The Grin of the Dark (39 page)

'Sir.'

Mark isn't sure what kind of joke this is, but falters only momentarily.
'You know all the things you were just reading to us?'

'All that, I better hadn't call it crap, had I. All that mess.'

'Why is it funny?'

The silence that greets this feels like an enormous held breath.
Then Bebe says 'Oh, Mark, you're precious' and leads the laughter.

I have to join in, if only to be less conspicuous. 'I'm not funny,'
Mark protests. 'Don't laugh at me.'

His outburst aggravates the hilarity, not least mine. So does his
scratching his wrist as if the merriment has been transformed into
physical irritation, and his jumping to his feet to stamp his way out
of the room. He hasn't reached the door when Natalie finds words,
however unsteady. 'All right, Mark, don't put on a show. Let's enjoy
the party.'

'It's not a proper one. There's no hats.'

'Perhaps we'll have some of those tomorrow.'

I have a vision of her in a paper crown complete with papier-mâché
jewels while Mark wears a headband that sprouts a cardboard
halo. I might prefer not to know why the image is so disconcerting,
and to some extent I'm glad when Mark changes the subject. 'We
haven't had any games.'

'I think this is supposed to be a party for a grown-up,' Bebe says.

'Grown-ups can play too. We were going to have games with, with
Simon's mum and dad, but we never played any.'

My fingertips tingle with the rubbery sensation of the face that
slithered off the skull in the dark. My own cranium feels as brittle
as the bones that gave way to my touch. I'm suddenly uncertain
whether it's a dream I had on the drive home from Preston or a
much earlier memory that I'd suppressed. I yearn to be distracted by
the sight of Warren removing the disc from the player and returning
it in its case to me, but his jovial face is too suggestively piebald.
'Back to the party, then,' he says. 'Who can I offer another drink?'

I'm doing my best to lose myself in the general movement towards
the door when Bebe says 'What were you sitting on, Simon?'

'My arse,' I manage not to retort as I turn and see nothing on the
couch.

'It's behind you,' Mark giggles.

His words sound ominous, not only because of their seasonal
significance, until I catch up with their meaning. I twist around faster
to let him laugh at me – to help him forget he was the butt of so much
mirth. 'It's still behind you,' he can hardly say for giggling.

'For heaven's sake,' Bebe protests, apparently missing the joke,
and snatches at my back pocket. 'Are you so mixed up with him you
even carry him around with you?'

She's holding a strip of half a dozen frames of film. For a grotesque
moment I have the notion that she has planted it on me as though it's
as incriminating as a drug, and then I remember finding it in Charley
Tracy's van. I must have been carrying it about with me intermittently
ever since, and at last I see that it consists of footage of Tubby. I've
barely glimpsed his face when Bebe holds the film up to the light. She
stiffens while her mouth forms an O so pronounced it doesn't need to
be audible, and her shocked silence takes hold of the room.

The only sound is a plastic creak from the case of
Tubby Tells the
Truth
until I relax my grip. Everyone has turned to gaze at the strip
of film dangling from Bebe's finger and thumb, but I have an unnecessary
sense that they're surreptitiously aware of me. 'Is it
questionable?' Mark says.

He heard me use the word earlier. I mustn't make too much of his
using it now. Nevertheless I'm scrutinising his grin, which seems
rather too wide for the innocence it's claiming, when Bebe says 'I'd
call it worse. Put it away, Simon, unless you want me to burn it.'

Is this an offer or the kind of threat you might issue to a child? She
holds the film at arm's length as if she's anxious to be rid of it, but now
her finger and thumb conceal a frame in the middle of the strip. As I
take the film I see that Tubby is wearing a gown and mortarboard. I've
been carrying footage from the first scene of
Tubby Tells the Truth
all
over the world without realising. He's pointing at the incomprehensible
formula on the blackboard with his stick, which reminds me
more than ever of a wand, perhaps because the isolation of the frames
lets me observe that his other hand appears to be describing some kind
of occult sign, so complicated that the fingers look misshapen. The
next frame shows them performing a different but equally elaborate
gesture, but how can they have moved so quickly? I'm about to
examine the third frame when Bebe releases her grip on the fourth, and
I see that it wasn't any of his secret gestures that offended her. I'm only
just able to hold my face expressionless and choke off a gasp.

The frame shows two girls crouching over an equally naked man
on a bed. One holds his eager penis while the other takes it in her
mouth. The solitary reassuring detail is that the man's face is
offscreen, though reassuring is scarcely the word. I recognise his
body, and the bed, and the girls. They're Julia and Mona, and we're
in Willie Hart's house.

A further unwelcome thought surfaces from the chaotic clamour
that fills my fragile skull. Though the girls' hair is tousled out of style,
they look far too modern for the film. This surely can't betray me, but
my lack of expression might. How ought I to react? The best I can
produce is a grin so automatic that it hardly feels part of me, accompanied
by an incredulous laugh. I'm about to pocket the film and
attempt to forget it until I have an opportunity to try and understand
when Colin takes hold of the end of the strip. 'Isn't this what we were
watching?'

'No mistaking that,' says Rufus.

'Jesus.' Colin has caught sight of the interpolated frame. 'I thought
there was something odd, but I couldn't get hold of it. We're seeing
film history rewritten here. This has to be the earliest use of a
subliminal.'

'Come along, Mark,' Bebe says loud enough to be addressing
everyone. 'Let's go where there's something nice.'

'Go ahead, Mark. You'll have to save watching this till you're
older.' As if he's unaware of aggravating Bebe's outrage Colin says to
Warren 'So long as he'll be out of the way, can I ask you a favour?'

'I guess you can ask.'

'Your player will have single frame mode, yes? I'd love to run that
disc again and see if there are any more subliminals. I'd bet a lot of
money that there are. I'd bet your advance, Simon.'

My mind is close to abandoning any attempt to grasp what is or
isn't real. I don't know if my nerves make me glimpse pale mask-like
features flicker over everybody's faces, but I certainly see Colin wink
at Warren as he adds 'You can watch if you like.'

I hardly know where I am or when. My head feels like a balloon
that's close to bursting. The enormous space inside it teems with
thoughts that clamour for expression but are too swift to catch. They
make me desperate to cling to saying 'I don't think that's appropriate,
Colin.'

'Why not let Warren make his own mind up? He's a big boy. So
are Joe and Nicky, now you raise the subject. They could join us.'

I know he enjoys controversy, but it isn't welcome now.
'I tempt – ' I say and battle to control my words. 'I meant – '

'Hold on. Let me just tell Natalie I wasn't being sexist, babe. I
thought you two might want to check it out together when you're on
your own.'

Bebe presses all the colour out of her lips and tries to steer Mark
into the kitchen, but he lingers to hear me declare 'Don't worry,
Bebebe. Nor you, I the Warren. We won't abuse your whore's
fatality.'

If I'm not certain I said that then surely they aren't, but they head
for the kitchen without answering. All that matters is to prevent
everyone from seeing any further images hidden in Tubby's film.
Were any concealed in his earlier work? What else may I have
unknowingly watched? I want to believe that subliminal flashes in the
last film have made me imagine the sly hints of clowns' faces that
keep almost appearing to be superimposed or otherwise present on at
least some of those around me, but I need to concentrate on
withholding the disc. As Colin holds out a stubborn hand for it I say
'I told you, it sin a pro pro rate.'

Mark has begun to laugh as if I'm putting on a show. I push past
Colin to carry my glass and Tubby's film into the kitchen. 'Can't you
bear to be parted from it?' Bebe says, shaking her head.

'Just seeing nobody gets hold of it,' I say with as few extra syllables
as I can manage, though enough to amuse Mark.

'Well.' Eventually Bebe adds 'Aren't you going to ask your
question?'

'Wish won?'

She may assume I'm drunk, in which case she should blame her
husband, who has topped up my glass virtually to the brim. She sighs
at one or more of us and says 'What did we think of your film?'

Just now I'd prefer not to discuss it, but they might divert my
thoughts. 'What id you?'

'I'd rather not say.'

'I guess the movies have grown up a lot since then,' says Warren.

'I certainly hope so,' says Nicholas.

'I think some people may still go for that sort of thing,' Joe puts in
as if he's speaking up on my behalf. 'There's still a lot of silliness
around.'

Is this honestly all they took from the film? Possibly their
comments ought to quell the turmoil in my brain, but they're having
the opposite effect. I look at Natalie, who says 'He still makes me feel
uncomfortable. Maybe that's because of what you wouldn't have
known was there.'

Does she mean the secret frames, however numerous they may
have been, or Tubby's cryptic lecture? 'You thought it was funny,'
Mark protests. 'You were all laughing.'

'We were laughing at you, sweetie,' says Bebe.

'And at Mr Loster,' Nicholas says.

Perhaps he doesn't pronounce it like that, but I might challenge
him to repeat it if Natalie weren't quicker. 'They mean with you,' she
reassures Mark.

'No they weren't. It was Tubby. Why are you all pretending?'

'Do calm down, there's a good child,' says Bebe. 'I think you've
been seeing too much of him.'

'I'm not a child. I know what I saw you all doing.'

'A child and a tad bratty, do we think, mom?' Bebe says with a
smile that makes my teeth ache with its sweetness. 'I guess maybe he's
the one that was pretending. The way he was laughing, a person
could think he was taking drugs.'

Is there about to be an argument over how to laugh at comedies?
Before I can force something like that question out of my mouth,
Natalie says 'Then they'd be stupid if not worse. He hasn't been.'

'I don't think there's any call to talk smart to your mother,'
Warren says.

'I'm afraid I'll be putting her right if she makes that kind of
allegation about my son.'

'I don't believe your mother said he'd taken anything,' Nicholas
intervenes. 'What she was trying – '

'I know what she was trying. I don't have any problems with
words.'

Surely that isn't a sly gibe at me. Ordinarily I would delight in her
standing up to her parents and Nicholas, but it doesn't release any
tension; it feels more as though some kind of riot is imminent. The
idea is at least as ominous as all the others swarming in my skull. 'I
wasn't questioning your literacy,' says Nicholas.

'You'd be a fool to,' Colin says. 'She fixed quite a few paragraphs
for me in
Cineassed
.'

'You can know every word in the dictionary and still not be able
to address people as you should.'

It's absurd to think that violence will break out among these
people in this expensive respectable kitchen, however much we've
drunk, but something besides the flickers of clownish pallor on
various faces keeps snagging the edge of my vision: an eager gleam of
metal. Just enough knives to arm everyone in the room are arranged
on the wall above a chopping board. As the insistent glints sting my
eyes Bebe tells Natalie 'We didn't know you had anything to do with
writing that magazine. You never told us.'

'I should have given her another credit,' Colin says. 'She'd have
had even more to be proud of.'

'I think,' says Nicholas, 'some of us would rather she kept her
pride for the work she's doing now.'

'A lot of you, are there? Where's your gang, in your pocket?'

Mark laughs, and so does Rufus. I'm not sure which of them
angers Nicholas more, but I ought to head off any violence – I should
take charge of all the weapons. As Nicholas says 'I really must ask
you to explain yourself' I begin to sidle to the chopping board. I keep
my face towards everyone, and move so gradually that nobody seems
to notice. 'Not so handy with language then, eh?' Colin retorts as I
wonder if my fists will be able to hold all the handles, and Mark
splutters 'Why are you looking at the knives like that, Simon?'

'My goodness,' says Bebe, 'what's wrong with him now?'

'Maybe he'd like to contribute to the discussion,' Joe says.

Mark grows solemn, or at least his voice does. 'You have to say
what you thought of your film.'

'That's right, you're Tubby's spokesman,' Colin says. 'Nobody
knows more about him. You're the fount of all knowledge. There's
nobody else.'

'Do sit down first,' Bebe urges me. 'You're making us all nervous.'

I'm certain nobody can be more on edge than I am, but perhaps
I'm infecting my audience. I sit at the kitchen table and grip the DVD
case with both hands and feel as if I'm keeping a different kind of
weapon safe. 'So explain him to us,' Warren says.

'Spray Tubby?' I protest and try again. 'Splay Nubby. Pray Ubby.
Say Ub.' Each desperate attempt brings more of a giggle from Mark,
and once my speech gives out completely he laughs as if only he sees the
humour of my mouthing like a stranded fish. Then Rufus joins in,
followed by Colin, who even applauds. Does he think or hope this will
end my performance? I clutch at the plastic case and grin with the effort
to utter a single word. Joe produces an encouraging laugh, and Natalie
seems to think she mustn't let him outdo her for support. Will they be
entertained if my straining for words turns into gasping for breath?
Natalie's parents and Nicholas look more pained than amused, but
Warren leads the most belated mirth, probably as an indication that I
can stop performing. The case creaks in my grip, and I'm glad not to be
holding the knives; how might I use them to fend off so much clownish
glee? I feel as though Mark may never let me stop miming – as though
his delight is tugging my lips into the shapes he wants to watch. I can
no longer tell which if any words my mouth is struggling to form.
Perhaps my antics can only be halted by a different kind of joke, and
here's one. My mobile is wishing me a happy Christmas and New Year.

I jab the button as much to silence the relentlessly merry melody
as to accept the call. For a moment I imagine that the tune has broken
into words, and then I realise that the blurred voices are chanting a
different song. My parents must be convinced it's already my
birthday, unless they're anxious to deal with the ritual and go to bed.
They sound as close as the next room. If holding the phone has
somehow given me back my speech, control of language is another
matter. 'It severs the time,' I babble. 'It's ever that time.'

'Stop it now, Simon,' Bebe says as if she's rebuking a child.

I make an effort that sets my jaws trembling. 'It's never that time.'

'It's nearly midnight,' Nicholas says, having glanced at his no
doubt genuine Rolex, and looks as disconcerted as I feel.

How long did I spend mouthing about Tubby? It doesn't help that
my father is saying 'May this be your year.'

'May you realise everything you are at last,' says my mother.

Since when did they go in for that sort of phrasing? They sound as
if they're reading from a script. 'You too,' I respond.

'We have,' my father says.

'We produced you,' says my mother.

I could do without feeling so focused upon. 'Happy New Year to
you both,' I say, however prematurely.

'And a merry one to you,' my mother cries.

My father agrees, though it's the first I've heard of any such usage.
'Are your lady and her boy there?' he adds.

'My parents,' I explain as I hand Natalie the phone.

'Is it later up where you are?' she suggests, presumably joking,
once she has wished them a happy future, and I have the unnecessary
notion that she's urging time onwards. When she gives Mark the
phone I sense his defiance even before he says 'Happy New Year,
grandma. Happy New Year, granddad.'

Bebe settles for widening her eyes to elevate her eyebrows. I would
ask my parents what they've said to amuse Mark so much, but they're
gone when he returns the mobile. I'm distracted by Bebe, who
announces 'Now it's really the New Year.'

Indeed, I can hear bells and cheers and whooping fireworks, not to
mention detonations violent enough for bombs. 'That's all for your
birthday,' says Mark.

'I don't think Mr Loster is quite that important,' says Nicholas.

I'm virtually certain that's what he called me. Knives come to mind
once more. Perhaps Rufus is anxious not to be involved in a scene,
because he says 'Happy New Year, everyone, and thanks for the
hospitality, Natalie's folks. We should be on our way.'

'Happiest to all and thanks for the party,' Colin says.

They leave the kitchen at a speed that makes me nervous,
especially when I realise what I've forgotten to establish. 'When will
you be going to the office?'

'Sometime this year,' Colin assures me.

'Don't joke about it, all right?' I'm restraining words Bebe
wouldn't like. 'That printout is the only copy of what I actually
wrote,' I say to Rufus more than to him. 'A virus got into the
document later.'

'It shouldn't have,' Joe objects.

He sounds as if he's blaming me, perhaps as a form of defence. I'm
ready to turn on him when Rufus says 'When do you want us to go
in?'

'When are you next in the area?'

'We'll be driving pretty well past it tonight.'

'Then could you collect it now?' As Rufus nods somewhat reluctantly
I blurt 'I'll come with you.'

'That isn't very trusting,' Joe says.

I won't waste time wondering aloud what it has to do with him.
'I'll make a copy so you don't have the only one.'

'We can and send it to you,' Colin offers.

'You know why I'd rather it doesn't go anywhere out of our
control.'

Nicholas glances at Natalie's parents, sharing or inviting their
concern. As the three of them along with Joe assume worried frowns
that I suspect are mostly for her benefit, Natalie says 'Do you really
have to do this now, Simon?'

'I knee too. I need oo.' With even more of an effort I spit
'Yes.'

She shrugs and turns her shoulder towards me, and doesn't wholly
come back even when I try to wish her a belated happy New Year
with a kiss. 'Hap in your ear,' I tell everyone else, much to Mark's
amusement, and I'm not sure whether I said it to Natalie as well. As
I hurry after my publishers Mark calls 'See you later, Simon. It's only
the start of your day.'

'Where did he learn to talk like that?' says Nicholas.

I swing around to confront him. He asked Natalie, too proprietorially
in my view. Before I can utter a retort, let alone ensure that it's
coherent, he gives me a smile I'd like to tear off his face. 'Don't fret,'
he says. 'They're in the best possible hands.'

I see Natalie's parents agreeing. I might argue if that wouldn't
worsen the situation. With a slowness that only parts my syllables I
warn 'They bet a had.'

Rufus has opened the front door. The icy night seizes the back of
my neck to the sound of explosions and bells. 'Blow up the old,' I
seem to hear Colin say, and Rufus responds 'Ring in the new.'

I don't immediately follow them outside, because I sense that
Natalie's parents and, worse, Nicholas are waiting for me to leave.
Joe gives me an uninvited chummy look, while Natalie's is resigned
and not overly affectionate. Then, unnoticed by anyone but me, Mark
displays his Tubby face, and a version of it seems to shimmer on the
faces of all his companions. Surely that's not real, but there's no
doubt that his was. I can't help hoping Nicholas will be the butt of
any joke. 'Don't do anything I wouldn't do,' I say and step into the
dark.