We all shuffled silently toward the kitchen.
“Everyone for tea?” said Mum and she got some mugs out of the cupboard and filled the kettle up even though no one had said yes. The policeman in the business suit introduced himself as Detective Bradley and gave Dad his business card. He then asked me more of the same questions I’d heard before. How could I see so much from the window? What was I doing looking out in the first place? Was I aware the boy was on his own? And then he moved on to the blood. How much blood was there? Did I actually see it drip onto the blanket? Did I see Teddy use the blanket to wipe the blood? Why did he not call out to his granddad if he’d hurt himself enough to bleed?
“I don’t know. He just looked at the cut for a bit and then carried on doing what he was doing. He’s quite a tough kid, actually.”
The detective looked up, puzzled.
“And why would you say that?”
I was on a bit of a roll now.
“Well, he didn’t seem that bothered when he got pushed into the pond …”
I screwed my eyes shut. The detective looked at Officer Campen, who shrugged.
“What pond? Who pushed him in the pond?”
Mum and Dad stopped fiddling with the tea things and everyone stared at me. The kettle rumbled away and then clicked off.
“The day after they came to stay, Casey pushed Teddy into Mr. Charles’s pond. He went in headfirst and she just stood there watching him.”
The detective rubbed his face and his hand made a scratching noise against stubble that hadn’t been there yesterday.
“And you saw this out of your window as well?”
I nodded, and then Mum piped up.
“It was a different window though, detective. It would have been in his bedroom, which is at the back and looks out on the yards. Isn’t that right, Matthew?”
I nodded, uneasy. A sinister, dank fog oozed out of the creases of the kitchen cupboards. I coughed a little as it caught in my throat.
“Okay. We’ll need to take a look at that. And then what happened? While you stood there in your bedroom watching a small child nearly drown.”
The kitchen fell silent and I bit my lip as tears filled my eyes. I opened my mouth to say something but Dad stepped in.
“Look, detective, I think you should know that my son, my Matthew, has a serious condition that renders him practically housebound. You might think he’s a bit of an oddball, but did you know that in a school of three thousand students around twenty of them have this condition?”
I gave Dad a smile as Detective Bradley raised his hands.
“I just want to establish how this child was put in danger and why it appears that an adult wasn’t supervising him. Again. I’m not blaming your son, Mr. Corbin.”
“I didn’t just stand there,” I said, my voice gruff. “I ran to the front of the house and shouted for Mr. Charles. He was across the street talking to Penny and Gordon, and when he got back to the pond, Casey had pulled him out.”
Detective Bradley went to say something, but I spoke over him.
“Isn’t it a bit odd that Mr. Charles hasn’t told you about this himself? And don’t you think it’s unusual that he’s been out in that yard today, mowing his lawn while the rest of the world is out looking for his grandson?”
My voice had become louder until I was practically shouting at him. It felt good, and to make it even better, Dad winked at me. Detective Bradley glared at Officer Campen.
“You didn’t stop him mowing the lawn?”
Officer Campen looked stunned.
“I-I didn’t know he was … I heard a mower but thought it was a few doors down, I …”
The policemen began to discuss who was where and when and then Officer Campen began to bark orders into his radio. Mum switched the kettle on again as she and Dad talked in hushed voices in the corner.
“I knew she looked wicked. Did you see her eyes, Brian? And that weird doll? Urgh, it gave me the creeps.”
“Now come on, Sheila, you can’t assume she had anything to do with him going missing.”
I ran upstairs to the bathroom and washed my hands over and over. I gave a final rinse in hot water and heard the front door bang closed as the policemen left. From the top of the landing I could see the fog from the kitchen slowly rolling in waves across the floor, creeping its way upstairs.
Back in my room, the sunlight made flickering stripes across my carpet. My room didn’t feel right; everything needed to be cleaned. Every pencil, book, chair leg, lightbulb, the walls, all of it. I’d start at the top and work my way down to the baseboards and then I’d tackle the smaller items. I put on a pair of gloves and set to work.
Standing on the bed, which would need changing afterward, I began to wipe at the wall with a cloth soaked in antibacterial spray. The Wallpaper Lion had an ear—I’d never noticed that before. But it was there, peeking out from his matted mane: a small golden triangle.
“Melody thinks I’m lonely,” I said to him. “Can you believe it? And she’s collecting memorial cards. How sick is that? I know she got the gloves for me, but … that’s just beyond wrong. Isn’t it?”
The Wallpaper Lion’s face shone and his drooping eye sparkled. He almost appeared to be smiling at me, enjoying his little wash.
I stopped and stared at him.
“What if she knows, Lion? What if she sees my note and realizes Callum’s death was all my fault?”
The Wallpaper Lion carried on smiling. I imagined him shaking his mane, the tiny droplets of moisture raining everywhere.
Voices were coming from outside, and from here I could see Penny drinking from a mug as she stood on the patio talking to Mr. Charles. I got off the bed and put my cleaning stuff down, picking up my notebook.
1:25 p.m.—Penny Sullivan is next door. She’s talking to Mr. Charles and every now and then she pats him on the arm.
He said something about going to see his sister for a few days and then his home phone began to ring and he lolloped back indoors. She watched him go into the house, then walked down the lawn to the mound of toys that Mr. Charles had dumped next to the shed. Shaking her head a few times, she looked over the pile and picked up a red bucket, which she tipped onto the grass. A few of Teddy’s chunky, plastic cars fell out and she reached down and picked up a small, orange bulldozer, studying it closely before rolling it up and down her arm.
“What’s she doing?” I said. I moved closer to the window.
Turning the bulldozer over, she spun each wheel using her thumb and then Mr. Charles reappeared.
“What is it? What’s happened?” said Penny.
Mr. Charles had his head in his hands.
“It was my daughter … doesn’t want anything to do with me … said it’s all my fault …”
Penny put an arm around him as he began to cry, and they turned and slowly began walking back to the house. She was trying to hold her mug and the orange toy in one hand, and her tea slopped onto the grass.
Penny pats Mr. Charles on his back as he sobs. “He’s such a dear boy,” he says. “I’d never see him come to any harm. He’s such a dear, dear boy.” Turning her patting into a rub, Penny rests her head on his shoulder for a second. “I know, I know,” she says. “He’s such a funny little fellow.”
I looked up from my notebook, and she was staring straight at me. I gave her a weak smile and saw her physically shudder.
Penny Sullivan hadn’t liked me since Callum died.
I didn’t have any grandparents—they’d died before I was born—and Mum always seemed to see Penny as a bit of a mother figure. She was around a lot when I was little, telling Mum what to cook and what to buy. She was the local agent for a catalog called Harrington’s Household Solutions, which promised to revolutionize your home with an assortment of items you can’t live without! Mum loved that catalog, and every month she would pore through it, oohing and aahing at some new fancy gadget that we’d never use.