Beneath The Skin Episode 21

Walt offered the button on his palm, like a sugar cube, and the man gazed at it. “I don’t buy one-offs any more. If you had a set I might.” “I’m not selling,” said Walt. “I just want to know what it is. Quickly.” He was conscious that the kid could appear at any moment and that he had, in effect, stolen the thing. He still didn’t know why he was being so secretive about it.

The man was raking behind the till for a pair of cheap reading glasses. He put them on and held the button up to the light. “Mmm.” He checked the reverse. “I see.” “What?” Walt could feel irritation storming in from somewhere. “What is it?”

“That’s the Imperial Eagle. German. Second World War. Probably from a tunic or a greatcoat. You don’ t have the greatcoat?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Pity. I would have taken that off you. Very collectible. Nazi memorabilia is very sellable just now.”

Walt took the button back. Mouse was on her phone and she didn’t look very happy. “Okay, thanks, mate. Just wondered.”

Mouse was coming towards him, towing William along behind her. “Walt! We have to go.”

“What’s wrong?”

She was clearly distressed. “Mrs Petrauska just called. Alys is on the pavement crying.”

Alys was sitting on the pavement with her back to the railings, hugging her knees. Her hair hung forward and he couldn’t see much of her face, but the sobs were raw and hoarse, like she’d been at it for a while.

Mrs Petrauska was standing guard. Her face bore two camouflage streaks of mascara, and her palms were pressed together as if she was thinking about praying. Her relief at seeing back-up was explosive. She started gabbling, seizing Walt’s arm as Mouse went into some kind of smooth choreography, handing the key to William and scooping an arm around her sister’s heaving shoulders. It all looked too well rehearsed.

“This the second time this month, Maura!” Mrs Petrauska said. “That poor girl, she need the gydytojas!”

“Doctor,” William translated. He’d developed a sudden air of confidence, racing up the steps, flashing the swinging open the big heavy door.

Mouse was thanking Mrs Petrauska, bundling Alys towards the house. “She hasn’t been sleeping.”

“But you must get help!”

Walt detached himself, patted the woman’s shoulder. “We will. Thank you. Good night.”

And then they were in the hall and he was closing the door, with a last glance at Mrs Petrauska’s mascara stains, like the shadows of the basement railings.

Alys had stopped sobbing. Her voice was now a nasally whine. “You weren’t there. You left me to do it all by myself.”

Mouse was looking at him pointedly. He realised the remarks were aimed at him. He stood with his back to the closed door and lifted his hand to his chest in an exaggerated gesture. “Me?”

“I needed you, Walt!” The sobbing started again. Walt hated women crying. He’d grown up around boys; when tears cropped up it was for a good reason – a fist fight, or someone stealing your new bike – and always the result of anger or frustration. As men the tears were quiet, hidden. Female tears were deeper, darker.

He appealed to Mouse. “She said she wanted to be alone, to get on with her stuff!”

“When was this?” Mouse hugged Alys to her, smoothed her hair.

“Wednesday or Thursday, I guess. That’s why I suggested we go out this morning. I’ve been bored for days. I can’t stand having nothing to do, I . . .”

But Mouse wasn’t listening. “When did you last sleep, Alys? Have you eaten anything?”

Alys pulled away from her and staggered up the hall. “I can’t! It’s all going wrong. I had this vision in my head but I can’t make it work!” The backside of her jeans and her white sweater were snagged with the outside: dust and twigs and tiny leaves.

Mouse was biting her lower lip, the way William did. “You can’t work without any sleep. You’re burned out, Alys. You need to go to bed.”

“I can’t sleep, you idiot! You don’t understand. The ideas won’t let go of me! They’re in my head all the time . . .” There began a fresh storm of weeping. Alys collapsed against the great polar bear, keys, dissolving into his yellowy fur. William peered out from behind the kitchen door.

“Why don’t you just go and have a lie down.” Mouse followed Alys and took her by the thin shoulders. “Come on. I’ll change your pillowcases. I’ll sprinkle lavender oil on them, like Mum used to do. And I’ll bring you up some hot milk.”

“No, no, no! The birds are all out! The birds are all out and I need to sort them!” She flung Mouse off violently. There was a noise like a slap, but Walt was guiding William back into the kitchen and didn’t see what had happened.

He could hear Mouse repeating her sister’s words: “The birds are all out? The birds are all out?”

“They are. Look.” The kid was pulling at Walt’s sleeve. “Look.”

Alys kept all her roadkill in an upright freezer in the back corner of the kitchen. She’d given him the guided tour early on, explaining her filing system, demonstrating how each plastic drawer held different creatures: birds in the top, then rodents, then small furries such as rabbits and guinea pigs (maybe even kittens).

Each specimen was bagged and tagged, her own personal morgue. Walt had felt physically sick. Now, the door of the freezer was standing open.

“Christ, is it empty? It is. It’s empty. How much stuff did she have in here?” He crossed the room in a few strides and checked all the drawers.

Mouse spoke, right behind him. She sounded weary. “It’s always full, because people keep handing stuff in, like we’re a charity shop or something. She can’t have stuffed them all. How big is this thing she’s working on?”

Walt slammed the freezer door and turned around. “Coffin-sized.”

“Oh God. I’ll get her settled. You go down to the basement, Walt. See what she’s done. William, get yourself some supper.”

“Can I have biscuits?” “Yes.” “Chocolate ones?”

“William!”

I needed you, Walt!” The sobbing started again. Walt hated women crying. He’d grown up around boys

More tomorrow.

Beneath The Skin, by Sandra Ireland, is published by Polygon, £8.99. Her latest book, Sight Unseen, is out now.