Mark Haddon - The Red House

He laid his hand on the bumpy wall of frayed spines and brittle slip covers. His mother had arranged them according to their height, as a kind of subsidiary furniture. Airport novels and Hollywood biographies. He wished he were better at embracing the chaos, loosening up a little. But the journey was always a circle. You thought you were on the other side of the world then you turned a corner and found yourself in the kitchen with the green melamine bowls and the clown calendar. His neatness, his love of order, the need to keep himself constantly busy, these things weren’t a measure of the distance he’d put between them, these were the things they had in common.

♦

The Golden Ocean. Anglo-Saxon Attitudes. The House of Sixty Fathers. They Call Me Carpenter. Tom Swift and His Electric Locomotive. The Velveteen Rabbit. The Chessmen of Mars. The Eagle of the Ninth. Tarzan and the Forbidden City. The Man Who Could Not Shudder. Typewriter in the Sky. The Naughtiest Girl in the School. Black Hunting Whip. The Secret of the Wooden Lady. Five Go to Mystery Moor. The Drowning Pool. The Courage of Sarah Noble. My Life in the Bush of Ghosts. Bonjour Tristesse. The Sky Is Falling. The Sound of Waves .

♦

Holy shit. There was a naked woman tied up. Then another naked woman tied up. Then a naked woman tied up and hanging from the ceiling. Then a naked tattooed woman with her arse in the air and a dildo sitting on a record player in the background. Then a naked woman with an Egyptian hairstyle on an old-fashioned hospital bed tied up with rubber tubing that actually went into her cunt. And it was, like, actual art that you were allowed to look at. Or was it? Alex flipped the cover shut. Nobuyoshi Araki. Phaidon. £85. So it was art. Holy shit. You could have it on a coffee table. He imagined being the photographer. Actually being there in the room. There was a close-up of a big veiny penis in black and white which was gross, then two naked women on a bed.

Excuse me .

There were other human beings in the room. The man squeezed past and disappeared into Architecture. Alex stared at the photograph of the two women. He wanted to buy the book. He wanted to steal the book. He wanted to stay here forever. He had to put it down. He couldn’t put it down.

♦

Dominic was thinking of the opening of the second Two-Part Invention, that little canon. When the work stopped he couldn’t bear to listen to music. Sentimental songs were the worst, ‘The Power of Love’, ‘Wonderful Tonight’…He had to leave shops sometimes. Just like Coward said. Extraordinary how potent …etc. After a couple of months he started listening to Steve Reich and suddenly saw the point of those cool, evolving lines. Music for Eighteen Musicians, Electric Guitar Phase . Moving gingerly on to Bach. Another kind of coolness. He ran through the fingering of the Two-Part Invention in his head. Who was the guy on that classical music quiz show when he was a kid? He played a dummy keyboard and you had to guess the piece from the thumping. Joseph Cooper. That was it. Face the Music .

He looked across the valley and heard The Lark Ascending in his mind’s ear, that skirling violin, four semiquavers then up and up, pentatonic scale, no audible root, no bar lines even…Melissa. Jesus. Was that Melissa? He started to jog down through the bracken. What in God’s name was she doing? Vomiting? He tripped and fell and got up again. She was on all fours. He slowed, panting. Melissa? He touched her shoulder and she sprang up and screamed, waving her hands like a frightened woman in silent film. Whoa, sorry. I didn’t mean…

It’s…It’s …She stroked the air in front of her. Angela’s husband. She’d forgotten where she was. She felt naked. Was he going to attack her?

Are you all right?

She mustn’t cry. She held out her mobile. It refused to explain the situation. I couldn’t get any signal .

Have you hurt yourself?

No, I haven’t fucking hurt myself . Deep breath.

You were trying to ring someone .

I’ve got to… She turned and walked away and her knees buckled and she tried very hard to make it look like she was sitting down on purpose.

He came over and sat beside her. They said nothing. It was uncomfortable, then it was comfortable, then it was uncomfortable. So I guess you’re not having a fun time .

She started crying. Shit . She wiped her eyes.

You want to talk about it?

No, I do not want to talk about it. Unsurprisingly .

He picked two daisies and started making a chain. I had a stepfather. I still have a stepfather .

What the hell was he talking about?

He was a really nice guy, which only made me hate him more, of course .

Yeh, well, thanks for the advice . She took a packet of Silk Cut from her jacket pocket.

One going spare?

She’d meant to piss him off but things were going a bit off-piste. His cupped hand touched her hand. The scratch and pop of the lighter. Was he going to try and feel her up? She imagined hanging on to the story like a fat cheque she could spend whenever she wanted.

Ooh . He blew a rubbish smoke ring. Haven’t had one of these in a while .

A sheep trotted past, bleating.

Actually, Richard’s all right. He kind of makes Mum happy, which is good . But it was a lie. She hated him for the same reasons Dominic had hated his stepfather.

They finished their cigarettes. Then Dominic turned and stared at her. She wondered if he was going to put a hand on her breast. Be nicer to Daisy, OK?

Which caught her totally on the hop.

You’ll look back and realise you’re not that different .

She laughed. We are so different . He held her eye and didn’t laugh. She’d lost her bearings now. The fear was coming back. She got to her feet and threw her cigarette stub into the long grass. I need to make a phone call .

Don’t walk over a precipice .

Was he being, like, metaphorical, or was there actually a precipice?

He watched her stumble up the hill. Town shoes. He imagined getting points for the way he’d handled the conversation. Six out of ten? He’d definitely got the better of her. Seven? The sheep bleated again. He felt a little nauseous. The cigarette, probably.

♦

Benjy was doing a kind of boneless gymnastics on the leather armchair at the side of the shop.

Look at this encyclopedia . Daisy heaved him aside and sat down. It’s from 1938 .

His eyes were fixed on the Nintendo.

Back before computers, when they thought there might be people on Mars .

He didn’t look up. I want to find the Encyclopedia of Torturing Barbie .

She turned the page. And what is this thing , she read, which the savage coaxes into being by rubbing one stick against another, and the civilised man conjures in a moment by striking a match? His breath wasn’t good. Had anyone made him brush his teeth this morning?

Louisa appeared suddenly. Benjy…Daisy… She had peeled herself away from Richard and set off in search of a sunny book-free location, but there was something cosy about the two of them in the chair. What have you got there?

Pictorial Knowledge, Volume 5 . Daisy handed it to her.

Woven brick-red cover, the title indented and beneath it an oil lamp radiating beams of wisdom. She glanced at the contents page. How Steam and Petrol Work for Man. A Children’s Guide to Good Manners. Folding Model. She was suddenly back in her grandparents’ house, chicken-wire window in the larder, Walnut Whips and buttered white bread with fish and chips, the stilts Grandad made her from an old door frame.