to watch her choosing her outfit and applying her makeup. Late at night, when she returned, he would creep from his bed and sneak a look at her undressing, watching as she cast her knickers into the linen bin for him to retrieve the next day and hold to his face, the material suffused with a strange, musty smell which was both frightening and intoxicating. Back then he felt nothing sexual; instead a wonderful warmth blossomed right in the centre of his chest, causing butterflies in his stomach and a lightness so beautiful it brought tears to his eyes.
When Carmel had gone he thought nothing could replace her, but soon a new girl arrived for him to spy on. The same white underwear, the same purity on one side of the wall and Harry on the other.
He was brought back to the present by a woman getting into the car parked next to his. She hurried to get in and as he met her eyes she pulled the door shut and flipped the lock down. He must appear like a nutter, he thought, sitting there and staring into space. He turned the radio on and pretended to fiddle with the controls. The station blared out the news. They were talking about him again. That made him feel special. Of course they didn’t mention him by name because they didn’t have a clue who he was. Idiots.
On the journey back the sun played hide and seek behind heavy clouds, but by the time Harry arrived at the cottage the weather had turned damp and miserable. Like his mood. In the past couple of days thoughts had spun through his mind the way clothes tumbled in a hot, soapy wash, the colours running into one another, bleeding from each garment, mixing with the dirt and the grime. Now at last the stream of consciousness had reduced to a trickle, a grey discharge, and a flatness descended which deadened everything from before. At least inside he knew a hint of magic waited for him, someone to raise his spirits again.
Do you mean Easy Emma, Harry?
Trinny. Still butting in with the occasional comment. He had heard her less and less though and soon, he thought, she would be gone for good.
Don’t know about that, Harry. Anyway, there will always be one of us to keep you company.
Trinny’s words disturbed him. He didn’t want voices. He would need to think of a way of keeping the next one he had to deal with quiet.
You mean Legs Apart Lucy? Did she turn out as slutty as me then? Don’t say I didn’t warn you!
Harry grunted. Trinny was only jealous. She had no interest in his project now she was not to be the one.
And neither does Lucy. I feel sorry for her so I think I will help her to stay around too. With both of us here I think we can stop you getting into so much mischief.
That was not good news. If Emma turned out not to be the one either there could be three voices in his head. And who knows how many more to come?
There are only six of us, Harry.
Yes. Six. A magical number.
Carmel had been the first of course. The first to come back to him. Rediscovered after all those years yet still looking exactly as she had done, as if time had merely breezed by in an instant. Mitchell and RT spoilt her though, and in the end desire killed her and now desire itself was the enemy.
Poor call girl, Carmel, couldn’t contemplate cock. Now sadly Carmel has ceased.
Trinny was too much. Harry jumped out of the car and stormed into the cottage, leaving her sniggering outside in the drizzle. She had never understood him properly and he wondered how he ever thought she could possibly be the one for him. He remembered she had been the last girl his parents employed, the one who had caused all the trouble, so maybe that had something to do with her attitude. Some months after she arrived she had an argument with his mother and later the same evening the police came calling. That night Harry watched his mother and father being led out of the house in handcuffs, a crowd jeering and throwing stones as they were driven away. He went up to his bedroom to wait and shiver in the darkness and before long the light came on and a policewoman arrived to take him away to a new home.
Ah didums. Poor Harry.
Trinny had come inside to tease him. He would ignore her.
Temper, temper.
He wished she would go away. He didn’t want to remember.
But remember you must. Remember the children’s home.
There he hoped to find some relief from the terrors inflicted by his father.
Wrong.
He remembered the shock at the end of his first day when three boys he thought of as new friends had beaten him half-senseless and proceeded to shove his head down a toilet. And then there was Mr Grimes, the Principal. His name was only the sub-plot, his after-dark activities the main story. How could Harry have been so mistaken? But then hadn’t he also been badly misled by the girls who looked after him as well? Each seemed to be the one who would give him love, but in the end each left to find it somewhere else.
I had to leave.
Now he had guessed why Trinny had left, dirty girl.
I was assaulted by your father. Raped. I was a young woman, a girl.
Exactly. Dirty.
So why are you still chasing after us?
He wanted what he had back then. He wanted the closeness of the flesh without the perversion of desire.
You’ve got a funny way of showing it.
That was because they were all sluts. He couldn’t help himself.
Looney tunes, Harry.
Yes, a lunatic. Trinny had it about right, Harry reckoned. But he was right too. He couldn’t help himself because madness was like a one-way street. Once you had started down it you couldn’t turn around or else you would smash into the oncoming traffic. He thought about this as he busied himself laying a fire in the front room. He wanted it warm for later. For Lucy. Then he thought about Emma. Up there in the room all alone. He hoped she was OK. And, because he was thinking of what was upstairs, he thought of THEM. They lived upstairs too. In the attic. How appropriate. He gave them water and some stale bread a few times a week, but they didn’t have much of a life. They must be cold and frightened and in the deepest despair imaginable.
The thought lifted his mood. He felt happy and quite content. He struck a match and the fire burst into life, darting yellow and orange, little popping sounds coming from the kindling. The room began to warm and his mind turned to Emma once again. He hoped she was the one.
She isn’t, Harry. You know that.
It wouldn’t matter. There were plenty more out there.
Only two left, Harry.
Two would be enough if Emma didn’t work out. Still, he wished Trinny hadn’t reminded him the project was finite.
And where will you find them?
The same place he had found Trinny. And Lucy and Emma.
And Carmel?
Carmel, yes, but she never had a chance, she became Mitchell’s girl.
Unlucky for her.
And unlucky for him as well because he didn’t like things dying. Especially not things he loved. When things died they didn’t stay around anymore and that was sad. The tabby cat he killed when he was a child had rotted away until there had been nothing left to touch, nothing to speak to either. Now he knew he could preserve things by taking pictures of them, but you would have to be crazy to speak to an image and you couldn’t touch it either. You needed three dimensions for that. Luckily he had found a way to keep the girls, and if Emma didn’t prove to be the one then at least she could stay for a while and have some fun. She wouldn’t mind, wouldn’t say a word. Not one.
Chapter 20
