His parents were coming back that evening, but Tony, having promised to complete his Spring Cycle by the time they got back, was only just starting in earnest. He crossed from one pile of crap to another, talking to himself, and David could hear him, even through the closed window, and it made his head hurt. The noise-cancelling headphones didn’t help either: while they protected him from some of Tony’s noise, they allowed Marc to swim up from the deadened depths of his mind, and David was trapped between Tony’s loud chaos and Marc’s stealthy silence. Fortunately, David had come up with a plan to defeat them both and protect himself. It was tricky, delicate, and it demanded huge… what’s the word? What’s the word? Jesus, it’s so loud, so loud? Why so loud, whysoloudwhysoloudwhy—

For the last hour, Tony had been playing the same aria from Carmen, and the scratched record stuck at the same phrase every few minutes. Each time it stuck, it took him at least thirty seconds to notice and pick up the needle, and start it all over again. ‘Si tu ne m’aimes pas, je t’aime, Si tu ne m’aimes pas, je t’aime, Si tu ne m’aimes pas, je t’aime…’

David paced his room like a bear driven mad by captivity.

He couldn’t concentrate with that – screaming – going on. And he had to, it was imperative because, if he didn’t, then he couldn’t sleep, and if he didn’t sleep he’d go mad, and Marc would win and that couldn’t happen. Bullies don’t prosper. That’s the truth; Marc needed to be told—

‘STOP IT!’ For the first time in a week, David opened his window.

‘Si tu ne m’aimes pas, je t’aime…’

‘TONY! STOP IT!’ He couldn’t focus.

‘Si tu—'

He opened the window wider and leaned out. The fresh air made him feel dizzy. ‘TONY! TURN IT OFF!’

Tony popped his head out of the summer house and waved. David noted, painfully, that he was wearing a red velvet beret. ‘OFF OFF OFF!’

‘Back from the land of nod, are we?’ Tony shouted over the noise. David pointed furiously at the speakers. Tony nodded. ‘Callas!’ he called.

‘It’s SKIPPING!’

‘What, can’t hear you, let me turn it down – what?’

‘Tony, the record’s been skipping for ages,’ David called, surprised at how calm his voice sounded. ‘Can’t you get a new needle or something?’

‘Has it?’ Tony smiled quizzically. ‘I didn’t notice.’

‘You do,’ David called. It was more difficult now to keep his voice even. ‘You do notice it; you just start it again, every time. You’re doing it on purpose.’

‘It’s a beautiful piece. You’re just a philistine!’ Tony called cheerfully.

David took a deep breath. ‘Tony. I have a headache. I’m still not well. Do you want me to tell Mum that you made me feel worse?’

Tony smirked a little, but said nothing. They stared at each other for a few seconds. Then Tony went back into the summer house, and David returned to his task. The fresh air from the window somehow made the stink in the room worse, he had to breathe through his mouth because of the smell. The wire was sharp against his fingertips; the smell of peroxide made his eyes sting. It had been an… unpleasant task. Unpleasant, but necessary. If he got this right, then Marc’s face, with its cheekbone smashed and his eyes – surprised, strangely innocent as he slipped, finally, into the cold water – might leave him alone. No, not might, would. Any ghost conjured can be conjured away. You just need the right charm, and he knew that this was the right charm.

After ten minutes of calm, though, the music started again. The same side with the same skip, and no, don’t let it get to you, don’t let it – concentrate! Concentrate! ‘Si tu ne m’aimes pas, je t’aime, Si tu ne m’aimes pas, je t’aime’ and for the love of God turn it down turn it off turn it down turn it off.

He didn’t hear Tony jogging up the stairs and opening his bedroom door.

‘You’ve been shouting? What’s happened?’

And David, stunned, looked up at Tony’s reddened, droopy face, and he scrambled backwards, his toe catching the bowl of peroxide, tipping it over onto the carpet. Tinker’s broken jaw, those carefully prised out, polished teeth, scattered across the carpet. ‘You’re in my room!’ David gasped. ‘You can’t be in my room!’

But Tony, now pale, stayed. He even tottered in further. ‘What’s that?’ he asked stupidly, pointing at the cat’s skull, the partially skinned paws. ‘Jesus, David, what’ve you done?’ and David had no answer. His only thought was to somehow get Tony out of the room.

‘Get OUT!’ he scuttled back on his backside and got up on numb legs. In one hand he held the pliers, and he made an ineffectual launch at Tony with them ‘GET OUT OF MY ROOM!’

And Tony did, running back down the stairs, his silly little oriental sandals flapping on each step.

* * *

When Tinker had died (when Tony had murdered her), David had genuinely intended to bury her. He dug the hole and everything, but then she spoke to him – not actually spoke to him, he wasn’t crazy – but she… somehow… let him know that even in death she could help. And so he’d filled in the grave, and kept her in his room. When she started to smell, he bought the pliers, peroxide and citric acid online, and read about taxidermy, about witchcraft and lucky charms. He wrapped her in silver foil and put her in a pillowcase when he wasn’t working on her, thinking dimly that this would stop the smell from spreading. It wouldn’t take long now, anyway. All he had to do was take out her claws, wire everything together to make his gleaming, rattling bracelet – a totem he could secretly wear at night to fend off Marc.

Now David spent long minutes looking for Tinker’s teeth in the carpet. In his shaken mind, he thought that if he found them all, and arranged them just as they’d been before, then he could start over. It could still work. Tinker wouldn’t let him down, would she?

‘Would you darling?’ he asked her. ‘You’re OK, aren’t you darling?’

But poor Tinker, stinking and desiccated on the plastic sheeting he’d put down to protect the carpet, was not OK. Poor Tinker. Poor, dead Tinker, who’d wanted to help, who’d given her life to help, had been thwarted once again by Tony.

He picked up each tooth, stuck them in order on a piece of tape, and wrapped them in a piece of foil, placed it in her mouth, and wrapped her half-denuded torso in the pillowcase. Then he said a prayer. He told her how sorry he was, and he began to cry, feeling like a baby, but unable to stop. He cried for a long time, until his despair morphed into anger, which in turn became an implacable, calm rage. Tony. That fucker Tony. He’d ruined everything, he was doing Marc’s bidding for him. The two of them were in it together.

Perhaps if he buried Tinker now? If she wasn’t in the house when Mother and Father came back, David could just say that Tony was lying, couldn’t he? This could still be turned around. Also, if he buried her next to the kitten box, she could work her charm still? It was worth trying. So, for the first time since Tinker died, David left the house.