The Rules. Book 1; The End Read online

   

  As Beth finished reading, she felt uncomfortably light-headed.

  Celtic spirals and knotted beasts swirled through her mind.

  She sensed small explosions, bright star bursts, erupting everywhere throughout her body.

  The Eyes of God were there too, in every form she had seen. Twisting and whirling, flowing and surging. Mingling with her flesh, her muscles, her veins, her nerves.

  ‘Are you all right dear?’

  Beth was surprised to find that her mum was crouching down beside her.

  Had she passed out?

  For how long?

  She hadn’t even heard, let alone seen, her mum move from behind the ironing board.

  ‘No, no mum; I’m all right, honest,’ Beth lied. ‘I just felt a little dizzy for a moment, that’s all.’

  Her mum’s eyes sparkled with concern.

  ‘You do look white!’

  She gently stroked Beth’s cheek and felt her brow.

  ‘And you’re hot too! What brought this on, Beth? Is it something you picked up while living with those crusties?’

  ‘Mum, I was fine until just a second ago, honest! Perhaps it’s just that, you know, everything that’s happened to me with the police again and all that. You know, perhaps it’s just all, well, caught up with me or something. Delayed shock, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Hmmn, I suppose, yeah, you have been through a lot love. Are you all right to go to school, do you think?’

  Beth had been dreading going into school.

  She wanted to put off seeing Donna and her friends as long as possible.

  ‘I do still feel a bit odd, mum. Perhaps I’d feel better going in tomorrow instead?’

  ‘Well…’ Her mum pursed her lips doubtfully.

   Beth put on a sad puppy dog look.

  ‘Well, okay love! I don’t see how one day’s going to make a difference, do you?’

  ‘Thanks mum!’ Beth threw her arms around her mum.

  It was the first time in ages that she had hugged her mum like she really meant it, rather than just going through the motions because it was expected of her.

  ‘Maybe we can go out somewhere together later,’ her mum said brightly. ‘That would be nice, wouldn’t it love?’

  They both slowly pulled apart from their tight clinch.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, that would be nice mum.’

  Beth hoped she had managed to hide the uncertainty she felt.

  ‘First, though, if that’s all right with you mum, I’d just like to pop out for a walk; you know, get some fresh air?’

  ‘Of course, love, of course! You need to feel better before we go anywhere!’

  She glanced over at the washing basket of dirty laundry she had carried down from the bathroom.

  ‘All that lot and the bed sheets upstairs can wait until tomorrow, can’t it eh?’

  A surge of shock ran through Beth.

  ‘No, no mum! You have to wash it now! This morning! Don’t put it off!’

  Her mum stared at her astonishment.

  ‘Beth, whatever do you mean by that?’ she laughed. ‘It’s only washing, love!’

  Beth was every bit as surprised as her mum that she had blurted out something so stupid, so weird.

  She couldn’t really explain why she had said it.

  ‘I…I don’t really know mum. I just, sort of, well, felt that you won’t be able to do it tomorrow. Yeah, it’s odd, I know. Isn’t there that saying, mum? If you leave your laundry unfinished, and then you die, you have to come back and wash it until Judgement Day.’

  This time Beth’s mum wasn’t just shocked; she was horrified.

  ‘Beth, what a terrible thing to say about your mother! If I die? Whatever made you say that Beth?’

  ‘I’m sorry mum, I’m really sorry! I honestly don’t know why I said it. I really, really don’t!

  ‘I’ve never heard such an awful saying!’

  ‘Isn’t it Irish? Don’t they say it in Ireland mum?’

  ‘Well if they do, it’s an awful thing to say!’

   

   

  *

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Chapter 12

   

  Beth felt strangely bare without her makeup and earrings.

  At least, though, she’d had the pleasure of taking off her school uniform.

  She had replaced it with a far more comfortable pair of threadbare jeans and an even older T-shirt.

  Stonehenge Rocks.

  Yeah, her gran had bought her that one.

  But it was the only one that was clean.

   

   

  *

   

   

  Fortunately, her dad didn’t live too far away.

  She wanted to ask him if he really thought mum was okay.

  Sure, she seemed calmer. The booze had gone, too, along with the pills and the crazy turns.

  But so had all the baronial wallpaper and drapes. The statuettes of knights cutting off dragons heads. The glittering gem stones that sparkled and flashed as they twirled on their supporting strings.

  Beth missed that part of her mum.

  It was like a major part of her mum had been simply wiped from her life.

  Like it had never really existed.

  Yeah, like a part of her mum had died inside.

  Leaving an unruffled but ultimately lifeless shell.

  I mean, getting rid of everything like that!

  Can that be right?

  Beth raised a hand to an ear, intending to tweak the earrings hanging there.

  All she felt was the indents of the holes where they had hung from until late yesterday.

  She ran her fingers through her dreadlocks. They were still there, thankfully.

  But they wouldn’t be there for long.

  She couldn’t wear her hair like that at school.

  (Not unless she could somehow prove it was all part of her culture.)

  By the end of the week, she would end up looking just as she had before she had run away from home.

  Is that what had happened to mum?

  To be a part of the world, did she have to conform to it?

   

   

  *

   

   

  ‘Crazy as a box of frogs.’

  Her dad had said that as he had finally got around to packing his bags. Sneaking away from the house while mum was out shopping.

  ‘Should have known from the start, shouldn’t I, that something was a bit iffy. Her being called Jerusalem, and your gran Nazareth. I didn’t marry into a regular family so much as get myself a map of Israel.’

  Who could blame him for leaving, eh?

  All that rubbish from mum about spirits being after her, giving her headaches!

  Yeah, me and dad, we got the headaches all right.

  All that screaming and wailing at all hours!

  Come to think of it, perhaps mum’s better off as she is now after all!

   

   

  *

   

   

  Dad’s house was even more shambolic than Beth remembered it.

  The front garden was completely overgrown, the grasses reaching a height more usually encountered on the African veldt.

  Neither windows nor doors had benefited from a lick of fresh paint for at least ten years.

  The whole house was generally run down.

  Beth’s generally run down dad opened the door.

  He had put on even more weight. It looked like he had slept overnight in his shirt.

  It looked like he had been sleeping in his trousers for a week.

  ‘Ah, I wondered when I’d be seeing you again! Come in girl, come in!’

  ‘You’re not at work dad?’

  Beth followed her dad through the door
into the narrow hallway.

  ‘I’d just called round on the off chance.’

  ‘Work? There’s no work round here anymore, Beth me darling. Factories are long gone. Now it’s the shops that’re closing down. Where’ve y’ been girl?’

  As Beth had expected, he headed for the kitchen.

  ‘Away,’ Beth said. ‘Been happening there too, of course.’

  ‘Gone to the dogs. Country gone to the dogs, you ask me.’

  Compared to the rest of the house, the kitchen was in good order and quite clean.

  Her dad might be slovenly when it came to the way he dressed, lazy when it came to DIY and general repairs, but he treated his food with great respect, understanding and love.

  A chair had been pulled back from the kitchen table, like her dad had risen from it to answer her knock at the door.

  On the table, there was a tall glass of thick, yellow milkshake.

  ‘Milkshake?’ Beth turned to look at her dad like he might be ill.

  He lowered his head, embarrassed. He patted the stomach stretching his shirt into a taut transparency.

  ‘Well, yeah, y’ know. I realised I had to do sommat about all this. Y’ know what I’m saying, me darling? Y’ mum – well, she still pops round now and again, y’ know – well she said I should try these here milkshake things.’

  Reaching out for the shake, he picked it up and began to drink.

  Beth was amazed.

  ‘And you’re sticking with it? A milkshake diet?’

  ‘Hey, don’t sound so surprised young lady! I’ve been taking ’em for, oohh, five months now. Non-stop. It’s so easy I don’t know why I never tried ’em before!’

  Beth studied her dad’s quivering paunch.

  ‘Five months? Blimey dad, what did you use to weigh?’

  ‘It dunt always work that way, does it madam? Sometimes, while y’ body adjusts, y’ put a bit extra on at first.’

  Draining off the last of the shake, he nodded towards two lidded pans bubbling away on the cooker’s hob.

  ‘I take it y’ll be staying long enough to join me in a plate or two of my infamously hot con-carne?’

  ‘Chilli? After the shake? Dad, you’re supposed to have the shake instead of your meals. Not as well as!’

  Her dad stared curiously at the shake-lined glass he was still holding.

  ‘Eh? How’s that supposed to work me darling? These things wouldn’t fill up a hamster.’

   

   

  *

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Chapter 13

   

  ‘Well, see, the truth is, me darling, when I married y’ mum, well, she seemed fine, right? Well, stands to reason don’t it; I wouldn’t have married her otherwise, would I now?’

  Beth’s dad had ladled out generous helpings of con-carne and rice onto his plate and, as he spoke, he ate.

  ‘No, the kooky one in those days, see, was y’ gran.’

  ‘Gran? But she’s always seemed fine!’

  Her dad shook his head.

  ‘Uh uh. Crazy as a bat in a microwave she were when I married y’ mum. Should have seen it coming, I suppose. Should have figured it ran in the family.’

  ‘Runs in the family?’

  Beth clutched her throat in horror.

  Her dad raised his hands to calm her, sauce from his fork dribbling down on to the tablecloth.

  ‘Now now, me darling; don’t go jumping to conclusions, right? See, we’re talking about different levels of craziness here. Got me?’

  ‘Different levels of craziness? That’s supposed to reassure me, dad?’

  ‘Look, me darling, the way y’ve seen y’ mum for most of y’ life – the booze, the pills, the crazy turns – all that happened after y’ were born. And, it turns out, going by what I got out of y’ gran when I asked her, it were the same for her. Sommat to do with this sense of loss, she said. Like it felt like a whole, massive part of her had been ripped away.’

  ‘So what are you saying dad? Mum’s weirdness was all my fault? Or, if I want to remain normal, don’t have any kids?’

  ‘Well, mum weren’t exactly normal afore she had you, me darling.’

  Beth was about to complain that he was implying she was crazy once again, but he waved away her grumbles with a sauce-splattered hand.

  ‘All this King Arthur and Guinevere thing; oh yes, all that was already there. I thought it were quaint at first, course. It was quite nice coming home to this medieval maiden, trouncing around the kitchen singing these ta-de-la-de-la songs and all that. But it all got a bit heavy, y’ know? All this researching it all down the library, making all these notes, like she were desperately trying to figure sommat out. Sometimes she’d be really happy, saying she had discovered sommat that explained it all – what the all was, she never explained to me. She just said it was sommat that was hard to explain. Sommat that was always whirling around inside her. Like she felt she had lived in these times, or sommat like that, y’ know? Lived in these times! Ha! How can y’ live in a legend, eh? Answer me that one! And so, yeah, mostly she weren’t happy. She were frustrated, throwing books across the room, like she’d realised she’d been fooled once again. Led down a false track that really answered nothing.’

  He paused, forking some more con-carne into his mouth. He continued as he chewed.

  ‘Now when I asked y’ gran, she said that afore she’d had Jerry, y’ mum, she’d gone through exactly the same thing. Researching all these legends, like they were real history with a message. A message that would explain, y’ know, why their family were like it was.’

  ‘Like it was? What do you mean, dad; our family like it was?’

  ‘Come on Beth, me darling. Are y’ really telling me y’ never wondered how y’d ended up wi’ a name like Bethlehem? And why y’ mum had been christened Jerusalem?’

  ‘Well, there were plenty of times at school I wished you’d just given me a normal name; like Jane, or Janet, or even Edith. Anything would’ve been better than Bethlehem, dad! Can you imagine what it’s like to have kids running around you chanting “how still we see thee lie”? Though in their case, they used it to make out I was always lying.’

  Her dad shrugged.

  ‘I were against calling you Bethlehem, if it helps. But I were told it was tradition, like, y’ know? If y’ think y’ had it bad, how do you think it were for y’ gran, with a mouthful like Nazareth Iona Lourdes? You ask me, y’ mum’s family used these names like a sort of protection. What do you call those things some people wear these days? Lucky armlets?’

  ‘Amulets dad; protective amulets. They’re supposed to ward off evil spirits, or bad luck; that kind of thing.’

  ‘Well, yeah, you ask me, they was hoping these names would have a similar effect. You look back on y’ family, Beth me darling, and y’ll find all the women have these here religious names. Glastonbury, Samaria, Lebanon, even Redsea. Oh, and there are plenty of supposed witches back in y’ history, too me darling.’

  ‘Witches?’

  ‘Now don’t go getting all excited about that! Chances are it were just the people of the time, seeing this here woman acting a bit crazy – like y’ mum – and thinking, “Hey, y’ know what? She must be a witch!” Whatever the reason, according to y’ gran quite a few of ’em ended up being burnt, or locked away in asylums. Plenty of ’em too ended up in prison for thieving. But, get this me darling; all they was stealing were paper! Empty journals, that kind of thing.’

  ‘They were locked up for stealing paper?’

  ‘Well, y’ gran says paper were expensive way back then. And she reckons they was pinching it for the same reason y’ mum needed all her notebooks; to write things down. To try and make sense of all this weirdness floating through their heads.’

  ‘So where are all mum’s notebooks now? What was she writing in them?’

  Her dad smil
ed. Rising from the table, he moved over to and pulled open a drawer full of cutlery. He began rifling through it as he spoke.

  ‘Ah, now, see, I knew y’d come here one day asking that very question. And I don’t know the answer, see, as y’ mum would never let me see them. Or tell me what she were writing in there.’

  As he returned to the table, he handed Beth a large, ancient looking key.

  ‘It’s a copy,’ he said. ‘A copy of the key that opens that old trunk up in y’ mum’s loft.’

   

   

  *

   

   

   

   

   

   

   

  Chapter 14

   

  As she headed back home, Beth twirled the large key round and round in her fingers.

  She couldn’t, could she?

  She couldn’t really just look in mum’s trunk without asking her?

  Could she?

  Well her dad had been thinking about it!

  He had even tried it too!

  But he couldn’t open it.

  Could she?

  She couldn’t!

  Could she?

   

   

  *

   

   

  Beth knew which trunk her dad was talking about.

  It was up in the loft, where it had been ever since Beth could remember.

  It was covered in dust and cobwebs. Hidden, too, under layer after layer of dresses and coats no one had ever found the energy to sort out and carry down to the waste tip.

  It was made of heavily stained wood and shabby, lacerated leather. Like it had been there longer than the house had been there.

  A lot longer.

  ‘Oh, it’s just some of mummy’s things; things you might be interested in when you’re older.’

  Her mum had always said that, or something along those lines, whenever Beth had asked what was in there.

  So, she was interested now.

  Did that mean she had permission to go sneaking around inside it?

  What was it her dad had told her about the trunk?

  That Beth’s gran had had him bring it over from her house, not long after he had married mum.

  That he had overheard gran and mum whispering later that night, gran saying something similar to what Beth’s own mum had always told her whenever the contents of the trunk were being discussed; ‘You’re at an age now where you’ll be really interested in what’s in there.’

  Her dad had always been excluded from conversations about the trunk.

  If he came up on them unexpectedly as they were discussing it, they would suddenly go quiet. Or quickly pretend to be talking about something else.

  He knew Beth’s mum went up there sometimes, into the loft, looking through it.

  She had always come down with dust and cobwebs in her air. A blank expression on her face, like she was in a daze, more confused than ever.