Chapter 13
“So why did you want to kill me?” asked Han.
“I didn’t want to kill you, I don’t know where the nightmare came from.”
“Two nights in a row you were suffocating me with a pillow.”
“But it wasn’t real dad, it was a nightmare.”
“Are you sure? Because I’m not.”
“How did you know I was covering your face with a pillow? I don’t remember telling you.”
Han didn’t answer. He stared into his teacup.
“How did you know?” asked James for a second time.
“Because, I’ve been having the same dream.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“So how did I now about the pillow?”
“What else is in your dream?”
Han pushed his teacup away and stared James in the eye.
“For three nights, I’ve dreamt of a shadowy figure wearing a long coat and a hat. He pushes open my bedroom door and I sit up when I hear it creak. The shadow man picks up a pillow from the floor, and pushes it over my face. This is where the nightmare ends. I sit up in bed and I’m shaking and sweaty. When I check the clock, it’s always the same. It’s always just after three o’ clock.” Han paused, looked back to the teacup and then continued. “I forget most of my dreams. By the time I’ve been awake for ten minutes, they’ve lost their clarity and by the time I’m having coffee they’ve gone. But these dreams are different. I can remember every single thing about them.”
James didn’t know what to say. His father’s nightmares were the same as his. The only difference was that Han didn’t dream about James putting duct tape across his own mouth, then mysteriously ascending the stairs before opening his father’s bedroom door.
“But the third nightmare was different,” added Han.
James felt awkward, he knew what was coming next.
“The last time you had the nightmare I took you by surprise didn’t I. You see, I was waiting for you. I knew you were coming and when I heard the door creak open I was ready for you.”
James wiped perspiration from his forehead.
“I wasn’t going to let you kill me this time, and I hit you hard. I hit you really hard didn’t I?”
James nodded.
“But how could this happen? How could we have the same dream?” asked James.
Han didn’t answer, instead he carried on.
“Do you want to know what I think? I think I punched you out of my nightmare, ……. our nightmare. We both have the bruises to prove it.”
James rubbed the bridge of his nose where the bruise had been. There was a slight mark which was still showing.
“The thing is James, where did you come from? You were missing for four days. Each night you were gone, I had the nightmare about you and now you’re back. It was me who brought you back ……but from where? Where did you go and where have you come from? If you really want to know what I think, I don’t believe that you’re my son.”
“How on Earth can I not be your son?”
“Okay, here’s the thing. Even you admit that scar below your eye has moved to the other side of your face.”
James touched the scar.
“It’s always been on this side, it’s just different in Howie’s pictures. I don’t know why, but it is.”
Han grabbed a pen from the window sill and yesterday’s newspaper, then threw them to James.
“Write your name on that paper, no actually, write anything you want.”
James eyed him suspiciously. Han wanted to check out something else he’d noticed about his son when they’d been in the pub with Howie a few days earlier.
“Why?”
“Just write something, anything you like.”
He watched James pick up the pen with his left hand, and write his name in the corner of the newspaper.”
I knew it, thought Han.
“Since when have you been left handed?”
“I’ve always held a pen with this hand.”
“You may have, but my son is right handed, and that’s a fact.”
James dropped the pen to the table and shook his head.
“Dad, there’re lots of things I can’t explain and don’t understand. I don’t know how I got here, I don’t know why Howie’s still alive and I don’t understand why I can’t get in contact with my wife.”
“Enlighten me James, tell me about your life, where was it you told the doctor you live? Exeter?”
James nodded.
“We live in Exeter, we have twin boys……. and you don’t ever visit, you never call, so how would you even be expected to know about us?”
Han listened intently.
“You took it personally didn’t you! You never wanted us to move away. And it’s not like we’re on the other side of the world, we’re only eighty miles away. We had to move so Helena could study for her PhD…. but you being you, took it the wrong way and thought we were trying to escape from you.”
Han saw that James was holding back tears.
“I’m sorry that mum died, and I wish I’d met her. I would love to have had a mum, but she died and that’s that and that’s just the way it is …….. I couldn’t stay here forever dad, we had to move for Helena…….. and to be honest, things had never been the same since the accident, since Howie died.”
Han leant against the wall, trying his hardest not to show his emotions. Sarah had died during childbirth, and Han had brought his son up single-handedly. His bond with his son was strong and what James was saying was true, he would have been devastated if he’d ever moved away. But James hadn’t moved away. When he married Helena, they’d lived less than four miles away, and when they’d split, James moved back in with Han.
“You told Dr Sullivan that you tried ringing Helena, and sent her emails, but she didn’t reply.”
“No, it wasn’t that she wouldn’t reply, the emails bounced back undelivered, and when I rang, the number wasn’t recognised.”
“Son, I really don’t know what’s going on. That’s even if you are my son. You look like him, but you sure as hell don’t act like him.”
“I just want to get back to Helena and the boys.”
“Well, I’m not stopping you……. why don’t you go there now? Even better, why don’t we both go?”
It was just before one p.m. If James left now, he would be in Exeter before three.
James picked up the keys to the C4.
“Are you coming?” he asked, waving the keys.
Han blew air through his cheeks and nodded.
Just before three, James approached Junction thirty of the M5, and headed into Exeter. Han noticed that James appeared confused. He strained his neck to view some of the buildings around him, as if there was something different about them.
“Are you okay?” asked Han. James didn’t answer.
Soon they were in a built up area. They passed St. Luke’s Campus and were heading along Polsloe Road. James took a left, and announced that it was the road where he lived. Montgomery Crescent.
Slowly, he crawled along the road, frowning as he drove.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know, things have changed, things look different.”
He stopped the car and looked across the road.
“What the….?” He muttered beneath his breath.
Han watched James and wondered what was going through his mind.
“Wait here, I need to check something.”
James pulled the keys from the ignition and left Han in the car.
He stood at the gate of number seventeen and couldn’t believe what he was looking at. The building he considered to be his home was different. James had never been a DIY enthusiast, and Helena was constantly on his back to sort the place out. This house had a newly painted red front door. The small garden was immaculate and the pond, which James had never tended, had two goldfish happily swimming around the spray of a fo
untain. He looked up to the eaves, and saw that the house had a newly tiled roof.
He shook his head and pushed open the gate. A dog barked from inside the house as he approached the door. Hesitantly he rang the bell.
Through the frosted glass he saw the blurred image of a lady make her way to the door.
“Can I help you?”
The lady was in her late fifties, her grey hair was tied back in a ponytail. A French Bulldog struggled to get around her legs, and into the garden.
“I’m looking for Helena Trafford,” asked James nervously.
“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong address,” replied the lady, sensing an air of awkwardness.
“Does Mr Masterson live next door,” asked James, pointing to the house on the lady’s right.
“No, I don’t know of a Mr Masterson, as I’ve said, I think you have the wrong address. I’m sorry, but you appear to be mistaken.”
James wasn’t giving up so easily.
“Does the man on the other side still live there? I don’t know his name. He’s in his forties, has a grey beard and plays loud music late at night. Loud rock music, especially ACDC and Motorhead.”
“If you’re referring to Drew Lees, then yes, unfortunately he does. And he’s always keeping me awake with his loud ……..”
Before the lady had the chance to finish what she was saying, James was heading along her path and towards her gate. She shook her head as he headed to Mr Lees’ front door.
James had never got to know the name of the man who lived next door, but he had plenty of rows with him over the years. The selfish man had no consideration for his neighbours and played music at such volume that the walls shook. The twins would cry as rock music shuddered their cots.
He rapped on the door, hoping Lees would be in. No one came to the door. James tried again, this time harder. Still no reply. He tried for a final time, and was about to leave when he heard heavy footsteps approaching the door.
The door opened, and James breathed a sigh of relief. He had never been so happy to see the man, who before now he hadn’t even bothered to learn his name.
“What?!” exclaimed Lees.
He stood holding the half opened door and James saw that he wore a dressing gown. The man worked odd hours, which was why some nights he would stay up late playing loud music. He had a strange work pattern. When it was time for him to wake up, the rest of Montgomery Crescent were ready for bed.
“It’s me, from next door…… I mean ….. I used to live ……,” James had difficulty in choosing the right words. The man stared at him impatiently and James continued.
“Do you remember me?”
“Should I?” growled Lees.
“I’ve knocked on your door over the past few years, and we’ve had a few, let’s say disagreements about your loud music.”
“I’m sure I would have remembered a scrawny little git like you,” laughed Lees.
“I live, I mean lived next door with my wife, Helena and our two children. Do you not remember?” asked James, pointing to the house where the grey hair lady had answered the door two minutes earlier.
“Don’t mess with me. You’ve woken me up, I’m working the nightshift, and I need to get back to bed.”
“Are you saying that you’ve never seen me before?”
“Like I just said, I’m sure I would have remembered a scrawny little shit like you, now leave me alone,” snapped Lees, before slamming the door.
James dejectedly made his way back to the C4.
“Any luck?” asked Han, already knowing what the answer was likely to be.
“I don’t get it,” said James, dropping into the driver’s seat.
He gazed across the road to the house he had considered his home for the past few years.
“I just don’t understand,” he whispered beneath his breath.
The two men sat in silence. Eventually Han spoke.
“What do you want to do?”
“Head back to Bristol,” replied James, with his shoulders slouched as he played with the ends of his fingers.
“Shall I drive?”
“No, I’ll be fine,” replied James starting the engine.
James headed back the way he came, turned along Polsloe Road and again, past the St. Luke’s Campus of Exeter University and towards the M5, for the long journey home back to Bristol.