Where Peacocks Scream Page 5

  “I know it sounds ridiculous, but we’ve heard the most terrible stories. We were warned by the people who worked here before us. They told us never to allow—”

  “I’m not listening to any more of this.” For a long moment Jasper held the fan against his heart, as if he were about to swear a patriotic oath and the fan were his country’s flag.

  Then he crashed out of the living room and slammed the door.

  Disasters

  Mum opened her mouth as if she were about to give another peacock scream. Then she gulped, sniffed and wiped her eyes. She started to clear the room of wrapping paper, sweeping the stuff into her shaking hands and crushing it.

  Dad gave her a hug. “He’s taken the wretched thing away, Emma, dear. Think no more about it. Now I really must—”

  He disappeared.

  Daniel slid the empty mahogany box onto a shelf. He ran downstairs and out to the boatyard. Suddenly, he didn’t want any lunch…

  Now it was as if they were watching and waiting with a purpose. Watching and waiting for something to go wrong.

  There were fewer customers than usual for Saturday supper. Six people telephoned at the last moment, one after the other, to cancel their bookings. After the fifth, Dad’s forehead crinkled into a frown. He cracked jokes at the bar, trying to keep his customers happy, but nobody laughed.

  Jasper arrived at nine o’clock with three guests in tow. They ate and drank heavily, sitting by the window after everyone had gone, keeping Dad hovering and exhausted.

  Early on Sunday morning a group of neighbours banged furiously at their terrace door. Daniel, in the kitchen stirring the pan of leftovers for the peacocks, let Mum answer in her dressing-gown. He heard angry voices.

  “Your bloody animals, them peacocks, they’ve been all over my allotment. Eaten the bloody lot. Not a single shred of my marvellous dahlias are left.”

  “My runner beans are entirely ruined. I was counting on them for the autumn and now those peacocks have stripped everything. It’s really too bad.”

  “Them wretched birds wake us up at four in the morning… Screaming something ’orrible… If you can’t keep them under proper control, we’ll have to report you to the authorities.”

  Wearily, Mum apologised, offering them free drinks at the bar.

  “Swigging your gin and tonics ain’t going to shut them peacocks up… Have you ever considered putting the whole blasted lot of ’em down? Do us all a favour.”

  Daniel whispered, “Over my dead body.”

  He tiptoed out to the terrace with the pan of food. Everybody glared at him.

  Later that morning, as he walked back from the island, he heard his father shouting in the kitchen. “Can’t anyone smell gas? Have you got noses or what? There’s obviously a serious leak in one of the pipes. The place stinks to high heaven. I’m going to ring the gas board, but nobody is to touch the stove until they’ve given us the all-clear. Lunch and supper will have to be cold. Invent some salads with whatever we’ve got.”

  Daniel was standing on the island after lunch, behind one of the trees directly in front of the house, watching a grey squirrel, when he heard more raised voices, arguing and taunting, coming from the terrace.

  The voices grew louder. One of them sounded full of menace, of warning.

  He stepped forward to look across the river.

  Now what?

  The tables were thronged with guests. At one of them sat a group of young students, who’d had a lot to drink. A clutter of empty wine bottles littered their table. One of them, a thick-set man wearing denim shorts, open-toed sandals and a tight-fitting shirt, had climbed onto the river wall. He was trying to tempt Percy to eat from his outstretched hand.

  He shouldn’t be doing that. There are notices.

  PLEASE DO NOT STAND ON THE RIVER WALLS.

  DO NOT JUMP IN THE RIVER.

  THE CURRENT CAN BE DANGEROUS.

  PLEASE DO NOT FEED THE PEACOCKS.

  Why couldn’t people read?

  Percy stood still for a moment, one strong grey foot poised in the air, looking intently at the outstretched hand. Then he lunged at the food. The student gave a shriek of laughter, jumped away from the peacock – and slipped.

  It seemed that as the man fell, he crashed his head against the stony bank. Daniel heard him cry out, saw him fling up his arms and fall with a clumsy sideways movement into the river. The sound of the splash rose above the noise of the weir and echoed into the trees.

  Daniel caught his breath. Without thinking twice, he raced towards the river bank. He kicked off his trainers and jumped into the water. In spite of the sunlight and the warmth of the September afternoon, the river was freezing, making him gasp with shock. Its weight pulled at his sweater and jeans, dragging at his body, slowing his movements.

  They’d had lessons in this at school: he tried to remember how he’d been taught to deal with being fully clothed in water, before he was officially allowed to take a scull onto the river, in case he were ever involved in an accident. Now he was well and truly involved – and everything vanished from his mind except his desperate need to keep afloat and find the drowning man.

  He stared through the cloudy ripples of water at the reeds, the fish darting around him. There’s a whole world down here, a secret world. I shouldn’t be disturbing it.

  He caught sight of the man’s thrashing limbs, sinking like a stone below the waterline. He shut his eyes and battled on, coming up for air only when he was desperate, cursing the downward pull of his clothes. The image of the peacock-feather fan flashed into his mind.

  The evil eye…

  Gasping and spluttering, Daniel dragged himself closer to the drowning man. He managed to clutch at a flailing hand, but then lost his grip. By that time, two of the student’s friends had jumped into the river. One of them reached him and started to haul him onto the bank. Blood poured from a gash in his forehead.

  A woman on the bank screamed, “Howard… Oh, my God… Howard.”

  The man’s body lay among the flattened reeds, staining them bright red. One of his friends tried to give him the kiss of life, kneeling over him time and again. But as Daniel staggered out of the river, water choking his throat and pouring from his hair and clothes he heard a voice sobbing, crooning the same words, over and over again.

  “It’s no good. Leave him alone. Howard’s dead.”

  After the Storm

  An ambulance arrived, its siren shrieking. So did the police.

  The man’s body was carried away, his girlfriend sobbing beside him, the other students pale-faced and instantly sober. The police questioned everyone on the terrace. One by one the horrified guests were allowed to leave. Rapidly and in silence, the staff cleared the tables and closed The Riverside.

  Mum bundled Daniel into dry clothes, furious he’d risked his life, but proud of him.

  “People who don’t know when to stop drinking bring trouble on their own heads and everyone else’s,” she said through clenched teeth. “They don’t care who they harm along the way.”

  “I had to do something.” Daniel shook with cold. “I couldn’t just stand by and watch… I can’t believe the guy is dead. It happened so fast.”

  “We put up notices,” Dad said. “We tell customers to be careful of the river, not to feed the peacocks, not to stand on the walls. If they can’t be bothered to read what we tell them, I despair. We can’t watch over them every minute, as if they were children.”

  “This will be terrible for trade.” Mum towelled Daniel’s hair. “There were a couple of reporters talking to the police… Bad news travels fast. We don’t deserve this, not after all our hard work.”

  “We’ll stay closed for a week as a mark of respect,” Dad said firmly, “no matter what it does to our bank balance. I’ll not have people thinking we don’t care.�
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  “If it hadn’t been for Percy pretending he hadn’t eaten for a week,” Mum said, “the student wouldn’t have climbed onto the wall. Perhaps we should get rid of the peacocks?”

  “We can’t do that.” Daniel flushed with anger. “The Riverside is famous for them. I love them. It’s not their fault if people offer them food.”

  “This wouldn’t have happened if Frank hadn’t bought that vile fan—”

  “Enough of that, Emma.” Dad flung an arm around Mum’s shoulder. “He’s taken it away. It was only a terrible coincidence. I’m sure the two events weren’t connected. Now, let’s have a cup of tea and plan what we’re going to do next week.”

  “Cancel the orders for food, for a start.” Mum gave a wan smile. “I suppose we could do some late spring-cleaning.” She glanced at the empty mahogany box on the shelf. “Get rid of that too, Danny, please. I don’t want any reminders of that fan.”

  Daniel picked up the box and raced downstairs with it. He hurled it into a rubbish bin, wishing he could get rid of the memory of that afternoon as easily. He kept seeing the face of the dead man, lying among the reeds, blood pouring from his head.

  He remembered Cora’s vacant eye staring up at him that June morning…

  Frank Jasper returned in the early evening, asking why the pub was empty, wanting to hear details of the accident. He’d invited two other men for supper. Dad explained what had happened and reluctantly agreed they could stay. They sat for hours at a table in a far corner of the dining room, eating their way through four courses, talking in low voices, finally drinking an expensive bottle of port.

  Daniel willed them to leave. Now that the other rooms were empty, Jasper and his friends felt like alien intruders.

  During the afternoon, clouds gathered on the horizon, gradually thickening and darkening as the evening wore on. By midnight, lightning snaked across the sky and thunder rumbled. Then the rain began. Unable to sleep, Daniel pressed his nose against his window, watching white sheets of water lashing the allotments, bending the poplars.

  In the morning, as he staggered out to feed the peacocks, carrying the pan of leftovers, black puddles stained the pathways. The river had risen. Raindrops slithered from the trees. The peacocks clustered for food, their damp feathers glistening.

  Jimmy was already hard at work on the terrace, sweeping the flagstones under the tables, clearing shreds of damp paper napkins, cigarette butts, shards of broken glass. Leaves had begun to fall beneath the rain. Several branches looped lower than before and needed pruning.

  The birds made their usual frantic noise as they gathered for food. The weir gushed loudly. But Daniel was half aware, as he stood there with the empty pan, of another sound, an unusual one, coming from the roof. He glanced up to check.

  As he did so, a clutch of loose tiles came slipping downwards: slowly at first, then with gathering momentum. He raised his voice to shout above the noise of the birds. “Jimmy! Watch out! Get away from the roof!”

  But even as he did so, the tiles crashed onto the terrace. One of them fell on Jimmy’s head as he turned in Daniel’s direction. Daniel watched helplessly as Jimmy tried to protect himself and then fell sideways onto the flagstones, the tiles splintering into fragments around him.

  Daniel raced towards him and knelt down. “Are you all right?”

  Blood poured from the side of Jimmy’s head. “No.” He looked dazed and frightened, his lips white and stiff. “What happened?”

  “Some tiles from the roof, Jimmy… They must have been loosened by the rain. Don’t move. I’ll go for help.”

  For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, an ambulance arrived.

  Frank Jasper slouched downstairs in his dressing-gown, his hair standing on end. “What’s all the hellish noise about?”

  Mum glared at him. “It’s about the evil eye you brought into the house. Who’s it going to hit on next? Tell me that!”

  Dad went to see Jimmy in hospital.

  “He’s going to be fine,” he reported. “Just a very nasty cut, a black eye and lots of bruising. They’re keeping him in overnight.” He looked across the table. “But he doesn’t want to come back to work here. He thinks The Riverside has been jinxed.”

  “He’s not the only one,” Mum said.

  “The bar staff are worried too. Marion told me this morning she won’t be coming back when we reopen next week.”

  “But she’s worked here longer than anyone. I can’t imagine the place without her.”

  “You’ll have to do more than imagine, Emma, dear. We’ll have to advertise her job and Jimmy’s. I can’t run this place without them. We both work hard enough as it is.”

  The next few days felt very strange.

  Daniel couldn’t get used to the fact that no lorries arrived at the crack of dawn to offload their deliveries. A few bar staff spent the week cleaning the pub and catching up on chores. The rest were given the week off. Mum spring-cleaned the office, advertised for new staff, washed curtains and cleaned carpets, counted stock and polished tables.

  But when Daniel arrived home from school, a peculiar stillness lay over the pub, as if The Riverside was waiting for more bad news.

  It came on Friday afternoon.

  Daniel got home to find Mum frantically trying to contact Dad on his mobile. He’d driven into Oxford to do some chores before the pub reopened. He’d been gone for hours. Dad’s mobile was out of action, and he hadn’t rung in.

  “It’s just not like him,” Mum said. They sat in the kitchen, her hands shaking over a cup of tea. “He always keeps in touch.”

  “Maybe he’s stuck in Friday traffic.” Daniel tried desperately to think of something to say. “Or maybe he met a friend and lost track of time.”

  Mum shook her head, her face ashen, her eyes dark with anxiety. “Something’s happened to him. I can feel it in my bones. Something terrible.” She bit her lip. “It started with Jasper and that fan. Where will it end, that’s what I want to know… Where will it all end?”

  They heard a car roar into the driveway. They leaped out of the kitchen and down the stairs.

  “Mrs Williams?”

  “Yes?” Mum clutched Daniel’s hand. He thought she would faint with shock. All he could see were two large men in blue uniforms, their police car flashing its lights behind them. He flung an arm around her shoulders.

  “I’m afraid there was an accident in Summertown. A mini pile-up. Your husband has been taken to hospital.”

  Within the hour, they were sitting at Dad’s bedside.

  “I was crossing at the traffic lights,” he told them feebly. “This idiot in a van was jabbering on his mobile. He came straight at me. Then someone went into him.” He tried to sit up. “I’ve done something nasty to my back. It’s going to be weeks before I can walk. I’ve been told to rest. They’re going to keep me in overnight.”

  Mum’s face shone wet with tears. “I can’t believe this, Ralph.”

  “No.” Dad clasped her hand. “But don’t give me the evil eye stuff again, Emma. Look on the bright side. It could have been so much worse.”

  Seriously Useless

  Daniel sat in the back of the blue van as it rattled out of the school drive and down the Woodstock Road towards Wolvercote and the boatyard.

  The van was towing the trailer holding six sculls to be de-rigged in the yard. Their coach drove it skilfully enough, knowing that other drivers on the road would give it a wide berth.

  Daniel crouched on one of the seats, missing Joshua who had been kept at home by Auntie Ruth with a heavy cold. He suddenly realised that for the first time ever he was not looking forward to being by the river. Today they would only be de-rigging the sculls, not going out on the water. Soon he’d be home again, sharing The Riverside’s growing tide of problems.

  Dad’s back was
more painful than he’d anticipated and he was confined to working in the office for only a few hours each day. His inability to move around made him frustrated and short-tempered.

  Only four applicants had replied to their advertisements for Jimmy’s and Marion’s jobs. All of them lacked qualifications and experience. The river gardens already looked neglected. Morale among the remaining staff was at rock-bottom. Although the autumn weather continued fine and mild, fewer people were now arriving for lunch and supper. It gave the staff time to grumble.

  “Word has got around that The Riverside is an unlucky place,” Mum said. “How can we can stamp out silly gossip? It’s like wildfire. Last week’s takings were down and it doesn’t bode well for Christmas. The brewery have already been onto us, wanting to know what’s happened. I had to tell them the truth.”

  The school van turned the corner into the boatyard, hauling the rows of sculls behind it. Daniel climbed out with the handful of other students, remembering how he’d first seen the man with the white cap.

  At least then he’d had his own bedroom and study. He’d known the island was his private garden. Now he was never sure whether Jasper might have poked all over it. His own bedroom was so crammed with stuff that he felt suffocated.

  Last night he’d had another petrifying dream. He was cycling to school to take an exam. He was late. His bicycle basket was crammed with books he should have read but hadn’t. Once in school, he was shown into the examination hall, already crowded with other students, none of whom he recognised. Everyone was waiting for him.

  He sat down at a desk at the back of the hall and turned over the exam paper, dreading the list of questions. There was only one.

  EXPLAIN EVERYTHING it said.

  All the other students started to write, their heads down, their pens flying over paper like busy mosquitoes. Daniel wrote, I can’t explain anything. I don’t even know why my name is Daniel Williams and not Frank Jasper…