Authors: N David Anderson
Revelations
The wind was picking up now and evening was giving way to the cold onset of night by the time Mathew arrived at his destination. He’d taken longer than he’d anticipated, mainly as he’d walked past the cottage three times while wondering whether or not to knock on the door. He felt stupid acting this way. The last time he’d felt like this was as a teenager on a date. He walked up to the gate and stood looking at the cottage and taking in the scene. He’d come to a place not far from here with Paula when she was first pregnant; he’d always loved this part of the south coast. Two seagulls passed overhead crying noisily, while the sounds and smells of the sea wafted across the path, isolated from their source. Mathew could hear the waves and the creaking ropes tethering boats on the beach. The noise brought back memories of family holidays that they had taken when he was a child. Devon had always been his father’s favourite site for vacations and it seemed ironic yet fitting that his family should return here; although it was a far cry from the guesthouses of Torbay that he’d stayed in as a boy. He could vividly remember running along the seafront, some piece of wonderment that he’d found in a rock pool held out proudly for his parents to inspect. He’d caught a fish once and kept it in a small plastic bucket. It had looked beautiful as it swam in circles in the world he’d created for it. He’d been very proud of his find and had looked forward to showing it off. He had run to his father when he saw him that afternoon and presented the aquatic trophy for inspection.
“I’d like to keep him,” he’d said. “He can live in a bowl in my room and I’ll feed him and everything….”
His father looked at the small creature through reddened eyes and breathed beer-drenched fumes over his son.
“It’s a fuckin’ sea fish. Why can’t you just like normal things? Why don’t you live in the real world for a while, eh? You can’t keep a fuckin’ sea fish.” And with that he took the bucket and poured the water and the fish down the drain in the street. All Mathew could do was to watch his catch flap about at the bottom of the dank drain until it stopped moving altogether.
He could remember other incidents from his childhood holidays: caves, candy-floss, rock so hard it lasted weeks, but the fish always remained a vivid image in his mind. But that was history. That world was gone and those holidays had taken place a century before. He had other more pressing business now. He suppressed the past and concentrated on the present.
The house in front of him was a neat cottage that reminded him of a jigsaw he’d once seen. A clump of lupines grew around the gate and a fuchsia was trying to stay in bloom near to the door. The house was small and attached to its neighbour on one side only. The upper storey retained a collection of sash windows, although the ground floor ones had been replaced with artificial wood-effect frames. The brickwork glistened where a chemical agent had been sprayed onto it in a fruitless attempt to discourage the ivy from growing into the masonry work. The door itself was a large and solid, and without the intercom device that Mathew had seen on most house and apartment entrances over the past few days. He swallowed hard and stood looking at the door before reaching out, touching the old-fashioned doorbell and ringing it twice. He waited for a couple of seconds while he tried to compose himself, unsure whether to leave, then a light came on inside and he realised that the time had finally arrived. He heard the clank of a series of latches being released and the great wooden door started to open.
The face that appeared through the crack in the door was older than Mathew had expected, and he was taken aback. The woman peered out into the twilight at him and waited expectedly, eventually saying, “Can I help you?”
“Err, yes. Are you Jessica Lyal?” The woman looked at him quizzically.
“I was once,” she stated enigmatically.
“Look, you don’t know me, well not exactly, but I know you, or at least I knew you once. The thing is…well I need to speak to about something. It’s about something that happened long ago when you were young, and it’s really important.” He floundered. He was making a mess of this opening conversation that he’d rehearsed a thousand times. “Look, it’s really cold out here, could I come in?”
“I don’t let strangers into my house you know.”
“I imagine you don’t. But I’m not really a stranger. We have met and I really need to talk to you.”
“Tell me your name.”
“I’ll come to that. I know it sounds weird but I’m a sort of relation and if you’ll let me in I’ll try and explain….”
“Will you explain the past or the present?”
“Sorry?”
“I don’t talk on my doorstep and I don’t let strangers into the house. This is a nasty world we live in. Now, you want to explain something to me and you assume that it’s something that I want to hear. Correct?”
“Well, yes I suppose. It’s something that I need to tell. It’s something that you should know. Please could I come in, you’ve no idea how long I’ve travelled and how far out of my way this has been.”
The woman looked at him for a long time before saying: “I know who you claim to be, we do have communications down here you know. I do still read. I wondered if you would show up here. You’d better come in and say whatever you have to say. But I warn you, I have a gun, and I’ll use it if need be.” Then she opened the door fully and stepped back to allow him into the cottage.
Mathew had expected the interior of the house to have a rustic charm that he associated with old rural buildings. What he saw stunned him. The door opened into a front room, which was light and white in colour and had a series of black and white photographs around the wall. He recognised the Pyramids of Giza and a picture of a city skyline that could have been New York, although the buildings were different, and Mathew wondered when the World Trade Centre towers has been demolished. Stonehenge, Ayers Rock, the Arc de Triomphe, Westminster, and others that he realised he’d seen but couldn’t place. In one corner of the room stood a glistening metal tower comprising of lights, dials and controls; it was the nearest thing to a hi-fi system that he’d seen, although he couldn’t spot an obvious place to insert a record or disk. A giant screen - a real one, not an ethervision hologram - turned off, was positioned by the side of it, and a series of what appeared to be electronic cupboards ran along the length of the room. The chairs were deep and cream, with rounded corners, and there was a two-seater sofa next to one of them, on which a black cat dozed with no interest in the visitor. The table in the centre of the room was circular and glass, with three chrome legs and silver chess set positioned in the centre of it. The floor was covered in a deep red wool carpet. Draped across the windows were fabric blinds, decorated in peacock colours that gave the impression that dozens of eyes were staring into the house. Although the room was light there was no obvious source from which it emanated.
“Nice room,” he said, rather surprised.
“It suits,” replied Jessica. “Most young people feel it a little old fashioned for their tastes.”
“These are excellent,” said Mathew, motioning to the photographs that adorned the walls.
“Yes, I was quite good in my day.”
“You took these? You took these pictures? You have a fantastic eye for a picture. You get that from your grandmother you know.”
“Indeed. Now, have you come here to comment on my pictures or for some more prosaic reason?”
“Yeah, look I’m sorry to spring this on you, but I need to explain. You said that you knew who I was, is that right?”
“No. I said I knew who you claimed you were. Well, get on with it. Say what you have to. For the sake of being polite I’ll let you speak. But then I have something that I need to tell you. But please, sit down and say what you have to. Are you hungry?”
“No.”
“Drink?”
“You got scotch?”
“Certainly. And I think on this occasion I may join you in one.”
She went to one of the cupboards and held two tall and curved glasses under it, both of which were alternately filled with ice and whisky.
The lights buzzed for a second, flickered, then returned to normal. Jessica placed a large glass of scotch in front of Mathew.
“It’s the weather,” Jessica said, her eyes turned towards the lights as if she’d been asked about them. “The lights sometimes go around here on days like this when a storm’s coming.”
She moved across the bright room and settled into a large pale blue chair on opposite from her guest, placing her own glass beside her. She took a small sip of the drink and looked inquisitively at Mathew.
“Look,” he said nervously, “this is going to sound really strange, and I really appreciate you letting me into your home like this, but I need to speak to you, and I have something to tell you that you may find a bit…weird.”
“Very well.” She paused and carried on staring. “But I should warn you that I really do have a gun the house.” She cocked her head to one side and examined his reaction.
“No no no, you won’t need that. It’s just that…well, you don’t know me, well not really.” He stopped, gulped a mouthful of scotch and tried to continue. “Shit this is hard.”
“Let me help you then. I’m old, not senile. So let’s try this for a reason for you sitting there like an embarrassed child. You’re Mathew Lyal. You’ve been dead since 1999 but have now come back and you’ve been looking for me and some answers that only I would have. How’s that?”
Mathew sat in silent disbelief for a second.
“So how do you know who I am?”
“As I said, I keep up with the news. I’ve been expecting a message from you since I first heard about your…recovery, a few weeks ago. Although I hadn’t expected you to drop in unannounced, to be honest.”
“I’d been trying to find you, then, well, something happened and I had to get out of London quickly, and, well, it’s a long story. Why didn’t you try to contact me?”
“Hmm. What does it tell us when people don’t make contact?” He looked at her, not understanding. “Does it say, ‘I’m looking forward to meeting you’, or perhaps, ‘I’ve missed you’? Or maybe it says, ‘I don’t have anything I want to say to you.’”
There was a long silence while Mathew tried to think what to say.
“Look,” he began. “You do believe that I am Mathew Lyal don’t you?”
“Oh yes, I haven’t forgotten you. When I said I knew who you claimed to be that wasn’t what I meant.”
“Then of course I’d have something to say to you. I’ve a lifetime of catching up to do. I need to speak to you so badly….” She held up a hand to stop him.
“I’m sure that
you
want to speak to me. The question is, what have
I
to say in return. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but this might not be the family reunion that you’ve been expecting.
“Now I have plenty of time, although I think that maybe you don’t….”
“No no, I have all the time in the world to be here. I….” She stopped him again.
“Mr Lyal, you are obviously in a rush to be somewhere. One does not appear at a stranger’s house late at night because you have plenty of time.” He tried to say something but Jessica talked over him in a voice that seemed used to having its own way. “Since you are here I’ll tell you what you need to know, although it won’t be what you want to hear. And after that, Mr Lyal, you should leave and continue on whatever course you are on.”
“You can call me dad.”
“I can’t. My father died when I was very young, and I’m not ready to accept his return. So please, don’t claim that privilege. I must admit I was surprised when I saw you on the…” she waved a hand to the screen positioned on the far wall, “…on the watcher. I was shocked and horrified, and sad, and in a strange way relieved that you’d got what you always wanted. Another chance at what you’d lost. But take my feelings into consideration. I lost something. I lost my father, and I’ve spent my life not knowing you. I have a few memories of you, but I haven’t spent my days awaiting your return, so forgive me if I seem less than glad that you’ve come back to me, but I’m not anxious to renew an acquaintance with my dead father after…what, 70 odd years?”
Mathew jumped slightly as thunder sounded loudly outside. He glanced up and saw the rain beat hard against the windows of the cottage; the flowers in the garden bent by the force of the storm reminded him briefly of the sandcastles he’d built on the beach as a child being wrecked by the incoming tide. He hated the way his mind jumped about between the past and the present, and forced himself to concentrate on what was heaping here and now. He ignored the pain in his chest and continued.
“You don’t know what hell I’ve been through to find you. Everything I’ve done, all that I’ve been through, it’s all for you and your mother. Everything is.”
“My mother? Ah yes, I thought she’d be in the topic of conversation. And no, by the way, you haven’t been through hell for us. There is a saying: ‘Be careful what you wish for, it might come true’. Then I think it’s the Jews that say, ‘God said take whatever you want, but pay the price’. Have you heard those adages Mr Lyal? Everything you’ve done, whatever that might be, and I don’t really want to know, everything you’ve done has been for yourself. Like everything you ever did.”
“No. That’s not true. You and Paula are the only things that have ever mattered to me, that’s why I’m here. To make up for all that time we lost. I had the best years of my life taken. I missed you growing up. I missed everything, through no fault of my own, and now I want a chance to make up for that.” He swallowed a large mouthful of scotch. It burned his throat and he sat looking at his daughter, with such a feeling of love and loss and sorrow that his whole body ached.
“I’ve been looking for Paula,” he continued. She isn’t preserved at the Walden Centre, like we arranged. If I can find her, then we can bring her back, we can all be together again.”
“Mum’s dead.” Although Mathew had accepted this, it was the first time anyone had actually told him that Paula had gone and he felt his eyes begin to sting.
“Where is she? I miss her. I need her now more than ever.”
Another clap of thunder sounded harshly. The lights flickered again and then went out altogether, plunging the room into near total darkness. He could hear Jessica moving about, then saw the faint spark as she lit a candle, then used that to light another.