The Red House by Mark Haddon Page A

was art. Holy shit. You could have it on a coffee table. He imagined being the photographer. Actually being there in the room. There was a close-up of a big veiny penis in black and white which was gross, then two naked women on a bed.
    Excuse me .
    There were other human beings in the room. The man squeezed past and disappeared into Architecture. Alex stared at the photograph of the two women. He wanted to buy the book. He wanted to steal the book. He wanted to stay here forever. He had to put it down. He couldn’t put it down.
    Dominic was thinking of the opening of the second Two-Part Invention, that little canon. When the work stopped he couldn’t bear to listen to music. Sentimental songs were the worst, “The Power of Love,” “Wonderful Tonight” … He had to leave shops sometimes. Just like Coward said. Extraordinary how potent … etc. After a couple of months he started listening to Steve Reich and suddenly saw the point of those cool, evolving lines. Music for Eighteen Musicians, Electric Guitar Phase . Moving gingerly on to Bach. Another kind of coolness. He ran though the fingering of the Two-Part Invention in his head. Who was the guy on that classical-music quiz show when he was a kid? He played a dummy keyboard and you had to guess the piece from the thumping. Joseph Cooper. That was it. Face the Music .
    He looked across the valley and heard The Lark Ascending in his mind’s ear, that skirling violin, four semiquavers then up and up, pentatonic scale, no audible root, no bar lines even … Melissa. Jesus. Was that Melissa? He started to jog down through the bracken. What in God’s name was she doing? Vomiting? He tripped and fell and got up again. She was on all fours. He slowed, panting. Melissa? He touchedher shoulder and she sprang up and screamed, waving her hands like a frightened woman in silent film. Whoa, sorry. I didn’t mean …
    It’s … It’s … She stroked the air in front of her. Angela’s husband. She’d forgotten where she was. She felt naked. Was he going to attack her?
    Are you all right?
    She mustn’t cry. She held out her mobile. It refused to explain the situation. I couldn’t get any signal .
    Have you hurt yourself?
    No, I haven’t fucking hurt myself . Deep breath.
    You were trying to ring someone .
    I’ve got to … She turned and walked away and her knees buckled and she tried very hard to make it look like she was sitting down on purpose.
    He came over and sat beside her. They said nothing. It was uncomfortable, then it was comfortable, then it was uncomfortable. So I guess you’re not having a fun time .
    She started crying. Shit . She wiped her eyes.
    You want to talk about it?
    No, I do not want to talk about it. Unsurprisingly .
    He picked two daisies and started making a chain. I had a stepfather. I still have a stepfather .
    What the hell was he talking about?
    He was a really nice guy, which only made me hate him more, of course .
    Yeh, well, thanks for the advice . She took a packet of Silk Cut from her jacket pocket.
    One going spare?
    She’d meant to piss him off but things were going a bit off-piste. His cupped hand touched her hand. The scratch and pop of the lighter. Was he going to try and feel her up? She imagined hanging on to the story like a fat check she could spend whenever she wanted.
    Ooh . He blew a rubbish smoke ring. Haven’t had one of these in a while .
    A sheep trotted past, bleating.
    Actually, Richard’s all right. He kind of makes Mum happy, which is good . But it was a lie. She hated him for the same reasons Dominic had hated his stepfather.
    They finished their cigarettes. Then Dominic turned and stared at her. She wondered if he was going to put a hand on her breast. Be nicer to Daisy, OK?
    Which caught her totally on the hop.
    You’ll look back and realize you’re not that different .
    She laughed. We are so different . He held her eye and didn’t laugh. She’d lost her bearings now. The fear was coming back.