Mo Hayder: Poppet

Isaac is sitting dejectedly on the bed. He looks up when AJ comes in, but doesn’t speak. He is deathly pale. His jeans are covered in blood and there are twin lines of blood coming from his nostrils. He’s a mess. After they’ve cleaned him up, they’re going to put him through the wringer – drag him in front of a hundred courts and then the system is going to end up putting Handel back in a place just like Beechway. Except this time he’ll be at the head of the chain – in high-dependency Acute, with a very very long wait until he cycles back to discharge. Years, probably.

AJ doesn’t speak at first. Instead he drops back against the wall, his chin lifted, and slides down until he’s sitting on the floor opposite Isaac. He rubs his face a few times. He’s known the guy for years and yet never noticed that actually Isaac is the strangest guy on the planet. He’s tiny. The pudding-basin haircut is freaky and ridiculous. Unbelievable that AJ’s been so nervous about him.

‘Isaac,’ AJ says, ‘tell me something …’

Isaac lifts his head. His eyes aren’t on AJ – they are somewhere on the ceiling, as if AJ’s voice is being projected from up there. His hands are clenched. There is so much blood. Everywhere.

‘Yes, AJ?’

‘The dolls,’ he says, almost not wanting to hear the answer. Because he thinks he can answer this himself. ‘Tell me about the poppets.’

‘I lost my poppets. I did lose them. From being bad.’

‘You were bad?’

He nods. His face is so pale it’s almost blue. He is shivering. ‘And so she took them off of me. The Maude.’

AJ stares at the side of Isaac’s face. He flashes back to Melanie’s bathroom. The broken panel. The missing bracelet. Could she have planted the notion of the broken panel as a way to focus AJ’s attention on the bath – just so he’d find the dolls in Handel’s room? The biblical scripts – she could have written them out herself. She’s been so clever pinning this on Isaac – looking back it’s been as dizzying as watching a circus acrobat.

‘OK. And something else. Why did you do what you did to your parents? To your mother and father?’

Isaac answers the question as automatically as a child answering the question What’s one plus one? ‘I didn’t like them biting. Didn’t like their teeth.’

‘Biting?’

‘Uh hmmm,’ he says, nodding. ‘Used to get teeth when I didn’t play the games they wanted.’

AJ is silent for a long time, picturing this. What other cruelty is locked away in Isaac’s head? He wants to say sorry – he wants to touch Isaac, but before he can, Isaac draws in a long, shaky breath. His voice is very small, very distant. ‘Something else, AJ,’ he murmurs. ‘One more thing.’

‘What?’

‘It’s only going to last another few minutes. That’s all it’s going to last. You are going to think it’s finished then. But it hasn’t. The end isn’t here yet.’

‘Isaac?’ AJ tilts his head on one side. Frowns. ‘The end? What are you talking about?’

Isaac doesn’t answer. He’s smiling, but his eyes are glassy. His expression fixed. AJ levers himself up and away from the wall. Stands and crosses to the bunk.

‘Isaac?’

AJ is long experienced. He should have picked up on this like an eagle. But it’s passed him right by. Blood bubbles from Isaac’s mouth. His lips are grey.

‘Isaac.’ He grabs him, but Isaac falls against him, suddenly heavy. His eyes roll back. ‘ Isaac – Jesus . HELP!’ he yells. He fumbles for the alarm cylinder on his belt. ‘ Paramedics – get the fucking paramedics in here now.’

MONSTER MOTHER HAS given birth to some of the worst beings, yet each and every one is her offspring. She has responsibility for them all, good or bad. The Day of the Dead is here – All Souls’ Day – the day when the souls of the departed come back to visit their loved ones. It is a time of turmoil for Monster Mother. She is pulled to and fro by the voices of her departed children.

Dressing is a particularly confusing problem. How can she put a colour to a day which is so varied – so striped with good and bad – peppered with sadness and happiness? She has the overhead light on as she goes through her wardrobe, choosing what to wear. The curtains are closed – the spirits are all out there, wanting to be let in – zipping back and forth outside the window. She doesn’t dare look yet – if she does, her head will be pulled from one side to the other, so fast it will come loose from her neck.

Her missing arm has a spirit – a spirit that is dark pink. Crimson. Like the sex and the anger that made her cut it away. So for her dead arm she chooses crimson shoes. Pauline, poor Pauline – her spirit is so thin it can’t be heard above the others. She is the pale, leached-out yellow of the camisole that Monster Mother chooses. Zelda was a bad girl – so bad and so alive – she was a firecracker and the red headband at the back of the wardrobe is for her.

Next to consider is Ms Arrow. The Maude.

What colour for her? She is patchwork, light on dark. When she was happy the hospital was a safe place. When she was unhappy, The Maude slid along the corridors. Found ways through locked doors in the dark. Goosebumps pop along Monster Mother’s arms just thinking about The Maude. The greed and the anger, the cleverness. Melanie Arrow is gone from the hospital – but her anger, her power and her need reach out from the police cell like radio waves and search for Monster Mother. She plucks out a pair of gloves. They are of a purple velvet that appears almost black in some lights. From other angles it’s a radiant violet. As pretty and deceptive as deadly nightshade.

Lastly she chooses her skirt. It takes some time, because the skirt represents Isaac and Isaac is so many things. So so many things. So clever and so sad. So unpredictable.

The skirt she chooses is flesh-coloured crepe under a white net into which have been stitched a million silver sequins. Isaac was the colour of nothing – no one noticed him. But for those who saw him in the right way he was also a million points of light. From the moment he was discharged from the hospital, Monster Mother knew he’d be the one to deliver justice to Melanie Arrow.

She holds the skirt up to her face, the sequins rough nubbles on her skin. Isaac is dead but he isn’t gone. He isn’t finished. He is clever and he is a universe of stars.

She slips the clothes on. And when she is quite sure she is ready she opens the curtains. The spirits see her and they are cowed. They bow, lamb-like. They sit obediently on the grass. She smiles at them, blows kisses to some, shoots fond but warning looks at others.

‘Gabriella?’

She startles. Someone is knocking at the door. Lately there have been strange people in the hospital, asking questions. Making notes. People she doesn’t recognize, all wearing suits, carrying clipboards. She doesn’t want one in here. She searches the room for a place to scuttle to.

‘Gabriella? It’s me – it’s AJ. Can I come in?’

AJ. The finest of her children. She relaxes. She floats to the door and opens it. There he stands. She loves him so.

‘Dear AJ,’ she says. ‘Dear son.’

‘I’m knocking off shift now, Gabriella. Thought I’d come in and say …’ He trails off, taking in her clothes. ‘Nice. You look … nice. Are you OK?’

‘Yes. I am, thank you. And I am here – inside my skin.’ She smiles. ‘Today is an important day. Today is the day I care for my children. And you, AJ? You need caring for. I can see.’

‘Do I?’

‘You do. No one else knows, but I do. I know you so well, I gave birth to you, and I know. There’s a hole in you now. A giant hole and you think it can’t be filled.’