The Whisper Man(47)

Just behave normally, Dyson had told me, which was a completely impossible instruction under the circumstances. But when I reached the playground, I saw Karen leaning against the railings, hands stuffed into the pockets of her big coat, and figured that talking to her was about as normal as anything else. I walked in and leaned against the railings beside her.

“Hello there,” she said. “How’s tricks?”

“Tricky.”

“Ha-ha.” Then she looked at me properly. “Although that’s not actually a joke, is it, by the look of things. Bad day?”

I breathed out slowly. The police hadn’t explicitly told me I couldn’t talk to anyone about the day’s events, but I suspected it would be wise not to, yet. Aside from anything else, I had absolutely no idea where to begin.

“You could say that. It’s been a very complicated twenty-four hours. I’ll tell you about it properly some time.”

“Well, I’ll look forward to that. I hope you’re okay, though. No offense, but you look like shit.” She thought about it. “Although that probably is quite offensive, isn’t it? Sorry. I always say the wrong thing. Bad habit.”

“It’s fine. I just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Your son’s imaginary friends keeping you up?”

I actually laughed.

“That’s closer to the truth than you know.”

The boy in the floor.

I thought of the rusty-looking bones, and the hollow-eyed skull with its crest of jagged cracks. The beautiful colors of the butterflies Jake couldn’t have seen, but had somehow drawn. And as much as I wanted him out here right now, I was also slightly unnerved by the prospect. Unnerved by him. My sensitive son, with his sleepwalking and his imaginary friends, and the way he talked to people who weren’t there, who told him frightening rhymes and tried to scare him.

They scared me too.

The door opened. Mrs. Shelley appeared and then began looking at the parents and calling children’s names back over her shoulder. Her gaze drifted across Karen and me.

“Adam,” she said, and then moved immediately on to a different boy.

“Uh-oh,” Karen said. “Looks like you’re on the naughty step again.”

“The day I’ve had, that really wouldn’t surprise me.”

“It can feel like you’re a child again yourself, can’t it? The way they talk to you sometimes.”

I nodded. Although I wasn’t sure I was in the mood to put up with it today.

“Anyway, take care of yourself,” Karen said, as Adam reached us.

“I will.”

I watched them go, then waited while the rest of the children were released. At least Dyson was getting a good chance to take precautions, I supposed—and the thought made me scan the faces in the playground myself. Except what was the point? A few of the parents were familiar, but I hadn’t been here long enough to recognize more than a handful. To them I probably looked like a suspicious character myself.

When there was only Jake left, Mrs. Shelley beckoned me over. Jake emerged at her side, once again staring down at the ground. He looked so vulnerable that I wanted to rescue him—just scoop him up and take him somewhere safe. I felt a burst of love for him. Maybe he was too fragile to be ordinary, to fit in and be accepted. But after everything that had happened, so fucking what?

“Trouble again?” I said.

“I’m afraid so.” Mrs. Shelley smiled sadly. “Jake was put on red today. He had to go to see Miss Wallace, didn’t you, Jake?”

Jake nodded miserably.

“What happened?” I said.

“He hit another boy in the class.”

“Oh.”

“Owen started it.” Jake sounded as though he was about to cry. “He was trying to take my Packet of Special Things. I didn’t mean to hit him.”

“Yes, well.” Mrs. Shelley folded her arms and looked at me pointedly. “I’m not entirely sure that’s an appropriate thing for a child your age to be bringing into school in the first place.”

I had no idea what to say. Social convention dictated that I side with the grown-up here, which meant that I should tell Jake that hitting was bad, and that maybe his teacher was right about the Packet. But I couldn’t. This situation suddenly seemed so laughably trivial. The stupid fucking traffic light system. The terror of Miss Wallace. And most of all, the idea of telling Jake off because some little shit had messed with him and, most likely, gotten exactly what he deserved.

I looked at my son, standing there so timidly, probably expecting me to tell him off, when what I actually wanted to say to him was: Well done.

I never had the courage to do that at your age.

I hope you hit him hard.

And yet social convention won out.

“I’ll talk to him,” I said.

“Good. Because it’s not been a fantastic start, has it, Jake?”

Mrs. Shelley ruffled his hair, and social convention lost.

“Don’t touch my son,” I said.

“I’m sorry?”

She moved her hand as though Jake were electric. There was some satisfaction in that, even though my words had come out without any thought and I wasn’t remotely sure what I was going to say next.

“Just that,” I said. “You can’t put him on your traffic light system and then pretend to be nice. To be honest, I think it’s a pretty terrible thing to do to any child, never mind one who’s obviously having problems right now.”