Back in my room, the sunlight made flickering stripes across my carpet. My room didn’t feel right; everything needed to be cleaned. Every pencil, book, chair leg, lightbulb, the walls, all of it. I’d start at the top and work my way down to the baseboards and then I’d tackle the smaller items. I put on a pair of gloves and set to work.
Standing on the bed, which would need changing afterward, I began to wipe at the wall with a cloth soaked in antibacterial spray. The Wallpaper Lion had an ear—I’d never noticed that before. But it was there, peeking out from his matted mane: a small golden triangle.
“Melody thinks I’m lonely,” I said to him. “Can you believe it? And she’s collecting memorial cards. How sick is that? I know she got the gloves for me, but … that’s just beyond wrong. Isn’t it?”
The Wallpaper Lion’s face shone and his drooping eye sparkled. He almost appeared to be smiling at me, enjoying his little wash.
I stopped and stared at him.
“What if she knows, Lion? What if she sees my note and realizes Callum’s death was all my fault?”
The Wallpaper Lion carried on smiling. I imagined him shaking his mane, the tiny droplets of moisture raining everywhere.
Voices were coming from outside, and from here I could see Penny drinking from a mug as she stood on the patio talking to Mr. Charles. I got off the bed and put my cleaning stuff down, picking up my notebook.
1:25 p.m.—Penny Sullivan is next door. She’s talking to Mr. Charles and every now and then she pats him on the arm.
He said something about going to see his sister for a few days and then his home phone began to ring and he lolloped back indoors. She watched him go into the house, then walked down the lawn to the mound of toys that Mr. Charles had dumped next to the shed. Shaking her head a few times, she looked over the pile and picked up a red bucket, which she tipped onto the grass. A few of Teddy’s chunky, plastic cars fell out and she reached down and picked up a small, orange bulldozer, studying it closely before rolling it up and down her arm.
“What’s she doing?” I said. I moved closer to the window.
Turning the bulldozer over, she spun each wheel using her thumb and then Mr. Charles reappeared.
“What is it? What’s happened?” said Penny.
Mr. Charles had his head in his hands.
“It was my daughter … doesn’t want anything to do with me … said it’s all my fault …”
Penny put an arm around him as he began to cry, and they turned and slowly began walking back to the house. She was trying to hold her mug and the orange toy in one hand, and her tea slopped onto the grass.
Penny pats Mr. Charles on his back as he sobs. “He’s such a dear boy,” he says. “I’d never see him come to any harm. He’s such a dear, dear boy.” Turning her patting into a rub, Penny rests her head on his shoulder for a second. “I know, I know,” she says. “He’s such a funny little fellow.”
I looked up from my notebook, and she was staring straight at me. I gave her a weak smile and saw her physically shudder.
Penny Sullivan hadn’t liked me since Callum died.
I didn’t have any grandparents—they’d died before I was born—and Mum always seemed to see Penny as a bit of a mother figure. She was around a lot when I was little, telling Mum what to cook and what to buy. She was the local agent for a catalog called Harrington’s Household Solutions, which promised to revolutionize your home with an assortment of items you can’t live without! Mum loved that catalog, and every month she would pore through it, oohing and aahing at some new fancy gadget that we’d never use.
Dad wasn’t a fan of Penny. He thought she was too overbearing, and I don’t think he liked the fact Mum took her advice so seriously. One winter Mum asked her what type of Christmas tree she should get.
“Stick with a fake one, Sheila. You’ll still be hoovering up needles in August if you get a real one. Harrington’s are doing a lovely synthetic Nordic spruce in the catalog next month. That’ll look picture-perfect in your window.”
That particular year, Dad had wanted a real tree for a change, but Mum would never go against Penny’s advice.
“She’s life-experienced, Brian. That woman knows what she’s talking about.”
“Life-experienced? She’s an interfering old bag, that’s what she is. Always thinking she’s right, never listening to what anyone else says. It’s no wonder she’s driven both of her kids away …”
But Mum didn’t agree, and it was Penny she called in a panic when she had to rush to the hospital to have Callum. She arrived on our doorstep wearing a bright, fluffy, multicolored sweater and jeans, and she was carrying a large bag stuffed with games. I’d never seen her in casual clothes before. Gordon hovered behind her as always, a newspaper tucked under his arm. Over the afternoon and evening she taught me how to play Hangman, Dots and Boxes, and Battleship using just a pencil and paper, and we played some old board games that used to belong to her children, like Chinese Checkers. Gordon sat in Dad’s armchair filling in a crossword puzzle and looked up every now and then when she told him what a good player I was.
“He’s such a quick learner, Gordon! Not like our Jeremy. He could never get the hang of board games, could he, Gordon?”
Gordon just grunted and shook the paper before squinting down at it again.
Every now and then I asked if my new baby brother had arrived yet. I was so excited, and I couldn’t understand why it was taking so long. Penny just answered:
“These things take time, Matthew. These things take time.”
While we played our games I kept picking at a large spot that was just above my right eyebrow, which was annoying Penny.
“Pick, pick, pick, Matthew! Stop it now. If you carry on picking you’ll end up with a scar, you know …”
She made beans on toast for dinner and we sat together at the kitchen table, waiting for news. I’d never seen anyone eat so delicately before. I remember sitting up straighter than I normally would, and I made sure I held my fork the right way.
“Penny? Do you think he’ll have blond hair or brown hair like mine?”
“I don’t know, Matthew. Eat your dinner now.”
Pick, pick, pick.
“He might have no hair at all! Did your babies have hair, Penny? Do you have a boy or a girl?”
Pick, pick, pick.
“I have a son named Jeremy and a daughter named Anna and yes, they both had hair. Stop fiddling with that spot, now. There’s a good boy.”
I ate three more forkfuls of beans and put my cutlery down. Gordon got up and put his plate in the sink and then wandered off to the lounge without a word and I heard the TV turn on.
“Where are your children, Penny? Do they live near here?”
Pick, pick, pick.
“They don’t, no. For some unfathomable reason they both decided to move abroad. Jeremy lives in Brazil and Anna in New Zealand.”
I gawped at her.
“Wow, New Zealand is a million miles away. Do they come back to see you?”
She shook her head.
“Oh. Penny? What does un-un-fatha-umble mean?”
“It means inexplicable or incomprehensible.”
She looked at my blank face.
“It means they both made a silly mistake and should have stayed here. Life would be a lot happier for both of them if they stopped being so stubborn and listened to what I said. Now eat up.”
Her face was red, her lips pressed tightly together. I ate a few more forkfuls in silence, then picked at my spot again.
“Penny? Do Jeremy and Anna not like you very much?”
SLAM. Penny banged her hand down hard on the table.
“Matthew, I said stop picking that bloody spot or everyone will know what you did for the rest of your life!”
My orange juice had splashed over the edge of my cup and onto my dinner. Penny picked up her knife and fork and carried on eating as if nothing had happened.
I blinked back tears and told her that I wasn’t feeling very hungry anymore, and she let me leave the table and go to my room.
It was pitch-black outside when I heard Dad’s car pull up and I crept a little way down the stairs and sat quietly in the darkness. Penny opened the door and waited as Dad lifted two suitcases out of the trunk—an overnight bag for Mum and a hospital bag for the baby, the tiny white clothes inside still unused. Mum headed straight for Penny’s open arms, but just as she stepped into the hallway her legs went out from under her. It was as if she’d fallen into quicksand, and she sank slowly, deep, deep down. Penny knelt on the floor beside her and held her in her arms, stroking her hair and rocking her back and forth as my mum sobbed.
“It’s okay, let it all go … It’s okay … I’m here, Penny’s here …”
I crept upstairs and went into the bathroom, locked the door, and began to wash my hands. I knew I was to blame for this, and I knew that if I washed away all the germs then they couldn’t hurt anyone else. I just needed to keep on top of it from now on, like a big boy, that was all. That’s all I needed to do.
And that’s when it started. Secretly at first; for years I could easily sneak off to the bathroom and wash my hands over and over without anyone noticing. But then Hannah and Mr. Jenkins announced to everyone that they were expecting a baby, and bam. Things got a lot worse.
Fortunately I didn’t think anyone had stopped to look back through time and figure out why I was doing what I was doing, but it was simple really.
I cleaned because Callum died, and Callum died because of me.