Glimmer and other Stories (4 page)

John grunted. Katy closed her eyes. Gladiator barked at her and she took a deep breath. ‘Okay, Gladdy, I’ll call the amblance. Where’s the phone?’

‘By the…front door.’

Katy stood up, hugged the paperweight to her ribcage, and walked slowly towards the hall.

***

‘You’re Katy, right?’ a paramedic said, and strapped an unconscious John to a trolley. Katy did not answer.
 

‘My name’s Brenda and that’s Peter.
 
This is your granddad, right?’

‘No…yes…’

‘Don’t cry sweetheart. It’s okay, you’re granddad is going to be fine.’

Katy wiped her nose. ‘Can I come in the amblance?’

‘Of course you can.’

‘And Gladdy too?’

‘No, we can’t allow animals in the ambulance. Don’t worry we’ll tie her up outside and call the R.S.P.C.A.’

‘No, she’ll be all alone.’

‘It’s okay, they won’t be long.’

She backed away, pulled Gladiator close to her chest and shook her head.

‘Where’s your mum sweetheart?’ Katy did not answer. ‘Your dad then? We have to call them and let them know what’s happened.’

Katy began to shake.

‘Right, we have to leave now, get your Granddad to the hospital. Let the dog go and you can ride in the back with me, Okay?’

Gladiator growled. Katy picked her up, ran into the study and locked the door. She heard Brenda tell Peter to call the police and saw the door handle twist. Gladiator squirmed free and Katy pushed piles and piles of books against the door. She grabbed the paperweight and sat on the sofa. Gladiator jumped onto her knee and she wiped away a tear. She stared at the image of the happy child, then closed her eyes and wished with all her might that she could join her on the flower-covered swing.

‘Open the door sweetheart, come on.’

‘Go away!’

‘Don’t be scared. It’s okay. You see, we can’t leave you alone in the house.’

‘Yes you can.’

‘No, we can’t. It’s not safe.’

‘It is. It is! It’s safe like the museum. Like Aunty Karen’s house,’ Katy said, and plunged her face into Gladiator’s neck.
 

The dog pulled free of her tight grip went to the door and growled. Katy heard the sound of a car door closing and ran to the window. The security light went on and she saw Brenda and a policeman deep in conversation. Backing away, she looked around the room, but there was nowhere to hide. Nowhere. She sat on the sofa and cradled the paperweight as if she were soothing a crying baby. Gladiator shoved her head under Katy’s hand. ‘It’s okay Gladdy, don’t be scared,’ she said, and hid underneath the duvet.

The doorknob rattled.

‘Hello. Katy? This is PC Dryden. Can you open the door please?’

Katy felt Gladiator wriggle up the duvet and lie next to her.

‘My partner WPC Webster would like to have a little chat with you about Mr. Taylor, the man who lives here. So, if you could just open the door…’

‘Go away, please, I’m okay. I’ll wait here until John is better. I can look after myself.’

‘We can’t do that Katy. You’re a minor and need to be looked after by an adult. Do you want us to call someone for you? Your parents?’

‘No! Please, not them.’

‘Okay, don’t get upset. Is there anyone else we can call?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure? The paramedic said that you mentioned your Aunt Karen.’

Katy pulled the cover down and stared into Gladiators brown eyes. The dog stuck its tongue out and panted. She swallowed back tears and said, ‘You’ll like Aunty Karen, she’s nice.’
 

She stood and walked over to the door. With the paperweight gripped tightly in her left hand she turned the key. The door swung open and Katy saw a tall ruddy-faced Policeman looking down at her. He smiled and knelt in front of the frightened girl. Katy’s nose was running and he gave her a handkerchief. She blew into it, handed it back and stroked Gladiator’s head. WPC Webster, a stout young woman with a round face and small blue eyes, walked over to them. Gladiator barred her teeth and growled.

‘Shhh, now little fella,’ WPC Webster said.

‘She’s a girl.’

‘Of course she is. Well, Katy, that’s a lovely dress you’re wearing. Is it a party frock?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Is it your birthday today?’

‘Yesterday.’

‘Happy Birthday. How old are you? No, wait, let me guess, eight? Nine?’

‘Ten.’

‘Ten. Did you have a party?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fantastic. Did you have cake and ice cream and lots of games?’

‘No. Just one.’

‘Only one? What was it?’

‘Hide and seek.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. We play it a lot at our house.’

‘Is it your favourite game?’

‘No. I hate it.’

‘Then why do you play?’

‘Because…not supposed to tell.’
 

‘It’s okay, you can tell me.’

‘Am I in trouble?’

‘No, of course not. Okay Katie, you stay there for a minute while I have a little chat with PC Dryden.’

WPC Webster touched her partner’s elbow and they walked into the kitchen. She heard them discuss details about a missing child and her heart raced. She bent down and whispered into Gladiator’s ear, ‘Get them girl. Get them.’ Katy let go of the dog and watched her jump up and down and bark at the startled officers. Then she ran straight past them, holding the paperweight in front of her like a shield.

‘Hey! Wait! Oh bloody fantastic. Shut that sodding dog up will you Ryan,’ WPC Webster said and ran after Katy.

Katy went straight to the woodpile and hunkered down. Still as a garden gnome, she listened to them call her name. She looked at the scene in the paperweight and shivered. The shouting stopped and was replaced by a silence, like the still quiet that falls during an eclipse. WPC Dryden’s voice cut into the hush.
 

‘Good girl, good dog.’

Gladiator’s nose poked between the stacked logs. Katy curled herself into a ball.

‘Come on out now. It’s okay, no one is going to hurt you,’ WPC Webster said.

Gladiator’s claws scratched at her leg and she yelped in pain.

‘We know you’re in there.’

She crawled out and sat on the floor. WPC Webster bent down, took her by the arm and lifted her up. Then put her hand on Katy’s neck and steered her towards the police car. Gladiator trotted along behind them as if they were out on a Sunday morning walk. Katy screwed up her eyes and began to tremble.

‘Hey, there’s no need to be afraid. We’ll look after you.’

‘I don’t want to go home.’

‘I know, and you don’t have to. You can come with us to the police station.’

‘Will you call Aunty Karen?’

‘If you want us to.’

‘Will John be okay?’

‘I think so. That’s something else we need to talk to you about.’

‘He said I could have the paperweight. If I did something for him,’ she said, and held it close to her chest. ‘He gave me this dress as well.’

‘Did he now?’

PC Dryden held the car door open and she got in. He picked up Gladiator. Katy held out her arms and the dog leapt into them. She hugged Gladiator, sat very still, and stared into the paperweight. WPC Webster climbed into the passenger seat and twisted around. ‘You really like that thing don’t you?’ Katy didn’t answer and stared harder into the globe. PC Dryden started the engine.

The police car bumped up and down on the uneven driveway.
 
Its jolting motion had a soothing effect on the little girl and she closed her eyes. Behind the safety of her lowered lids, she saw herself and Gladiator kneeling in a field of poppies. They had shrunk to the size of a harvest mouse and were racing through the blood red flowers towards the glass globe. Katy and Gladiator climbed up the paperweight and looked through the opening at the top; the hole she had melted with her burning eyes. They dropped unnoticed into the garden scene and played catch with the girl on the swing.

The End

On The Eighth Day

Sunday:

I saw him again today. Third Sunday in a row. I know he noticed me. I felt the weight of his stare and the touch of his coat as he brushed past. I watched him move amongst the antiquities like a hunter, stealthy and alert. He shifted his gaze from shelf to shelf then shot his hand out towards a particularly expensive book. He looked around before opening it, turned his body to face the wall and bent his head to read. I was gratified to note that he had chosen a title I was more than familiar with. Same taste in literature.

He could be the one.

He sighed, placed the book back and walked towards me. I held my breath, lowered my eyes and caught sight of his expensive shoes. Delighted by the shine, I dared to lift my gaze. He stood over me and opened up a conversation. I said nothing, too nervous to speak. I remained passive, did not move. He lowered himself to my level and whispered, ‘There you are. What a treasure. A rarity amongst all this tat. Far too good for this place.’

Such bliss to hear his voice and smell his herb-tinged cologne. Clean. I like that. Too much dust in here. A reminder of a period in my life when all I knew was darkness and the whiff of mildew.
 

I have a delicate skin.
 

It’s a rare condition that forced me to stay indoors. That’s how I found myself here, squeezed between the old and forgotten.
 

I shivered as a tweed-suited woman entered, and brought with her a blast of cold air. I should not have put myself directly in front of the shop door. Thought it would blow away the cobwebs, keep me fresh, alert. All it did was make me dry and itchy.
 

‘Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back,’ he said, and left me. I heard his low toned voice address the owner. ‘But it’s been there since I can remember. Hidden behind a stack of mouldy cookery books. It’s obvious no one wants it.’

‘You do.

‘Not at that price.’

‘Sorry, that’s how much it costs.’
 

‘Come on man, you’ve been trying to sell the thing for years.’

‘That’s not the point, it’s one of a kind, special.’

‘There are pages missing you know. All I’m asking is for a little off. It’s the least you could do. I am a regular here.’

Me too.
 

The talking ceased, the deal done, he got his reduced price. Glad for him and myself of course. He was in a good mood, pleased with himself no doubt. I trusted that I would reap the benefit. One look at his smiling face and I knew that I would. We left together quick as thieves.
Outside the air was bitter, sharp as a broken glass. He shook a little when the icy wind swept across his face. He plunged his hands deep into his pockets and fell silent. I did not feel the cold, he had me bundled up inside his coat, swaddling-like.
 

He called me his baby.

Monday:

I woke before dawn stretched out beside him. I saw his ribcage move up and down as he breathed. Watching as the exhaled air from his nose and mouth left trails of vapour. The mist hung for a moment like frosty cobwebs, then vanished. He wriggled and pushed the bedclothes down. It was the first time I had seen him in the flesh.
 
His skin was white, and smooth as the skin on warm milk.

Never knew a man could feel so soft.
 
More used to rough hands grabbing, not knowing what they touched. He knew.
 

At least, I hoped so. Hard to tell. Been a while since I was in the company of a male.

Father doesn’t count. Besides, he wanted me gone. Married to anyone just so long as I was finally out of the house. Urged on by my unsympathetic parent, I allowed a host of degenerates to use me. I remember one that insisted I wear a mask to hide my somewhat muddy complexion. Outraged by the suggestion, I vowed that I would remain pure, much to my father’s annoyance.

I let suitor after suitor slip by. Hung around too long, though.
 
Lines and wrinkles deepened with each missed opportunity, and I began to panic. Saw no choice but to take the next male that showed an interest in me. I put up with his clammy hands and cigar breath. Turned away when he picked his nose and rubbed it on the arm of the chair. Never once did I enquire what he was doing in the basement. I even agreed to the blindfold.

Should have peeked. Would have saved myself a lot of bother.

All images of that grim time faded away when I looked at the room I was in. I propped myself against the bedpost to better view my surroundings. What a bed! Cast iron silver, with spiral bed posts that wound right up to the ceiling. I traced their twists and turns with my eyes and thought I was a Princess.

Slatted blinds fed strips of sunshine around the chamber, casting dark bars upon the parquet flooring, imprisoning the world outside. I was glad to be so high up, away from the noise and hectic footsteps of the common crowd. Although quiet, I heard the wind moan around the rafters, sighing through the room like the whistling of a ghost. Goosebumps crept up my back and neck. Felt like death bone fingers.

The half-light crept around the apartment and exposed different nooks and crannies to my view. It was dark when he brought me here, dark when we lay down. I was curious about my new environment. I let my eyes explore and unearthed clues that solved themselves the more I spied. An attic once, I assume by the size of it. Wooden beams stained with age lined the ceiling and walls. On the polished oak floor lay Persian rugs the colour of dried blood.
 
I shivered. No wonder it was cold, all open the way it was. Bedroom, living room, kitchen in one big space. With a red lacquered wooden divider strategically placed to conceal the bathroom.

I marvelled at his collection of antiques. At the array of curious objects from distant lands. At the exquisite porcelain vases, figurines, paintings and tapestries that filled the place. I was especially taken with a glass-fronted cabinet that housed a selection of china plates so fine that you could almost see through them.
 
If I didn’t know better, I would have thought I was in a great country house. Everywhere I looked luxury and excess. His appeal grew stronger. I returned my focus to his body.