“she’ll be here soon. Let’s tidy up a bit.”
I pick the grill pan off the floor and slide it back into its slot.I put the burnt toast in the rubbish bin and start scooping up the flowers.
“Mum, why don’t you go pick up the cans in the living room, and I’ll do the floor in here? What do I use?”
“Under the sink,” she says, but makes no sign of moving from her chair.
In the cupboard under the sink there’s a plastic bucket with a cloth draped over the side, and a bottle of cleaner.
I stand the bucket in the sink and squirt some cleaner into it. Then I turn on both taps. Water thunders in. A layer of foam forms, rising up the inside of the bucket. Fear starts rising up in me at the sight of it. God, it’s only water. Get a grip!
I dart into the living room and pick up the empty cans. When I get back the bucket’s nearly full. I dump the cans in the bin and turn off the tap. Mum’s still sitting at the table.
“Mum, please …”
She watches as I haul the bucket onto the floor. I dip the cloth in the soapy water. It’s icy cold. I wring the cloth out and a scream rips through my head. It’s so loud it’s painful, like someone poking a knitting needle into one ear and out the other.
I jerk my head up. The screaming’s stopped but I’m confused, disoriented.
I move the bucket forward and water sloshes over the top. A puddle spreads out from its base. I tip forward, stretching to mop it up, and I’ve suddenly got a feeling of pressure in my throat. I swallow hard but something comes up inside and now my mouth is full of cold, rank liquid. I clamber to my feet andspit into the kitchen sink. As the stuff leaves my mouth I get a whiff of something stale, something stagnant and muddy and slimy.
“Jesus!” I splutter. I’m gasping for air.
“What —?” Mum’s finally on her feet. She stares at the puddle gathering around the drain — brown fluid streaked with mucus — then she turns on the tap to flush it away. “Rinse your mouth out,” she says. Her words are harsh, but she puts her hand between my shoulder blades and moves it up and down gently and I remember other times like this. Head held over the toilet, puking my guts up, and a reassuring hand on my back. Rob’s, not hers.
I hang my head under the tap, sucking the clean water in, puffing out my cheeks and swishing it from one side of my mouth to the other before I spit.
I’m coming for you, Cee.
It’s the voice, the one I heard before. It’s right beside me.
I straighten up.
“Did you hear that?” I say to Mum.
“What?”
“That voice.”
She looks blank.
“I can’t hear anything except the tap running and you spitting. Are you done now?”
There’s still an echo of the staleness in my mouth, lurking in the little gaps at the base of my teeth.
“Nearly.”
I dunk my head under again.
Can you hear me, little brother?
I look at the water cascading out of the faucet toward my face, and I get a glimpse of something. A stillness in the middle of the rushing water. It’s so close, but I can’t make it out. It makes me uneasy, but at the same time it draws me to it.
The doorbell rings, snapping me out of it. I stand up and switch off the tap. Mum seems paralyzed, eyes full of uncertainty.
“I’ll get it,” I say, wiping my face on a dish towel as I walk into the hall.
* * *
The interview isn’t a success. My memory is so hazy and nothing in my head makes sense. I can’t answer even the easy questions.
“Why were you at the lake?”
“I dunno.”
“What did you do before you went to the lake? Tell me about that day.”
“I can’t remember.”
“What happened when you were in the water?”
“I dunno. I just remember it raining, chucking it down, and there was thunder and lightning.”
“When the paramedics found you, you had your school trousers on and your shirt, but Rob only had his underpants on. Why were you swimming in your clothes, Carl?”
“I dunno. I’m sorry. I really
I pick the grill pan off the floor and slide it back into its slot.I put the burnt toast in the rubbish bin and start scooping up the flowers.
“Mum, why don’t you go pick up the cans in the living room, and I’ll do the floor in here? What do I use?”
“Under the sink,” she says, but makes no sign of moving from her chair.
In the cupboard under the sink there’s a plastic bucket with a cloth draped over the side, and a bottle of cleaner.
I stand the bucket in the sink and squirt some cleaner into it. Then I turn on both taps. Water thunders in. A layer of foam forms, rising up the inside of the bucket. Fear starts rising up in me at the sight of it. God, it’s only water. Get a grip!
I dart into the living room and pick up the empty cans. When I get back the bucket’s nearly full. I dump the cans in the bin and turn off the tap. Mum’s still sitting at the table.
“Mum, please …”
She watches as I haul the bucket onto the floor. I dip the cloth in the soapy water. It’s icy cold. I wring the cloth out and a scream rips through my head. It’s so loud it’s painful, like someone poking a knitting needle into one ear and out the other.
I jerk my head up. The screaming’s stopped but I’m confused, disoriented.
I move the bucket forward and water sloshes over the top. A puddle spreads out from its base. I tip forward, stretching to mop it up, and I’ve suddenly got a feeling of pressure in my throat. I swallow hard but something comes up inside and now my mouth is full of cold, rank liquid. I clamber to my feet andspit into the kitchen sink. As the stuff leaves my mouth I get a whiff of something stale, something stagnant and muddy and slimy.
“Jesus!” I splutter. I’m gasping for air.
“What —?” Mum’s finally on her feet. She stares at the puddle gathering around the drain — brown fluid streaked with mucus — then she turns on the tap to flush it away. “Rinse your mouth out,” she says. Her words are harsh, but she puts her hand between my shoulder blades and moves it up and down gently and I remember other times like this. Head held over the toilet, puking my guts up, and a reassuring hand on my back. Rob’s, not hers.
I hang my head under the tap, sucking the clean water in, puffing out my cheeks and swishing it from one side of my mouth to the other before I spit.
I’m coming for you, Cee.
It’s the voice, the one I heard before. It’s right beside me.
I straighten up.
“Did you hear that?” I say to Mum.
“What?”
“That voice.”
She looks blank.
“I can’t hear anything except the tap running and you spitting. Are you done now?”
There’s still an echo of the staleness in my mouth, lurking in the little gaps at the base of my teeth.
“Nearly.”
I dunk my head under again.
Can you hear me, little brother?
I look at the water cascading out of the faucet toward my face, and I get a glimpse of something. A stillness in the middle of the rushing water. It’s so close, but I can’t make it out. It makes me uneasy, but at the same time it draws me to it.
The doorbell rings, snapping me out of it. I stand up and switch off the tap. Mum seems paralyzed, eyes full of uncertainty.
“I’ll get it,” I say, wiping my face on a dish towel as I walk into the hall.
* * *
The interview isn’t a success. My memory is so hazy and nothing in my head makes sense. I can’t answer even the easy questions.
“Why were you at the lake?”
“I dunno.”
“What did you do before you went to the lake? Tell me about that day.”
“I can’t remember.”
“What happened when you were in the water?”
“I dunno. I just remember it raining, chucking it down, and there was thunder and lightning.”
“When the paramedics found you, you had your school trousers on and your shirt, but Rob only had his underpants on. Why were you swimming in your clothes, Carl?”
“I dunno. I’m sorry. I really
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