Sean Happens 11

‘You can’t kill The Spider as easy as that,’ said Miss Dill. ‘He was already dead in a way. He was born without a soul.’

Mr Martin pursed his lips. ‘What I didn’t understand at the time—and I still don’t, even though I’ve not thought about it in years—is how he could be locked up in List D and all those hard places where they search you, but they never figured him as having a vagina.’

‘Ah,’ said Miss Dill. ‘He’d a bit of both, to be honest. I found that out later too. But that’s another story. A grimace was his best smile. Of course, he hated anybody touching him. I imagine it just wasn’t worth the bother of him going absolute beserker on them. He was incredibly strong and had none of the usual inhibitions about hurting himself to hurt others. Spiders are always spinning webs, fighting for their lives. ’

‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,’ spluttered Mr Martin. No one seemed sure what he was getting at. Least of all Sean. ‘Exodus, 22:18, King James Bible, but it all goes back to St Augustus’s Confessions. The innate sickness of being born female. Born to bleed and breed. Derived from Adam’s rib. Seduced by a serpent and causing mankind to sin and forced to leave The Garden of Eden.

‘He took from Pliny that menstruation was a bloody sign of pollution that poisoned a women’s insides, plants, caterpillars—for some reason—insects, caused infertility and nymphomania, led to madness and rabies. The exception to his general rule was the Virgin Mary. But he wasn’t all madly misogynistic with Church dealings. He asked of God, one thing: “Give me chastity and continence, but not yet.”’

Mum yawned, covering her mouth. ‘So he…’ She corrected herself… ‘She didnae really die? Whit is this Scooby Doo?’

‘Well, that’s not for me to say,’ replied Mr Martin.  What I would say…’

‘Oh, please,’ said Miss Dill cutting in. ‘When he gets onto a topic he tends to chew at it, like a dog you throw a boomerang. Again and again. The Spider did die. But since he’d no soul, he didn’t realise he was dead.’

‘I’m no getting any of this right,’ said Mum. ‘She searched for something to drink. Something to smoke. But came up with nought. Went to switch on the kettle and make tea. ‘Get tae yer bed, son.’

She tousled Sean’s hair. ‘I will,’ he replied.

Miss Dill made a place for him on her satin lap. She stroked his hair and the side of his face.

Mum plonked some biscuits down on front of them on a plate. Custard Creams and Ginger Nuts.

Mr Martin waited until his mug of tea was cooler, before he double dunked his biscuits and sucked them through his teeth.

Miss Dill hissed at his bad manners. He raised an eyebrow in response. They glared at each other. Mr Martin shut his eyes and looked away.

‘Perhaps I’d been drinking too much. The Spider picked me up as usual in his car. Even though I knew he was dead, he’d the same taste in rock music, but he played it louder as if to drown out his doubts. His car was hot as hell, no matter the weather outside. The seats oozed the stink of his sweat and sex—although we’d never touched, and never would. I wasn’t sure we could now.

I wasn’t scared. I thought it all a dream. The big difference was he talked all the time about himself. His family and how his mother hated him and he hated her. How she’d drove his dad away. The details of all the dreadful things she’d done to him and let others do. How he got hooked on drugs and dealing. A plainclothes cop and a uniformed cop had arrested him. They’d left his face like an overripe tomato. His eyes swollen shut. They made him see that he’d be working for them from now on. He’d nodded, and that was enough to gain the protection he’d craved. There were stories of stolen cars. Stolen parts. Burgled houses. White goods and fire sales. All before he turned sweet sixteen. He was indestructible, as most kids our age were.

I’d often wondered why he’d never undressed me but he’d made me roll up my sleeves. I’d always been keen to go further and faster. But he was just checking my arms for injection marks. I’d show him mine and he’d show me his. We never got to that stage of intimacy. I was self-conscious, clean and naïve.

It was my turn to answer with shrugs and I stared out the window. He’d gone too far, too fast. It had taken him under and he couldn’t escape. Some things sometimes are too big for us. Like his life and death. He’d straddled both worlds.

The chill underwater as his car rolled, and the music drowned out. Free floating. Sucking in enough air to think it’ll make a difference. His chest carved into the wheel. A knee broken. An arm hanging loose. His mouth filling with Thames water. He kept lifting his head. Wheezing in terror. ‘Help! Help!’

His body twisted like a cork, tearing at his flesh as he tried to free himself. Every infinitesimal movement was magnified. And he could see it all from above. Again and again he lifted his head, battering it off the roof with a power within him he didn’t understand. The power of sheer terror. As the car sunk, his body went slack. His senses became dulled. He was still under there. Under the water, always drowning.

He wanted me to find his body. To lay him to rest. Newly emboldened, I tried my luck. He could still drive all night. I’d be in my bed sleeping, but when we got to those places in Scotland, bits of Glasgow, I could step out of the car. I could be in two places at once. But my dreams kept him locked inside. He couldn’t get out. I must admit I had some fun. No man on earth could stop me. He tried to master me, put me at his beck and call. I mastered him.’