Alex Barclay - Darkhouse

‘I like her,’ said Duke. He walked home ahead. Wanda finally spoke, reaching out and spinning him by his shoulder towards her.

‘Jeez, Duke. I told you! I’m sorry about the damn dog, OK?’ She threw down her cigarette end and stamped it out with her boot and a twist of her leg. ‘Who’d a thought a few kicks would have sent it to its grave? Yap, yap yap, the damn thing.’

Duke stopped, rigid. He glared through her. All she did was smile.

The tiny mongrel reappeared through the powdery dust. When it settled around him, he flipped again, sending up another cloud. Duke couldn’t speak. He just watched. Wanda was waiting for a reaction.

‘Honey?’ She waited. ‘Honey?’ Her voice was razor sharp in his head.

‘Honey!’

‘What?’ he said, too loud.

‘What do you say?’

Duke’s heart was thumping. Sweat trickled down his back. He looked up at Boo-hoo, who stood tall over him, his legs spread, his hands on his hips, nodding and smiling. Then he looked back at the miserable creature skipping about in front of him. It was all so wrong.

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Duke.

‘Whatcha gonna call it?’ asked Wanda.

‘Fucker,’ said Duke. Wanda hit him hard across the side of the head.

‘You tell him what you’re gonna call that lovely new dog!’ she shouted. ‘That’s a very kind thing someone’s done for you, Duke. You need to show some respect.’

‘It’s OK,’ said Boo-hoo. ‘He’ll know soon enough.’ He patted the boy’s head and went inside to wait with Wanda.

Duke didn’t follow. He picked up the skinny animal, held his wriggling body under his arm and walked to Uncle Bill’s house. Bill was standing in a clearing, his arm outstretched after releasing a young hawk.

‘That Bounty?’ shouted Duke. ‘That baby hawk?’

‘Yup,’ said Bill. ‘Just lookin’ after her a short while ’til Hank gets back.’ He glanced over at the dog. ‘Is that yours? A new one already?’

‘Mama got him for me.’

‘Oh. OK. Well just be careful—’

‘I’m not gonna let him go if that’s what you mean,’ said Duke.

‘It’s important because—’

He was interrupted by a car pulling up around the front of the house. He handed Duke the leather glove.

‘She won’t be doin’ anything,’ he said, nodding to Bounty. ‘I’ve got the meat in my bag. I’ll be back in a minute. We’ll start with her then.’

Duke put the dog down and held him between his calves as he slipped on the glove. Then he released his grip and the dog sprung into the clearing, dashing wildly from tree to tree. Bounty’s wings shot open. Her head darted from side to side. In a flash, she rose and swooped, fear driving her to an unlikely prey. The dog howled as her talons sank in. Duke’s eyes glazed over. He was only dimly aware of noise, flapping wings, frantic blurred activity. He brought his eyes back into focus for the final moments. Then silence.

‘What the hell is goin’ on here?’ said Bill, batting branches away as he ran through the trees by the house. He stopped when he saw the dead dog.

‘Did Bounty...?’

Duke nodded. He stared at the blood pooling out from under the body.

‘I’m mighty sorry that happened,’ Bill said. ‘After Sparky an’ all. I’m mighty sorry, little fella. The damn bird’s a dog-grabber, too young to know any better, got scared, probably—’

‘It’s all right,’ said Duke.

‘I shoulda told you the young ones can be like that—’

‘You did, Uncle Bill. You told me last week.’ He patted the man’s big hand.

They stood in silence. Eventually Bill went inside. He returned with a stack of newspapers and set a slim layer on the dirt to soak up the blood. Then he picked up the lifeless body and laid it across the rest of the stack, folding the pages tightly around it. He heard a sob behind him. He turned and saw tears streaming down Duke’s face, shudders cutting through his breath.

Uncle Bill wiped his hands on his overalls, then pulled Duke close, holding him tight as the little boy wept for a dog called Sparky.

Joe could feel the alarm pounding in his chest. His heart beat wildly. He realised it was the phone when Anna reached across him to answer it.

‘’Allo?’ she said. She listened, confused.

‘No, Martha. He came in about eleven-thirty on his own. Unless... I don’t know. Let me go check.’ She handed the phone to Joe.

‘Hi,’ said Joe. He let her talk. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m sure there’s—’ Anna walked back into the room, shaking her head. Shaun bounded in after her, frowning.

‘What?’ he asked, looking at both his parents. ‘What?’

‘She’s not here, Martha,’ said Joe. ‘What time did you leave her?’ he asked Shaun.

‘About eleven thirty, quarter of twelve,’ said Shaun. They all turned to the clock. It was four-thirty a.m.

‘Oh my God,’ said Shaun, his eyes wide.

‘What would you like us to do? Is there anyone we can call?’ said Joe into the phone. ‘OK,’ he said, then put it down. ‘Martha’s gonna call some of the girls from school.’

‘But she wasn’t with any of the girls from school,’ said Shaun.

‘It’ll be OK,’ said Joe. ‘She could have met one of them on the way home. Why didn’t you walk her home?’ He hesitated. ‘Did you have an argument?’

When Shaun saw the concern in his father’s eyes he had to look away. There was no way he could tell him what happened tonight. Katie would kill him.

‘No, we didn’t,’ he said. He looked like he was about to cry. ‘She just wanted to walk home on her own.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Joe. ‘She’ll show up.’

For the past two hours, Frank Deegan had been staring at the ceiling. He had nodded off on the couch earlier, but a phone call had jerked him too wide awake to handle his regular bed time. It had been a hang-up, to make matters worse. He turned to look at Nora, asleep by his side. Raising himself up on one elbow, he lumbered out of bed, pausing to sit on the edge before standing. He tightened his navy pyjama pants and headed for the kitchen. He stopped at the counter, his short fingers hovering over a shiny foil bag of coffee grounds.

Nora had to be different, a coffee addict in a generation of tea drinkers. She would complain when she visited friends’ houses that they’d use the same instant coffee that they offered her a year beforehand, its granules in damp clumps against the side of the jar. Only the teabags were replaced regularly in most Mountcannon homes.

‘Vile,’ she would say to Frank, afterwards. ‘Vile.’

He looked up at the clock, heard the rumblings of his ulcer and ignored the call of caffeine. Instead, he put a small saucepan of milk on the stove and sat down at the table with the newspaper. He reached for his reading glasses with their thick magnifying lenses. He’d bought them from a stand in the pharmacy. Nora loved to poke fun at him and his super-sized eyes. He reminded her of something she could never remember. Sometimes he would look up from his book or paper just to make her laugh.

As he settled back into the chair, the phone rang.

‘Hello,’ he said as if it was ten o’clock in the morning.

‘Frank, it’s Martha Lawson. Katie didn’t come home last night.’

‘You mean the night before last?’ asked Frank.

‘No, well, tonight I mean. She should have been home at midnight.’

‘It’s five a.m., Martha, the night is still young for a teenager. Especially at the weekend.’ He rubbed a hand through his hair. ‘Was she in one of the discos in town?’

‘No,’ said Martha. ‘She’s not allowed. She was in the village with Shaun. She wanted to walk home on her own for some reason and now she hasn’t shown up. Oh, hold on, Frank. There’s someone at the door.’