The Talented Blackwoods Chapter 1

Jason lined up the plastic plant pots along the front wall. Each one contained a lump of earth dug from one of the flower beds in the back garden, and a sprig of green – a nettle from behind the shed, a leaf from a rose bush, a dandelion (although the pretty yellow head had dropped off during transmission from lawn to pot), and a leaf from a shrub that he didn’t know the name of. Each pot had been marked with a price. He’d used his dad’s fat, black marker pen for that. The rose bush leaf was the most expensive – premium, his dad would say – at 4p. The headless dandelion was the most affordable at just 1p. If he sold all four, he’d have enough for the cool monster mask they were selling in Joy’s, the toyshop in Meadow Lane. It was just a plastic thing, almost paper thin. “Won’t last a week,” his mum had said when he’d begged for it the day before. “If you want it, you’ll have to earn the 10p yourself, I’m not wasting my money on it.”

And so here he was, shortly after 9am on a Saturday, a couple of days into his summer holiday, lining up plant pots on the front wall, hoping to tempt passers-by into parting with their cash in return for a delightful new plant.

Sally Brigshaw from across the road was watching him from her front garden. The Brigshaws actually had a proper front garden, with a lawn and flower beds – not just a square of paving like their house. Their house was just a terrace, the Brigshaw’s was a semi. According to mum, the Brigshaw’s house had been built about 20 years after theirs on a plot that had once been a small park. His mum said she missed the park. Sally Brigshaw was nine, two years older than Jason, and she let him know it – all the time. She had long fair hair that she sometimes wore in plaits on either side of her round face. She had red cheeks like a doll – mum said she thought it might be eczema. She was opening her front gate now and crossing the road. She didn’t look left and right like you were meant to.

She didn’t speak at first, and neither did he. She just peered into each pot and sneered.

“Why would anyone pay for these?” she asked.

Jason just shrugged. He’d found this the most effective way to respond to pretty much anything Sally said.

Sally walked the length of the front wall and back again, like a sergeant major inspecting the troops, and then laughed. “Such a baby,” she said, looking him up and down. Jason shrugged just his left shoulder.

“We’re going to Kew Gardens today,” Sally announced.

Jason shrugged his right shoulder. He’d been to Kew Gardens with his parents a year ago. It had taken them nearly two hours to get there, even though it was only a few miles away, because the traffic had been so bad. By the time they arrived in the car park all three had been in black moods, and had stomped around the Royal Botanical Gardens in an hour, without reading any of the little signs about the different plants, and then headed home.

“We may buy some plants from the shop there, for our front garden,” said Sally.

Jason nodded. He’d used up all his shoulders.

“Dad’s going to re-landscape our front garden.” Sally pronounced the word re-landscape very carefully, as if reading it from a book.

“I’m going in.” Jason suddenly thought the plants were a stupid idea. Sally was right, who would buy them?

As he turned, the front door burst open, and his mother erupted onto the front step. She looked crazed. Her dark hair was a mess, her eyes were wide and wild and she was holding a battered blue suitcase in her left hand.

“Go to the car!” she barked.

Jason stood rooted to the spot, staring at the creature that had once been his mum.

She grabbed him by the sleeve of his t-shirt and dragged him through the front gate. She didn’t even pull the gate closed. Sally was backing away, staring at Jason’s mother with a mixture of terror and scorn.

It started to drizzle.

“I need my coat,” said Jason, struggling to keep pace with his mother, as she half walked, half ran to their brown Cortina.

“I’ll get you a new coat,” his mother said, unlocking the passenger door of the car and pushing him in. She opened the rear door and pushed the suitcase onto the back seat.

“Where’s dad?”

“He’s not coming.”

His mother ran to the driver’s door and slid into the seat next to him. She was muttering to herself as she fumbled with the ignition key.

“Where are we going?”

“Aunty Stella’s.”

“Why isn’t dad coming?” Jason glanced back at the house. He didn’t like leaving with the front gate open. And where was his father?

As the car pulled away, Jason saw Sally banging on the front door of her house, no doubt desperate to tell her family about the mad Angela Blackwood across the road. She cast a quick look in his direction as they drove off, and for some reason, Jason waved.

***

Aunty Stella was his dad’s sister, which made it even weirder that his dad wasn’t with them. She lived in a tall house in Camden Town. It was a terrace house too, but nothing like theirs. It was huge, and had a basement and then three more floors on top of that, including an attic room with sloping walls where Jason always slept when they went to stay, which wasn’t that often.

The house was about a five-minute walk from the main high street and the famous Camden Market. Jason was glad it wasn’t any closer. Camden Market scared him. It smelt strange and was packed with odd people, like Punks and men and women who dressed in all black and wore eyeliner and white face make-up. It was noisy too, with everyone seeming to shout and all different types of music mixed up and battling for space.

When they pulled up outside Aunty Stella’s house, she was waiting at the top of the stairs that led to her front door. She waved and hurried over to the car, hitching up her long, floaty skirt as she ran. She looked worried.

“Angela,” she greeted, as his mother climbed out of the car. They didn’t hug. As far as Jason knew, his mother and Aunty Stella didn’t even like each other that much, which, again, made this a very strange visit.

“Come in,” said Aunty Stella, blowing him a quick kiss. “Bring the suitcase. You can’t leave anything in your car round here.”

Aunty Stella led them into the house and gestured with a flap of her hand towards the main living room. The gesture made the many bangles she wore on her wrist jangle. The living room was to the right of the hallway and the wide staircase that wound its way up the house, eventually to the creepy attic room, where Jason had a horrible feeling he’d be sleeping tonight.

“I’ll make tea!” Aunty Stella disappeared in a woosh of fabric and a cackle of bangles.

Jason’s mother dropped the suitcase onto the hall floor. She seemed to be in a daze now that they had arrived. During the drive, she had constantly bitten her lower lip and scratched her head as if she had nits. Now she seemed calm. She fell onto the big leather sofa in Aunty Stella’s living room, which was about three times bigger than their living room at home.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Jason sat in an armchair across from the sofa and stared out of the nearest window. He was glad when Aunty Stella came bustling in carrying two mugs of tea, because he didn’t know what to say to his mother.

“Jason, what would you like to drink?” his aunty asked. “I’ve got some Ribena.”

“Yes please,” said Jason. He felt thirsty, and his lips were dry.

Aunty Stella darted back to the kitchen.

“Jason, I need to chat with Aunty Stella for a bit,” said his mother. “Why don’t you go and sit in the kitchen. Or you could go up to your room.”

Jason didn’t like her calling the attic his room.

He slid from the armchair and headed towards the kitchen, which was in the basement. In fact, it took up the whole basement. It was the biggest kitchen he had ever seen, with a great dark wood table in the middle, surrounded by shelves crammed with jars and cans, and with a huge Aga cooker, which his mother thought was a ridiculous thing.

He nearly bumped into Aunty Stella on his way down the stairs. She was rushing up, clutching his glass of Ribena.

“Oh, hello,” she said, running her free hand through her short red hair, as if confused by the sight of him. “Here.” She thrust the glass at him. “There’s some magazines on the table. Some of them have puzzles in them. There’s pens in the drawer next to the fridge.”

Jason nodded and squeezed past her. The stairway to the kitchen was much narrower than the main staircase.

“We won’t be long,” called Aunty Stella, as she hurried back to the living room.

Jason sat at the kitchen table, but he didn’t bother to look at the magazines that were splayed across one end. His mother was right, she had scared him, and he still felt scared.

***

“I’ve called some friends,” said Aunty Stella. “They are driving to your house now. I’ve told them about the key hidden under the pot in the back garden. They’ll keep him contained there until they can get him somewhere safe.”

“What if he managed to get out of the wardrobe?” asked his mother.

“If it’s that heavy oak one that used to be at the cottage, and you tipped it over with the door against the floor, I doubt if he will have done,” said Aunty Stella.

“I’d already knocked him unconscious with a lamp,” added Jason’s mum.

Jason wanted to back out of the living room so that he could continue listening to the conversation, but his mother had seen him standing just inside the doorway.

“Jason! I told you to stay in the kitchen.”

“It’s been hours,” said Jason. “What have you done to Dad? Why is he in the wardrobe?”

“Oh dear,” said Aunty Stella, fluttering like a flag in a breeze.

“It was just a story,” said his mother. “Your dad is fine. He just needs some time alone to work on something.”

Jason knew she was lying. Why would she make up a story like that? He wanted to see his dad. He felt a sob rise up from his stomach.

“I want to go home,” he howled, and the sob exploded from his mouth. He dropped to the floor, heaving and wailing. He didn’t think he would ever be able to stop.

“Oh, Jason.” His mother scooped him into her arms, clutching him to her, stroking his hair and kissing the top of his hot head.

Jason wanted to struggle free because he knew his mother had done something bad to his dad, but he also needed to be hugged, so he just lay his head against his mother’s chest and continued to sob.

“Would you like to lie down in the attic room for a bit?” asked Aunty Stella, hovering over them.

“No!” Jason shook his head vigorously.

“Well then come and lie on the sofa,” said his aunt. “I’ll get a blanket and you can have a nice nap. I‘ll put on the whale music tape you like.”

Jason hated the whale music and wished he’d never told his aunt he liked it. But he allowed his mum to carry him to the sofa. It did feel good to lie amongst all the colourful cushions. And when Aunty Stella lay the woollen patchwork blanket across him, he actually felt a little better.

“When can we see Dad?” he asked.

“Soon,” said his mum.

“Is he ill?”

His mother tucked the edges of the blanket underneath him so that he was snugly cocooned. Jason could tell from her expression that she was trying to decide what to say – another story or the truth.

“Sort of,” she said finally. “But people are going to see him who will be able to make him better.” She glanced at Aunty Stella as she said this, but Aunty Stella just looked concerned, rather than saying anything encouraging.

“Is he going to die?” asked Jason.

“No. Absolutely not,” said his mother. Jason couldn’t tell if this was a story or the truth. He didn’t think his mother knew either.

His eyelids felt leaden, and he yawned. He knew sleeping was a ridiculous idea with everything that had happened, but he was exhausted. His mother began to stroke his head, like she did when he had a temperature, and he closed his eyes.

When he opened them again it was dark and he could tell from the shape of the shadows around him that he had been moved from the living room. He was lying on a bed and across the floor of the room he saw the tell-tale squares of light that were formed by the moon shining through the skylights in the sloping ceiling. He was in the attic. He felt a burst of anger at his mother and Aunty Stella for putting him here. Then the fear swept through him.

The last time he’d slept here he’d been just five and had stayed awake most of the night, jumping at every creak and moan of the room, at every imagined movement in the darkness. The furniture had seemed to totter towards his bed, as if animated by whatever dark magic the room held. His dressing gown, which had hung on a hook on the door, had risen like a ghost, flapping above his bed. He had screamed and eventually his dad had come, drenching the room in light. All the items of furniture had returned to their original positions and his dressing gown had settled back on its hook. He’d begged his dad to leave the light on, and his dad had agreed.

His dad wouldn’t come tonight, though, and his mother and Aunty Stella were probably still talking in the living room, so wouldn’t hear him even if he did scream. He couldn’t stay in the darkness, not here, in this creaking, cold place. But the only light was the one hanging above the bed, and the switch was by the door on the other side of the room, several steps across the bare wooden floor, with the things that moaned and sniggered all night hiding in the shadows.

He sat up, pulling the patchwork blanket, which was still wrapped around him, across his shoulders like a protective cape. He would be a superhero and cross the room and switch on the light. At least he was wearing socks, so he wouldn’t have to feel the cold on his bare feet, or icy fingers brushing against them. Slowly, he twisted round and rested his feet on the floor. It would be better to run. He could be at the light switch in two seconds. Something under the bed grabbed his ankle and he yelped, leaping up and running towards the door. He felt frantically for the light switch, stretching as high as he could, hands slapping the wall. Where was it? He heard something sliding across the floor, gibbering to itself and sniffing.

“Help!” he screamed.

“Get away from him!”

As his hand finally found the switch and the light flashed on, he saw his father standing by the skylight. Something scuttled back under the bed, hissing and tutting.

“Dad?”

His dad held his arms open, and Jason ran to him.

“It’s okay, Jason, it’s not real,” his father comforted. “You’re just dreaming. You’re still asleep on the sofa downstairs, and it’s not even dark yet. Your mum and Stella are chatting in the kitchen.”

“Do they know you’re here?” asked Jason, staring up at his father.

“I’m not exactly here,” his dad said. “But I’m doing everything I can to get back to you and Mum. I’m so sorry, Jason. But I promise I will try to be here whenever you have another nightmare to scare away all the monsters, okay?”

“I don’t understand,” said Jason, burying his face in his father’s stomach.

When he pulled away for another look at his father’s face, he was instead staring at one of the beaded cushions on Aunty Stella’s sofa, and it was daylight.