Gary McMahon - The Concrete Grove

She turned the door handle and pushed open the door. Breathing steady now, she entered the room. Some identikit boy band stared down from a poster on the wall. Hailey’s books were all lined up neatly on their shelves. Stuffed toys glared at her from the floor. Her television was on, the picture stuck on a DVD menu: images of dancing animals dressed in human clothes.

The bed had been made, the quilt smoothed down on the mattress and the corners — weren’t they called ‘hospital corners’? — tucked down tight. “Hailey, where are you?”

She listened to the silence, waiting for a tell-tale sound, but none came. Hailey, if she was still indoors, was keeping quiet. Lana glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was 7:30. Hailey didn’t usually leave for school until well after 8 o’clock, so she must still be here. The girl didn’t have many friends she could go and meet up with before classes, and there was nowhere else she could have gone this early.

She turned and padded quickly back out into the hallway. The bathroom door, at the far end near the front of the flat, was closed. She moved towards it, wondering if Hailey was having a bath — the shower had worked only sporadically for almost two months, and no-one from the council had been out to fix it. This failure to fix things was a recurring pattern, both in the home and in Lana’s life in general.

She paused for a moment at the door, and then knocked. A sudden burst of daylight shone in her eyes, reaching her through the lounge window; it was hot and bright, making her wince. Then the light faded, and when she looked at the window the day outside was dull and hazy.

“Are you in there, Hailey? What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

There was a long pause, and then Hailey finally answered: “Not feeling well, mum. Just a bit sick, that’s all.”

Lana tried the handle but the door was locked. “Come on, let me in. Do you need something? Is it your period?”

Again, Hailey said nothing. Lana knew that the girl was embarrassed to talk about these things, but it was an important part of life, and one that required discussion, particularly if Hailey was having problems.

“Listen to me. I used to suffer really badly with cramps. They were so bad that I used to vomit. Is that what’s up with you? Is it cramps?”

“Yes.” Then she heard the sound of the toilet flushing, followed by what might have been Hailey putting things back in the bathroom cabinet. Was that a bottle of pills she could hear rattling?

The lock clicked; the door opened. Hailey stood there in her white school blouse and pleated black skirt. The tail of her blouse was hanging out of her waistband, and she looked small and frail. Her eyes were huge, with dark circles beneath them. There was a splatter of vomit on her chin.

“Wipe your mouth,” said Lana, picking up a tissue and using it to wipe Hailey’s face, doing a mother’s job before Hailey even had the chance to pull away and look in the mirror. “It’s okay, honey. I can do this.” She smoothed down her daughter’s hair with her fingers, noticing how dry it felt. The skin of Hailey’s forehead was hard and flaky; her T-zone felt like fine emery paper.

“Thanks,” said Hailey, taking a step back, part-way into the bathroom. Her eyes were squinted, as if the light hurt them. She licked her lips and her tongue looked dark, almost purple.

“What is it? Aren’t you feeling well? Maybe you should stay off school today.”

Hailey shook her head. “We have a maths test. If I miss it I’ll have to sit it again some evening after school. I’d rather go in. I’m fine.” She pushed the hair out of her eyes with her thin, white fingers.

“I’ve never seen you look so pale… it’s like you’re anaemic. Maybe I should make an appointment with the doctor.” Lana wanted to hold the girl, but felt that it might scare her. When exactly had they moved so far apart?

“No. Really. I said I was fine. I am, really. I’m okay. Just a bit tired.”

Lana moved away from the door. “Aren’t you sleeping?”

Hailey shook her head. “Not too well. Not here, in this place.” She walked past Lana, being careful not to touch her.

Lana felt like crying. “I’m sorry. I never wanted it to be like this. I had plans for us, big plans.” She stood where she was, bathed in the glow from the bathroom light, feeling its fragile warmth on the side of her face. “I thought things might be better once we settled in.”

Hailey wasn’t listening. She crossed the lounge and went into the kitchen area, where she sat down at the breakfast bar, staring at an empty bowl. Her eyes looked odd, as if she were blind.

“Let me get you something.” Lana followed her daughter, opened a cupboard, and poured some cornflakes into Hailey’s bowl. Then she opened the fridge. “Fuck,” she said, feeling useless. “There’s no milk. I forgot to buy milk.” The omission felt like a metaphor, a symbol of how bad a mother she was. “How could I forget to buy the fucking milk?” She felt hysteria building, as if she were about to laugh or scream — she wasn’t sure which, and even when it came the sound would be difficult to identify.

Slowly, carefully, she closed the fridge door. Then she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Hailey, standing and pushing the stool across the cheaply tiled floor. “I’ll get something on the way to school.”

Lana was unable to open her eyes. She was entranced by the dancing darkness behind the lids. “Do you have money?”

Hailey laughed, but it was a bitter sound. “Yes. I have money.” Then she went to the front door, opened it, and slammed it behind her as she left.

Lana straightened up and opened her eyes. She saw bright little points of light in her field of vision; dancing moonbeams, trapped in her kitchen in broad daylight. The bright spots faded, going out like distant flames blown by a wind, and then vanished altogether.

Acting on impulse, she returned to the bathroom, lifting the toilet lid and staring down into the bowl. Stringy vomit floated like pale kelp in the water, clinging to the side of the bowl where it had not quite been flushed away. There were tiny red flecks in the matter, as if Hailey had also brought up a small amount of blood. She could be mistaken, but it looked as if that was what had happened… unless she was suffering from the hangover and the weird morning light, and the redness was simply the result of tired eyes. She reached out and pressed the flush, watched the water as it swirled and cleaned away the stains.

A rogue thought entered her head, and she was unable to push it away: what if it isn’t vomit? But the thought of Hailey issuing that pale, clotted material from elsewhere was one she couldn’t countenance. It was too much; too terrible to hold inside her mind.

Back in the kitchen she made instant coffee and sat at the breakfast bar wondering how she could get her life back on track. Things had gone so wrong by now that it seemed impossible to put them right. Everything was difficult; the world was at best uncaring and at worst actively against her. Nothing went right, not now: everything she tried seemed to fail, and her attempts to fix their situation usually brought more pain into their lives.

At first she didn’t hear the knocking at her door, but after a short while the sound grew louder and drew her attention. Lana put down her cup and walked across the room to the door. Monty Bright’s phone call was fresh in her mind. She thought about putting the security chain in place, but then decided against it. If Bright wanted to get to her, he could pick and choose his moment. A cheap door chain would not hold him back.

She opened the door.

The man standing in the corridor was big, possibly the largest human being she had ever seen. He stood well over six feet tall and his girth was proportional to his height. A large round shaven head sat on a neck that resembled a joint of uncooked beef — wide, raw and spilling over the collar of his white shirt — and when he smiled a gold tooth glinted somewhere at the back of his mouth.