The Guardian's Protector: The Chamber of Souls Page 13

  The week after, Tom created his own routine. He worked all morning then took his lunch break in the café with the customers. He’d work again until late afternoon then go upstairs to the lads’ flat and listen to Ladysmith Black Mambazo. He liked to have his midday break as relaxed as possible; he claimed their voices did the trick. Tom was also excited this week because it was the end of the month, when Mark brought him a new book.

  Amy loved the bond Tom and Mark had created. Even though her crush was ever increasing and her flirting never more obvious—which yielded no response, making her wonder if he was married or gay—Amy loved Mark’s visits too.

  Tom ran to the back door when he heard Mark’s knock and, after a minute of them not walking through, Amy followed.

  ‘How’s division?’ Mark asked Tom from outside.

  ‘Great!’ Tom said. ‘I’ve learnt all my basic maths now.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ Mark said, handing Tom a set of poetry books. ‘I hope you enjoy these.’

  ‘Oh, I will. Thank you, Mark.’

  ‘Why aren’t you coming in?’ Amy asked.

  ‘I can’t,’ Mark said, pulling the door wide open to reveal a scraggy beige mongrel lying haplessly on the floor outside. Tom ran out to stroke it.

  ‘Don’t touch it!’ Amy shouted.

  Tom looked confused for a moment. ‘He won’t bite,’ Tom said as if reading her thoughts. ‘He’s nice.’ The dog rolled over for Tom to scratch his belly, revealing all the bones in his chest.

  ‘He’s got no home,’ Mark informed with a mischievous smile.

  ‘Can we take him home?’ Tom asked excitedly. ‘We can feed him and give him a bath!’

  ‘We can’t afford a dog, Tom.’

  ‘I’ll pay for him,’ Tom said. ‘I have my money from my spends and my wages! He needs us!’ He cuddled up to the dog and smiled at Amy. ‘He’s my friend!’ With the word ‘friend’, her heart gave a pang.

  Amy grimaced at the dog and, as if putting on his best I’m-a-good-dog-please-take-me-home look, the dog sat up straight, his big, brown eyes fixed on hers, as if trying to judge his fate from her expression.

  ‘Pleeeeeease,’ Tom whined, his eyes as puppy-looking as the dog’s. ‘I’ll call him David!’

  Amy turned to Mark. ‘Do you always pick up strays?’

  ‘I help the homeless,’ he said, the slight curl of his soft lips sending shivers down her. ‘I work in a soup kitchen at weekends.’

  ‘I want to help with soup!’ Tom said, not knowing what it entailed. ‘Can I work with Mark in the soup, Mum?’ Amy found this funny and laughed.

  ‘We could always use a helping hand…’ Mark admitted, flashing his green eyes at Amy, ‘…or two!’ he added, knowing full well she’d agree to that pearly smile and handsome face. ‘Think about it. I’ll call in next week.’

  There was nothing to think about; Amy now had an excuse to see Mark more than once a month. Willing to fall deeper into his lure, the prospect excited her as much as it did Tom.

  Wagging his fluffy tail, having found a new owner, David the dog followed them all the way home. David let Amy and Tom bathe and blow dry his long golden coat and, after frying him some minced steak, they let him out in the back garden to show him his new toilet. David was then, after Tom’s begging, allowed to sleep in Tom’s room.

  As she closed his door and saw the happiness on Tom’s face, Amy couldn’t believe she’d never thought of getting him a dog. Always a complete loner, ostracised by most, the dog was the best thing that could’ve happened to him.

  ‘David is my very best friend! On me and you he does depend,’ Tom said as the pair of them bounded in her room Sunday morning.

  ‘You love your poetry book, I see!’ Amy laughed.

  As they walked to her parents’ house that mild August afternoon, Tom took in the world around him with his strange fascination to flowers and birds. ‘Do you know,’ he began, caught in wonder, ‘this is a lovely world? Not like the world I visit in my dreams, though. That’s wondrous.’

  As they walked up the familiar cobbled drive, Francesca ran out to greet them.

  Amy picked her up. ‘Hello, Francesca.’

  ‘My name does be Frankie!’ she said.

  ‘Oh sorry, Frankie!’ Amy laughed. As Amy placed her back down, Francesca smacked Tom in the neck, the highest point she could reach.

  ‘Hello, Frankie!’ Tom said and laughed as she ran back inside.

  As they entered, Frank was in the middle of a rant: ‘The French are all idiots!’

  ‘Do you know all the French people, Uncle Frank?’ Tom asked in amazement.

  Frank turned. ‘Well, no, Tom, I’m not being literal!’

  ‘What does literal mean?’ Tom asked, now interested in nothing more than learning a new word.

  ‘Well, exact or accurate.’

  ‘So you’re not being exact or accurate then?’

  ‘Well, I am, because I go off the majority.’

  ‘The majority meaning most?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you know most of them, then?’

  ‘Don’t be cheeky.’

  Tom looked confused. ‘I’m just being literal.’ Alicia looked at Amy like she should scold him for his cheek.

  ‘Can you imagine this smart Aleck at school?’ Frank said. ‘No one likes a smart Aleck you know, lad.’

  ‘He’s not a smart Aleck,’ Amy retorted. ‘He’s right. And anyway, I’m not enrolling him at school.’

  Thomas sat up straight. ‘Now look here, young lady,’ he began. ‘You may have ruined your education by having Tom, but I won’t allow you not let him have one at all! He’s not so clever he doesn’t need to go to school.’

  ‘I’m working, though,’ Tom brought up. ‘You know, for Winston and now Mark,’ he added with a wide smile.

  ‘Working?’ Thomas asked. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, my laddo.’

  ‘What could nursery possibly teach him, Dad? He’d be bored.’

  Thomas stared at her for a moment as if considering her words. ‘Then get him into one of those genius schools or something.’

  ‘He doesn’t need it. He’s sort of got his own tutor in a way because of Mark.’

  ‘But he’s got to go to school!’

  ‘If someone from the authorities came to question me, I’d be able to prove he’s educated!’ Amy retorted, hoping that would be enough. Otherwise she’d have to send him to the teacher Adaizi mentioned. ‘He’s learnt more than the year sixes at that school.’

  Alicia growled to show her angst for the subject, stopping the conversation.

  ‘Anyway,’ Joan said, ‘who is this Mark?’

  ‘Mark Smith,’ Amy answered, and felt the butterflies in her stomach.

  ‘I mean, who is he to you—you know, are you…involved?’ Joan hushed the last word.

  ‘No!’ Amy blushed.

  Frank laughed. ‘Amy and Mark up a tree…’

  ‘How old are you?’ Amy snapped.

  ‘Mark who?’ Alicia interrupted.

  ‘Smith,’ Frank answered in a childish tone.

  ‘Mark Smith? Is he about my age?’

  ‘Probably,’ Amy said.

  ‘I wonder if it’s Edward and Cathleen Smith’s son,’ she said to Frank, then looked back to Amy. ‘Is he tall?’

  ‘Yes,’ Amy answered, wondering what gossip was imminent.

  ‘I bet it’s him. I knew he lived in Manchester but he’s not been seen for years. His parents were killed in a freak fire. He had to go into care for a year or two but…they left him a fortune!’ Alicia stared blankly at Amy before saying, ‘How do you know him?’

  ‘It’s not the same person,’ Amy said, remembering his dress sense and the fact that he hasn’t got a car. ‘I know he hasn’t got money! Even the books he brings Tom are second-hand.’

  ‘Of course it isn’t him.’ Alicia snickered. ‘You’re in a dead-end, minimum wage job and…well…look at you. Have you ever had your hair cut? You don’t even wear makeup. In fact, you
make no effort,’ she said definitively, looking in disgust at Amy’s worn jeans. ‘You haven’t had interest from anyone since Luke, let alone him!’

  ‘Too far!’ Frank snapped.

  ‘It’s fine!’ Amy said, tucking her waves behind her ears. Amy had never thought she was anything to look at, but she didn’t realise she was unattractive. She now realised why her Mark had never asked her out.

  No one said a word during dinner.

  After dinner, while everyone sat to watch TV in the living room, Tom turned to Thomas. ‘Granddad?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, my laddo?’

  ‘Frank says it doesn’t matter about his hat!’

  ‘What hat?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Not you, Uncle Frank,’ Tom said. ‘The Frank in my head. He says he’s my great granddad!’ The whole room stopped and a cold silence lingered. Tom, all eyes upon him, suddenly realised he’d done something wrong.

  He looked hurt as his granddad, who he loved so much, stormed out of the room. He jumped back in shock as his uncle Frank shouted, ‘He’s dead!’ angrily at him. He looked confused by his Aunt Alicia, who had a smug smile on her face, and as his grandma walked away without looking at him, he turned back to Amy, who was staring at him in disbelief, looking heartbroken.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Amy offered, holding her arms out to him. Just an unkind look from a person would make Tom consider himself. It was a soul-destroying thing to watch when his picture of compassionate, trusting humans exploded in his face.

  ‘What did I do wrong?’ he asked, his bottom lip quivering.

  Amy pulled him into the hall to speak to him separately and sat at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Tom, my granddad was called Frank, but he died many years ago,’ she said, trying to make him understand that he couldn’t have been speaking to him.

  ‘I know. He died ten years ago.’

  Tears fell from Amy’s eyes. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘He told me!’

  ‘How could he tell you if he’s dead?’ Amy asked, trying to keep calm.

  ‘He talks to me!’ he answered, now tearful himself. ‘Don’t you believe me?’ As he searched her face she felt like she’d betrayed him.

  ‘I know you don’t lie,’ she said, wiping her eyes and pulling him close. ‘If your great granddad told you to tell your granddad something, then you are just being a good boy. It’s just…upsetting, that’s all. Stay here while I talk to your granddad.’ Tom nodded.

  The room was stale. Her palms sweating, her heart beating rapidly, she received cold stares from everyone. Nervously, she walked into the kitchen where her dad stood, staring out of the window. His fists, clenched tightly, were placed firmly on the worktop.

  ‘Didn’t you once say you regretted not having a hat for…?’

  ‘Don’t say it!’ he snapped, still staring out of the window. ‘I don’t believe in any of that nonsense and I’d prefer it if Tom didn’t say anything like that again!’

  Amy was taken aback by his anger. A lump swelled up in her throat. ‘Don’t you normally say you won’t believe in things unless you see them with your own eyes?’

  ‘All I can see…is a clever boy!’ he hissed with an undertone, still gazing out the window.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Amy bellowed for all to hear. When he didn’t answer she stormed into the living room. As she did, Tom walked from the hall and took her hand. Joan was pretending her favourite show was on the TV. Frank shook his head at them and Alicia remained smug.

  ‘I didn’t mean to upset anyone,’ Tom cried, clearly devastated by the atmosphere he’d caused.

  ‘That first Christmas when he said that about Francesca, I’d told you he was weird,’ Alicia said to Amy.

  ‘You mean psychic?’ Amy shrieked, making Alicia jump.

  ‘Psychic?’ Alicia laughed.

  ‘What do you mean by weird, then?’ Feeling her blood start to boil, Amy held Tom’s hand and tried to remain composed.

  ‘Not normal!’ Alicia stood blatantly with her hands on her hips, her chin lifted defiantly, looking like a bigger version of her daughter.

  ‘Pack it in, Ali,’ Frank said under his breath.

  ‘Pack it in. Is that it?’ Amy screamed.

  ‘Don’t shout, Mum,’ Tom begged. ‘It’s okay.’ He tugged on her hand.

  ‘Tom weird!’ Francesca said, screwing up her face and putting her tongue out.

  ‘Enough!’ Thomas bellowed from behind, making everyone jump. ‘I will have no one say anything bad about Tom—no one! Do you all understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ they all mumbled. Alicia slid back in her seat, her eyes wide with alarm.

  ‘I thought you, above anybody, didn’t believe in anything like this?’ Frank asked Thomas.

  ‘He said he wouldn’t believe in anything until it had been proved!’ Amy cut in. ‘But don’t worry, Frank, even with the evidence, he still doesn’t!’ Thomas stormed back into the kitchen.

  Tom, seeing his mother’s face, stood tall and faced his uncle. ‘He said he was proud of you when you won your trophy, Uncle Frank,’ Tom said with broken breaths, tears flooding from his eyes. ‘He wants you to know he was watching.’

  Every ounce of contempt fell from Frank’s expression. ‘How on Earth…’ He stared at Tom in total disbelief, looking like he could cry at any second.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Joan murmured, looking confused as she turned from the TV.

  ‘What is it?’ Alicia whispered to Frank. He didn’t answer.

  Amy knew. Amy remembered, just after her granddad’s death, Frank telling Joan and Thomas that he was sure his granddad was watching when he won his rugby trophy. Amy also remembered her dad telling Frank that he was dead and when you’re dead, you’re dead—simple as that!

  Amy squeezed Tom’s hand. ‘Tom can do a lot more than this,’ she said boldly. ‘He’s special and I’m proud of him! So if you call him weird one more time…’

  ‘It’s okay, Mum,’ Tom repeated. ‘I’m used to people thinking I’m weird. Aunt Alicia’s always felt like that about me, but don’t be mad. It’s not her fault.’ Alicia scowled at Tom like he’d just swore at her.

  ‘We’re sorry!’ Frank said to Amy, coming round from his state of shock. ‘I want to say…thank you, Tom,’ he added, to everyone else’s shock. ‘That was…good to hear!’

  Tom’s face lit. ‘He said you’re not such a stubborn mule after all!’

  Frank could no longer hold back his tears. ‘He always called me that!’ Joan rushed over to hug him.

  Even though Frank and Joan seemed to believe Tom, Amy left right away. As they arrived back home, Amy peered into the hallway mirror. At just twenty, she could see her youth had been taken. She moved closer to study the bags under her eyes, searching for permanent lines.

  ‘What are you doing, Mum?’ Tom asked.

  ‘I’m looking at my ugly mush,’ she joked.

  ‘You must have a faulty mirror,’ he said. ‘Don’t let Aunt Alicia make you feel bad.’

  Amy smiled at him. ‘She likes to make people feel inferior so it makes her more superior.’

  After Amy had explained what inferior and superior meant, Tom still looked confused. ‘But she doesn’t feel superior to begin with!’ he said. ‘When she makes you feel inferior it stops her feeling inferior. She was always made to feel inferior. That’s why she feels bad inside…and that’s why she does it.’

  ‘She doesn’t show it!’ Amy stuttered, gob-smacked at his psychological analysis.

  ‘I know she doesn’t. She learnt a long time ago not to show her feelings.’

  ‘Why are you so clever?’ Amy asked.

  He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I won’t say I just know everything. I don’t want to be called Aleck!’

  ‘It took courage to stand up to your uncle Frank. Instead of letting them carry on thinking you were being bad, you stuck up for yourself. You should do that more often!’

  ‘I stuck up for you!’ he said.

  The nex
t morning, Amy woke to a piece of paper at the side of her bed. It was a poem from Tom titled ‘Faulty Mirror’. It read: Through that faulty mirror, your reflection isn’t true; you look good on the outside because the inside shines through. Amy held it to her heart thinking it was the best thing she’d ever received.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE DAY WITH MARK

  ‘You look wonderful,’ Mark said to Amy as she and Tom met him on Portland Street to help with the soup kitchen.

  Amy beamed at him, her long mascaraed lashes batting like butterfly wings as she blushed. ‘These old things,’ she mumbled, looking at her new bum-flattering skinny jeans as if she’d made no effort.

  ‘I mean your hair and your…eyes,’ he corrected, holding her gaze and staring at her like she was a miracle. She’d straightened her hair and applied eyeliner and lip gloss, which she thought, because of her baby face, made her look like a beauty pageant wannabe, so she’d never expected a reaction like this. Refined and dignified, Mark was a true gentleman.

  ‘Thanks.’ Amy grinned, trying to calm her palpitations. Thoughts of her impending doom faded when Mark was around. She felt brighter, perkier. And now, thanks to him, confident she looked okay.

  ‘Are you ready for the soup kitchen?’ Mark asked Tom.

  ‘I am,’ Tom said and held out his right hand. Mark took it and looked as happy to be holding Tom’s hand as Tom did his. Amy took his left hand and Tom turned his head from side to side as if proud of the chain he’d created. Amy beamed at the sight of them: The three of them walking down the road together like a happy family seemed so right.

  As they walked into the gay village, she could feel the bounce in Tom’s stride. He was so happy to be helping people that even before they’d arrived, Amy felt grateful to Mark.

  ‘Mum,’ Tom began, as they walked down Canal Street, ‘do we have to stay in our bodies?’ Amy was used to Tom’s questions but she looked at Mark for his reaction.

  Mark smiled. ‘I think you should learn physics and biology next!’

  A bit farther down, Tom looked up at her. ‘Do you think the light I have will ever go dark?’ he asked. Thankfully he continued before giving her the chance to answer. ‘I hope it doesn’t. I wouldn’t want that.’ Mark, seemingly amused, just kept smiling.