The next day, Mum came up first thing to tell me that traces of Teddy’s blood had been found in the fibers of the blue blanket that Claudia Bird had given the police.
Claudia told the police that she was just going out for a walk with Frankie when the dog became interested in something underneath her car. At first she thought it was an old rag, but when she pulled it out from the wheel arch she realized what it was. She had a vague recollection of driving over something in the road on the afternoon Teddy went missing. It must have been his blanket, which had then become caught up underneath her car. I checked back over my notebook, and her story seemed to add up.
Monday, July 28th. Office/nursery. Very hot.
2:39 p.m.—Claudia waves to Mr. Charles from her car as she drives off.
“It doesn’t look good, Matthew. That poor mum,” said Mum.
She dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a tissue, used it to blow her nose, then squeezed it in her hands like one of those squishy stress balls. I had been about to go and wash my hands, but she was now blocking my doorway.
“Have the police searched the Rectory?” I asked.
“Old Nina? She wouldn’t hurt a fly, Matthew. Why would they want to search her house? She’s staying in that posh hotel in town. You know the one? With the huge baths and the free dressing gowns.”
“Who? Old Nina?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, not Old Nina! Melissa Dawson!” My mum does this a lot—she flits from subject to subject. I think it’s from following so many conversations at once in the salon.
“It’s a bit odd, isn’t it? You’d think she’d want her family around her at a time like this, or at least to stay close in case he turns up. Penny said yesterday that she probably blames Mr. Charles for not looking after Teddy properly. She likely can’t bear to be anywhere near him.”
I wondered if it had more to do with her being so used to hotels, what with all the business traveling she must do. They probably felt like home to her.
My hand wash was becoming urgent now. A deadly disease could easily have been spreading from my wrists up toward my elbows, and from there it wasn’t far to my shoulders, my neck, and then my mouth. And once they’d gotten inside your mouth … Well, that was pretty much it, really. There was no hope then.
I could hear Dad clattering around downstairs doing something in the conservatory. Mum showed no sign of leaving and leaned toward me. I quickly took a step back, my heart pounding. A low growl rumbled from the Wallpaper Lion in the corner of my room.
“There’s no father around, apparently.”
My breaths were coming in short bursts and I was practically panting.
“Are you all right, Matthew? You really need to get a bit of sun, you know. You’re fading away up here.”
I could hear “The Macarena” playing somewhere in the distance. Mum frowned at me as we both tried to place where the music was coming from, and then Dad bellowed up the stairs.
“Sheila! It’s your phone again!”
Mum’s face lit up.
“That’s probably Penny. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Back in my room after washing my hands, I watched Dad from the window. There was a tower of old cans of paint on the grass, and he stumbled out of the shed holding an old roller and a dirty, black plastic tray. Grabbing a can from the top of the pile, he headed indoors.
I remembered then—decorating was Dad’s way of keeping busy when he felt helpless. After Callum died he took two weeks off of work and painted the kitchen, lounge, hallway, and their bedroom. Mum’s way of coping back then was to sort through the attic. She spent hours up there, rummaging away as I stared up from the bottom of the ladder. Once or twice she’d gone up there but didn’t make any noise and kept the light turned off. I think she’d finished sorting and just wanted to sit there quietly in the darkness for a bit.
A lawn mower fired up next door. Mr. Charles had cleared all of Teddy’s and Casey’s toys off the grass and had piled them like rubbish in a heap beside the shed. He stood on the edge of the patio and then set off, pushing the orange machine at arm’s length as a light green stripe appeared behind him. When he turned back toward the house, he raised one liver-spotted arm at me and waved. There was a smile on his face.
Wednesday, July 30th. Bedroom. Very hot. Cloudy.
9:35 a.m.—Mr. Charles is mowing his lawn. Appears almost happy … Is this normal behavior?
The mower turned on and off as Mr. Charles carefully cut around the edge of the fishpond. He dipped the blades up and down, trying to avoid damaging any of the plants. Two more strips and he was returning back to the patio for the last time, expertly turning the mower off just as he reached the end. Stretching his arms behind him, he looked back up at me, a strange grin on his face. He held up a finger as if to say, Wait there just a second, young man before he dashed off to the kitchen, leaving the mower clicking and popping as it cooled down. My stomach churned a little. Something didn’t seem right. He emerged back into the sunshine holding a glass of something clear and fizzy in each hand. It looked like lemonade. My heart was racing. He walked toward the fence between our gardens and stretched an arm upward, the sun glinting on the glass. Did he think I could just reach down and take it? I stared back at him and shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t know what to do. He put one of the glasses down on the patio table and beckoned for me to join him. His other arm held the lemonade high, as if it were some ridiculous trophy waiting to be presented to me.
And the award for “Removing Oneself from One’s Bedroom Goes to …”
Mr. Charles’s grin began to wobble. I shook my head and stepped away from the window. Then I saw it. He dropped his gaze, and his face contorted into a sinister snarl as he said something under his breath. I’d never seen his face like that before, all twisted and nasty. I quickly pulled the curtains.
“Did you see that, Lion? Did you see his face?”
I glanced up at the Wallpaper Lion. His eye was directed toward my window, and I knew immediately what I’d done wrong—I’d pulled the curtains too fast and now death and disease were escaping from the folds of fabric and swarming everywhere. If I did nothing then before long the whole room would need to be decontaminated. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the germs, but I could hear the scurrying of their dirty feet as they ran across the walls and ceiling. I sat up, wiped my eyes, took a deep breath, and reached down for my cleaning things.
There were two emails in my inbox, both from my old best friend, Tom.
To: Party Crowd
From: Thomas Allen
Subject: Invitation
Venue: My House
Event: Barbecue!!!
When: Saturday, August 9th at 3 p.m.
Reason: Summer!
RSVP to TOM!
(BRING A FRIEND)
Along the bottom of the email there was a row of yellow emojis all doing random things like blowing raspberries, winking, or spinning around. I clicked on his other email.
To: Matthew Corbin
From: Thomas Allen
Re: Invitation
Hey bud! How’s it going? Haven’t seen you in ages! I heard about that little kid next door to you going missing. That’s awful! [Here he had inserted a sad emoji with a tear running down its face.] I hope they find him soon!
I’m happy it’s summer vacation. How great is that!? Hope you can make the BBQ!! I know things have been a bit weird, but get in touch if you want to go out or something!!!!!
Tom
I cringed. It appeared that he had developed an affliction for overuse of exclamation marks. Next to the word weird he’d inserted another smiley face that looked like it was straining to go to the toilet. It was obvious that I’d missed far too much school and my best friend had become an idiot.
To: Thomas Allen
From: Matthew Corbin
Re: Invitation
Hi Tom,
Thanks for the invite—it sounds amazing!
(I allowed myself one exclamation mark to make him feel comfortable.)
I don’t think I’ll be able to make it unfortunately. Things have been pretty crazy around here after Teddy went missing. There’s police everywhere. The woman across the street found his blanket, and this morning they said they found some of his blood
I stopped. I suddenly had a thought. I looked down from the window and saw Officer Campen standing outside next door. He was rocking onto his toes and then back onto his heels like he was on some kind of invisible swing. I quickly ran downstairs and opened the front door. The step looked too filthy for my bare feet, so I held onto the doorframe with my fingertips and leaned forward.
“Officer Campen!”
The policeman was staring across the street vacantly as he stifled a yawn.
“Hey! Officer Campen!”
He looked around, frowning.
“I need to tell you something. It’s about Teddy!”
The policeman darted over to the fence between our front gardens.
“What is it? You saw someone, didn’t you? I knew it …”
My fingers hurt as I dangled around the doorframe at an awkward angle.
“No, no I didn’t, but it’s about the blood. The blood they found on the blanket? Teddy scratched himself when he was picking the petals off the roses. I remembered just now—I didn’t write it down for some reason.”
The policeman kept turning behind him, making sure no one was venturing near the house.
“How do you know all this?”
“Because I was watching him. He was picking petals and caught his arm on a thorn and he dabbed at the bloody scratch with his blanket. Get it? The blood they found doesn’t mean he’s been hurt.”
Officer Campen stared at me as I waited.
“Where on his arm?”
I was dangerously close to falling out of the house.
“On his forearm. The right one. Look, I’ve got to go.”
I pulled myself back inside and closed the door, knowing that before long the police would be knocking again and asking the same question in ten different ways. Dad was in the conservatory using a roller to paint beneath the window ledges; the pool table was covered with an old, stained beige cloth.
“What’s going on, Matthew?” he called.
I walked to the edge of the conservatory, stopping at the white, shiny tiles that harbored a trillion germs. Nigel was nowhere to be seen.
“I remembered something, so I told the policeman next door. Teddy scratched his arm when he was in the front garden; that’s probably why there was blood on the blanket.”
“And what did the police say?”
I just shrugged, and Dad huffed. I knew he was embarrassed that I looked out the window so much. He’d have preferred me to be on an Xbox or something, doing something normal.
“Pass me that brush, would you, son? I need to get around the edges.”
In the corner of the conservatory and lying on top of a few sheets of newspaper was a thin, black brush. It was just within my reach. Without stepping onto the tiles I stretched awkwardly around and picked up the brush between my bare thumb and index finger. There was no way I was going to walk across Nigel’s vomiting playground, but Dad wasn’t making any sign that he’d walk toward me, so I was now stuck with the brush in my hand.
“Come on, Matthew. Give it here, I haven’t got all day.”
Dad stared at me, his roller in one hand, as I stared back, the brush in mine. We stood there like two bizarre cowboys waiting to see who was going to draw first. Just when I was considering throwing the brush at Dad and making a run for it, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it!”
The brush clattered to the floor as I made my escape. Officer Campen was on the step with the man in the suit who’d tried to comfort Melissa Dawson when she’d collapsed.
“Matthew Corbin? Can we come in for a chat?”
I stood back and let them in as Mum and Dad appeared.
“Mr. and Mrs. Corbin, your son has said he remembered something else about the day Teddy went missing. We just need to ask him a few more questions.”
We all shuffled silently toward the kitchen.
“Everyone for tea?” said Mum and she got some mugs out of the cupboard and filled the kettle up even though no one had said yes. The policeman in the business suit introduced himself as Detective Bradley and gave Dad his business card. He then asked me more of the same questions I’d heard before. How could I see so much from the window? What was I doing looking out in the first place? Was I aware the boy was on his own? And then he moved on to the blood. How much blood was there? Did I actually see it drip onto the blanket? Did I see Teddy use the blanket to wipe the blood? Why did he not call out to his granddad if he’d hurt himself enough to bleed?
“I don’t know. He just looked at the cut for a bit and then carried on doing what he was doing. He’s quite a tough kid, actually.”
The detective looked up, puzzled.
“And why would you say that?”
I was on a bit of a roll now.
“Well, he didn’t seem that bothered when he got pushed into the pond …”
I screwed my eyes shut. The detective looked at Officer Campen, who shrugged.
“What pond? Who pushed him in the pond?”
Mum and Dad stopped fiddling with the tea things and everyone stared at me. The kettle rumbled away and then clicked off.
“The day after they came to stay, Casey pushed Teddy into Mr. Charles’s pond. He went in headfirst and she just stood there watching him.”
The detective rubbed his face and his hand made a scratching noise against stubble that hadn’t been there yesterday.
“And you saw this out of your window as well?”
I nodded, and then Mum piped up.
“It was a different window though, detective. It would have been in his bedroom, which is at the back and looks out on the yards. Isn’t that right, Matthew?”
I nodded, uneasy. A sinister, dank fog oozed out of the creases of the kitchen cupboards. I coughed a little as it caught in my throat.
“Okay. We’ll need to take a look at that. And then what happened? While you stood there in your bedroom watching a small child nearly drown.”
The kitchen fell silent and I bit my lip as tears filled my eyes. I opened my mouth to say something but Dad stepped in.
“Look, detective, I think you should know that my son, my Matthew, has a serious condition that renders him practically housebound. You might think he’s a bit of an oddball, but did you know that in a school of three thousand students around twenty of them have this condition?”
I gave Dad a smile as Detective Bradley raised his hands.
“I just want to establish how this child was put in danger and why it appears that an adult wasn’t supervising him. Again. I’m not blaming your son, Mr. Corbin.”
“I didn’t just stand there,” I said, my voice gruff. “I ran to the front of the house and shouted for Mr. Charles. He was across the street talking to Penny and Gordon, and when he got back to the pond, Casey had pulled him out.”
Detective Bradley went to say something, but I spoke over him.
“Isn’t it a bit odd that Mr. Charles hasn’t told you about this himself? And don’t you think it’s unusual that he’s been out in that yard today, mowing his lawn while the rest of the world is out looking for his grandson?”
My voice had become louder until I was practically shouting at him. It felt good, and to make it even better, Dad winked at me. Detective Bradley glared at Officer Campen.
“You didn’t stop him mowing the lawn?”
Officer Campen looked stunned.
“I-I didn’t know he was … I heard a mower but thought it was a few doors down, I …”
The policemen began to discuss who was where and when and then Officer Campen began to bark orders into his radio. Mum switched the kettle on again as she and Dad talked in hushed voices in the corner.
“I knew she looked wicked. Did you see her eyes, Brian? And that weird doll? Urgh, it gave me the creeps.”
“Now come on, Sheila, you can’t assume she had anything to do with him going missing.”
I ran upstairs to the bathroom and washed my hands over and over. I gave a final rinse in hot water and heard the front door bang closed as the policemen left. From the top of the landing I could see the fog from the kitchen slowly rolling in waves across the floor, creeping its way upstairs.