How the Trouble Started Read online

  ‘How did you try and make him happy?’

  ‘With the books, and looking after him when he was alone, and he loved the house, and sometimes we played outside.’

  ‘And that made him happy?’

  ‘Sometimes, I think.’

  ‘Did you ever do anything else to make him happy?’

  ‘I bought him cans and chocolates. Sweets. Played with him, read him stories.’

  ‘Not like that Donald.’

  He stared at me and I tried to stare back but I couldn’t keep it up.

  ‘No. I didn’t do anything else to make him happy.’

  He looked at me and I felt as guilty as if I’d touched Jake all over.

  32

  This time it was worse than graffiti on the door and lads shouting at the house. I tried not to go out much, and I wasn’t going to school anyway, but sometimes you have to leave the house. I didn’t know what was happening with the police, I was waiting to hear and desperate for something new to read, something to help me escape, so I went to the library. I got there without any trouble, but in the library, a place I’d been going to for years, I felt uneasy. I chose my books quickly, used the self-service machine and headed back home. Whenever I passed anyone, or anyone glanced at me, I knew what they were likely thinking and I wanted them to know that whatever they’d been told, whatever they thought about me, was probably wrong. It doesn’t work like that though; you’ve just got to let them have their stare and think what they want. I started using the back alleys and side streets.

  I was halfway down an alley behind Lime Street, about half a mile from home, when I heard running feet behind me. Before I could turn around and protect myself, something hard and heavy smashed into the back of my head. It didn’t hurt straight away but the force of it sent me to the ground. There were two of them. One kept smashing down on me with the weapon, the other used his feet. I curled up as much as I could and tried to wrap my arms around my head to protect myself, but it was like getting caught in a storm on a hillside where there’s nowhere to go and nothing to do other than take what comes. I was scared at first but the longer it carried on the less I cared. After a while I blacked out. When I came to they had gone, but I wasn’t sure I could move, and then I must have blacked out again because the next thing I remember a lady was crouched down beside me, rubbing my hand, saying, ‘It’s Sarah, love, Sarah from number twelve. Just stay still, stay where you are. I’ve rung for help.’ She brought me a glass of water. I tried to drink but I couldn’t tell where my lips ended and the glass began. As they lifted me up into the ambulance Sarah said she was sorry that she couldn’t come to the hospital with me but she had to collect her children from school, there was nobody else could do it. I should have thanked her for helping but they closed the ambulance doors before I got the chance.

  At the hospital nobody sat near me. I don’t know what I’d rolled in in the alley, but I smelt terrible. Everything started to hurt more as time went on. There was a burning pain in my chest and the left-hand side of my torso turned from roasting hot to cold and back again in seconds. My right hand was a mess too. I was sure that something was broken. A nurse assessed me when I arrived but then I waited for two hours before I was seen properly. A man in blue trousers and top finally called out my name and led me down a corridor to a bed and pulled the curtain closed around us. Fingers were held in front of me and I had to say how many I could see. Different shapes and symbols were traced on my forehead with a finger and I had to describe what shape had been drawn. I was asked questions about what month and year it was. Then I had to get undressed and was examined all over before being X-rayed. When I came back out of the X-ray the police were waiting to talk to me, but I didn’t want to talk to them. I’d caught a glimpse of the face of the lad who was bringing down the blows on my head. It was Tyler, Fiona’s brother. I told the police I didn’t see anything, that they’d attacked me from behind and I didn’t see anything.

  I lied about blacking out; I told the man in blue that I’d been conscious throughout it all so after they bandaged me up I was allowed to go home. I had two broken ribs and two fingers on my right hand were broken and there were bruises all over. I finally looked at my face in a mirror. It was swollen out of shape and looked like everything was sliding out of place. I was told I was lucky, with the extent of the bruising it could have been worse, they said. Pain rolled through my body and they gave me some pills for it. Nothing happened until I doubled up on the amount I was supposed to take and then they started to work. When I was discharged the man in blue said reception would ring a taxi for me, but I had no money so I said I would walk. They wouldn’t let me do that and, when I told them there was nobody to pick me up, a nurse arranged for me to have a lift in an ambulance. I asked the ambulance woman to stop a couple of streets away so Mum wouldn’t see, but she said they had to see me to the door. I snuck in and got lucky, Mum didn’t see the ambulance or me, and I went straight to bed. The next morning I came down for breakfast. ‘Look at you,’ Mum said, and started crying. I felt terrible. There had been trouble for her too. Not fists and punches, but they might as well have punched her in the face the damage it did. And at least I had my vanishing to look forward to. I had an escape that I knew was coming. I’d ruined Clifton for Mum and now I’d ruined Raithswaite too. I’d left her with nowhere to go.

  I had somewhere to go. The vanishing came to me on the bus journey back to Raithswaite, after I’d spent the night at the Pilchard Telescope. It presented itself fully formed, like the best vanishings always did. It was a beautiful morning and everywhere people were smiling. Women fell in and out of conversation on the bus and looked out of the windows and watched the hills and villages as we rolled along. Out on the streets people waved to each other, walked their dogs, walked to the shops. Everyone looked comfy, they all looked like they were in the right place, doing what they were supposed to be doing. The vanishing appeared for me then. I suddenly saw my way forward.

  33

  I went back to see Jake. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t supposed to, that I could get in more trouble. I had to see him, I needed to check that he was all right, that they’d told me the truth. I waited in the trees outside the playground. My timing was out and I had to wait ten minutes before the yard started to fill up, but then I saw him. There were three of them now: him, Harry and another lad, a new friend, almost as gormless-looking as Harry. The weather had turned and there was a snap in the air, a cold that hadn’t been in the town for months. Jake’s two friends were wearing coats, Jake was only in his jumper, and I wondered if he even had a coat, I’d never seen one, he’d need something for the coming winter. Maybe a teacher would notice. The tree in the corner was still their spot and they headed over there and started to muck around, pushing each other, laughing and chatting. They looked like they were having fun and it was good to see. It was only when the other two ran off and Jake went after them that I noticed his leg. He dragged it along after him slightly, like he couldn’t quite lift it all the way off the ground. It slowed him down, but it didn’t look like it caused him any pain and he appeared to be having as much fun as the others, even if he couldn’t quite keep up. To see him so firmly alive was the best sight I’d ever seen. After I’d watched him for a minute or two I turned to leave. I walked across town to the haunted house but I could see from the road that the police had been at it. There were grilles over the windows and round the back it was just the same: a grille over the door, all the windows covered, no way back in at all.

  34

  The only other person I wanted to see was Fiona. It was impossible to go to her house because of her brother, and I still wasn’t going to school, so I had to keep my eyes peeled on the quarry. Finally I saw her. I didn’t know how she would react but it was important to speak to her. I called out her name but her headphones were in and she was walking away from me. When I touched her shoulder she jumped and spun round. ‘Bloody hell Donald. You scared the shit out of me.’

 
‘Sorry.’

  ‘Fucking creeping up on me like that.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘God you look a mess.’

  ‘I look better than I did.’

  ‘They made a right mess of you.’

  ‘I didn’t know if you would talk to me or not.’

  ‘What were you thinking Donald?’

  ‘I wasn’t doing anything bad.’

  ‘The police came to ask me questions and I didn’t know what to tell them,’ she said.

  ‘I wasn’t doing anything funny.’

  ‘I don’t think you were.’

  ‘Nobody else believes it though.’

  She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered me one and I took it and we set off walking. We kept going until we came to the back wall of the quarry.

  ‘How far did he fall?’

  I pointed.

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘There’s talk about fencing it off at the bottom. So it can’t happen again.’

  We didn’t stay there long. It made me feel sick. As we walked off I started telling her about Clifton and Oliver Thomas. She ended up coming into the house. We sat at the kitchen table and I carried on talking, I told her about it all. The two memories, everything I could think of, everything I could remember. Mum was in the room next door and must have known what was going on but she didn’t try and stop me.

  35

  After I’d seen Jake and Fiona I was ready. On the night I decided to go I went up to bed at the usual time but kept my clothes on. I left the light on in my room and crept out of the house at midnight when I was sure Mum would be asleep. It was a clear night, the stars clustering and bright. I walked to Lime Street and pushed a thank-you card through the letter box of number twelve as quietly as I could. Then I walked back to Eastham Street, the big houses sat at the top of their drives, as silent as monuments. I cut through the woods where I’d carried the furniture for the haunted house and headed for the quarry wall. There is a tall wire fence to keep people away from the sudden drop, but I’d done my research and knew where it had been cut, where I could squeeze through. As I pushed through the overgrowth I saw a Portakabin behind some trees I’d never seen before. I tried the door but it was locked. I sat near the lip of the quarry. I had a few cans with me and I drank for a couple of hours, not a silly amount, not like last time, just enough to make me woozy. It was a beautiful night, as calm and peaceful as any of my vanishings had ever been. I stood and walked to the edge of the drop and looked down into the thick blackness below. You couldn’t see the bottom, you couldn’t see anything down there and I started to feel dizzy. I stepped back. I thought about Jake and Oliver and decided I would try not to think about them any more. I looked over the quarry to our row of houses. I could see the light from my bedroom window, a small light, the only light on in any of the houses, and realised how easy it was to walk away. Already I was far enough away from her that I couldn’t hear, even if she shouted.

  I’d filled my bag with clothes and I had some money I’d stolen from her purse. There wasn’t much, but it was enough to get me to where I wanted to go. The first bus would arrive in the city about half eight, so I left the quarry at six to make sure I didn’t miss it. There were three of us on the bus when we left Raithswaite, but by the time we pulled into the bus station people were standing in the aisle, holding on to bars and trying not to fall into each other as we turned tight corners. It was a relief when we pulled to a final stop and the doors opened and the bus cleared. I had an hour before my next bus so I walked up and down the wide streets of the city centre. I felt much better than the last time I’d been there, but the place still scared me, and I kept getting in the way of people rushing along, striding hard, like they were racing each other. I tried to get out of everyone’s way but wherever I walked somebody wanted to get past, and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find my way back to the bus terminal, so I didn’t go too far, didn’t explore too much, didn’t want to miss the bus.

  It was about a quarter to eleven when I knocked on his front door, but there was no reply, so I sat down against the house, waiting for him to return, hoping he hadn’t gone away on holiday. After a couple of minutes I heard a snipping sound, coming from the back of the house. I picked up my bag and walked to the side gate and listened again and could hear it clearly now. He was working in the garden. I clicked open the gate and walked down the side of the house and saw him in the far corner, on his knees, sleeves rolled up, working on some stems. ‘Mr Mole,’ I said. But I was nervous and too far away and he didn’t hear me, so I cleared my throat and spoke his name more loudly.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you:

  Antony Harwood, Julian Loose, Kate Murray-Browne, Alex Bowden, Jim Lee, James McGrath,​Juliette Tomlinson and everyone at Faber.

  First published in 2012

  by Faber and Faber Ltd

  Bloomsbury House

  74–77 Great Russell Street

  London WC1B 3DA

  This ebook edition first published in 2012

  All rights reserved

  © Robert Williams, 2012

  The right of Robert Williams to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly

  ISBN 978–0–571–28856–4

  About the author

  Robert Williams grew up in Clitheroe, Lancashire and currently lives in Manchester. His first novel, Luke and Jon, won a Betty Trask Award, was translated into seven languages and called ‘a hugely impressive debut’ in the Daily Telegraph. He has worked in a secondary school library, as a bookseller for Waterstones, and has written and released music under the name The Library Trust.