In this month had the world moved on; now that is the question? What mammoth change can take place within the breath of a calendar month? Perhaps a revolution had been sparked, an invention recognised, an idea adopted, a war concluded, a peace achieved, a small coin of a great horde unearthed? Could it be that a life had been improved instantaneously for someone, but, more importantly, did the recipient recognise their advance? Were they grateful, or was it, as is so often the case, that the miracle was the knuckle to a new branch of worries? These were the questions that Carlo asked as he woke.

Daisy opened the curtains to the Carlo’s room. He watched her. The sun cracked through the glass and cut out her shape into a black paper figure. She was cut by God’s scissors it seemed to him, shaped perfectly before stepping into the prism of her own colour, crossing the room to kiss him. You don’t have to worry, she told him, he’s got it all in hand. We’re safe. We can stay hidden for as long as we like.

Carlo stretched his hands and felt that the bones under his skin were not the same.

They have found Block, she told him, but deep inside he felt Block in his marrow. She knew, because Block was in her too. Elliott reckoned that they would have to come clean about him because they had found his body and that something of Carlo’s had also been discovered there. His mother had been fraught and had pleaded on television for his safe return. However, behind the cameras she had craved Daisy’s blood and refused to accept her son’s guilt in the whole affair. These were her first steps on the road to denial. She was impotent to accept the reality of her son’s disposition and as such would never rendezvous with him again. He would disappear further and further before finally bidding his farewell via a video diary sometime in the future. This is no surprise, as we have already learnt. But it is a tragedy. There is no reason why offspring and progenitor should see eye to eye. DNA is not a champion of friendship, neither is it a programme for personal survival, the Titanic, it must be remembered, began life as a blueprint.

Carlo raised himself up on his pillow. He felt weak, not himself. He looked at Daisy. The corners of her eyes looked a little worn.

He asked her what had happened, and so she explained, said it was something like a disease and that she reckoned that they had it for life, but really it was more like something that holy people get just by living. This made him grin, despite feeling the ropes pulling his face into a frown. He stared out of the window at the house opposite. It crowded his view. It was too thuggish to be spying.

There was a gentle knock at the door. They both looked at each other. The door opened slightly and Diana asked if she might be able to come in. Carlo didn’t mind, but as he said so Daisy didn’t take her eyes off him.

When Diana entered Daisy told her that Carlo was feeling right a lot better. Diana found it difficult to look at the youth, she wondered whether he could re-collect any of events preceding his prolonged illness. She fussed a little, opened the window, stood by it for a while looking out in silence, hoping that his memory was a blank, for his sake poor love.

It wasn’t her age that clung to her like a musk, it was her husbands secrets. They both sensed this so that when she faced them they gave smiles of compassion. She relaxed a little. Carlo asked her if he could have some water. She went to his bedside table and poured him some. When she handed it to him he could feel the residue of her fingertips still lingering on the glass, an imprint often mistaken, by those who do not understand the material nature of this world, to be that of a phantom. Everything has a memory, that’s why rocks have bones. For a moment he lingered there before handing the glass to Daisy who allowed herself to enter Diana through her wraith residue. She could see that she was ashamed. It is a terrible thing to live life in the shadow of shame, particularly when the shadow is not of your making, because it twists its imprint into the shape of your own. “Sometimes life makes us act in ways that don’t best rightly show off our character,” Daisy said. Diana smiled, as if Daisy could never really understand.

Carlo lay back. Daisy held his hand. Diana’s empathy was dictated by her relationship with her husband, which as it stands, now, was hitting rock bottom. As much as she believed that he had more than dipped his toe in the great lake of moral metamorphosis, it was impossible for her to turn the corner on her taut feelings of abandonment and betrayal. For this reason no amount of charity could sweeten her attitude towards these two adolescence. Joy had been stolen from her, pinched by the very fellow she had given her life too and palmed to this girl.

She looked out of the window. In the garden, next door, she saw her neighbour’s three young children playing happily. They had their lain all their dolls down in a row. They looked so peaceful waiting for life to be breathed into them by play, not knowing whether they would fall foul of infantile treachery or jubilation. From her distance she could not discern whether their owners were discussing plans like proud parents for their prodigy or killers drawing lots over their naked plastic bodies. One wore half a dress and a left over shoe. The children laughed. Last night Elliott had laughed. He had done so with childish abandon. The lightness of it left an indelible impression on her, his recovery from the whole affair advanced - which pulled the carpet from under her own. She lay next to him that night, still sharing the bed, ordered as a half naked pliable manikin. Half naked to prove to him that she had teeth, her pubic hair a wired brush, not quite the way he liked it, but he bravely did his best for her.

She turned to Carlo. Your parents must be worried, she said. He knew this, felt it deeply. Of course they were worried, they cared, he knew that, which is why it was better this way. She assumed that he couldn’t be humane about it. Her cunt was feeling clammy, she sensed that Carlo somehow knew. Actually it was Daisy who could smell it. It took her back to her room as a child on the Hartcliffe estate. It was damp with spores on the ceiling.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.