Cut Through
A Short Story by Jen Ives
Clarissa wanted to show Liam where she’d grown up. The hill, the old phone box, the corner shop, and most importantly - the family home. It had been a while since she’d lived there - nearly 15 years. But something called her back - to see it one more time. Through older eyes. To walk down that street proudly, as herself - just once.
Liam was from The North, and thought everyone from That London was proper posh, like. Clarissa had seen where Liam grew up, and it was considerably more upmarket than her pokey little 2 bedroom, behind the BestCo Wholesalers Warehouse. It wasn’t so much about that, though. She wasn’t just trying to prove a point. She wanted Liam to know her past. As much as possible. Full transparency. This was a relationship she really believed in, and she wanted to give it the best chance possible. It was this ‘radical honesty’ thing she was trying out.
The bus there was slow. Painfully slow. The narrow South London back roads of the route had always been a strain on the double decker 160. Clarissa was surprised it hadn’t changed in 15 years. No diversions. No improvements. Still, the traffic gave her more time to give Liam a proper guided tour - pointing out various historical sights, like the kebab house that was once raided for drugs, and the fireplace shop which still has a lifesize, wooden Native American outside it - despite various petitions over the years to have it removed. It seemed to Clarissa that very little had changed at all - except her.
Clarissa suggested they get off the bus a few stops early and pop into the corner shop for a couple of cokes. They could easily walk it from here, especially if they cut down the alleyway.
As they entered Mr. Patel’s, Clarissa was taken aback by how samey everything was. The ice cream freezer was still in the same corner, and the lino floor was the same faded checkered pattern it had always been. There were tiny differences, sure - like a lack of pick and mix, which had been replaced everywhere by a huge variety of fruit flavoured vapes. Also, no more DVD rentals. But, essentially, everything was the same. Of course, Mr. Patel was long retired - but his son, Inderpal, had taken over. Clarissa had gone to Primary School with Inderpal, and recognised him instantly. He, however, did not recognise her. But why would he? She wasn’t Clarissa then. Not externally, anyway.
As they left with their drinks, Liam asked Clarissa how long she was planning on them looking around her old street. He wasn’t trying to be mean, or disinterested, he just wasn’t sure that any of this was necessary. He’d explained to her a million times already that he loved who she was now, and that her past didn’t really matter all that much to him. But, it seemed important to her, so he tried to respect it. Sometimes though, it felt as though she was challenging him - showing him unhappier and unhappier photographs of herself as a teenager, looking more and more masculine in each one. It was like she was testing him - daring him to see her differently. But he never did.
Clarissa said she just wanted to see the house one last time, and they could go and get lunch somewhere after. As they entered the alleyway, Clarissa told Liam that, as kids, they had believed that an old witch lived in the house adjoining it. Mrs. Shonky. It wasn’t her real name, of course - they didn’t know it, but that never stopped a good urban legend. Sometimes when they’d cut through to go to the shop, this crone would pop her head over the fence and scream at them to get out of her alleyway! “You’re disturbing my husband who is very sick and trying to sleep!” she’d say, but they’d all call her an ‘evil witch’ (or worse) and run off as fast as they could. Liam noted that she’d likely be dead by now - and Clarissa, holding her fingers up and intimating a ghoul, joked that perhaps she always was…
Midway through the alley, Clarissa pointed up to the back windows of another adjoining house. That, she told Liam, was her childhood bedroom. It was difficult to see too much from the alley, but if she peered through the gap in the back fence, she could see part of her old garden. It unsettled Clarissa to find that much of it was as they’d left it, 15 years ago, when they moved. No new paving slabs - no new shed. The same kitchen door, with the same broken door handle. They’d even kept their windchime up. She couldn’t understand why someone would buy a house, and then not change any of it? It’s like whoever had moved in, was living her old life. Keeping it as it was, like some twisted museum to her family.
As they exited the alley, Clarissa gave Liam a brief overview of the houses leading up to hers. Her neighbours, Joan and Bill, had always been nice to her. They’d let her come over for crab sticks and to play with the fish in their pond. It seemed though that since then, they had either moved out or died, because she could hear drum and bass music coming from their bedroom window. Joan and Bill weren’t big fans of drum and bass, as far as she could remember.
Clarissa and Liam stood outside her old house - number 22, Baring Lane. Nothing at all was different. The front gate was unchanged, still black and flakey. The plants along the footpath had been kept watered and pruned, as if her dad had never even moved out. Even the net curtains, which stopped a passer by from being able to properly peer inside, were exactly as they’d been. Identical. Clarissa asked Liam if he thought that was odd. She asked him, if it were him, would he feel as creeped out as she did? Surely, you’d want to put your own stamp on it? She wondered what kind of freak would be living here? She had to know.
As she opened the gate, and moved towards the footpath, Liam grabbed onto the sleeve of her coat and tried to pull her back. He knew she was about to ring the doorbell, but he pleaded with her not to. That was the thing about Clarissa, she was impulsive. It’s what initially attracted him to her, but sometimes it was a lot to handle. Clarissa told him not to worry, she just needed to see the person who lived there. If they answered, she’d play dumb and say they had the wrong address. It wasn’t a big deal.
Clarissa pressed the doorbell, and as it rang out, she noticed it was the exact same chime they had had - whoever was living there now, they hadn’t even bothered to buy a new one. She wondered if they’d even changed the battery. They waited 30 seconds or so, and when there was no answer, she rang it again. Like before, nobody came. As Clarissa pressed her head up against the front window, and attempted to see through the protective net curtains, Liam gently pulled her away and suggested they go and grab a coffee somewhere. He’d seen enough, he said. He got it.
Relenting, Clarissa made her way out of the front garden - with Liam following behind. As she turned to get one last look at the house she’d spent the first 15 years of her life in, and say goodbye to it, the front door of number 22, Baring Lane caught her eye suddenly. It appeared to be opening, slowly, and entirely on its own. Liam noticed it too, and asked if Clarissa had pushed on it, but she insisted she hadn’t. Clarissa looked up at the window to the small office room where her mum had once tried to set up a home business, selling hand painted porcelain figurines on Ebay. It was making money, until mum’s hands started to fail her.
The curtain moved. Liam didn’t notice at first, but Clarissa definitely saw it. Look, she said - pointing up. Sure enough, there in the window, was the figure of a small boy - no older than 12 or 13. His face was sad, and his hair was something between a bowl cut and a bob - almost effeminate. Liam caught sight of him this time, but as soon as he did, the little boy appeared to run off. Clarissa gripped hard onto Liam’s arm. She could feel, deep in her stomach, that something was wrong. She adjusted her gaze over to her parent’s old bedroom window, and noticed that the little boy was now standing behind the curtains there. She pointed him out to Liam, who couldn’t make him out at first, but sure enough - he was there. Except this time, he appeared to be crying. First a soft sort of weep, but then - something more traumatic. Even over the pumping drum and bass next door, they could hear it, and it sounded like he was being hurt. Clarissa was sure that this little boy was in trouble. She told Liam she was going in. Liam didn’t try to stop her, he knew it was useless. He just kept a look out.
As Clarissa entered the house, she made straight for the stairs. It alarmed her to see that the stairlift was still installed, and the sight of it nearly set her off balance. She squeezed past it, and made her way up the carpeted stairs and onto the landing. The walls were still yellow. There was still a framed picture of a sunflower outside the bathroom. She peered into the tiny office room, which still had a computer desk with a windows 98 on it. Then, she made her way into her parent’s old bedroom. Two separate beds sat in the room, one a normal single - the other, an adjustable, electric hospital bed. Clarissa looked down in the cavern between the two beds for the boy, but he wasn’t there. She opened her mum’s old wardrobe - nothing. Then dad’s. Nothing. That’s when she saw her room.
The door was the same - the keyhole lock mechanism completely unscrewed and removed. Clarissa pushed it open, delicately, and peered inside. The room was dark - too dark for the time of day it was. Still, she could make out the outlines well enough to see that, as she had expected, everything was as it had been. The torn down posters. The broken shelving unit. The bed - occupied.
Clarissa inched towards the bed, a soft sound of crying emanating from under the covers. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do when she got close enough to touch it. She already felt way over her head, with the breaking and entering. She decided to test the waters with her voice first, and asked whoever this upset person was if they were ok? Could she get anyone for them? Did they need her to call the police? That’s when the door slammed behind Clarissa, but before she could turn to see it, she inexplicably found herself relocated. Now Clarissa was in the bed, looking up over the top of the covers at the place in the room where she had just been standing. Except, it wasn’t her standing there anymore. It was someone else. A woman - old, and boney. Hunched. Crone-like. It was too dark to see her face properly at first, but as she shuffled forwards towards the bed, it became more visible - it’s swollen, purple cheeks. It’s eyes, absent.
Clarissa leapt out of the bed, and pushed her way past the woman. She swung open the bedroom door, and near enough catapulted herself down the stairs and out of the front door, where Liam was waiting - his face ashen with worry. Clarissa had vaulted down the stairs so quickly, that she couldn’t be sure if there had or hadn’t been a stairlift attached to them on the way down. She was, however, happy enough not knowing.
As Clarissa and Liam exited the front garden gate, and made off quickly down the Baring Lane, Liam tried to ask what had happened in the house. Clarissa insisted that nothing had happened - she’d just gotten spooked by some old memories. Some stuff she’d forgotten, and sooner not talk about. He didn’t press her on it - she had made it quite clear that she didn’t want to dwell on the past anymore. This was music to Liam’s ears, and he hoped things would continue to move in that direction going forward.
Liam asked Clarissa if she wanted to go anywhere local for lunch? She said she didn’t. Clarissa suggested they go back to the bus stop and head home. Liam liked the idea.
As they approached the alleyway - the one which they had arrived through, Clarissa grabbed onto Liam’s coat and stopped dead. She told him that she didn’t think it was a good idea to cut through it again. Instead, she recommended they take the long way round.
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I am currently on the look out for a literary agent, and have many other short stories, and the first draft of a novel completed. If you are a literary agent, and would like to read more of my work, please email me at jeniveswriter@gmail.com