Tracks - unfinished novel (excerpt)
Thirteen
Then
I went back to Hazel and Gavin’s a week after that first visit, this time with two suitcases and a couple of bulging cardboard boxes in tow. I was moving in. Hazel was waiting on the front doorstep when Darren pulled up outside with me in the passenger seat. I wondered if she’d been looking out of the window to spot us coming down the street or whether she’d been stood there since dawn, just in case. She was smiling and she waved at us as the car braked to a halt.
Gavin appeared behind her and pushed past to come and help us unload my things from the car.
‘Alright, Tiger?’
He talked like a children’s television presenter. I was sure that when we got inside he would want to show me how to make a spaceship out of a plastic bottle and an egg box.
‘I’m not calling you Dad,’ I said.
A sympathetic look, slightly hurt maybe, flashed across Gavin’s face when I said that. He put down the suitcase he had taken out of the boot and crouched down in front of me.
‘Listen David… we’re not here to take your parents’ place. We’re just here to help look after you and make sure you’re alright. You call us by our first names like you do with your friends. I’m not a new Dad; I’m just a friend; I’m just Gavin. Okay?’
‘Suppose,’ I said.
The house - my own house I mean - was going to be rented out. I would still legally own it but there was a firm of solicitors who would manage the rental of it and act as landlords. The same company were acting as trustees to the money I would get from Dad’s insurance policy. They were to make sure that I was provided for until I was old enough to manage whatever was left of the money by myself. That wouldn’t be until I was eighteen, which seemed an age away. The house was being rented out unfurnished so all of the furniture had been sold off and the proceeds added into my trust fund. Of course, the solicitors took a share of everything as their fee. It didn’t matter to me, I didn’t understand any of it, all I knew was that strangers were going to move into my house, whilst I would have to live with more strangers. It seemed topsy-turvy but I understood why I had to live with Hazel and Gavin. I didn’t have to like it though.
For the first couple of weeks I caused Hazel and Gavin as much hassle I could. When they spoke to me I communicated with one-word answers, shakes of the head, or shrugs of the shoulders. For the first two days I refused to eat anything even though the food they cooked (they took it in turns) filled the house with a delicious smell and made my stomach rumble incessantly. They coaxed and cajoled but I stuck to my guns and wouldn’t let them persuade me to eat. On the third day I was so hungry that I gave in and ate dinner, a plate piled high with homemade cottage pie (Hazel’s) and vegetables with a hot, thick gravy. It was fantastic, but I didn’t tell them how nice it was, I just mumbled a quiet thank you as I finished the meal and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I polished off two bowls of ice cream for dessert. I felt a stone heavier.
I stayed in the spare room (I still couldn’t bear to call it “my” room, although it was) as much as possible, avoiding Gavin and Hazel. There was a three-tiered bookshelf in there with all sorts of books on it, so I hid away in the bedroom with my head in a book for most of the day.
I was laying down and reading “Day Of The Triffids” when Gavin knocked on the door. Without waiting for me to answer he opened the door and poked his head round.
‘Alright?’
‘Fine thanks,’ I mumbled.
‘What are you reading? Oh - “Day Of The Triffids”. That’s a good one. I read that a long time ago. It’s a bit scary though, isn’t it?’
‘Not really.’ I shrugged. ‘I’ve read it before anyway.’
Actually I hadn’t read it at all but Gavin wouldn’t know that.
‘Enjoyed it, eh? You must have done if you’re reading it again. I used to read a lot too. I don’t have as much time as I used to though. Takes me ages to finish a book these days.’
Gavin went out to work during the day. He worked in an office somewhere in town, as some kind of manager, I didn’t know what exactly. He had told me what it was he did but I wasn’t listening properly so I couldn’t remember what it was he had said. I imagined his desk was as spotless as the house, pens and pencils all in a pot, papers neatly filed away.
‘Anyway, David,’ he said, ‘I just came up to tell you that the house has been let. Somebody is moving in next month. I thought you would like to know. How do you feel about that?’
Someone was moving into our house. My house. Dad’s house. I thought for a moment. Then I told Gavin that it was fine by me, which of course it wasn’t. I couldn’t stand the idea of a bunch of strangers traipsing through my house as if it were theirs. But I knew that there was nothing I could do about it, and if the truth were told, I’d been expecting this moment. I’d been preparing for it, planning how I would have to react, planning how I would stay calm and act like it didn’t bother me. And that was what I did.
Two days after that, I started watching the house.
(c) Nick Boldock, 2010.
Author's Note: Naturally, this is where it all starts to get a bit mysterious (and after thirteen fucking chapters of weeping and wailing, that's the very least you can expect, to be frank).
