Goblin and Monsta and Corporal Pig. Off we trotted to London, and here I am, returning too, and it’s time travel. My home is being obliterated. Those unfamiliar streets, those unfamiliar silhouettes, razed.
Now’s not a good time, he says. Wait until the rioting has passed. We have our hands full, he says. ‘What happened to needing me, Detective? What happened to the court order?’ London is in flames, he says. I know, I say. I’m coming home.
Chapter 7
London, March 1941
‘Hail thee lizards down below in the darkness in the depths. O Lizard Queen and King of the deep, O guardian lizards, the word shall be made flesh and this flesh shall be given new life blood. I beseech thee O lizards of the depths bring forth this monsta-child who was struck down by servants of all that is corrupt and evil, struck down and pulled apart and desecrated. Resurrect these hewn pieces, I beseech thee. I offer thee blood.’
‘So you’re back?’
Amelia, Queen Isabella, Scholler. All three stood in waiting.
‘I’m back,’ I said.
‘Things didn’t go so well for Monsta, I see.’
‘A nasty little bastard ruined it all. But I put rabbit guts on him and I became a vice-versa refugee, evacuee, escapee.’
‘Is that hideous beast yours?’
‘That’s Corporal Pig and you should salute him.’
‘I’m not saluting anyone. I’m a queen. And you should be having that beast for dinner – you’re all skin and bone.’
‘Why don’t you open up that pig instead of yourself?’ said Amelia as I rolled up my sleeve and held the penknife over my arm.
‘You’re ruining the ceremony,’ I said. ‘Don’t you want Monsta back? And you’ll treat Corporal Pig with respect. He’s an adventurer, an explorer and a sure and steady comrade.’
Scholler sniffed at CP’s behind before nuzzling into his snout.
‘That’s more like it. You two should take a lesson in politeness from Scholler.’
‘Well, I’m certainly not sniffing a swine’s behind,’ said Queen Isabella. ‘Come, Amelia, it’s obvious when we’re not wanted.’
‘Wait!’ I said. ‘Wait.’
I turned to them, gesturing with the penknife.
‘I missed you.’
Queen Isabella looked down at me, her eyes narrowed.
‘Is that so?’
‘You know it, you snooty old queen. I missed all of you.’
I watched her expression soften.
‘I saw you in Cornwall, you know.’
‘We weren’t anywhere near Cornwall,’ said Isabella.
‘No, nowhere near,’ said Amelia. ‘We don’t leave London.’
‘You were. You were in the attic and you helped me. But that’s all in the past. This is the present.’
‘Monsta has sunk into the past,’ said Amelia, ‘Monsta is over.’
‘This is the past,’ I said, pointing at Monsta’s broken body. ‘And Monsta’s resurrection is the future.’
I cut my arm and my blood drip-dripped onto Monsta’s corpse. I sank my teeth into four apple-hearts, dripping the juice onto the blood. I could see Monsta’s eyes rolling beneath the lids, the tentacles twitched, the crow foot stretched.
‘Holy, Holy, Holy,’ I said as Monsta’s eyes opened.
I cradled Monsta in my arms and we all went to the mausoleum where I fell asleep telling Queen Isabella, Scholler and Amelia about Cornwall and Angel.
In the morning, I awoke to find Monsta asleep on my chest, tentacle arms wrapped around my fingers. CP was making a godawful noise and snuffled at the door.
‘Alright, you old foghorn, I’m getting up.’
Monsta sleepily crawled onto my shoulder and sat snoozing against my head, tentacles threaded through my scraggly hair. I let CP out and he was off, crushing flowers and searching for insects.
‘We’re going home, CP,’ I said as I led him through the cemetery and out into London’s streets.
When we got to the East End the ARP were still putting out fires. Some people were making their way to work, walking past the smashed up buildings as if it was normal. Some stood and stared at their lost home. One of the houses was spliced and there were framed photographs still hanging on the wall, a fireplace with a mirror above and vases on the mantle. A door remained intact but opened out on to nothing but the rubble below. Beams criss-crossed, leaning against the crumbling building as if supporting it.
A woman was bent over, rummaging through the rubble, rescuing a cooking pot. She stood, clutching it, staring at the building, mesmerised by the insistent embers that glowed and crackled beneath the onslaught of water.
I spotted a camera and picked it up.
‘This yours, Mrs?’
She looked at me blankly and shook her head. The camera was a bit bashed but I knew David could fix it if it didn’t work. I shoved it in my bag and walked further on, reaching my street. A jagged hole hunkered down into old Fenwick’s home, revealing my house behind it. I wasn’t ready for this homecoming, I wasn’t prepared for this absence. I wanted to burrow down into the earth, into the Kensal Green crypt, into the underground tunnels with the lizards.
I picked my way around the rubble that was Mr Fenwick’s house, not daring to clamber through the new thoroughfare. I circled round it, as if the emptiness would suck me in. I wondered if he’d died, or moved on. I wondered what had happened to Groo. I saw no sign of her now, but old Fenwick’s two chickens were pecking round the rubble in the garden. Their run was smashed open but they looked unharmed.
I rounded them up, Corporal Pig snorting at their arses to keep them in line and there I stood, on my doorstep, with a pig, a monsta, and two chickens. That terrible absence pulsed at my back, pushing me to safety through the door, pushing me back to David, back to ma and da.
London, 7 August 2011
‘So you’re back?’
Amelia, Queen Isabella, Scholler.
‘I’m back.’
I stand in Kensal Green Cemetery looking at the crime scene tape around Devil’s grave.
‘It’s almost as if they’re treating Devil’s death as murder.’
‘You look old.’
‘Yes, very old.’
‘It was murder, you know.’
‘We know.’
‘But it’s the photo that matters, not Devil’s bones.’
‘They’ve set fire to London. Is that why you’re back? Drawn to the flames?’
‘Like a moth,’ I say. ‘But I won’t burn just yet.’
London, March 1941
‘Ma?’
‘So you’re back? Didn’t they want you?’
‘They said I was possessed by a demon.’
She nodded, rocking a little, holding a pen like it was a cigarette.
‘Ma? Can I take your picture?’
‘So you can steal my soul, demon?’
‘I forgot what you looked like. When I was away, I forgot.’
‘Well, you’re here now, no need for pictures. I thought you’d died. I told everyone you’d likely died and they all said what a shame it was.’
She looked away and her head swayed from side to side as she said shame, shame, shame, in a sing-song voice.
‘And here you are, Goblin-runt born blue. Nothing can kill you.’
‘No.’
She looked me in the eye.
‘You’re like a cockroach,’ she said.
She chewed on the end of the pen and stared at the fireplace.
‘I got you cigarettes.’
Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowed.
‘Where’d you get those?’
‘Soldiers.’
‘Give them here.’
She lit up.
‘Where’s da?’
She sucked on the cigarette and closed her eyes.
‘Ma?’
‘He’s dead.’