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For over an hour, I sat on a broken deck chair in the middle of Uncle Gerry's lap pool in the backyard, waiting for Joke. After Uncle Gerry had passed, Aunt Bea had drained the pool. The empty shell stunk of biological warfare: a battle between evolving strains of surface mould and the increasingly concentrated doses of bleach Aunt Bea used to control it.
Joke didn't show. Sunlight eked through the frayed edges of clouds, but it was cold. I hoped Mum continued to sleep snugly, as she'd been doing when I got home from school.
Words from two speeches - Mr Seth's bizarre lecture in the library and Mr Barker's address to the school - bounced and wove about in my head like duelling Cassock dancers. What to make of it all?!
Quakehaven didn't seem to be in any imminent danger. Life seemed as uneventful as ever. Putting aside the winking wings in the kitchen. And Mark's party fiasco. And if you ignored the unfortunate calculator incident at school. And assumed Mr Seth was batty! Nothing was truly amiss: nothing that would have satisfied Joke's rigourous scientific scrutiny, anyway.
But what about the tunnel under Mum's room? And those trunks with their carved faces? And how had Mr Seth delivered the calculator to Sub Rosa's second floor? Why hadn't I told Mum or Aunt Bea about any of this?
I grabbed my school bag from under the deck chair and pulled out the black case. Not a drop of blood. Mr Seth was an old man. Maybe he suffered dementia and had confused fact and fantasy. Or maybe he was sly and taking advantage of my over-active imagination. He'd probably found out all that stuff about me and Dad from Mr Fisk, like everyone else in Quakehaven. Perhaps we were both deluded.
I flipped open the calculator's lid and switched it on. The calculator activated with a jazzy jingle and the LCD screen - much bigger than I remembered it - suddenly exploded mid-battle. Hordes of ice-ninjas hurled pixelated metal stars at acid-spitting space-dragons. Ancient Assassins!
A shadow fell over me, blocking out the sun. "What have you got there, boy? Show it to me."
I looked up at Aunt Bea. The sun was behind her head and I couldn't see her face. But I knew from the quiet, even tone of her voice that she was not happy.
"Maths homework, Aunt Bea," I said. I flipped the lid closed, muffling the roar of the dragon. "They're re-testing us tomorrow."
"Don't give me lies, boy," said Aunt Bea, her voice softer and flatter. "Maths homework! Do you think me so naive?
"I am - I mean was," I spluttered.
"You shouldn't lie, boy," said Aunt Bea sternly. "I've nursed your mother since you got here, paid your school fees and fed and clothed you for over a year. And what's the one rule I've asked you to obey?"
"But Aunt Bea! I didn't mean -"
"No excuses. Computer games are forbidden in my house - and that includes my yard. The violence is unacceptable for growing minds. You should be reading. We've got hundreds of wholesome classics for young men in the library - all you have to do -"
"Books have violence in them too, Aunt Bea," I interrupted. "Have you read your so-called classics recently? Jack London or Dickens? They're filled with blood and violence. That's why they are still so popular."
"I was talking about Austen and the Brontes, boy," snapped Aunt Bea. "How dare you speak back to me!" She strode over to the pool steps and clamoured down them. "Give me that silly beeping machine."
The calculator began to vibrate. It was suddenly hot and wet in my hands. The ninja war cries faded and the case began to shudder. I tightened my grip. "Please don't," I begged it.
"Don't tell me what to do, boy" shouted Aunt Bea. "This is my house, my rules. I thought that at least was understood. Hand it over this very instant!"
The calculator continued to heat up. Coarse bristles sprouted from its hide and dug into the webbing between my fingers. Claws tapped a light tattoo into my defenceless palms. I raised my hands to my mouth. "Don't you dare hurt her!"
"It's a her now is it!" shouted Aunt Bea, her calm veneer imploding. "Most unnatural. Give HER to me now." She clasped her hands over mine. Her fingers were strong and wiry from years of housework and letter-writing and I struggled to resist. Close up, Aunt Bea's lavender scent was sharper, like candyfloss dipped in a stale vase water of roses.
"You don't want to do this, Aunt Bea," I grunted. "Please."
Another shadow fell over us. Aunt Bea and I looked up. Mum, dressed in a nightie, her hair loose and massive, glowered down at us.
"What's going on?" she demanded. "Both of you, stop it." She ran her fluttering hands through her thick tresses, then started to cry. She was barefoot and her white nightie was thin cotton. She must have been chilled to the bone.
Aunt Bea let go of me. "Bridget," she said. "We didn't mean to disturb your rest. It's nothing. We were just...horsing around. You should go back to -"
"Yes, Mum," I said. "We were just playing a game. Monkeying around, you know. Let me help you back to be-."
"I'm sick, not blind," Mum said. "Playing horses and monkeys? Give me a break. You were squabbling. I heard the whole thing from my bedroom."
"How?" I asked. Mum's room was at least ten metres from the pool. She couldn't possibly have heard us through the double glazed walls.
"Paddy, give me the game," said Mum, ignoring my question.
"But -" I started.
"Just do it!" she ordered. "You heard your Aunt. She has given us everything since we got here. We're the last thing she needs with all her responsibilities."
"Bridget," said Aunt Bea, starting to cry. "I didn't mean it. I love you both. I don't know what came over me. Paddy, I'm sorry. I'm just. Just so tired."
"I'm sorry, too. Aunt Bea," I said, my voice hoarse with self-disgust. "I know I'm not allowed to play computer games. It's just -"
"Good. Now give me the game," said Mum.
"Mum, no I -"
"Now, Paddy!" she commanded, kneeling on the wet grass.
I opened my hands. The calculator’s fur and claws had receded. It was perfectly ordinary black plastic box again. My hands shook as I handed it over.
"Good," she said, standing up and secreting the game into the dew-soaked front pocket of her nightie. "And before I forget Joke called." She pulled a folded piece of yellow paper out of the same pocket and handed it to me. I glanced at it and then pocketed it.
Mum swooned and collapsed onto the lawn. As one, Aunt Bea and I scrambled up the stairs. We hauled her up, Aunt Bea taking most of the weight, and trudged back to the house. This wasn't the first time Mum had fainted, so we weren't too worried. She just needed a change of clothes and some sleep.
I kick-swiped the conservatory door open and we heaved Mum onto her bed. I sat on the trunk, facing away from the bed, as Aunt Bea helped Mum out of the wet nightie and into some clean pyjamas. "Sorry, again, Aunt," I said, massaging my arms. "I really appreciate all that you've done for us."
"I know," said Aunt Bea. "I love having both of you around. Until you came to stay, I didn't realise how lonely I'd become."
Around Mum's neck, something silver caught the light and glinted. I jumped off the trunk to investigate. It was a fine silver locket shaped like a two-headed swan.
"When did mum get this?" I asked.
"A small gift," Aunt Bea answered. "It belonged to my mother, your grandma. She left it to me, but it looks so much nicer around your mother's neck. I wanted her to have it."
Aunt Bea plumped Mum's pillows and kissed her forehead. I went over and hugged her. "We've disturbed your peace and quiet. And you've been so patient with me, especially my sleep-walking," I said. "I love you, Aunt Bea. We both do."
"Thanks, boy," she replied. "That means a lot. This place has been pretty quiet since your Uncle Gerry passed. My social skills are somewhat...rusty. But it doesn't mean I don't love having you here."
Mum was asleep. As we turned to go, Aunt Bea pointed at the yellow card jutting out of my jeans.
"What was Jokkum’s message?" asked Aunt Bea. "Do you need a lift somewhere?"
"No, thanks." I said. "He was meant to be coming over to work on the bridge. But he had to help his father with a job."
"I see," said Aunt Bea. "Have you got any ideas?"
"Not yet," I said. "Would it be all right if I looked at a few books in Uncle Gerry's library? Just until dinner?"
"Of course," laughed Aunt Bea. "Just stay away from those Jack London books you warned me about. And certainly no Dickens!"
I smiled and walked to Uncle Gerry's reading room. As I closed the door, my grin gave way. I unfolded the message. On one side was Joke’s message, in Mum's neat handwriting. But on the reverse, typed in italicised caps, was some sort of poem:
"ITS MEN, LIKE SATYRS GRAZING ON THE LAWNS SHALL WITH THEIR GOAT FEET DANCE AN ANTIC HAY."
I read the cryptic sentence a few times. Something about it rang a bell, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I scrunched up the message and stuffed it into my pocket. I wondered whether Mum would ever get better; or whether she was, in fact, getting worse.
I decided I'd tell Doc Vassel about the poem when I next saw him, but not to worry Aunt Bea. She was already worried enough about Mum for the both of us.