The Voices Read Free Page A

reassembled. When he examined the panels more closely, he discovered numerous scratches and cracks. The screen – if it was a screen – was obviously beyond repair.
    In a cardboard box he found a collection of 78 rpm shellac records. None of the artists were significant and many of the discs were in fragments. He held one up to the light and read the label: The International Zonophone Company. Death of Nelson, sung by Mr Ernest Pike with orchestral accompaniment, London. The formality of the language amused him. There were some large mirrors – onceagain, broken – some thin wire on a reel and a lampshade. Another cardboard box contained a vintage camera. It was made from mahogany and brass but its bellows were torn. When Christopher turned the camera over some of the parts fell away. He didn’t bother to pick them up. By his feet, Christopher saw what looked like a framed theatre handbill. He crouched to take a look. A web of cracks obscured most of the text, but he was able to make out a few details: Mr Edward Maybury . . . secrets of the ancient world . . . automatons . . . manifestations and vanishings. At the bottom of the bill was some practical information: Every day from 3 till 5 and 8 till 10. Carriages at 5 and 10. Fauteuils, 5 shillings; Stalls, 3 shillings; Balcony, 1 shilling. Turning his attention to a heap of floral curtains, he tugged them aside. The action was excessively violent and he had to wait for the dust to settle before he could identify what he had uncovered. It was a traveller’s trunk made from brown leather and reinforced with metal trim. A tarnished nameplate near the lock had been engraved with the initials ‘E.S.M.’ Edward Maybury? Christopher lifted the lid and found himself looking down at a clock-work monkey, a spinning top, some lead soldiers and a mangy teddy bear, but the trunk was otherwise disappointingly empty. Ellis had been right. There was nothing here of value. It really was ‘old junk’.
    Christopher was about to close the lid, but hesitated. He picked up the clockwork monkey, half expecting it to fall apart like the camera. In spite of its advanced age – Victorian, Christopher supposed – the toy was in relatively good condition. The monkey was dressed in a military uniform and held two cymbals in front of its chest. Christopher turned the key and felt the mechanism engage; the mainspring tightened, and when he let go the key spun around and the monkey crashed the cymbals together with manic enthusiasm. The burst of activity was brief, but curiously engaging, if only for its freakish intensity. Stroking the creature’s nose, Christopher imagined the monkey, shiny and new, on a table in the drawing room downstairs, surrounded by girls in long bulky frocks and boys in sailor suits. He could almost hear their cries of wonder and delight.
    Would Faye find the monkey interesting?
    The idea of continuity appealed to Christopher. It was somehow pleasing to think of Faye having a connection with the children who had lived in the house before. Christopher closed the lid of the trunk and returned to the ladder, clutching the clockwork monkey and mindful of Mr Ellis’s advice with respect to the beams.

May 1975
    Two vans were parked outside the house and men in blue boiler suits were unloading heavy packing cases. They worked in a leisurely fashion, often stopping to smoke or read the Daily Mirror. Consequently, everything was taking much longer than anticipated. Laura had positioned herself by the front door and she was directing each man as he came through the porch. She looked quite commanding, her expression made more severe by an Alice band that exposed her brow. When she wasn’t issuing instructions, she adopted a distinctive posture: hand on hip, lips pursed – almost belligerent.
    Christopher had moved his electrical equipment into the house the previous day. Now he was feeling somewhat redundant. Laura had already decided where everything should go and the final