The Family Upstairs(55)

‘Yeah, well, that makes two of us.’

‘Why don’t you leave?’

He glanced first at me and then at the back door. ‘I intend to,’ he whispered. ‘But don’t tell a soul, OK?’

I nodded.

‘There’s a smallholding. In Wales. This woman I met at the market told me about it. They’re looking for someone to set up a herb garden. It’ll be like here, free board and lodging and all that. But no fucking dick-swinging overlords.’ He rolled his eyes towards the house again.

I smiled. Dick-swinging overlord. I liked it.

‘When are you going?’

‘Soon,’ he said. ‘Really soon.’ He looked up at me, quickly. ‘Want to come with?’

I blinked. ‘To Wales?’

‘Yeah. To Wales. You can carry on being my little apprentice buddy.’

‘But I’m only fourteen.’

He didn’t say anything, just nodded and continued tying the herbs.

It wasn’t until a little later that the significance of what he’d said hit me. He was not inviting me to Wales to be his little apprentice buddy; he wasn’t inviting me because he needed me. He was inviting me because he thought I’d be safer there than in my own home.

Justin disappeared two days later. He told nobody he was going and left so early in the morning that even David had yet to wake up. Having learned a lesson about telling tales from what had happened with Phin, I told nobody about the Welsh smallholding. I got the impression he didn’t want anyone to know where he was going. I walked into his room later that day. He’d arrived with very little, and left with even less. I walked to the windowsill where all his books sat in a row.

The Modern Book of Witchcraft and Spells.

Wicca for Beginners.

Wicca Book of Herbal Spells.

I felt sure he’d left them for me on purpose.

I glanced out into the hallway and, having ascertained that there was nobody about, I bundled the books under my jumper.

I was about to run back to my bedroom when my eye was caught by something else on his bedside table. Something small and furry. I thought at first it was a dead mouse, but upon inspection I found it to be a disembodied rabbit’s foot attached to a small length of chain. I had a vague idea that it was supposed to be lucky in some way, like heather and four-leaved clovers. I jammed it quickly into my pocket and ran to my bedroom where I slid everything under my mattress.

I always expected to hear from Justin again.

After the bodies were discovered and the police were investigating the deaths and trying to trace the Lambs’ ‘tragic missing children’ I waited and I waited for Justin to suddenly appear on the six o’clock news to talk about his time in the house, about how David Thomsen used to lock his teenage son in his bedroom and tell everyone what to eat and what to wear and where they could and couldn’t go.

I’ve googled Justin since, many, many times, but found no trace of him, anywhere. I can only assume either that he died, that he emigrated somewhere obscure and remote or that he knew what had happened to us all but had decided to keep silent and not get involved. Whatever the truth, I was always secretly relieved. But once he was gone, I missed him. I hadn’t liked him at first, but he’d turned out to be the least of my bloody problems.

Months passed. Summer turned to winter. I took over Justin’s herb garden. David actively encouraged this as it fitted with his ideology. Children should be hard at work doing wholesome things. They should not be learning skills that might bring them into the evil ways of capitalism. He had no idea about the books under my bed or the very particular skill set I was developing. Each evening I brought whoever was cooking handfuls of fresh basil and fresh mint, and was petted and approved of. Birdie even ran me a bath one night when she saw me out in the rain covering over some delicate new seedlings.

‘You’re doing a good job,’ she said, handing me a towel as I walked up the stairs. ‘David’s very pleased with you.’

David’s very pleased with you.

I wanted to bite her, like a dog.

Predictably, Sally had not got the flat in Hammersmith and was still on the sofa in Brixton and was now talking about moving down to Cornwall.

She arrived one evening with Phin and Clemency in tow, three hours late after taking them to a friend’s party for the afternoon where it was clear that she had been drinking heavily. I had seen adults drunk before, many times, when my parents were still sociable and threw parties every weekend. But I’m not sure I’d seen anyone quite as drunk as Sally that evening.

‘I can’t believe’, I heard David say in a voice tense with anger, ‘that you think there is a chance in hell that anyone would let these children live with you. Look at the state of you.’

‘You!’ said Sally. ‘You can talk! Look at the state of you! Who do you think you are? You’re pathetic. Pathetic. You and that ugly girl. And God knows who else you’re fucking. God knows.’

I saw David trying to manhandle Sally towards the door. I could tell he really wanted to hit her and was trying his hardest not to.

But then my mother appeared. ‘I’ll make you a coffee,’ she said, touching Sally’s elbow, throwing David a warning glance. ‘Come on. Let’s get you sorted out.’

I feigned ignorance of the drama and appeared in the kitchen a moment later.