Through Dead Eyes (10 page)

‘Really?’ said his father. ‘Never heard a thing. I was out like a light. You can always go back to bed and have a lie-in. I’m sure Angelien won’t mind.’

‘No,’ said Alex, blinking hard, finding it hard to concentrate surrounded by the noise of breakfast diners. He seemed to hear every scrape of knives on plates, every spoon rattling in a cup, as though it was amplified through giant headphones. ‘I want to see her. There’s something I need to talk to her about.’

Alex’s father smiled and raised his eyebrows.

‘You and she are getting very pally,’ he said.

Alex shrugged.

‘S’pose,’ he said. ‘Is that all right?’

‘Course it is,’ said his father with a chuckle. ‘It’s great that you two have hit it off so well.’

‘We’re just friends,’ said Alex.

His father frowned.

‘I never doubted it,’ he said.

It was Alex’s turn to frown.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Alex.

‘There is a bit of an age difference.’

‘Not that much,’ said Alex, blushing.

His father smiled, half closing his eyes. It was a smile Alex knew well and hated.

‘Saskia is older than you,’ said Alex. ‘You don’t seem to mind.’

‘Don’t let Saskia hear you say that! Anyway, that’s a bit different, Alex,’ said his father. ‘We met when we were both adults. What is all this? You haven’t got a crush on Angelien –’

Alex clamped his hands over his ears.

‘No!’ he said. ‘God!’

An elderly couple nearby turned and stared.

‘OK, OK,’ said his father with a frown. ‘That’s enough, Alex.’

Alex chewed on the inside of his bottom lip and said nothing.

‘No one says “crush”, Dad,’ said Alex eventually. ‘And I haven’t got one anyway.’

‘Well that’s all right then,’ said his father.

What did his father know anyway? Why was it so weird to think there might be something between him and Angelien? Not that there was. But was it so far-fetched?

His father had hardly spoken to Angelien. More to the point he had no idea what Alex was like now. His father still saw him as a little boy. He probably always would.

‘I’m not a kid any more,’ said Alex.

‘I know that, Alex,’ said his father with a sigh. ‘I know that all too well.’

‘This is about what happened at school, isn’t it?’ said Alex. ‘You say you’re
ok
about it but –’

‘I did not say I was “
ok
” about it, Alex,’ said his father. ‘I said I understood that you have been going through a lot. We both have. But the fact remains that you caused a lot of people a lot of aggravation, Alex. I don’t want any nonsense while I’m here.’

‘But –’

‘Alex,’ said his father firmly. ‘I mean it. You need to grow up.’

Alex hung his head. His father put his hands to his face as though he were praying for guidance.

‘Alex,’ he said more softly. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t spent more time with you. All this stuff at the publishers – well it could be really important. If it goes well, then we could be going to New York sooner than we thought.’

‘Really?’ said Alex.

His father had been promising to take him to New York for years.

‘Really,’ said his father.

Alex smiled.

‘This is potentially a big deal, Alex,’ said his father. ‘They are talking about me narrating the documentary myself. That would be pretty cool, huh? Your dad on TV? Maybe the BBC? The History Channel? So see if you can just get through the next few days without causing me any problems. Is that possible?’

Alex sighed.

‘All right, Dad,’ said Alex. ‘I get the message. I won’t be any trouble. I promise.’

Alex came out of the lift and saw Angelien sitting on her own by the window. A faint beam of milky light had placed a glowing halo around her.

Alex was rooted to the spot for a moment, staring, transfixed at Angelien’s golden hair. Then he noticed that the manager who was standing nearby was smiling at him and he walked on.

‘Hey, Alex,’ said Angelien brightly. ‘You OK?’

‘Yeah,’ he said with a sigh. ‘My dad was just giving me a lecture.’

Angelien rolled her eyes.

‘Oh, parents,’ she said. ‘They are so annoying, aren’t they?’

‘Sometimes. How are you anyway?’ said Alex.

Angelien gave him a funny look and then smiled.

‘I’m very well. Thank you for asking,’ she said.

Alex smiled. For some reason he could think of nothing else to say.

‘Shall we go?’

‘Sure,’ said Angelien.

They left the hotel and began to walk along the canal. Alex was trying to find the right moment to talk to Angelien about the things from the painting being part of the hotel and about the mask. While he was still framing the words in his mind, Angelien broached the subject herself.

‘I had a chance to read more of the journal last night,’ she said.

‘Anything interesting?’ asked Alex.

Angelien nodded and continued.

‘Something pretty weird actually. There was a series of plagues that hit Amsterdam in the seventeenth century,’ she said. ‘You probably know about the one that they had in London just before the fire in 1666 . . .’

‘The Great Fire of London?’ said Alex.

Angelien nodded.

‘Yes. Before that there was a plague here in Amsterdam – the Black Death, you know.’

‘And did the plague kill Hanna?’

‘No,’ said Angelien. ‘But it did kill many other children in Amsterdam. At least she was safe inside. A lot of people died.’

Alex nodded, trying to imagine the scene and, somehow, it didn’t seem as hard as it might. The modern additions to the streets and canals seemed now more tissue-thin and were easily imagined away.

Angelien’s dance-track ringtone started up.

‘Dirk,’ she said, looking at Alex and then turning away.

Alex couldn’t understand what Angelien was saying but he could tell from the tone that she was annoyed. Angelien ended the call and stuffed the phone back into her jacket pocket. She looked at the sky and sighed.

‘Men are such liars,’ she said, turning to Alex. ‘That’s why you like all that fantasy stuff – all those computer games and stupid books. You live in a fantasy world.’

Alex was both a little annoyed to be lumped in with Dirk and a little pleased to be included by Angelien in the category of ‘men’.

‘Not all men are liars,’ said Alex.

Angelien muttered under her breath.

‘What was I saying?’ she said.

‘You were telling me about the plague,’ said Alex.

Angelien nodded.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I was going to tell you how the plague is connected with the painting of Hanna.’

‘Yeah?’ said Alex.

‘Graaf went into some detail about that picture and why he painted it,’ said Angelien.

‘Oh?’ said Alex. ‘I’ve got something to tell you about the painting myself.’

‘You have?’ said Angelien.

‘You first,’ said Alex. ‘What did he say?’

Angelien took out a pack of cigarettes and put one in her mouth. Alex leaned forward and took it from her lips and threw it in the canal.

‘What the –’

‘You shouldn’t smoke,’ said Alex with a grin. ‘It’s bad for you. I’m going to help you give up.’

‘It’s none of your damned business what I do!’ she snapped. ‘Who the hell do you think you are? Huh? Huh?’

Angelien turned her back to lean over the railing and shouted angrily at the canal. Alex had been totally unprepared for her reaction and simply stared ahead open-mouthed.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Alex. ‘I –’

Angelien shook her head, calming herself a little.

‘Don’t ever do that again,’ she said, quietly.

‘OK,’ said Alex.

He was determined not to cry and yet tears were stinging his eyes. Angelien took a deep breath.

‘Don’t start crying on me,’ she said. ‘Damn it!’

Alex did not know what to do and stood as still as a statue waiting to see what Angelien would do next. After a moment she took a deep breath and took a long look at him as though seeing him for the first time.

‘Don’t do that again, Alex, OK?’ she said quietly.

‘OK,’ said Alex. ‘I’m sorry.’

Angelien turned and leaned on the railing, staring down the canal. Alex didn’t know what to do. He wondered if he was meant to go. Maybe he should just leave and go back to the hotel. He thought about saying something but he felt sure that whatever he said would make things worse.

After a few moments Angelien shook her hair and began talking again as though nothing had happened.

‘Back to our friend, Pieter Graaf the painter,’ she said. ‘It seems that he became fascinated with the girl and –’

‘Sorry,’ said Alex.

Angelien forced a smile.

‘OK. Enough sorrys.’

She took a breath.

‘And I shouldn’t have yelled,’ she said. ‘I have a bad temper. That’s something you were going to find out sooner or later. Friends? OK?’

Alex smiled weakly. Angelien began again.

‘He became fascinated with Hanna and wanted to know more about her. He spoke to the servants who looked after her, paid them to tell him what had happened before they arrived in Amsterdam. Some of this I’ve told you already . . .’

Angelien licked her lips.

‘Well?’ said Alex. ‘What else have you found out?’ He could see that there was something. Angelien smiled a crooked smile as though she could hardly believe herself what she was about to say.

‘Graaf was told that Hanna claimed she could see the ghosts of the children who had died in the plague. The children she had not been allowed to play with who were now deep in the ground.’

‘Ghosts?’ said Alex, his voice faltering. ‘What?’

‘Yes,’ said Angelien. ‘Creepy, huh?’

Alex’s stomach seemed to lurch as though he was coming down quickly on a swing. The view from his window the night before came back to him with startling speed and vividness.

‘Hey?’ said Angelien. ‘You OK? You look like you’ve seen a ghost yourself.’

‘I’m . . . OK . . . What else . . .’

‘Well,’ she continued. ‘I was wrong about Graaf never meeting Hanna because he seems to have talked to her about this himself.

‘It was when he was painting Van Kampen’s portrait. Van Kampen had to leave on urgent business and Hanna wandered through as he was packing his things away.

‘Graaf says that after initially saying nothing, and just standing and watching him from the doorway, Hanna did begin to talk and Graaf asked her whether it was true that she saw ghost children from her window.

‘Hanna said that it was true and she seemed more than happy to talk about the whole thing until a servant walked in.’ Angelien laughed and shook her head.

‘Graaf just doesn’t seem to understand that kids make things up, and they did it back then just like they do it now,’ she continued. ‘The painter just seems to have swallowed her story whole and never questioned it. People were more gullible in those days but this was an educated man. It’s amazing really.’

Alex opened his mouth to speak, but Angelien continued.

‘Kids don’t make the same distinction between imagination and reality that adults do,’ said Angelien. She shook her head ruefully. ‘Or at least
some
kids, huh?’

She smiled at Alex. His brief spell of being a ‘man’ was over. He was back to being a ‘kid’. But he knew he didn’t want to be seen as one of those kids who couldn’t tell the real world from the made up. He knew he didn’t want to look foolish in Angelien’s eyes.

‘But you were going to tell me something about the painting,’ she said.

‘It was nothing,’ said Alex. ‘I had an idea but it was stupid . . .’

‘OK,’ said Angelien with a chuckle. ‘If you’re sure. You hungry?’

‘A bit, yeah,’ said Alex.

‘You want some
frites
?’ said Angelien. ‘Chips?’

Alex nodded.

‘OK,’ said Alex.

The area was becoming increasingly seedy and the atmosphere was complemented by the stench coming from the garbage truck that seemed to be following them down the street.

Angelien stopped at a kiosk and ordered two paper cones full of chips. Alex turned his nose up a little at the creamy splodge on top of them.

‘What’s that?’ he asked.

‘Mayonnaise,’ said Angelien.

Alex screwed his face up and Angelien laughed.

‘You Brits always do that – but trust me, it works. Go on, taste it.’

After a moment’s hesitation, Alex tried one of the chips. Not only were they very good chips, but Angelien was right – the mayonnaise was delicious. Alex grinned.