Only one chance?
I poke the inside of my cheek with my tongue. It still hurts. Ma Lexie hit me hard. And I know she’ll do it again.
All’s quiet in the work shed. I glance across. I can’t help Zach and Mikey. I just can’t.
And if I’m going to run away, I know what to take.
Odette approaches the rail, and I walk forward so we face one another. She raises her hand and spreads her fingers wide. I think she’s signalling . . . five minutes.
I return the signal and feel every hair stand on end. I imagine meeting her in the street. I’ll see her smile, close-up.
There’s a sudden buzzing in my ears and it’s deafening. I swallow hard. My legs are heavy, as if my feet are caked in mud. I walk slowly towards my hut even though I haven’t made up my mind. I can decide while I’m packing.
It’s a lesson I learned on the road. When there’s an emergency, the ones who survive best are the ones who think and act immediately, who don’t wait to see what other people do. I’m tipping everything out of my backpack as I focus my thoughts on winter weather, cold nights, wet feet. Before I start to repack it, I change my shorts for trousers, flip-flops for socks and shoes. Into the backpack, I place the two warm tops—Odette might need one—Mother’s sewing kit, a spare pair of shoes. My documents are still safe inside the backpack’s straps.
I step outside, go around the back of the hut and pull out, as quietly as I can, a scuffed green tarp, and I fold it. I place it inside the backpack as an extra waterproof layer—an old habit—to protect my clothes. I add my hat even though it’s smelly, all my socks and a couple more T-shirts. Almost done. I have one thin plastic cape, which I fold and push into a side pocket. I’ve no food, only a pack of toffees. But I have money in the straps of my pack, and I pray that Odette is better prepared.
I sit and hug my pack. My eyes are closed.
I find myself on my feet, my pack over my shoulder, and I’m stepping out of the hut. I close the hut door so it doesn’t creak or bang shut during the night. There’s an empty bottle by the parapet wall. I take it over to the sink and fill it with water, push it in a side pocket.
My ears are still ringing. Five minutes must be up by now, but I can’t see Odette. I haven’t heard her opening the steel door. Maybe she can see me—our roof is more open than theirs. I remove my shoes and tiptoe across to the work shed. There’s no sound coming from the kids, and when I look in, I see their shapes under their blankets.
The question is: Can I unlock the steel door and open it without alerting Ma Lexie? The sound of women laughing and shouting reaches me from somewhere in the neighbourhood. I wait, rest my head against the warm steel. When the women reach our building, still shouting, I turn the key, ease the door open and squeeze through. The women’s laughter echoes up the stairwell, which is open at ground level to the street—there’s no entrance door on any of the enclave housing blocks. I tell myself there’s nothing but fresh air between me and the street.
If Ma Lexie has heard a suspicious noise, she’ll be listening carefully. So I don’t lock the door behind me. Quickly, gripping my shoes, I pass Ma Lexie’s flat. Down, down, and one flight from the entrance, I stop, push my feet back into my shoes and wait.
I could turn around even now.
If Odette isn’t waiting for me, I’ll go back. The door to the roof is still unlocked. Ma Lexie wouldn’t hear anything.
From the street, I hear “Caleb!” I can’t see her, but I rush down the final steps. She appears at the entrance, a face of stone, and with a head jerk, tells me to follow. Not as prim-looking close-up. Her ponytail is skew-whiff, and strands of oily hair have come loose.
Four or five paces behind her, I’m panicking—we look all wrong. Me with my backpack, wearing trousers and shoes on a hot night, and Odette with a small but bulging bag with a long strap cutting into her shoulder. She’s wearing a dress and flip-flops, not exactly escape gear. I’ve got a bad feeling.
There’s an alley up ahead leading off the street. I rush forward, grab Odette’s arm and pull her into the alley, saying, “I’m known down that street—Ma Lexie’s sister lives there.”
“Okay, okay,” she snaps. “But we must go in that direction soon.” She looks at me. “You’re younger than I thought.”
“Where are we going?”
“Head south, find the canal path, head to Wales. You’re my half brother—got it?”
I’m massively relieved. She has a plan and a story. “Got any food?”
“Some. Enough.”
There’s a lump deep in my chest. “Let’s run.”
“No! Look normal.”
“What do we say if—?”
“No one’s going to stop us. It’s Saturday night. Any police will stay close to the market square,” she says.
“How did you get away? I didn’t see your boss.”
But she ignores me. “Walk slowly—like we’re tired, near the end of a long walk.” After a few seconds: “Thanks for the torch.”
“How far is Wales? Where—?”
“Not sure. We’ll walk at night, sleep during the day.”
“But what happens in Wales? Is it any better than here?”
She ignores me again. “Let’s go another two blocks down the alley, then turn south.”
“But, how do you know where the canal is?”
She keeps her head down as she says, “People come to the garden. They chat. One old man worked on the canals, talks about the old days. I know if we walk south we will find a canal.”
“We won’t miss it?”
“Impossible. There are two canals that meet, and the enclave sits in a V between them. See? It’s simple, we keep walking south, across two or three fields.”
Two or three fields doesn’t sound too bad. And now I click—it’s totally sensible to leave in the summer, in dry weather. We’ve had no rain for over three weeks. It’s a clear night, too, so we’ll follow the stars like Mother and I did. Odette turns off the alley. The enclave is built on a grid, and this street will take us away from the market square.
We’ve been walking for at least twenty minutes. We’ve passed a few people, but no one seems to eye us up. I’m beginning to think this is easy when three men exit a building about fifty paces ahead of us, and even at that distance I see their swagger. Odette sees them too. She takes my elbow, pushes me through the entrance to a block of flats and marches me up the first flight of stairs. She whispers, “Wait.” She’s still gripping my elbow, as if I might run off, but when the men have walked by, she releases me and we set off again.
She stops when we reach the last housing block. Before us lies a mess of workshops and shacks, with no streetlights.
“Watch for dogs,” I say. “Pick up a stick if you see one.”
Dropping her bag to the ground, she pulls out a dark sweater, full of holes, and pulls it over her head. She pulls on baggy black trousers, swaps her flip-flops for shoes and tucks her dress inside the trousers.
While she’s doing this, I’m losing my nerve. I’m confused. Why did she ask me to come with her? Am I being stupid? She’s not my friend, not really—not like a friend back home. Also, she’s older than I thought. She might be eighteen.
In my mind, I walk our route in reverse through the enclave. There’s nothing to stop me from changing my mind. I could walk back, climb the stairs, reach my overseer’s hut before Ma Lexie has even gone to bed for the night. She’d have no idea. I could then think more clearly, make a sensible decision about my future. I could even plan another escape, when I’m better prepared. I have the key, after all. I could go anytime. Why go tonight with Odette?
A short heavy man—looks like a weightlifter—walks one slow step after another along the perimeter wall of the nearest workshop. We wait. He passes by and heads into the enclave along the next street. My heart is thumping. Would I feel braver a year from now? Yes, much braver, I’m sure of it, and I could make my escape without any help. But Ma Lexie will surely hit me ma
ny times before then. Or she’ll take away my key—especially when she hears that Odette has escaped. And what if she has an argument with Jaspar? He’d steal me from Ma Lexie to teach her a lesson.
Odette steps out and heads across the open ground. I hesitate and stare at her back as she heads towards darkness. I step out and follow.
We’re jogging, sticking close to the perimeter walls of the workshops. If I felt scared while dodging through the enclave alleys and streets, I feel ten times worse now. Mother and I often walked at night, so I know how dark it can be a few metres from a lit street. We’re lucky there’s a three-quarter moon tonight.
Beyond the rough edge to the enclave, Odette takes the solar torch from her bag. “I already checked it,” she says. “It works.”
“Don’t switch it on. Not this close to the enclave,” I tell her.
“I’m not stupid.”
My fingertips tingle. She’s spitting her words at me because she’s worried. It’s nerves. I’m sure. But it dawns on me that I made a mistake five months ago when I first saw Odette. It’s possible that I’ve confused Odette with Gina, back home, who also had dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. At a distance they looked similar. I think Gina liked me, even though she was much smarter. And I liked her because she wasn’t a show-off. She’d look surprised in class when she gave the right answer. Odette is nothing like Gina.
Leaving the workshops way behind, we cross open ground and reach a deserted road. No headlights in sight. Hardly anyone owns a car in the enclave—not Ma Lexie. I didn’t see a car at the family premises. I guess Jaspar doesn’t have one either.
It all seems a long time ago—Mother and Father taking me on day trips to the coast. They sold our car to my mother’s friend. She came to our flat with the cash, and I went to my bedroom; I couldn’t bear to see Mother hand over the keys.
When Father set out on his long journey, Mother insisted he should take most of the cash from selling the car. But by the time Mother made up her mind that we should leave—the taps had run dry for two months, and bowser water had become expensive—we found we couldn’t sell anything, none of our furniture or electrical stuff, because so many people had already left. I gave all my games to the few friends who were still around.
Mother spent three days making preparations, packing our backpacks, then unpacking and repacking. I remember the moment she locked the door to our flat. She stood there for two whole minutes, her head against the door, before she withdrew the key from the lock. The queues at the bus station went around the ticket hall three times, and the price of the tickets had doubled since Father left. The bus took us close to the border. That’s when we started walking. We couldn’t take a bus or a train across—we’d be sent back at the first checkpoint.
Men in open trucks were offering lifts, but Mother said, “Don’t trust anyone, Caleb. We know where we’re headed as long as we stay on our own two feet.”
Odette and I stand side by side on the potholed tarmac, facing an overgrown hedge.
She says, “We need to get off the road. There’s too much moonlight.”
I nod my head. We set off walking along the road. Odette soon picks up the pace. We must have jogged a kilometre when the road veers, and on the bend there’s a field gate. We climb onto the middle bar and stare ahead, looking roughly south. I wonder if Odette knows how lucky we are—the field is unploughed. It could be grazing land, but I don’t see any cowpats. Without speaking a word, we climb over, and that’s when I point out the North Star.
Halfway across the field, I call to her. “Odette? Wait. I want to know something.” She doesn’t stop or even slow down. I’m four or five paces behind her. “Why did you ask me to run away with you? You could have escaped without me.”
She carries on walking but shouts over her shoulder: “It’s safer with two. And it’s not safe for me, a girl.”
“But what can I—?”
She shouts: “It’s just not safe!” She suddenly stops and twists around. “I thought you were older . . . I’ll be looking after you. That was not the plan.”
Without the stars, we’d be lost. We’d be wandering around within the V-shaped land between the two canals. The fields are odd shapes. It would be easy to think we were sticking to a southerly direction when, in truth, we were heading off in an arc.
We’ve crossed five fields. The second and third were wheat fields, so we walked the perimeters where the farmers have left strips of grassland a few metres wide—overgrown but still an easier path than crossing the furrows. We climb a stile and find ourselves in yet another wheat field. Odette turns and looks up, checks the North Star again and says, “I’m tired, Caleb, but we can’t stop. We must find the canal tonight.”
“Let’s hope we don’t meet a river. The nearest crossing could be miles away.”
Her blank face tells me she doesn’t want to hear this.
We reach the eighth or ninth field, and the land falls away towards the south into woodland. I have a good feeling. I stride out, take the lead and, all the time, I’m saying to myself that our escape will succeed. It has succeeded. Ma Lexie will be fast asleep. She won’t ever see me again, because I’m guessing Ma Lexie and the family can’t tell the police I’ve disappeared. I think they’d be in trouble. Will they even bother to look for me?
There’s a waist-high, barbed-wire fence running along the woods. We throw our bag and backpack across, and I hold the wire down while Odette stretches over. Her trousers snag but she pulls herself free and clambers over, loses her footing and crashes into the ground. She laughs. I laugh with her. She struggles back to her feet and holds down the wire for me.
We wait, our eyes adjusting to the darkness within the woods. I startle as an owl’s hoot cuts through the rustling leaves. A more distant owl hoots in reply. Odette is ready to switch on the torch, but we stand still and listen as the owls hoot to one another across the woodland. I hope Odette is thinking the same as me—that the risks we are taking are worth it, right now, at this very moment. She shines the torch towards the ground, and we step over exposed roots and fallen branches, slowly making our way into the heart of the woods.
I heard a story once, on the road, of a night just like this when five friends walked through a forest looking for a safe route, wanting to avoid the roads as we do tonight. The five friends kept real close, or they thought they kept close, but when they reached the end of the forest only four of them walked out. So I decide to walk one pace behind Odette. Not that I’m panicking. I’ve walked through woods as dark as this before.
She stops and switches off the torch. I step forward to stand side by side with her. She points over to our left. “We’re near the edge,” she says. “I’m sure of it.” She switches the torch on, and we press ahead. And suddenly we’re in semidarkness, the trees thin out, and I catch sight of the moon. As we climb up an embankment, I look up to a star-filled sky. We reach flat ground. In front of us, the still water of a canal.
Which canal, I’ve no idea. Odette puts her arm around me, squeezes my shoulder. I think she’ll be kinder now that she’s less worried. “We should rest a while, Caleb, eat a bit of food, then walk along the canal path until first light.”
As if we both hold the same fear, that the stars and moon will betray us, we step carefully down the embankment. I sit on my backpack while Odette digs around inside her bag for food. She hands me the torch. “Shine it in here.” She pulls out two oranges and a bar of chocolate, and she sits down. I shine the torchlight on her hands as she places the oranges on the ground. She breaks the chocolate bar in half and hands me my share. I see, in bright detail, the thumbnail of her right hand, the half-moon of her nail and the thin lines that run from the half-moon to the thumbnail tip.
I see something else.
I take the chocolate, then track her hand with the torchlight. She passes me an orange. It sits in her palm. And I delay a moment in taking it. I squint, looking hard at her fingernails.
“Switch it off,” she says. �
��We don’t need the light.”
I’ve seen enough to kill my appetite. A thin line of blood under each nail. I’ve seen my own fingernails in that state after I’ve stitched a bad wound. I flick the torchlight up towards her neck, see a smear of blood under her right ear.
“Switch it off, will you?” She punches my shoulder.
I don’t dare to peel the orange. My hands are shaking too much. I place the orange in my trouser pocket, telling Odette I’ll eat it during the walk. I eat the chocolate, but I don’t taste a thing.
She asks, “What time will your boss know you’re gone?”
“Six thirty.” On Sundays, I tell her, Ma Lexie gets up early for market, but not as early as she does on Saturday.
Odette says that we must walk at least ten miles before daylight. Tomorrow night we must walk at least twenty. That way, we should reach Wales and the border country in two or three nights. She must be guessing. She admitted earlier she didn’t know the distance. But why quiz her? It’s pointless. When we get there, she says, there’ll be plenty of work on the farms and orchards, picking fruit, picking grapes. “We can enjoy the open air and spend all day chatting with the other pickers. I’m fed up with no one to talk to.” She picks up the torch and shines it straight into my face. “Why so quiet, Caleb?” She frowns at me. “You can’t go back. You know that, don’t you?”
I lift my hand to shield my eyes. I know the truth now. She’s not my friend. I don’t think she ever was. “I don’t want to go back. I want to go to Wales.”
Now that I’m walking along the canal path about twenty paces behind Odette, I replay everything that happened on her roof this evening. Her boss, the old woman, came to the roof with the plate of food. She disappeared from view, and I didn’t see her reappear. Next . . . Odette ran across the roof, and that was when she threw the bottle with the message. Then, Odette came to the edge of her roof and signalled to me: five minutes.
I’m in trouble if I stay with Odette. I’m guessing . . . in a few hours, she’ll be wanted for murder. And Odette, I suspect, needs me for cover. The police will be looking for a girl on her own. Not a girl and a boy. They won’t be looking for a boy at all. Because Ma Lexie will keep her mouth shut about me.
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