Gordon Egginton
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An extract from Monkey Fist
Something had woken him. He lay still on his back to listen.
Lee knew that houses were never completely silent, always moving with the turn of the world, settling down into the earth, creating creaks in the rafters and the doorframes and the floorboards. It was in this quiet of the night when you could most hear the house readjust itself from the past day’s events to prepare for the new one ahead.
There was a noise that did not quite fit, though. A rhythmic metallic clicking, coming from somewhere near the bottom of the stairs. It had to be his mother.
Lee once again slipped out of bed to check on her, at the same time rubbing his fingers across a dull ache gnawing at the back of his neck.
Descending the stairs, he saw that the metallic clicking was indeed his mother, continually trying the handle of the front door. Not wanting to startle her, he slipped around to approach his mother from the side, and then waited for her to notice he was there.
“I’m sorry, but Mother said I must be back in time for my dinner,” she said, finally.
Any contradiction from him would only cause upset. “Does you Mum make nice meals?” he asked.
“I made certain the door was locked.”
Lee spun around, shocked by another voice behind him. Ben stood at the other end of the hallway. “I’ve been keeping an eye on her,” his nephew said.
Lee’s mother turned and walked quickly along the hallway towards Ben. Taking short stuttering steps, she moved purposefully to slip past her grandson and into the living room.
“You should have woken me, Ben.”
“I was keeping her safe, honest.” The boy’s face began to screw in on itself. “I didn’t want to leave her alone. I thought, eventually, she’d just go back to bed.”
How much of this could a twelve-year-old really understand?
Lee moved to put a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “You’ve done a good job, mate. Well done,” he said. The boy seemed comforted by that.
His mother sat in an armchair rocking back and forth. Experience told Lee that these jerky, almost manic, movements were usually followed by an aggressive outpouring of spite. Ben should not hear this. He turned to stand in front of him, blocking the boy’s view of his grandmother. “Do you want to go back to bed now? I can take care of your Gran from here on.”
His nephew shook his head determinedly.
“I think you should,” Lee said, just as determined, but then smiled warmly. “If I’m to be awake much more of this night, I’m going to need you to be fresh in the morning to help me.”
It was enough to convince Ben, who yawned as he nodded consent and turned to return upstairs to his room. It reminded Lee of how much he yearned for his own bed.
He felt something like a warm breeze on the back of his neck and turned to find his mother blowing softly from a cupid’s bow of a mouth.