The Tooth Fairy Part 28

'Yes,' said Clive. 'He must have crawled away from it.'

'What is it, boys?' Ian Blythe wanted to know. He regularly treated them to a couple of beers out of the takings, and he was offering three foaming pints on a tray. Alice stood behind him, looking suspicious. 'You all look like you've seen a ghost.'

'What do you know about this band?' Sam said quickly.

Blythe shrugged. 'Not much. Got 'em through the usual newsletter. Drummer told me he's a local boy, first time back since he went to London some years ago.'

The boys stared in disbelief. After muting his organ and repeating a couple of chords, the permed organist leaned forward and began to introduce his band. 'We got Chaz Myers on ba.s.s . . .' A polite ripple of applause encouraged Chaz to launch into a tedious ba.s.s solo, running his fingers up and down the frets as organ and drums dutifully faded. 'And we got Tooley Bell on drums . . .' Another polite ripple as Tooley grinned happily at the audience, an upper canine missing. Tooley bashed happily away for his moment of limelight.

'Hey, where you going?' Blythe shouted, as Sam pushed his way out of the room. Terry and Clive followed quickly behind. 'What about this beer?' Blythe called after them.

The Gate Hangs Well had a lawn in front, with a phoney gazebo and rustic tables and benches for the summer months. Sam flung himself, face-down, on the damp gra.s.s between the tables. His body quivered.

'You all right?' Terry asked, worried.

'Sam, come on,' said Clive.

But Sam was sn.i.g.g.e.ring. Then he snorted violently, and his sn.i.g.g.e.ring turned into full-throated, manic laughter. He rolled on his back, kicking his legs in the air, laughing like a man in a padded cell. Terry fell to the ground, hugging Sam with his one good hand, wrapping his legs around Sam's and laughing with him. Clive dived on both of them, and in a second the three were rolling round on the gra.s.s, hugging each other and roaring hysterically.

Blythe came outside with Alice. Spy V Spy were building up to a standard blues climax for one of their numbers. They could hear Tooley artlessly bas.h.i.+ng his cymbals on the Big Finish. The thought of him las.h.i.+ng out with his sticks only made them howl with vicious merriment. 'What have you been taking?' Blythe said disapprovingly. The question only made them laugh louder, more uncontrollably. They squeezed their ribs, gagging for breath.

'Stop!' squeaked Terry. 'Stop!'

'Can't,' Clive gasped. 'Caaaaaaannnnn't.'

'Hooooohooohooohooo,' went Sam.

'You guys want to be more careful. I'm serious. This drugs business is no joke,' Blythe said sharply. Then he turned and went back inside.

Alice waited patiently until the hooting and the laughter had subsided. Eventually the three of them were able to draw themselves partially upright, leaning against each other like defeated marathon runners. 'So? Are you going to let me in on it?'

Sam looked at Alice. Recovering his breath and his composure, he managed to tell her, 'The Drummer. He's the Dead Scout.'

And the hysterical laughter started up again.

40.

White Cube It was a considerable relief to be acquitted, by events, of being a murderer. For Terry and Clive the commencement of that summer seemed particularly heady, balmier than all summers. .h.i.therto, benign, scented and laden with extra promise. Alice, unfortunately, was enc.u.mbered with having to revise for her final A-level exams, but for the others dark chains had been taken from their backs.

But not, for Sam, the darkest and heaviest chain.

No longer in fear of tripping over a corpse at least, Sam enjoyed solitary walking in the woods again. He found the place where the original incident had happened and speculated that Tooley had only been unconscious when they'd dumped him in the hollow stump. He'd obviously recovered, gone home to lick his wounds and decided to make the break for London, just as his sidekick had suggested at the time. That night at the Gate, when they'd recovered from laughing, Clive, Terry and Sam had deliberately pressed in on Tooley to see if he recognized them. Terry even presented him with a pint of beer at the end of the evening, chatting genially. It was agreed that he did eye Sam strangely as the band's equipment was carried out of the pub, but nothing was said. Before leaving Tooley had looked back at Sam, holding his head to one side like a puzzled dog, but then he'd climbed in the van with the other members to return to London.

Meanwhile London was sending back another of its migratory children. The first time Charlie and Dot understood the nature of Linda's predicament was when they were telephoned by a Harley Street doctor. He had been treating Linda for exhaustion, he explained, and recommended that Linda come home for complete rest, where she could be properly looked after.

'Exhaustion?' Charlie had managed to ask.

'I don't like the expression nervous breakdown,' the doctor had said suavely. 'I don't find it helpful.'

Charlie and Dot went to meet Linda from the train at Coventry station. Dot burst into tears when Linda stepped down from the carriage. Looking painfully thin, her hair hanging limply at the side of her gaunt face, she stood on the platform trying to tug her heavy suitcase behind her. What had London done to Linda? Her eyes were devoid of sheen, her skin had given up its ambrosial glow. She looked old and yet girlish at the same time. Her golden crown lay in twisted fragments on the platform at her feet. Choking back a huge stone in his throat, Charlie stepped forward and hugged her.

He took charge. He picked up her suitcase and led her and Dot along the crowded platform and out to his waiting car. They asked no questions of her, having been advised by their local GP, in whose care she was placed, not to press. After a few days a bill arrived from the Harley Street doctor, addressed to Charlie. He opened it, and his stomach turned.

'What is it?' Dot wanted to know.

'Nothing to worry about.'

Charlie brooded on it for some days. He calculated that if he took out all of his savings and sold his car, he might be able to cover half of the bill. Then he got hold of Linda's address book and rang her agency. He was put through to Pippa Hamilton.

'Is that Miss Pippa?'

'Speaking.'

A curve in the woman's voice had him incandescent with rage before the conversation had even begun. 'I'm Linda's father.'

'Linda? How is the poor darling? I do hope she's better.'

'Is she owed?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Has she got any money due to her? From the agency?'

'I'm afraid not. She is rather a silly with money.'

'A bill came. From a doctor in London.'

'Yes, he's a friend, actually. We were lucky to get his services.'

'How long had he been seeing her?'

There was a pause. 'Quite some time. Actually.'

Something in that last word sent Charlie cold. 'I'm going to come and see you.'

'There's no need-'

'Yes. I'm coming. And after what I've done to you, the only use you'll be to anybody is if one of them fancy models of yours wants to wear you up on the catwalk.' There was a silence, and he put the phone down.

After his hands had stopped trembling, he took the bill and wrote on it 'To be paid by the Pippa Hamilton Modelling Agency', addressed an envelope and took it out for posting. Charlie knew that Pippa Hamilton had sensed this was no idle threat. He never heard anything about the bill again.

It slowly emerged that the high life and the low life made bedfellows in Linda's celebrity world. After an unhappy love affair, she'd started using slimming pills with an amphetamine base, and someone had taught her how to pop barbiturates to offset the sleep disruption caused by the uppers. More significantly, Linda had been carrying a huge burden of unexpressed guilt over the death of Derek. The champagne-and-pills parties were an effective way of blotting out her desperate unhappiness. Most of her pills were obtained from the very Harley Street doctor who had telephoned her home when the crisis occurred.

These were the explanations offered concerning Linda's 'exhaustion'. But Sam recalled the day Linda had won her first beauty-queen t.i.tle, and he remembered the Tooth Fairy reaching out to touch her with a fetid hand.

He wanted to see the Tooth Fairy. He wanted to interrogate her, to ask what putrid influence she might have exercised over Linda's life in London. He was still convinced that his 'affliction' was always capable of leaking into the lives of those people he cared about most. But he didn't have had never had the ability to summon the Tooth Fairy at will. She came when she wanted to, and these days she came more erratically than ever. He remained terrified of the malign influence she might have over the hitherto unblemished life of his sister Linda Alice. On bad nights the voice still came, darkly offering him a solution.

'So, then, it's goodbye Sam.' Skelton thrust out a bear-like paw that wanted shaking. His other arm was in a sling. He still had a large plaster on the side of his head.

Signs were that the psychiatrist had already started packing. Files were stacked on chairs; journals had been lifted down from the oak bookcase and dumped in cardboard boxes. He had opted for an early retirement. 'I've been letting one or two people down lately,' he said. 'Particularly that last time you came in. I had a bit of a fall. Don't remember a deal about it, to be honest.'

'You can't remember anything?'

'You know what they say: when the drink's in, the wits are out.'

'Perhaps you don't want to remember?'

'Well, you've a learned a bit of psychology from me, if nothing else. Eh, laddie? Anyway I thought I'd better get out. Let someone in who knows what they're talking about. I'm no use.'

'You were a lifeline,' said Sam.

'I really did enjoy our wee sessions. Though I don't say I've been the slightest help to you in your plight.'

'You have.'

'I'm rather sorry I never found a use for that Nightmare Interceptor contraption of yours. Do you still have the thing?'

'It's around.'

Skelton scratched his head with his good arm. 'It has a certain potential, one feels. Hang on to the thing. I wouldn't want you to throw it away. Still, dreams have been a wee bit out of fas.h.i.+on lately. There's a younger chap coming in here. Different ideas. Neuro-physiology know what that is? Me neither, and I don't care to. I've pa.s.sed on your case notes, and I've indicated that it may be necessary for you to see him. He'll look at the file and decide.'

'I don't much fancy seeing someone else.'

'I know what you mean. Gets to be a cosy habit, doesn't it, these little meetings? I sometimes wonder if that's part of the problem. Yes, I wonder if we keep our demons in orbit for each other.'

Glumly Sam thought of his own demon. 'Paranoia?' he asked brightly.

'Aye, we support each other's paranoia. Listen, there's not a lot wrong with you, son. Deep down, I mean. Let's just say you're different.'

'I almost forgot.' Sam reached inside his sports bag and produced a boxed gift for Skelton. It had been Connie's idea.

Skelton opened the box and withdrew a bottle of Johnny Walker. He examined the red label as if it was a work of art, then held the bottle up to the window. 'Look at the light in that, Sam. Look at the amber light. See what I mean?' he said, spinning the top off the bottle and pouring them both a small measure. 'About keeping each other's demons in orbit? Only yesterday I decided to go teetotal.'

It was Clive who managed to obtain the stuff, through his music-collecting contacts.

'Oh, it's you three. I shouldn't let you in because she's studying for some exam or other.' Alice's mother, still in her dressing-gown and smelling of sleep, pushed a straying grey curl out of her eye. Leaving the door open, she turned her back on them, calling over her shoulder. 'She's in her bedroom.'

Alice sat cross-legged on the bed. Her hair was tied back in a pony-tail. School books were strewn over the bed. 'I'm so fed up. Just look what a beautiful day it is outside, and I've got to do this.'

'Leave it. Come with us.'

'I've got an exam next week.'

'You don't want to do too much,' said Terry.

'Can't pour a quart into a pint pot,' said Sam.

'What you need is a break,' said Clive. 'Something to take you out of yourself.' He opened his fist and presented, on the flat of his palm, four sugar cubes.

Alice peered closely at the sugar cubes. They looked entirely harmless. 'I've heard it's a long trip,' she said doubtfully.

'Only eight hours,' Clive said brightly.

Terry was first to s.n.a.t.c.h up one of the cubes. 'Down the hatch,' he said, and popped it in his mouth.

'I keep trying to count us,' said Alice. 'And every time I count us I get five.'

Clive tried. He got the same result. 'Wait a minute!' he giggled, counting again. Again he got the same result. 'Wait! Wait! This is ridiculous!'

Terry tried. He also came up with five. He shook his head and started over. 'But there's me and Sam and you two, and that's four.'

'Obviously.'

'Obviously.'

'So how come I keep counting five? Ha! Ha, ha! Wait, I'm going to do it again . . . Four . . . five! It can't be! Ha, ha, ha!'

The knot of anxiety in Sam's stomach was swelling. He knew that the Tooth Fairy had appeared in their company about half an hour after they'd all swallowed the sugar cubes at Alice's house, and that was three hours ago. He'd sensed her presence, though he hadn't actually seen her. Somehow the others were seeing the Tooth Fairy now, but they were only seeing her in the form of one of the others. Perhaps Terry saw her as Alice, Clive as Terry, Alice as Sam.

They'd made their way to the football field, and they were sitting beside the pond. It was a warm day, but the sky was broken by a warning of herring-bone clouds. It had taken them some time to recover from the shock of colour. Everywhere colour leaked, oozing like a substance not yet dry on the canvas. Light pulsed. They'd pa.s.sed through a period of uncontrollable hilarity and elation, followed by a long period when no one spoke. The warm air breathed sensually on the backs of their necks. The earth streamed rich perfumes, and the gra.s.s and soil were an impossible tangle of runes and spirographic designs, as if the universe had been put together by a crazed geometrist.

Sam had himself tried to count, and he too arrived at the figure of five. There were five in the company. Five. He counted again. It was maddening. Yet the only others apart from himself were Terry, Alice and Clive.

'I've got the answer,' Terry offered. 'Stop counting.'

Alice waved a dismissive hand through the air, and her arm fanned out like the exotic feathers of a great bird's wing, a staggered image arching through the air. The birds in the bushes and trees around them flitted from branch to branch, sketching intersecting parabolic trails in the air behind them.

'Know thyself,' Alice said for the third time.

'Why do you keep saying that?'

'Clive said it, ages ago. It was written on the sugar cubes at Dolphin.'

'Delphi,' Clive corrected.

'Delfever . . . Delve free . . . Deal fee.'

'The oracle.'