Mark Haddon - The Pier Falls - And Other Stories

Clumsily, they heave the deer and the pram over the barrier. This takes a good deal of time and the strip of yellow grass is not wide. Police , says Sean, and Daniel turns in time to see the orange stripe of a white Rover slide past, lights and siren coming on as it goes up the hill. It will turn at the roundabout and come down the other carriageway. They have a minute at most.

Now , yells Sean, and the relief Daniel feels when they bump over the kerb of the service road and heave the pram up the bank through the line of stunted trees into the park makes him whoop. The Warrens , says Sean, panting, and they keep their momentum up past a gaggle of rubbernecking children on the climbing frame and into the network of walled paths round the back of the estate. They stop by the peeling red lock-ups and wait. No siren. No squeal of tyres. Daniel’s head pulses. He needs to lie down in the dark.

They push the pram across the parched quadrangle to Orchard Tower. An elderly lady watches them, transfixed. Polyester floral dress and varicose veins. Sean gives her a jokey salute. Mrs. Daley .

The double doors are easy but it takes some juggling to get the pram and the deer into the lift and they leave a great lick of blood across the mirror that covers one of the side walls. Sean puts his finger into it and writes the word MURDER in capital letters on the glass at head height. The lift bumps to a halt, the chime goes and the doors open.

Later when he tells the story to people they won’t understand. Why didn’t he run away? His friend had a loaded gun. He will be repeatedly amazed at how poorly everyone remembers their childhoods, how they project their adult selves back into those bleached-out photographs, those sandals, those tiny chairs. As if choosing, as if deciding, as if saying no were simply skills you could learn, like tying your shoelaces or riding a bike. Things happened to you. If you were lucky you got an education. If you were lucky you weren’t abused by the guy who ran the five-a-side. If you were very lucky you finally ended up in a place where you could say, I’m going to study accountancy…I’d like to live in the countryside…I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

It happens fast. The door opens before Sean can put his key into the lock. Dylan is standing there in dirty blue dungarees, phone pressed to one ear. He says, calmly, Cancel that, Mike. I’ll talk to you later , and puts the phone down. He grabs a fistful of Sean’s hair and swings him into the hallway so that he skids along the lino and knocks over the little phone table. He puts his foot on Sean’s chest and yanks at the bag, ripping it open and breaking the strap. He takes out the gun, checks the chamber, shunts it back into place with the heel of his hand and tosses it through the open door of his room onto his bed. Sean sits up and tries to back away but Dylan grabs the collar of his T-shirt and hoists him up so that he is pressed against the wall. Daniel doesn’t move, hoping that if he stands absolutely still he will remain invisible. Dylan punches Sean in the face then lets him drop to the floor. Sean rolls over and curls up and begins to weep. Daniel can see a bloody tooth by the skirting board. Dylan turns and walks towards the front door. He runs his hand slowly across the deer’s flank five or six times, long, gentle strokes as if the animal is a sick child. Bring it in .

They wheel the pram across the living room and out onto the balcony. Dylan gives Daniel a set of keys and sends him downstairs to fetch two sheets from the back of his van. Daniel feels proud that he has been trusted to do this. He carries the sheets with their paint spatters and the crackly lumps of dried plaster back upstairs. Dylan unfolds them, spreads them out on the concrete floor and lays the deer in the centre. He takes a Stanley knife from his pocket, flips the animal onto its back and scores a deep cut from its neck to its groin. Gristle rips under the blade. He makes a second cut at ninety degrees, a crucifix across the chest, then yanks hard at one of the angles in the centre of the crucifix so that the corner of furred skin rips back a little. It looks like a wet doormat. Daniel is surprised by the lack of blood. Under the skin is a marbled membrane to which it is attached by a thick white pith. Dylan uses the knife to score the pith, pulling and scoring and pulling and scoring so that it comes gradually away.

Sean steps onto the balcony holding a bloody tea towel against his face like a mask. Daniel cannot read his expression. Turning, Daniel sees the sandy slab of the car plant rippling slightly in the heat coming off the road. A hawk hangs over the woods. His headache is coming back, or perhaps he has simply begun to notice it again. He wanders inside and makes his way to the kitchen. There is an upturned pint mug on the drying rack. He fills it with cold water from the tap and drinks it without taking the glass from his lips.

He hears the front door open and close and Mrs. Cobb shouting, What the bloody hell is going on?

He goes into the living room and sits on the brown leather sofa, listening to the slippery click of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece, waiting for the pain to recede. There are framed school photographs of Sean and Dylan. There is a wall plate from Cornwall that shows a lighthouse wearing a bow tie of yellow light and three gulls, each made with a single black tick. The faintest smell of dog shit from the sole of his shoe. Sean walks down the corridor carrying a full bucket, the toilet flushes and he comes back the other way with the bucket empty.

He dozes. Twenty minutes, maybe half an hour. The sound of a saw brings him round. It takes a while to remember where he is, but his headache has gone. So strange to wake and find the day going on in your absence. He walks out onto the balcony. Dylan is cutting the deer up. The legs have been sawn off and halved, hoofs in one pile, thighs in another. Carl from next door has come round and is leaning against the balcony rail smoking a cigarette. I’ll have a word at the chippy. They’ve got a chest freezer out the back. Sean is no longer holding the tea towel against his face. His left eye is half closed by the swelling and his upper lip is torn.

Get rid of that, will you? Dylan points to a yellow plastic kids’ bathtub. Lungs, intestines, glossy bulbs of purple.

He and Sean take a handle each. As they are leaving Dylan holds up the severed head and says to Carl, What do you reckon? Over the fireplace? But it’s the bathtub that unsettles Daniel, the way it jiggles and slops with the movement of the lift. MURDER in capital letters. The inside of a human being would look like this. The dazzle of the sun blocked out. Thinking for a moment that it was Robert.

He says, How are you?

Sean says, Fine .

Some kind of connection has been broken, but it feels good, it feels like an adult way of being with another person.

They put the bathtub down and lift the lid of one of the big metal bins. Flies pour out. That wretched leathery stink. They hoist the tub to chest height as two teenage girls walk past. Holy shit . A brief countdown and they heave the bathtub onto the rim. The contents slither out and hit the bottom with a great slapping boom.

Upstairs the oven is on and Mrs. Cobb has put a bloody haunch into a baking tray. Carl is helping her peel potatoes with a lit cigarette in the corner of his mouth. Dylan drinks from a can of Guinness. Come here , he says to Sean. Sean walks over and Dylan puts an arm around him. If you ever do anything like that again I’ll fucking kill you. Understand? Even Daniel can hear that he is really saying, I love you . Dylan gives Sean the half-finished can of Guinness and opens another one for himself.