The Leaping Part 19

'Our journey of self-discovery didn't come to much,' I say eventually.

'Nothing ever does,' Graham says. He looks up at Avril Lavigne on the TV. 'I would give my right arm to sleep with her.'

'She looks like a little girl,' Lucy says. 'She looks like a kid.'

There is a silence.

'Don't say that,' Graham says. He watches the video for a moment longer. 'It's not true, anyway.'

'It is,' Lucy says. 'Look at her.'

'It's not!' Graham says. 'She wouldn't be so fit if she looked like a kid.'

'Unless you're a paedo,' I say. Graham elbows me in the ribs. I topple slowly to the floor.

The door bursts open. I wake up suddenly and sprawl across the floorboards in a panic. I am hot and have the impression that somebody is running away from me. But it fades quickly. 'Jack?' I say. 'What is it?'

'I don't know where Jack is,' Erin says, leaning over me. 'But we have to find him. It's snowing! We're going to build a snowman. Who's coming?'

'Me!' I stumble to my feet. 'I want to build a snowman!'

'Yes!' Graham says, standing up. Lucy and Simon are entwined on the floor. They don't say anything. Neither do the blue-eyed boy or the biker.

We follow Erin out of the room and are joined in the hallway by Jack, Jennifer and Taylor. Jack looks absent-minded, as usual. Jennifer smiles at me, flushed. Erin and Taylor grin at each other. I reach out to grab hold of the wall. 'Coats!' I say. 'It's going to be cold. Very cold. We should probably all get our coats on.'

'I'll get them,' Jack says. He slopes off upstairs. Frowning.

'Good thinking, Francis,' Taylor says. 'Good man. Good thinking.' He nods sagely.

Jack returns after a moment. His arms are laden with jackets and coats. He distributes them without speaking.

An unopened can of lager is lying on the floor by the wall. I pick it up on the way out.

There is a light on the other side of the clouds. I am not sure what it means. It is confusing. It just makes the clouds look thicker and stronger and blacker. They move slowly past like they will never stop. Either that, or the light is floating gently through a static sky. And all around the snow comes down. Heavy and fast. It all starts to make my head spin. The cold air keeps me from feeling sick. The yard and the mountainside and the house and the barn are blanketed with deep fresh snow. light is floating gently through a static sky. And all around the snow comes down. Heavy and fast. It all starts to make my head spin. The cold air keeps me from feeling sick. The yard and the mountainside and the house and the barn are blanketed with deep fresh snow.

'What time is it?' I say.

'What day is it?' Erin asks.

'Ha ha,' Graham says. 'I don't know. It's like before I ever started school and keeping track of that kind of thing.'

I can't help but notice Jack's silence.

We start piling the snow on the bare patch between the back door and what used to be the orchard. We gather it from the ground. From the tops of cars parked near the house. And the drifts piled up against the walls. And the windowsills. And everywhere everywhere. It continues to fall from the sky and fill the holes we have made with our hands and feet.

'I haven't made a snowman in years,' Erin says. 'And I just looked out of the window and saw all this snow and knew that we should. It's perfect. Jack. Thank you so much for inviting us up here. This is amazing. You're lucky, you know.'

'Yes, I am,' Jack says. He flashes a lifeless smile at me. I smile back. Maybe he knows.

Soon we have a column of snow nearly six feet tall. It is still snowing. Taylor throws a s...o...b..ll at me. It hits me in the eye, hard. It hurts. I laugh because it reminds me of being a kid. I roll some snow up in my hands. My fingers are mottling white and red. I hurl the s...o...b..ll at Taylor. But he ducks and it whizzes off into the trees. I am so cold. I don't have any gloves. My hands are numb. I laugh to myself. The column thrusts out of the ground proudly. It's a growth. A phallic tumour. at Taylor. But he ducks and it whizzes off into the trees. I am so cold. I don't have any gloves. My hands are numb. I laugh to myself. The column thrusts out of the ground proudly. It's a growth. A phallic tumour.

Graham has leant the axe against the wall of the house, just next to the back door. He makes his way back and forth between the snow pile and the wall. Shovelling armfuls of snow up out of the drifts and striding back through the driving snow. He dumps it next to the snowman-to-be. His beard is full of snowflakes.

Erin starts work on the detail. She starts at the bottom, shoving snow into two foot-like mounds. She carves long, dextrous toes, slowly and carefully. She keeps on touching her earrings. They must be cold.

Taylor is building a snow-dog.

I am starting on the head. I roll a ball around and around, marvelling at the way it grows. I imagine a bunch of cells tumbling around inside my body, growing in the same way.

Jennifer takes the snow that Graham deposits. She smoothes it on to the body of the thing. She keeps looking at me and smiling. I smile back, but I'm nervous. I don't want anybody to see it.

And Jack just drifts around. Sometimes he helps one of us. Sometimes he just looks out over the mountainside. Almost as if there's something out there.

When we have finished, the snowman is over six feet tall. He has legs, arms, a scarf, a mohawk, a p.e.n.i.s, a pipe, a dog, eyes, nose, mouth and a 28 Days Later 28 Days Later badge, courtesy badge, courtesy of Erin. The badge reads 'THE END IS EXTREMELY f.u.c.kING NIGH' and is pinned to the scarf. of Erin. The badge reads 'THE END IS EXTREMELY f.u.c.kING NIGH' and is pinned to the scarf.

'What are we going to call him?' Taylor asks.

'Tim Burton,' Erin says.

'I don't think we should name him after anybody,' I say. 'It should just be a good name.'

'Oak Man,' Jack says. His sudden excitement is surprising. But pleasant. And confusing. Everybody just looks at him. 'You know,' he says. 'Faery folks live in old oaks.'

There is a silence.

'Gandhi,' Erin says.

'Frankenstein,' Graham says. 'Santa Claus.'

'Oppenheimer,' Taylor says.

'Lucifer.'

'Jumanji.'

'Kilroy.'

'Homer.'

'Troy.'

'Brad.'

's.p.a.cey.'

'Stipe.'

'Johnny 5.'

'Bush.'

'Spongebob.'

'Hitler.'

'What?' I say.

Taylor shrugs.

'I was only joking,' he says.

'I'm very cold,' I say.

'Balthazar,' Erin says. 'Out of Romeo and Juliet Romeo and Juliet.'

'He was out of the Bible first,' Jack says.

'I like Balthazar,' I say.

'So do I,' Taylor says.

'And me,' Jack says.

'Does he have to have that badge?' I say.

'Well,' Erin says. 'I don't want it.'

His face looks like the face of a long-dead body. Uncovered at Pompeii, or somewhere equally tragic. We tried to make him smile, with stones for teeth. But his mouth just looks like a big rotten mess. I'm touched. He's kind of sad.

'He can be our guardian,' Taylor says, 'against those gatecrashers.'

'What about a name for his dog?' Jennifer asks. 'What's his dog called?'

'Withnail,' Taylor says.

'Do you just say the first thing that comes into your head?' I ask him.

He shrugs. 'Does the trick.'

'I like Withnail,' Jennifer says.

'It's alright with me,' Erin says.

'Withnail it is,' Taylor says.

Balthazar's scarf flaps and snaps in the wind. It flies out from the back of his neck, giving the impression that he is perpetually tumbling forward. The ground and the trees and the clouds all tilt. I look at his p.e.n.i.s; the end of it seems swollen. Slightly tumescent. I squint. Carcinogens in condoms. I have this image in my head of a big tumour on the end of my c.o.c.k. I stare at Balthazar. My head is at right angles to my body. Everybody else is standing and looking at him too. Taylor breaks the silence. Carcinogens in condoms. I have this image in my head of a big tumour on the end of my c.o.c.k. I stare at Balthazar. My head is at right angles to my body. Everybody else is standing and looking at him too. Taylor breaks the silence.

'Makes you think about having children,' he says.

Graham laughs so hard he bends over.

'You'll be lucky, Taylor,' I say. 'We're all going to be infertile because of hormones in tap water and the radiation from mobile phones.' I pause. 'And the chemicals in plastic.'

'Not true,' Graham says, still laughing. 'That girl over the road had to have an abortion. You know. The one that dressed like Gwen Stefani. Come on. Think positive.'

I hear one of the monster birds shouting something. Up above us. A shape gliding through the night sky. For the duration of the time Jennifer and I spent inside each other, we were alone in the world. It's no excuse. But it's true.

A s...o...b..ll hits me in the temple. I fall over. I burst out laughing again. The ground eats up my naked hands. The cold, like teeth. I laugh some more. I scoop some up and hurl it at somebody. I can't see who they are through the snow and the descending mist. It's starting to feel less like it's snowing and more like we're inside a snow cloud. It is being born all around us. I think it's Erin. The music emanating from the house is suddenly louder. As if somebody's turned it up. The lyrics are too sinister for party music. Balthazar stands above me like a totem. I feel more than drunk. Everything seems to be taking on more significance than it should. The whole landscape is spinning around my head. The people are blurring. The only thing that doesn't move is him. Our beautiful, beautiful snowman. Tall and proud and clever and handsome. I plunge my hand into his side to steady myself. The lyrics of the song inside the house flow outwards, above the dying wind. Balthazar is taller than me. I hang on to him. Cling to the side of the mountain as it bucks and rolls like the sea. The same fears come back. Like s.h.i.+pwrecks at low tide. Maybe they're irrational. But if they are that doesn't make any difference. Once upon a time, there was a world in which people weren't scared of their own bodies. They were scared of other things. They were scared of things that moved out there. Just beyond the edge of their vision. Just beyond the fringe of trees that masked a deeper darkness. They were scared of things that they could fight off with swords and knives and spears and axes and shovels. than it should. The whole landscape is spinning around my head. The people are blurring. The only thing that doesn't move is him. Our beautiful, beautiful snowman. Tall and proud and clever and handsome. I plunge my hand into his side to steady myself. The lyrics of the song inside the house flow outwards, above the dying wind. Balthazar is taller than me. I hang on to him. Cling to the side of the mountain as it bucks and rolls like the sea. The same fears come back. Like s.h.i.+pwrecks at low tide. Maybe they're irrational. But if they are that doesn't make any difference. Once upon a time, there was a world in which people weren't scared of their own bodies. They were scared of other things. They were scared of things that moved out there. Just beyond the edge of their vision. Just beyond the fringe of trees that masked a deeper darkness. They were scared of things that they could fight off with swords and knives and spears and axes and shovels.

The water froze and the wolves came over the river. That was always the story. The pack. Thin and desperate. Lock the doors and board up the windows.

I am jealous of the fears that people used to have.

Erin giggles and hugs me. The presence of her warm body is like a smell that I remember from years ago. It cuts through the fog in my mind. It brings me back to the present. To the s...o...b..ll fight. The friends. The party.

'Are you OK?' she asks. 'You've got your hand inside Balthazar and I'm sure he's enjoying it but you're going to get very cold fingers. You've gone really quiet. Are you OK?'

'Yes, thank you.' I bring my hand out of the snowman. My skin is blue. I don't feel the cold in it.

'Good,' she says. And then all of a sudden it feels like someone's run a knife down my spine and split me open. I fall over and writhe around on the ground. I can hear people roaring with laughter. After a moment or two of abject squirming, I realise. It's just a handful of snow dumped down my back.

Jennifer. Her eyes are red and teary with laughter. I stand and look at her. I cannot summon enough concentration to work out what expression I should put on my face. I just look at her.

'Jesus,' she says. 'What's wrong with you? Where's your fire? Where's your sense of fun gone?'

'What's wrong with me?' I say. 'What's wrong with you you?'

'What?' she says. 'What do you mean?'

'You know what I mean.' I glance meaningfully in Jack's direction, but stop short of moving my head. The mist is thickening.

'What? What do you mean?' Erin asks. Taylor is listening now as well.

'Nothing,' I say. 'I'm sorry.' I walk away from Jennifer. I walk across to the other side of the small s.p.a.ce that we're playing in.

'What's going on?' Graham asks.

'Nothing!' I say.

'It's nothing,' Jack says. I look across at him. He is close enough for me to see his eyes. His face is grim.

'But-' Graham starts.

'I want to believe in this whole other world,' Jack says, raising his voice to interrupt Graham. Shouting and whooping come from inside the house. I think he is crying. 'This whole other world from which the stories and the myths and the ideas come. I want it to be a world that we can go to. Sometimes, at night, I do believe. That we can reach it from some of the places round here. The forests and rivers. The mountains and lakes. But I've never had any real reason to believe. Nothing.' He starts to cry.

'Yes, Jack,' Jennifer says. 'OK. But stop now, hey? We're all here to have a good time.'

'Hey,' Graham says, 'Let him be.' He is leaning on the axe again.