closed his eyes and
tilted his head back. Sarah wasn’t the only one in desperate need of an early
night.

 ‘Listen, Sam,’ she
said, placing a hand on his thigh. ‘I know we’re both tired, but I’m afraid
this can’t wait. I need to know where I stand.’

‘You’re not standing
anywhere…you’re sitting right next to me,’ he replied, his attempt at a joke
not having the desired effect on her as she shook her head in frustration and
continued.

‘I’m serious, Sam,
okay? We haven’t talked, I mean
really
talked, since this whole
nightmare began.’

Sam looked at her. ‘What
do you want to talk about?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? I
want to know how you feel, what happens next, will you ever be able to forgive
me or trust me again. I need to know if you think we have a chance of staying
together and finding a way through this.’

Sam sighed. He wasn’t
in the mood for joking anymore. ‘I guess that all depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On you?’

‘What’s that supposed
to mean?’

‘What do
you
want,
Sarah? What do you want to happen to us? Do you want us to stay together, and
if so, why? Is it because you love me and genuinely want to be with me, or is
it because you’re feeling tired and guilty and worried about what Max might
think when he finds out? I guess my answer depends on you…on what you want to
happen to us.’

‘Of course I want us to
stay together. I don’t expect you to suddenly forget everything that’s
happened, and I know there’ll be times when it comes back to haunt us, but I
want us to at least try to work things out. I did a terrible thing to you, Sam,
and I’m so, so sorry. But you’re my husband and I still love you very much.’

‘You have a funny way
of showing it.’

‘You’re right, I’ve
been a complete and utter bitch and I don’t deserve you. And I know it won’t be
easy to repair the damage. But to answer your question, yes, I want us to stay
together, and yes, I want to do it for the right reasons. Most importantly, I
want to do it because I love you.’

Sam watched as she
spoke, searching for signs that she was lying. If there were any, he wasn’t
able to see them. Then again, after missing the fact that she’d been sleeping
with someone else for four years, when it came to interpreting body language, he
was no expert. Nevertheless, he wanted to believe her. He
had
to believe
her. Because the prospect of spending the rest of his days without her was
simply unbearable.

‘Listen,’ he said,
leaning towards her. ‘I…I think that we shou-’

He was interrupted by
the sound of the doorbell. He looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece.

‘Nine-thirty!’ he said,
rising to his feet. ‘Who the bloody hell can that be?’

‘No idea. You didn’t
order pizza, did you?’

‘Very funny,’ he said,
sliding his feet into his slippers.

When he reached the
hallway he turned on the light. ‘Won’t be a sec,’ he shouted, fiddling with the
safety chain and turning the key in its lock. He didn’t like visitors at the
best of times. Most likely it was one of the nosy neighbours – George Gransham,
perhaps – desperate to find out the reason for Sam’s bruises so that he could
claim the honour of being the first person in the street to know; as if there
was nothing better for him to do with his dwindling years than spend them
gossiping about the misfortune of others.

In truth, it could have
been anyone standing there…except for one man. The man who was responsible for
turning Sam Railton’s life on its head. The only other man, as far as Sam was
aware, who had been inside his wife during their thirteen years of marriage. He
was standing at the bottom of the steps, smoking a cigarette and smiling at Sam
like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Sam almost had to admire him; if there
was one quality that Tom Jackson had in abundance, it was
balls
. Sam
knew it, and sadly for him, so did his wife.

‘Hi Sam,’ Tom said,
smoke billowing from his nostrils. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he said, his faux-smile
fading as Sam stepped out from behind the door and he noticed his face. ‘What
on earth happened to you?’

‘What the fuck are you
doing here?’ Sam said, ignoring Tom’s concern. His fists instinctively clenched
and he took a step forward, a haze of red mist descending over him. ‘You’ve got
some fucking nerve coming here.’ Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a curtain
next door being pulled to the side. George Gransham’s beady eyes glared back at
him like those of a brazen voyeur who couldn’t give a damn about being caught
in the act. As furious as he was, the last thing Sam wanted was to cause a
scene in his own front yard. Besides, by now Tom had retreated to the pavement,
ready to flee if the need arose.

‘Sam, please,’ Tom said.
‘I need to talk to you. It’s important.’

Sam stared back at him,
trying to remain calm. He looked across at Mr Gransham, glowering at him in
such a way to suggest that if he didn’t get his snooping backside back into his
house by the count of ten there would be serious trouble. Mr Gransham must have
understood the message, because he retreated swiftly behind the curtains.

‘Okay,’ Sam said, his
voice slightly calmer. ‘Say what you’ve come to say. After that, I never want
to see your face again for as long as I live. Is that clear?’

Tom nodded. ‘Out here?’
he asked, rubbing his arms in the cold, December air. ‘Can’t we talk inside?’
he said, staring hopefully over Sam’s shoulder into the warm light of the
hallway.

‘I don’t want you
anywhere near Sarah. Don’t you think you’ve caused enough damage?’

‘Okay, have it your
way.’

‘What do you want to
say, Tom?’

‘Well,’ he began, aware
that he would need to summon all his renowned salesman’s skills to have any
chance of sealing this particular deal. ‘The first thing I want to say is that
I’m truly sorry for everything that’s happened. I never intended to hurt you,
Sam.’

‘Because you never
intended me to find out, you mean.’

‘True, but there’s a
very good reason for that. What Sarah and I had was coming to a natural end. Our
affair had pretty much run its course. The truth is, whatever feelings Sarah
may have had for me were so insignificant compared to the way she feels about
you. What happened between us was a mistake; a giant, twisted, frightfully
regrettable mistake on both our parts. I know you’ll never be able to forgive
me – I don’t expect you to – but I sincerely hope that you can forgive Sarah
and work things out. I know it takes two to tango, but I’m the one to blame for
all this, not her. I used the same charm on her that I use on all our clients,
and you know how effecti-’

‘Let me get this
straight,’ Sam said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘First you screw my wife,
then you fire me and take away my livelihood, and now you’ve come here, tail
between your legs, like some kind of daytime TV marriage counsellor. Don’t try
to humiliate me, Tom; I’ve known you long enough to sense when you’re talking
bullshit. Keep your fortune cookie advice for your dumb, blonde girlfriends.
Now…why don’t you tell me why you’re
really
here?’

Tom shrugged,
acknowledging that the game was up. He took another cigarette from its packet
and placed it between his lips, lighting it with the dog-end of the one he was
just finishing. Sam didn’t show it, but secretly he got a buzz from seeing
this. Tom only ever smoked when he was stressed.

‘The reason I’ve come
here – the
real
reason – is because I have some good news. I’ve managed
to convince the Board to take you back.’

‘You’ve what?’ Sam
asked, his calm exterior creaking at the seams.

‘I’ve managed to get
you your job back. It wasn’t easy, and don’t ask me how I did it, but somehow I
convinced them that letting you go would be a huge mistake. They want you back,
Sam. Even old Holdsworth himself conceded that he may have been somewhat hasty
in firing you.’

Sam couldn’t believe
what Tom was telling him. As much as he despised him, he was stunned by the
news. He felt a wave of relief and gratitude wash over him; his hardened heart
momentarily soothed by Tom’s flattery and apparent humility. Getting his job
back would spell an end to his immediate money worries, as well as giving his
dwindling self-confidence a much needed shot in the arm.

It didn’t take long,
however, for his innate cynicism to kick in. Sam’s glass wasn’t half-empty, it
was non-existent. Why would Tom Jackson suddenly feel the need to fight for his
job? Why would he want to help him after seemingly taking so much pleasure in
trying to destroy him? It didn’t make any sense…didn’t add up.

It didn’t take long for
the penny to drop.

‘It wasn’t the Board’s
decision to fire me in the first place, was it?’ Sam asked,  the truth dropping
into place like the final piece on a jigsaw puzzle. ‘It was
your
decision, wasn’t it? They knew nothing about it. You didn’t tell them, did you,
Tom?’

‘Now hang on a minute.
You can’t ju-’

‘And then they found
out about you firing me so they sent you here to get me back, didn’t they? But
why the urgency? Why come to see me at 9.30pm? You could have just phoned me.’
Sam’s eyes widened and a huge grin spread across his face as it all came together.
‘They’ve threatened you, haven’t they? You’ve been given an ultimatum. Either
you persuade me to come back to Chapman’s or you’re in the shit.’ Sam lifted
his head to the sky and laughed. ‘I should have known!’ he said. ‘I should have
realised at the time that you were behind it all. Talk about karma! You lying,
devious, worthless piece of shit. You absolute arsehole! You’re a joke, Tom, you
know that? A fucking joke.’

For the first time in
as long as he could remember, Tom Jackson was lost for words. As one of the
world’s most accomplished liars, he wasn’t used to having his bluff called.
There was a prolonged pause as he considered his next move. The obvious tactic
was to come across all offended and upset at the accusation, as if he’d never
heard anything so ridiculous in all his life. That would be the sensible
option, the option of self-preservation. But Sam was too smart for that, and
Tom knew it. As unnatural as it felt, he had to be honest.

‘I need you to come
back to Chapman’s,’ he said, staring at the ground like an errant schoolboy
confessing to his teacher. ‘My job depends on it. My
life
depends on
it.’

Sam stared at him,
allowing him to continue.

‘Holdsworth came to see
me. He told me to get you back.’

‘And if you can’t?’
asked Sam.

‘Then you’ll not be the
only one out of a job.’

‘So I’m right,’ Sam
said, shaking his head with disbelief. ‘The Board had nothing to do with me
losing my job. They had no idea, did they?’

‘No.’

‘You bastard. You
spineless bastard. How does it feel to tell the truth for once?’

Tom shrugged. ‘Not
great, to be honest. I think it’s overrated…much easier to lie.’

Sam glowered at him in
disgust. ‘I’m going inside now,’ he said. ‘I’m going inside to be with my wife,
and if you have an ounce of decency left in you, I suggest you go home and do
the same. Jane doesn’t deserve you. Nobody does.’

‘What about your job?
What do I tell Holdsworth?’

‘What about
my
job? What about
your
job, you mean. I appreciate your belated honesty,
Tom, but I’m afraid it makes no difference. I don’t give a damn if you lose
your job. We’re finished, Tom. Surely you can see that? I don’t want to see you
or hear from you ever again, is that clear?’

A half-hearted nod was
all Tom could muster. He knew perfectly well what lay in store for him the
following morning, when he would have the unenviable task of informing Charles Holdsworth
that his prized copywriter would not be coming back. For a while, he remained
standing on the pavement like a broken man, any remaining fight all but gone. Without
looking up, he turned to leave. ‘Goodbye, Sam,’ he said, his voice not much
more than a whisper. ‘I’m sorry…for everything.’

And then he was gone.

Sam paused on the top
step to digest what had just happened. He couldn’t believe how easily he’d
thrown in the towel. Tom Jackson had the tenacity of a bulldog, so to watch him
slink away without putting up a decent fight was highly unexpected.

Closure
,
Sam thought, almost saying the word aloud. After the nightmare of the previous
few days, it felt good to have the upper hand at last. It was about time the
dice rolled in his favour.