The Father's House

 

 

Copyright © 2015 Larche Davies

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

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For my mother and father
with gratitude

“I can see you,” hissed the Magnifico. “I can hear you. I can watch your every action.”

Lucy pulled the pillow over her head as the nightly whispers began.

“The fire awaits all sinners, and their flesh will melt away.”

The words swished around the bed and through the pillow. Lucy pressed one ear hard down on the mattress, and put her hand firmly over the other. The voice would go away if she was virtuous, and patience was a virtue, so she waited.

Silence! Lucy emerged from semi-suffocation to breathe in the cold January air that wafted through the open window. Did she dare shut it a little? Surely there'd be no harm in pulling the curtain over to block off the draft. But Aunt Sarah had said she mustn't get out of bed. Would the Magnifico notice if she did?

The more she thought about it the more she felt tempted. She slid out of bed and stepped over to the window. Slipping her hand through the metal bars she paused for a moment as she pulled it towards her, and looked up at the stars in the clear winter night sky. There were thousands of them, millions, big ones and little ones, and clusters of some so small they looked like clouds of dust. Was the Magnifico up there looking down at her at that very moment? Was each one of those stars an eye? He would need millions of eyes to watch all the children in the world, and millions of ears to hear them with.

She pulled the window shut and lingered a little longer, looking over to the common on the other side of the road. The street lamp shaped the bushes around the pond into unfamiliar clumps and eerie figures. Lucy shivered and turned away. She tiptoed over to her little chest of drawers. It gleamed white in the near dark, and her books from the charity shop stood up black along its top like a row of soldiers, held together at each end by large stones from the garden.

As quietly as she could, she pulled open a drawer and took out her non-school uniform jumper and tugged it down over her head. The drawer stuck as she shut it, and she gave it a tap. The row of books shuddered, and a stone clattered down onto the floor. Lucy hastily picked it up and put it back in place. She jumped into bed and strained her ears for the sound of movement from Aunt Sarah's room on the opposite side of the hall.

All was quiet. She relaxed and pulled the blankets up high. Snuggling down into the skimpy bedding she reminded herself that comfort was the shortest path to a life of sin, and that suffering was good for the soul.

Her mind couldn't escape the Magnifico. She imagined him looking down from the sky with his myriad eyes, seeking her out among the millions of children that he watched and heard. Maybe he had a street map. She pictured all the eyes trying to have a look at the different pages all at the same time, pushing and shoving each other out of the way, and her tension gave way to a little laugh.

Perhaps one single pinpoint starry eye would be allocated to her. It would have to roam across the world until it found London with its commons and parks. How would it travel? Would it roll or fly or swoop? When it found the right common, how would it manage to find a girl in a bed in the ground-floor flat at number 3 Mortimor Road? Perhaps it didn't roll or swoop. Perhaps it slithered. Her skin prickled as she pictured it slithering along the narrow path that ran across the common towards the father's house. It would leave a slug's silver trail over the road, under the front door, down the hall to her room, across the bare wooden floor, up the leg of the bed, under the sheet, and onto her face. She stifled a scream and pulled the blanket right over her head.

Aunt Sarah plonked a hard-boiled egg onto Lucy's plate, and a piece of dry toast.

“Eat up,” she said, wiping her hands on the apron that spanned her ample stomach. “You haven't got much time.” She turned towards the worktop and started preparing two breakfast trays, one for the father on the first floor, and the other for the tenant on the second floor.

Delicious smells of coffee, warming croissants, and bacon with scrambled eggs, mingled together to tickle Lucy's nostrils. She watched as Aunt Sarah put a pot of honey on the father's tray, and wished she could have just a little to scrape on her toast. As she gulped down her milk she told herself firmly that she must be grateful for what was put before her. She thanked the Magnifico for providing her food, and carried her plate to the cracked old butler's sink.

Aunt Sarah lifted the trays into the dumb waiter that was set into the kitchen wall, and pressed the button to send it upwards. She turned to look at Lucy.

“Leave that plate or you'll be late. I'll do it later.”

“Thank you,” said Lucy meekly. She stood still for Aunt Sarah to check that her soft brown hair was pulled tightly enough into her pigtail, and that her tunic still came to at least one inch below her knees.

“Aunt Sarah,” she asked tentatively, “has the Magnifico got a body?”

Sarah's tired puffy eyes opened wide in her round red face. “The things you ask! Of course he hasn't got a body. He's a deity – the one and only deity – all-seeing, all-hearing. Now get a move on.”

“But if he hasn't got a body that means he hasn't got eyes – or ears. Eyes and ears are part of a body. So how can he be all-seeing, all-hearing?”

Sarah gasped and clapped a plump work-worn hand to her large bosom. She was shocked.

“Don't argue with me. Of course he's all-seeing, all-hearing! Don't you repeat what you've just said at school, or anywhere else, or the other aunts will say I haven't taught you right.”

She plopped herself down for a moment into the comfy old armchair in the corner of the kitchen. Even the morning routine was exhausting her these days. And now Lucy with all these unanswerable questions.

“You've really turned into the most aggravating, nosy, inquisitive child I've ever come across, always asking, asking, asking! Why can't you just believe what you're told, same as you used to? I'm not going to tell you lies, am I? It's called ‘having faith'. We can't always understand everything.”

Lucy wasn't sure if she was supposed to reply. She stood uncertainly and waited, and gently stroked the smooth, warm gold of the reminder bracelet on her right wrist. It calmed her mind and silenced her tongue, and she found it soothing.

“You may well fiddle with that bracelet,” snapped Sarah, mopping her face with her apron, “but just you remember it's there to remind you that the Magnifico is always watching and listening, so if he's been listening to you this morning I only hope he can forgive you.”

She heaved herself out of the chair and gave Lucy a little push towards the hall. “Hurry up. Go and clean your teeth and get your school things.”

Lucy considered it wise to stay silent. Her breath puffed out in clouds of steam as she cleaned her teeth in the icy cold bathroom. Then she went to her room, checked the contents of her school bag, and put on her coat. When she returned to the kitchen Aunt Sarah was still in her apron.

“You'll have to take yourself to school today, and bring yourself back,” she said. “From now on I'm going to be too busy to go with you.”

Lucy was taken aback and felt a stab of panic. She had never gone anywhere alone. The father must have changed the rules or something, but she didn't dare ask. One more question today and Aunt Sarah's round face might flush up so red it would burst into flames.

Strict instructions were given. Lucy wasn't to talk to anyone when she crossed the common. “Don't trust anyone who tries to be friendly. You can be sure they're up to no good.”

The more Sarah thought about it now, the more she could visualise the dangers that awaited an unaccompanied Lucy. “And when you get to South Hill don't go over with that lollipop lady, and don't have anything to do with the primary school children or any other non-followers. Their souls are unclean. Make sure you cross carefully at the lights at the bottom of South Hill.”

Lucy shifted her satchel onto her shoulders and nodded. “Yes, Aunt Sarah.” As she left the house she turned and gave a little wave, and then walked gingerly down the front path, its black and white herringbone tiles slippery with last night's frost. Sarah's final words followed her. “The Magnifico will know if you disobey me, and you will be punished for the sake of your soul.”

Sarah stood at the front door watching as Lucy crossed over Mortimor Road onto the common. Stop worrying, she told herself. Nothing could go wrong. The child had walked that route with her every school day for the last ten years. As for herself, it would give her more time for her housework. Even so, she would miss her escort duties. At this very moment the aunts from the communes would be arriving outside the Magnifico's school with the younger children, and gathering for their early morning chat. That chat was the highlight of Sarah's day. She sighed. There was no room for self-pity. The father had said she must concentrate on a newcomer to the household, and let Lucy learn to do some things on her own. She sighed again. Shutting the front door, she returned to the kitchen. There was no time to waste.