Grace McCleen - The Land of Decoration

“Don’t go!” I said, and jumped up. I don’t know why I felt so afraid.

But he did. He went out of the back door. A few seconds later I heard the back gate swing to, a shout go up in the street, and running feet.

I sat for a while on the settee and then I began walking. I walked into the hall and around the front room. I walked into the middle room and back out again. I walked upstairs and along the landing and into each of the bedrooms and downstairs again.

When the hall clock chimed nine, I went upstairs and lay on Father’s bed and breathed in the smell of him. I pulled his sheepskin over me. Perhaps I should have gone next door to Mrs. Pew and told her what had happened. Perhaps I should have phoned the police. But I didn’t want to move. I watched the minutes go by on Father’s little alarm clock in faint green numbers and thought how he must look at it every morning when he got up in the dark. Thought about him sleeping here, curled on his side, his head on this pillow where I could smell his skin, and there was a tugging in my stomach that wouldn’t go away.

WHEN THE HALL clock chimed ten, I went downstairs and phoned Uncle Stan. “I don’t know where Father is,” I said when he picked up the receiver.

“Who’s this?” said Uncle Stan’s voice. It sounded sleepy.

“Uncle Stan?”

“Judith! Is that you?”

“Yes,” I said, and I began to cry.

“What’s happened? Where’s your dad?”

“He went out chasing the boys. He told me to stay in the house. I don’t know what’s happened to him.”

“How long ago?”

“Hours.”

“OK. Now—stay where you are,” said Uncle Stan. “Stay right there and I’ll be with you in ten minutes, can you do that? I’m going to come right over and I’m going to phone the police. Don’t worry, sweetheart, your dad can take care of himself. Just hang on and I’ll be there.” I heard him say something to Margaret. Then he said to me: “All right?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Put the phone down, pet. I’m on my way.”

As I hung up the phone, it began to ring again. “Judith.” It was Father.

“Where are you?” I said.

“I’m at the police station.”

“You’re all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

My knees bent and I sat down on the floor.

Father said: “Judith, I’m sorry. There’s been an accident. I just have to give a statement and then I’ll be home.”

Father said: “Judith? Are you there?”

“Yes,” I said.

I wiped my face. “An accident?”

There was a pause.

“Neil Lewis got knocked down by a car. It happened as we were coming down the hill.” Father’s voice sounded strange. “He’s going to be all right.”

The receiver was in my hand and my hand was in my lap. A distant voice from the receiver said: “He hurt his back. He’s going to be all right.” It went on talking. Suddenly I heard it say: “Judith?”

I lifted up the receiver. “Yes.”

“Look, just sit tight. I’ll be home soon, all right?”

“OK.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone out.”

I heard voices in the background then, a man shouting and doors slamming. Father said: “I have to go now. I’ll be home very soon.”

When Father had gone, I phoned Uncle Stan back to tell him not to come, but Margaret said: “Oh, he’s on his way, Judith. You say your dad’s all right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, thank goodness for that. Don’t worry about Stan. Are you all right?”

Uncle Stan arrived a little later. I heard him knock on the gate and went out to undo it.

Stan said: “What on earth—”

“It’s a fence,” I said. “Father built it to keep the boys out.”

“Boys?”

“Yes, the ones knocking on our door. Remember I told you?” Uncle Stan shook his head. “Uncle Stan,” I said, “Father’s called. He’s all right.”

His eyebrows shot upward. “He’s all right?”

“Yes.”

“Thank goodness! Where is he?”

“At the police station.”

“The police station?”

I nodded.

“Yes,” I said. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right, pet, I’m just glad he’s safe.” Stan’s eyes were glassy. I saw his pajama trousers underneath his coat.

We went into the kitchen. Uncle Stan’s hair was sticking up. He passed his hand over his face and said: “So why is your dad at the police station?”

I explained how he had been chasing the boys. “He said one of them ran across a road and got knocked down.”

“Dear me!” said Uncle Stan. “And this is the boy who’s been giving you trouble?”

“Yes.”

I wondered if he remembered how I had told him about punishing Neil, but he didn’t appear to, which was fortunate. He said: “How long has that fence been there?”

I debated whether to tell him. “Nearly three weeks.”

“Three weeks?”

I wished I hadn’t.

“Your dad didn’t say anything.”

I shrugged.

Uncle Stan looked around, at the dresser and the table, at the mattress Father was sleeping on propped up against the wall. Then he caught sight of the ax above the door. He flushed, and blinked quickly, as if he was trying to make something out. “Your dad been all right besides that?” he said.

“He’s been worried about work. And the boys were getting to him.”

Uncle Stan nodded. “It’s terrible what they did to the garden. Your dad planted those things for your mother. That cherry tree was beautiful in the spring. And the window, and the front door…”

“But that’s not all,” I said. “They did things outside the house and put things through the letter box and rode around him and called him names in the street. They wrote stuff on the fence. And one night I went out and—Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

Uncle Stan shook his head. “Satan’s certainly testing us for all he’s worth.”

“I thought only God tested us,” I said.

He laughed quickly. “But that fence can’t stay there, can it? Your dad’s not going to leave it like that?”

“Father thinks it’s all right. It’s the man from the civil court who doesn’t.”

“Someone’s been to the house?”

“Yes.”

“Oh dear, oh dear.” Uncle Stan rummaged in his pocket and brought out a packet of Rennie’s. I was just going to offer him a cup of tea when we heard a car pull up. A minute later we heard voices coming up the back path. A man was saying: “I know, Mr. McPherson, but chasing them like that—what were you going to do if you caught up with them?”

Father’s voice said: “I hadn’t thought that far.”

Then the back door opened and Father came in with a policeman and a policewoman, and first he said: “Judith,” and then he said: “Stan.”

I jumped up and then I stopped, because there was blood on his shirt and his sweater was rolled up in his hand.

Uncle Stan said: “John, what’s going on?” and it sounded to me as though he was angry, and it was strange because he hadn’t sounded angry till then.

Father came up to me and said: “It’s all right. I carried Neil to the ambulance. He’s going to be all right.” He didn’t say anything to Uncle Stan.

I sat down and looked at my hands.

“We’ll leave you to sort yourself out,” said the policeman. He looked suspiciously at Uncle Stan, then turned back to Father. “Keep yourself available, Mr. McPherson. We may need to take some more information in the near future.”

The policewoman said: “And by the way, that fence is a complete safety hazard.”

Father showed the police out. When he came back into the kitchen, he put his sweater in the washing machine. Uncle Stan said: “John, we need to talk.”