The Enumerations Page 8

  32.

  Maddie sits in the car with her school bag on her lap. The moment her dad stops she’ll catapult out. She fiddles with the catch of her seatbelt. Two more blocks and they’ll be there and she can join the throng of students streaming in through the gates. Without Noah. It feels so strange not to have him at her side.

  ‘Sticks and stones,’ her mom had said when Maddie first told her about the teasing, how they called out after him: ‘Nuh-nuh-No-aaahhh!’

  Sticks and stones. Their words were sticks and they were stones and they broke her brother into little pieces and all Maddie wanted was to smack the grins off the girls’ faces and bite the boys’ hands.

  Smack and bite Noah too. Anything to make him fight back. He was so passive, taking their shit, day after day, until the moment he lashed out.

  She shoots a quick glance at her dad. He’s staring ahead, and she wishes he’d say, ‘Don’t worry, Mads, it’ll all come right in the end.’ But the only sound in the car is the voice on the radio, warning them about a pile-up on the m3.

  33.

  Day 1 / 09:08

  ‘Small steps, Noah.’ Ms Turner’s voice is calm. ‘Small steps, one day at a time.’

  Keep those defences up. You’re good at that, building high walls to keep danger out. She is a threat. Don’t let her in.

  ‘Small steps,’ Noah repeats and it’s permissible that 2 single-syllable words slip out, because inside his mouth he’s eating the other 8. Small steps, small steps, small steps, small steps.

  He nods. Steps are what he does.

  1.Steps.

  2.Counting.

  3.Adding.

  4.Dividing.

  5.Balancing.

  And wobbling, trying not to let the walls come tumbling down, trying to keep the Dark from sidling in.

  ‘Fear doesn’t come from the outside, Noah. The enemy is inside you.’

  She’s right. He’s heard this before. His fears are irrational, a monster isn’t waiting to tear his family apart; he can’t ward off evil; he doesn’t hold the power to keep his family safe. But ‘rational’ and ‘OCD’ do not belong in the same sentence.

  And don’t forget, Noah. What if …?

  The moment those words creep in, Noah’s breath quickens. What if he does hold the power?

  He marshals his thoughts, forces them to make sense. No. He can’t ward off evil; he doesn’t hold the power to keep his family safe.

  His mind sets out to sabotage him, each and every day. He knows this, even through the thick fog in his brain, when his dulled fingers are too tired to tap and he’s sitting, slowed and silent, staring at Ms Turner’s mouth and wishing he could arrange her words into sets of 5.

  He can’t control his thoughts. No one can. But the problem is, if he doesn’t keep it all in order, in neat boxes, categorised and subcategorised, there’s no telling what might happen, who might get hurt.

  He’s screwed. Damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t, stuck in Greenhills, caught in a thick soup of new rules and new systems.

  No matter how often he tells himself otherwise, every day he is away from home the barricades he built there get weaker.

  Weaker than you can possibly know.

  Noah’s thoughts are shadowed; his 5s are hovering, but he can’t reach them.

  ‘Now that you’re here and the stress of moving is done with, I’ll talk to Dr Lovelock about your medication, see when he thinks we should start to reduce it,’ Ms Turner is saying.

  He looks at the clock on the wall. Only 10 more minutes, 600 seconds (5×12×10), and he can leave, head back to his new room and lie on his bed and tell his muggy brain that all is okay. Soon the fog will clear and Noah can concentrate on what he has to do to get out and get home. The Dark lifts a fraction. Ms Turner’s going to speak to Dr Lovelock. A good sign. And she’s finished virtually on time.

  Noah stands to leave, but Ms Turner isn’t finished.

  ‘Before you go,’ she says. Noah tenses. All he had to get through was 6 more seconds, but she’s saved a bombshell for the very end, just as he was feeling calmer. Not better, but definitely calmer. And now she’s running over time.

  This Turner woman? She has no clue, does she?

  Noah might as well give up. He’s never going to keep things in order if people like her are set on disrupting his schedule. He wants to glance at the clock on the wall, look at the time on his watch, but he doesn’t. He can’t give too much away. She’s learnt enough already.

  Her words are breaking through. ‘I’ll be seeing you every other day, Noah …’ and he wonders why she’s wasting time, telling him what he already knows, ‘… and of course there’ll be plenty of group sessions where we are hoping you’ll share.’

  Share?

  Noah struggles to get her words in order. Maybe then they’ll make sense. ‘The best place to start,’ Ms Turner says, ‘is with your “5 Things” sheets. Have you filled one in yet?’

  He has, but there’s no way he’s getting into that now, not with precious seconds ticking away, stolen from the next block on his timetable. Noah can’t even remember where he’s supposed to be next, but he’s not going to stop and look at his notebook. So, no. No discussion about that, or anything else she might light on to make him later than he already is.

  He shakes his head. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No need.’ Ms Turner’s standing, finally. ‘It’s easier to work with what you’re happy to share. Fill one in for group, just in case. It might help, especially in the first few sessions, until you’re more relaxed.’

  Share?

  The Dark is gathering. If Noah opens his mouth, he will breathe it in.

  Share?

  ‘Okay,’ Noah mumbles and ‘okay’ again, when Ms Turner says, ‘Just give it a go, Noah.’

  That is the very last thing you will do.

  It’s 20 steps down the corridor, 65 to the foyer where Sally-Anne sits, plump and perfumed behind the counter, waving a white hand. ‘Hi Noah, how are you today?’

  But he can’t answer. He’s too busy turning words into alphabet soup, sprinkling it with lost commas and full stops and apostrophes. Shadows push past his stepping, past his tapping fingers and his touching-tapping walk.

  They’ll always be here.

  Those are the words Noah isn’t able to swallow as he lies on his bed and thinks about Ms Turner and her office and the circle of chairs he saw in the Rec Room ready for group.

  ‘5 Things About Me’ says the heading on the sheets, and there even 5 has lost the power to console and protect. Nothing can stop the Dark from spreading.

  Things cannot continue like this. You have to find a way to resist.

  34.

  26 July 2011 / 19:31

  ‘We’re taking the car,’ said the smallest of the three men. His voice was calm and carried in the dark. ‘Don’t make any noise. If you do, we’ll come back. Take everything you have, start with your children. Understand?’

  Kate nodded furiously.

  ‘Good.’

  The tallest man smiled, his teeth a white slash against his mask, his eyes crystal grey in the dark. He moved around to where Kate and Noah were sitting on the ground. ‘Not a fokken sound.’ His breath was stale and meaty, his eyes burning points of light. White teeth, tongue pink against red lips. He jerked his head and the last man stepped forward.

  ‘Eathy now, eathy,’ he lisped, as he crouched down next to Kate.

  He was missing a front tooth. Identification, she thought.

  He looked her over from top to toe, his eyes dark and slow. A sweet scent moved around him, covering another rising rank and sour. ‘You lucky it was uth,’ he said and the words whistled as his tongue caught on the gap.

  35.

  They’re sitting at the dining-room table and the old man’s waving a greasy finger in the air. He’s not happy about something, but then, he never is. He doesn’t want them in his house. I told you when you left, he’s saying to Mum, you and that waste-of-breath son of mine. I tol
d you, I never wanted to see you again. I said if you went, you needn’t bother coming back. So why did you?

  Mum’s head is bowed. She never answers the old man, not unless he demands that she speaks. She reaches inside the sleeve of her jersey and pulls out a handkerchief. Gabriel knows what she’s going to do next. She’s going to dab at the corner of her mouth, touch the hanky to her swollen lip. The old man watches her. He doesn’t smile, but Gabriel knows he is smiling inside.

  So why did you come back? His voice is louder now, and Mum’s going to have to answer. It’s a question he taunts her with regularly and her answer is always the same. We had to. We had nowhere else to go.

  After supper, Gabriel goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth. There’s a mirror above the sink, mottled with brown spots behind the silver. If he climbs onto the edge of the bath, he can see his head and his shoulders and part of his chest.

  Gabriel lifts his arms, and flexes. If he was big, with muscles like Dad’s, he could stop anyone with one mighty blow. Even the old man with his strong white teeth and his strong body. Old people are supposed to be weak. Not this one.

  36.

  Day 1 / 12:33

  Journal’s a timetabled slot, after lunch.

  Noah takes his pen out of his pocket (in-out-in-out). It’s muggy, and his hand is sweaty. He’d like to stretch out on his bed, try to doze, but then he’d have to journal later, and he can’t afford any delays.

  He stares at the white wall, wipes his hands on the towel he’s put on the corner of the desk, folds it and picks up his pen (down-up-down-up).

  He doesn’t know what to write.

  Of course you do.

  There’s stuff he can’t tell anyone, about the Dark, how it looms when he tries to explain his 5s.

  Maybe that’s where he should start. The things he can’t say, instead of all the things he should.

  He can’t tell anyone

  1.What the Dark tells him.

  2.How he has to obey it.

  3.How it’s never the same.

  4.How he tries to push it away.

  5.About the fear that filled him on the night it arrived.

  There you go, Ms Turner. 5 things about Noah that he can’t share with anyone. He caps his pen, puts it back in (out-in-out-in) his pocket. There’s still another 10 minutes to go, but that’s all for today.

  37.

  Day 1 / 13:08

  ‘Hey, Noah.’

  It’s the girl from yesterday. Juliet Ryan.

  Noah checks the time. 13:08. 7 minutes more and he’ll have to stop and put on the kettle, make tea in his powder-blue Monday mug.

  ‘Do you mind if I …’

  She’s not really asking, though. She’s sliding down the frame of his open door, coming to rest on the floor.

  ‘Open Door Time’ it says on the timetable above Noah’s desk. According to the information booklet, that’s one of the times ‘residents are encouraged to socialise, spend time getting to know each other’.

  Now she’s propping her feet against the other side. No shoes, Noah notices. Short denim shorts and a skimpy black vest top.

  ‘So, how long are you in for?’

  She makes it sound like a prison sentence. Noah checks the calendar on his wall. Another 83 days, he could tell her. He could even give the exact number of hours and minutes, but he stays silent.

  Juliet looks up at him from under her fringe and blinks slowly, 1, 2, 3 times.

  ‘I’m here for the duration,’ she says, ‘the full three months.’ She blinks again, 3 times more, and Noah wonders if she’s counting.

  She’s still talking, telling him that her parents are always relieved when they can shunt her off to Greenhills. ‘My third time,’ she says. ‘But this is the longest. Not that my mom notices much. She’s pretty much out of it from the time she wakes up until she goes back to bed.’

  Another blink, and now Juliet is running her tongue back and forth over her upper lip. She leans forward and her top slides off one shoulder to reveal the strap of the sort of bra Maddie wears for gym. She looks over at Noah quickly, but he’s looking at his mugs, wondering how he’s going to solve the tea-time dilemma.

  ‘My dad couldn’t care whether I’m there or not,’ Juliet continues. ‘We’re one big disappointment to him, my mom, my sister and me.’

  Too much information, Noah.

  She’s telling him all this stuff and Noah’s not sure why. Plus there’s the blinking and lip-licking. Maybe it’s some sort of nervous twitch, like when call-me-Si jumps if someone says his name.

  He doesn’t have time to listen though. He needs to put the kettle on right now. If she stays here much longer …

  He stares at his mugs, willing his fingers to keep still.

  Juliet’s still talking, about her sister now. Lily.

  ‘She’s three years younger than me. Just started senior school.’ Her voice slows and she looks at Noah, her blue eyes misty. ‘I wish I was back home,’ she says. ‘Keeping an eye on her.’

  Noah sees Maddie, standing near him, warning people off with her glare. Juliet is a big sister. She looks after Lily, her little sister. With him, it’s different. Maddie stands guard over Noah. Something to think about, maybe even tell Ms Turner, but he seriously doesn’t have time to think about it now. If she doesn’t leave, he’s going to have to have his tea and biscuits while she watches. He can’t see any way around it.

  Tell her to leave. It’s as simple as that.

  It’s not simple, though. Noah can’t be that rude. He’ll have to choose the lesser of the two evils. Make tea for just himself, and then maybe she’ll take the hint and leave. She doesn’t seem to be very good at that though. Taking hints. When people don’t answer, it means they don’t want to talk, but she’s not reading the situation very well.

  He gets up, switches on the kettle that Greenhills provides.

  ‘Ooh, tea. Lovely,’ says Juliet.

  Noah shakes his head.

  ‘Oh. Right.’ Her voice is understanding. ‘Never mind, dude. I get it. It’s not like I haven’t met my fair share of OCDS. Seven mugs. Seven days of the week. All colour-coded. Light blue all the way through to navy. Right?’

  Indigo, Noah wants to say, but he just nods and opens the tin where he keeps the teabags.

  ‘But the water, that’s not a problem? I mean you don’t measure it or anything?’

  He shakes his head again.

  ‘Cool. Give me a sec.’

  She’s gone and Noah feels his shoulders relax.

  But not for long.

  She’s back at his door in seconds. ‘Crisis averted,’ she says, handing him a mug with a teabag in it. ‘Black for me, please. And not too strong.’

  There’s nothing for it. He takes her mug and fills it with boiling water, extracts her teabag quickly.

  ‘Perfect,’ Juliet says.

  A quick dash of milk and Noah’s tea is ready. He looks at the biscuits but Juliet’s there before him. ‘Help yourself, Noah. I only like biscuits if I have coffee.’

  His faces mirrors alarm and she laughs. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll bring my own tomorrow.’

  Tomorrow? She’s coming back here again?

  Juliet settles back down on the floor and sips. She looks at Noah over the rim of her mug and blinks, more of a flutter, really, a quick movement of her eyelids. ‘Greenhills isn’t too bad, actually. Not as far as places like this go.’ She blinks again and shifts slightly so that her vest gapes.

  Noah doesn’t have time for any more of her. It’s 12:48. If she doesn’t leave soon, he’s going to run short of time. He still has to wash his mug, tidy his tea shelf, sort out his desk, check the number of steps to the Rec Room and get there before everyone else does so that he can assess the seating situation.

  That’s something he can ask this Juliet girl. He clears his throat and she looks up at him, without any fluttering.

  ‘The Rec Room?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The seating?’

&nbs
p; Juliet’s puzzled for a while and then she smiles. ‘Oh. Sorry dude. You can’t choose where to sit. It’s pretty much whoever’s last in winds up next to the therapist. Who, as of a short while ago, is our new arrival, Ms Ellen Turner.

  ‘Actually, we’d better get a move on. I’ll see you there.’ Juliet slurps the last of her tea and leaps to her feet.

  Finally. Noah stands too.

  ‘See you there, Noah Groome.’ She leans into his room and places her mug on his desk. ‘I’ll grab this on my way back, okay?’

  Before he can say, ‘No, not okay, definitely not,’ she’s gone, sauntering down the corridor, leaving her unwashed mug behind her.

  12:53. There’s time to rinse them quickly in the small sink next to his shelf. He’ll place hers next to the kettle, in the front of his mugs.

  Noah pushes his chair into his desk, straightens his desk organiser and puts his notebook into his top pocket. He checks the clock again. 12:56. He has 4 minutes to count the steps to the Rec Room and find a seat.

  1.Rec – where group meets.

  2.Rec – sounds like ‘wreck’.

  3.Rec – short for re-creation, where they want to make you over.

  4.Recuperate – where they want to you to recover.

  5.Recreation – where you play.

  Good thing he hasn’t been asked to factor relaxation into his new timetable. He couldn’t handle that. It’ll be bad enough having to head to the Rec Room every day for group. Bad enough having to pick up his mat and walk there for Exercise. Noah couldn’t handle much more Rec.

  38.

  Day 1 / 14:04

  Noah’s sitting next to Ms Turner in one of the chairs that has been pulled to the middle of the Rec Room. The chairs are quite close together, and Noah shifts in his seat. What if things get tense? What if he feels the need to count? He can’t guarantee he’ll be able to keep the numbers in his head and off his lips. And if they’re on his lips, he’ll have to tap to keep them there. The thought gets his feet going; small quivers, unnoticeable, unless someone like Ms Turner’s on the lookout for them. He needs to distract himself, calm down before slight fidgets become full-on tapping.