No True Echo Read online

  ‘You’re a good lad, Eddie.’ Her voice wavered. Although it had been her who had almost destroyed the only picture I had of my mother, it was now down to me to make her feel better. That’s just how it was on down days. ‘I know ours is not much of a life,’ she said. ‘Maybe we’ll do better next time, eh, lad?’

  ‘I’ll go and cook,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Before beginning the hunt for something edible in the kitchen, I carried the photograph to my bedroom. I slipped it inside my copy of Frankenstein and placed the book next to my bedside clock. It was my own fault for framing it and leaving it downstairs on the mantelpiece, but I had thought it might be nice to have some evidence of the missing member of our family. Angus’s house was full of pictures of him and his brothers. There was an entire wall in the kitchen with photographs of them all at various ages and stages of their lives, including embarrassing ones of him naked as a baby. I loved that wall because it was full of memories. My life with Ruby wasn’t like that. In our family, memories were something better kept hidden.

  Cornishstein

  It was raining even harder on Friday morning. I stood at the bus stop working on a list of possible things to say to Scarlett but I wasn’t happy with any of them. When the bus arrived, I tried and failed to avoid the puddle splash before getting on.

  ‘Ready, Eddie? Then jump on board and hold on steady, Eddie.’

  I found my usual seat next to Angus and filled him in on my strange journey home with Cornish.

  ‘Maybe he’s got amnesia,’ suggested Angus. ‘I saw this thing on TV about it once. It had this guy who woke up one day and forgot who his wife was. Mind you, when you saw the wife, you did wonder whether he was only pretending.’

  ‘I don’t think Cornish had forgotten who I was,’ I said. ‘He remembered my name.’

  ‘But he forgot that he was giving you a lift home?’

  ‘And about Melody.’

  ‘Are you sure you had told him?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It came up after that discussion we had in class about orphans a few weeks back. He was worried he had upset me.’

  ‘Maybe he’s having a breakdown. I’ve never really understood what that means, though. Is it like when a car breaks down and you just need new bits?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. I don’t think Ruby’s ever worked well enough to break down.’

  The bus screeched to a halt.

  ‘All right, Miss White, take a seat and hold on tight,’ yelled Bill.

  I felt stupidly excited when Scarlett sat in the seat in front of us again because it meant that this was now her seat of choice. There would be lots of opportunities to talk to her, which was handy because, yet again, I was dumbstruck by her presence, meaning that it was up to Angus to speak.

  ‘How was your first day in the centre of the universe?’ he asked.

  She swivelled around in her seat, gripping the side as Bill took a corner at the speed of a racing-car driver with a death wish. ‘Why do you call it that?’ she said.

  ‘Oh you know, because it’s so exciting around here, isn’t it, Eddie?’ replied Angus.

  ‘Thrilling,’ I said, bringing my total number of words in Scarlett’s presence to six. Six! A baby could make better small talk than this. I needed to pull something good out of the bag if I was going to hold her attention.

  ‘How do you know all that stuff about Frankenstein?’ I asked. It was supposed to sound casual and off-hand. It was supposed to sound interested but not desperate. It sounded like an interrogation.

  ‘I’ve read it,’ she said. I wanted to die.

  ‘Frankenstein.’ Angus clicked his fingers. ‘That’s it.’

  ‘What’s he talking about?’ asked Scarlett.

  I was so distracted by the way she looked at me that I almost forgot to answer.

  ‘No idea,’ I said eventually. Not a great reply but nor was it painfully awful.

  ‘Eddie got a lift back with Comrade Cornish last night but he’d lost his memory.’

  ‘What did he forget?’ asked Scarlett.

  ‘Just stuff,’ I said, not wanting to steer the conversation to my dead mother so soon. ‘I can’t see what it’s got to do with Frankenstein, though.’

  ‘So imagine this: Cornish is taking this Frankenstein stuff too seriously.’ Angus spoke fast, getting carried away with the idea. ‘So he’s made his own monster, only unlike Frankie’s big, groaning fella, this one looks exactly like Cornish.’

  ‘Cornishstein,’ I suggested. Seeing Scarlett’s face, I wished I had stayed quiet.

  ‘But the monster wouldn’t have Cornish’s memories, would it?’ continued Angus.

  ‘Was it like he had forgotten completely or like it was a distant memory?’ asked Scarlett. Apparently she was taking the discussion seriously.

  ‘Distant memory,’ I replied. ‘Or a bit like someone who had just woken up.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Just woken up!’ exclaimed Angus. ‘Like Frankenstein’s monster wakes up.’ He let out a long moaning sound and stuck his arms out.

  ‘Have you even read the book?’ asked Scarlett.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ve started it,’ I said, pathetically hoping that would impress her. She didn’t look impressed. ‘So what do you think?’

  ‘About Frankenstein or Mr Cornish?’ she replied.

  In truth, I didn’t really care which we were talking about so long as we were talking.

  ‘About Mr Cornish,’ I said.

  ‘People go weird sometimes. It doesn’t really mean anything. I’d forget about it if I were you.’

  Consequences of Actions

  There was a small cheer when it was declared a wet break because the alternative was standing outside in the cold drizzle for fifteen minutes. Scarlett was once again swamped by attention. I was trying not to be too obvious about watching her when Mr Cornish entered and came over to where Angus and I were sitting.

  ‘Eddie, can I have a word?’

  ‘Hello, sir,’ said Angus, grinning. ‘Monstrous weather today.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cornish dismissively. ‘In the corridor, please, Eddie.’

  I followed him out of the classroom to a spot in the corridor by a display of self-portraits painted in the style of Picasso. They had ears, eyes and noses all over the place, and Angus and I had been giggling about them recently, imagining what it would be like if people really did look like that.

  ‘I want to apologise for yesterday,’ he said. ‘When I saw you I had just received a personal phone call so I was rather distracted.’

  ‘Is everything all right, sir?’ I asked.

  ‘Everything’s fine. I imagine you’re looking forward to half term next week.’

  ‘Yes, Angus has got this tree-climbing project,’ I said, trying to sound enthusiastic about it.

  Cornish nodded, then fell silent for so long that I had to pretend to be interested in the pictures on the wall.

  Eventually, he said, ‘It’s easier when you’re young.’

  ‘What is, sir?’

  ‘Everything, Eddie. When you’re young, you have firmly held beliefs but the older you get, the more you realise that life isn’t black and white.’

  ‘Like penguins, sir?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Penguins are black and white, sir. Although I don’t think they’re born like that, so I guess you’re saying that life is the opposite of penguins, because they do become more black and white than they start off.’

  ‘Why are you talking about penguins, Eddie?’

  ‘I’m not sure, sir. I saw this thing on television about them the other day.’

  ‘I’m trying to explain that what you do matters. I’m talking about the consequences of our actions.’

  ‘Is this about Frankenstein? Because I did start reading it last night, only I was really tired and I fell asleep and think I kind of dreamed a lot of what I thought I’d read. Is there a scene with a penguin, sir?’

 
; Cornish ignored the question. ‘Frankenstein,’ he said vaguely. ‘Yes, Frankenstein.’

  There was still something peculiar about him and I was extremely relieved when the bell rang. ‘I’d better go then, sir,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you this afternoon.’

  ‘This afternoon?’ he repeated.

  ‘For English, sir. I’ve got you last lesson.’

  ‘Of course,’ he replied.

  I walked as quickly as I could back to the classroom, where I found Angus.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘Definitely a monster,’ I said.

  The Meaning of Accidents

  Angus played chess Friday lunchtimes so I was sitting on my own when Scarlett entered the dining hall. I didn’t want her to think I was some sad, friendless loser, so I stared down at my chips, trying to ignore her, but even in a crowded dining hall it was impossible not to notice her as she made her way toward me.

  ‘You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?’ she said.

  I did my best to look surprised by her sudden appearance.

  ‘It’s a free country,’ I replied.

  It was supposed to sound cool but it just sounded rude. The problem was that every time she looked directly at me with her green-blue eyes it felt like someone was pumping huge clouds of confusion into my brain, making normal conversation impossible.

  ‘I can sit somewhere else if you’d prefer,’ she said.

  ‘No. Please. Don’t.’ From the desperation in my voice you might have thought she had just threatened to turn off my oxygen supply.

  She sat down. ‘Where’s Angus?’

  ‘Angus?’ Why was she talking about Angus? Was she interested in Angus? Was that what this was about? She liked Angus?

  ‘Boy about your age, dark hair, sits on the bus next to you,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, that Angus. Yes. Chess club.’ They weren’t long sentences but they were better than nothing.

  ‘Funny. I didn’t have Angus down as a chess player,’ she said.

  ‘He’s only in it for the biscuits.’

  Scarlett smiled, which was definitely a step in the right direction but I knew I had to keep the chat light. I wanted to show her I could be funny. I racked my brain for a list of conversation topics. I was still sifting through the possibilities when she said, ‘So, I hear your mum died when you were little.’

  ‘Er … ’

  ‘Sorry. That probably wasn’t very sensitive.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. She died a long time ago. If I’m not over it now … you know.’ I was scrabbling for the right response.

  ‘How did she die?’ she asked.

  ‘In a car crash,’ I replied. ‘Ruby says driving was never one of Melody’s strong points. Ruby’s my grandma.’

  ‘You refer to your mother as Melody?’

  ‘It was her name. Apparently, she hated it.’

  Scarlett nodded. ‘Where did it happen?’

  Most people, when they hear about my mother’s death, were either overly sympathetic or avoided the subject altogether. Scarlett was asking about it as casually as though it was a show on television she had missed.

  ‘Death Drop Point,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t know where that is.’

  ‘It’s down the valley road, just before your stop.’

  ‘So you go round it every day?’

  ‘Every school day. Who told you she died, anyway?’

  ‘One of those girls. I forget which one.’

  I glanced at a table of girls, all pretending they weren’t watching us. This was big. My mother’s death was not the sort of thing people just brought up, which meant that Scarlett must have asked about it.

  ‘Why did you want to know about it?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m interested in that sort of thing,’ she said.

  ‘In death?’

  ‘In accidents.’

  ‘You’re interested in accidents?’

  ‘Yes. Did you know that the word accident didn’t always mean something bad? A few hundred years ago it could be used for any event, good or bad. Over the years, though, it changed. Why did it change?’

  ‘Because most things worth talking about are bad?’ I suggested.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘How do you know all this stuff?’

  ‘I told you. It’s something I’m interested in. So what do you know about the accident your mother was involved in?’ she asked. ‘I mean, if you don’t mind talking about it.’

  If it meant she was looking at me, I didn’t mind talking about anything. ‘Melody was upset when she got into the car because she’d been arguing with Ruby. My grandma still hates leaving an argument unsettled because of it.’

  ‘Do you know what they were arguing about?’

  ‘No, but they didn’t get on. Ruby says they were always arguing about something. She puts it down to her being artistic and Melody being more sciencey.’

  Scarlett smiled to herself. ‘Sciencey,’ she repeated, amused by the word. She picked up her fork to eat her salad.

  I bit a disappointingly cold chip, feeling weirdly aware of how much noise my mouth made when I ate. I tried to chew quietly but the whole process of eating felt alien to me with Scarlett so close. In an attempt to distance Scarlett from the fact that I had forgotten how to eat, I swallowed the chip and asked, ‘So where did you move from?’

  ‘Look, Eddie, I’d rather not go into any of that, if you don’t mind,’ she replied.

  It struck me as odd that having just gone over the details surrounding my mother’s death, Scarlett was unwilling to even tell me something as basic that.

  ‘Is your family in one of those witness protection schemes or something?’ I asked.

  She grinned. ‘No, but I like that. I might use that in the future.’

  ‘Wherever you came from I’ll bet it was more exciting than Wellcome Valley. Round here people think it’s a big deal when there’s a wall of drying paint to watch.’

  Scarlett put her knife down and placed her hand on top of mine. ‘It won’t always be like this,’ she said softly.

  A couple of girls on a nearby table noticed and whispered to the others. I pulled my hand away and instantly regretted it.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Scarlett. ‘I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘I’m not. You don’t. It’s fine. It’s just … ’

  I wished I had left my hand there but the moment had passed. I selected another chip, hoping it would be warmer than the last one.

  A Choice of Biscuits

  Liphook remembered Sergeant Copeland’s eyes as being the same light brown as the tea that he was always sipping. The day after the talk at the school, she was sitting opposite him in his office while he noisily slurped from his cup. He put it down and a droplet of milky brown liquid ran down the side, staining Liphook’s application for a transfer.

  ‘I wouldn’t want you to rush into any decisions you might regret.’ Sergeant Copeland knitted his fingers together, then rested his hands on his round belly. ‘I know it’s not exactly all car chases and stake-outs but this kind of bread and butter community policing is very important. Now, which will it be? Digestive or bourbon?’

  ‘I don’t want either, sir,’ snapped Liphook.

  Sergeant Copeland was a nice man and Liphook felt bad bringing up her request for a transfer again. Realising her refusal sounded overly curt, she added, ‘Thank you, though, sir. It’s very kind of you.’

  ‘Come now, Liphook. You can’t really have a cup of tea without a biscuit, can you?’

  Deciding that the path of least resistance was easiest, Liphook took a digestive. She dunked it in the tea, but half of it broke off and dropped into the cup.

  ‘I know what it’s like to be hungry, you know,’ said Sergeant Copeland. ‘I mean, for more than biscuits.’ He chuckled, spraying Liphook with a small shower of crumbs.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied, watching him take two more bourbons and shove them into his mouth.

  ‘You’re hungry f
or adventure and excitement, but you need to remember that you have a long career ahead of you. There will be plenty of opportunity for that sort of thing. Please, give it a few more months here. These hills, this valley, these people … you’ll find they become a part of you.’

  ‘I need to get out, sir. I’m sorry,’ said Liphook.

  ‘And go where?’

  ‘Anywhere.’ Liphook instantly regretted saying it. She knew that Sergeant Copeland took personal exception to her desire to leave but she desperately wanted to get some real policing experience under her belt. Seeing Copeland’s large, watery eyes fill with sadness, she did the only thing she could think of to cheer him up. She took another biscuit.

  Sergeant Copeland smiled. ‘Ah, the digestive. A very underrated biscuit. Unfairly overshadowed by its flashier, more chocolatey cousins but every bit as important. A dependable, honest biscuit. I thought a thrill seeker like yourself would prefer the bourbon.’

  ‘In all honestly, sir, I’ve always found bourbons extremely disappointing.’ Sergeant Copeland let out a small gasp, but Liphook couldn’t stop herself.

  ‘It pretends to be chocolate, sir, but it’s not. It’s a chocolate-flavoured, chocolate-coloured biscuit. If you’re going to eat a chocolate biscuit, then eat one. Or better still, have a chocolate bar, but don’t settle for this.’ She picked up a bourbon and waved it angrily at him. ‘This is a waste of everyone’s time. This can only fail, both as chocolate and as a biscuit.’

  Sergeant Copeland leaned forward and plucked the bourbon from her hand, then pointedly dunked it in his tea and gobbled it down. ‘Ah. This is nice, isn’t it? Sitting here, talking about biscuits.’

  Liphook sighed. ‘Yes, it’s just not exactly why I joined the force.’

  ‘Tell me, why did you join the force?’

  ‘To make a difference, sir. I want to help people.’

  ‘You do help people. Only the other day Mrs Hitchcock told me how you gave her a lift home from the supermarket and helped her with her shopping.’

  ‘But I could be saving lives.’

  ‘I rather think that Mrs Hitchcock trying to get all that shopping home on her own would have killed a woman of her age. Don’t undervalue what we do, Liphook. You might not be chasing gun-toting gangsters every day but, little by little, we are making a difference. You are keeping Wellcome Valley safe. I know that you think this isn’t the real world, but it’s no less real than one of these big cities you’re eager to work in.’