by Carys Jones
By the end of “Summer Nights” and its impossibly high note, almost everyone was on the dance floor. The space around Tilly quickly started to reek of alcohol but she didn’t care, she was having too much fun. She was finally out on a Saturday night. When Monday rolled around she’d actually have something to say to Kate and her friends when they sarcastically asked about her weekend.
‘Actually, I went to a party,’ Tilly could imagine herself saying. ‘And I danced all night and it was amazing.’
Her gathered aunts, uncles, and cousins were singing along, drunkenly embracing one another and swaying side to side. Even Tilly’s parents had been gathered up in the mix. Everyone had come together, everyone was having fun. Tilly considered that if getting married meant you got to have anniversary parties like this then it was definitely worth doing.
Tilly felt unsettled in the stillness of her bedroom. She was back in her tower but she could feel the burn of the disco lights in her eyes, the roar of music in her ears. She wished she was on the dance floor, spinning around with her sisters. Her princess dress was now tucked away in a drawer. Her nightdress was softer but she missed the brilliant sparkle of the dress’ fabric.
With a sigh, Tilly rolled onto her back and gazed at the stars on her ceiling. They glowed dimly, arranged in the constellations that shone over Tilly’s kingdom. She felt happy that peace had been restored through the land. The grand ball at the castle had ensured the happiness of her townspeople but still Tilly couldn’t sleep. Her heart beat anxiously in her chest, urging her to get up.
After staring at the stars for twenty minutes, Tilly pushed off her duvet cover with a groan and sat up, her head almost grazing the ceiling. Soon she would be too tall to sleep on the top bunk. Most of the darkness in her room was absorbed by the streetlight beyond her window which glowed through her curtains. She liked to think of it as her own personal night light.
Distantly, Tilly heard a muffled sound. It was so soft she almost missed it. But when it came again her senses sharpened with certainty. Tilly eased herself down from her tower quietly and landed softly on her carpeted floor. On her tip toes she crept to her door and placed her ear against it. The sound was slightly louder now. It sounded like someone struggling to catch their breath. As Tilly held her own she pushed on her door handle and moved into the landing. Her eyes had to adjust to the increased darkness but the glow beneath the bathroom door provided a guiding light.
Taking careful, deliberate steps, Tilly approached the bathroom door. The sound was much clearer. It wasn’t someone struggling to breathe – it was someone sobbing. For a moment, Tilly was stunned, frozen with indecision. She’d never heard someone cry like this at home before. It was late. Everyone else was tucked up in bed, lost to their dreams. Only Tilly and the person in the bathroom were awake. Their pained sobbing troubled Tilly immensely. She didn’t know if she could help them, she just knew she had to try.
Without knocking, Tilly opened the bathroom door. Bright light bled out into the space, causing her to squint and raise a hand against her eyes. As the sudden glare receded, Tilly saw her father stooped over the bathroom sink, both hands gripping its ceramic edges for support. His shoulders were shaking as he turned to look at her with raw eyes. His cheeks were slick with tears and he was still wearing his smart trousers, shirt, and tie from the party.
‘Dad, are you OK?’ Tilly took a tentative step forward.
‘Tilly, get to bed.’ He barked the words as he turned away.
‘Dad, you’re crying.’ She was just a few inches away from him now. His clothes carried the scent of stale cigarettes and alcohol. Was he sick? Tilly remembered a few months ago when her father had gone out drinking with friends and come back late. She’d woken up to the sound of him vomiting but when she’d gone to investigate further, Mum was already up and guarding the bathroom door.
‘Your father has a stomach bug,’ she’d told Tilly, her face as white as a sheet. ‘Go on back to bed, sweetheart.’
Only he didn’t have a stomach bug. She’d heard her sisters talking the next morning about how hungover their father was.
‘If we came in and pulled a stunt like that he’d kill us,’ Monica declared, her words dripping with venom.
‘It’s always the same,’ Maria agreed fervently, ‘one rule for him and another for the rest of us.’
But Tilly’s father wasn’t being sick now. He was crying. It was different.
‘Didn’t you enjoy the party?’ Tilly wondered meekly.
‘Fuck.’ Clive gasped out the word and remained facing the wall. Tilly tensed on hearing the expletive. Such a word was forbidden inside the house. If her father had heard one of his children use it he’d have cut out their tongue.
‘Dad, what’s wrong?’
‘Everything!’ her father roared, finally looking at her. His eyes were wide and unfamiliar. ‘Everything’s wrong, Matilda! How can you not get that? This whole world is completely fucked up!’
Tilly was staggering backwards. What had she done to make him so mad at her?
‘You’re … you’re in this ridiculous cocoon of imaginary stories while the rest of us are struggling to just … cope!’
Tilly stared fearfully at her father’s contorted face, his lips curled up with contempt. Who was this man? It wasn’t her dad. This man was some sort of beast.
‘Daddy.’ Tilly coughed as hot tears began to burn their way down her cheeks. She shook underneath the flimsy fabric of her nightdress. She’d only come to check he was OK. Why was he this angry?
‘Daddy.’ Clive grimaced as he echoed the word. ‘Daddy!’ His voice was so loud now that his words crashed against Tilly with the force of a brick wall. ‘You need to grow up, Matilda! You’re twelve years old, for God’s sake! Maybe if you weren’t such a baby things would be easier around here!’
So he was crying because of her? Tilly couldn’t stop shaking. It made no sense. Her dad loved her, didn’t he? She glanced fearfully in the direction of her parent’s bedroom door, where her mother was sleeping. Why wasn’t she waking up? Why wasn’t she hurrying to Tilly’s defence?
‘Don’t even think about waking her up!’ Clive raged. ‘She already uses up enough energy looking out for you!’
Tilly was sobbing, her chest involuntarily heaving. If only she’d just stayed in her bedroom she wouldn’t have had to hear these ugly words.
‘Just go to bed!’ Clive boomed before turning away again. Tilly didn’t wait for him to tell her twice. Her little legs carried her across the landing, back to the safety of her bedroom as fast as they could. With her chest still heaving, Tilly slammed her door shut and breathlessly leaned against it. She raised a hand and wiped away some of her tears.
She was being chased by a fire-breathing dragon. She had to escape, and fast. Gathering up her long skirt, Tilly ran towards her stone tower. The structure stretched up high towards the shimmering stars. Tilly reached forward to get a foothold and stopped. She could distantly hear the dragon snarling. What if it came after her and cornered her atop her tower? All it would take was one fiery breath to destroy Tilly.
No, the tower was no longer safe. Pausing, she tried to think fast. She was out in the open and vulnerable but where could she go? Every second she wasted allowed the dragon to gain on her. And she refused to be dinner for the beast.
‘Think, think,’ Tilly urged herself as she stood in the darkness, her hands tightly clenched at her side.
She remembered hearing of a place where all lost children were welcome; a place where adults didn’t rule, a place where you could be free. Fuelled with determination, Tilly sprinted to her window and threw open the curtains. The stars in the night sky were almost drowned out completely by the burning orb of the street lamp. But they were still there, like faint dots on a map. She knew where she had to go, what she had to do. Stretching up, she opened her window. Cool air breezed in and tickled Tilly’s bare legs. She searched for one particularly star, but thanks to the street lamp it was obscured from v
iew. But it didn’t matter. Tilly would find it soon enough.
Out on the landing a door slammed so loudly that it sounded like a gun shot. Tilly tensed and moved towards her bunk bed, lowering herself into the tight space between it and the carpet. Disturbed dust exploded in her face as Tilly wiggled her way towards the wall. Her hands moved over loose change and lost toys but in the darkness, Tilly couldn’t examine what she was feeling.
Pressed tightly against the ground, Tilly waited, expecting a beam of light to fall across the floor as her bedroom door was opened. She wasn’t really sure why she felt compelled to hide. She just knew that her father had to be avoided. His words had been seared into her mind and made each breath feel pained. Did he truly resent Tilly for not growing up quickly enough?
She was crying again, her tears soaking into the dusty carpet. She waited for what felt like an eternity but her door didn’t open. She heard another distant slam, less forceful this time. Her father must have gone to bed. He hadn’t bothered to apologise for his harsh words.
Slowly, Tilly scrambled out from under her bed and knocked off the dust that had collected on her nightdress. With only the light from the street lamp to guide her, she went to her chest of drawers and retrieved the princess dress she’d only put away a few hours earlier. She managed to smile despite the sorrow in her heart.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t grow up,’ Tilly whispered to the unfeeling night. She stepped out of her nightdress and pulled on her princess dress as well as some thick tights and fresh pants. Then, still shivering from the sharp air filtering in through her open window, she rummaged around for her fur-hooded coat and pink Wellington boots.
Tilly grabbed her pink school backpack and began filling it with essential items; two stuffed toys, one of her pillows, and several DVDs. Her father had made it perfectly clear that she didn’t belong at home anymore.
As she scrambled towards her window, Tilly sent a regretful look to her bedroom door. If only she could say goodbye to her mother. But she slept with the dragon by her side and Tilly couldn’t risk awakening the beast.
Tilly positioned herself so that she was sat on her window ledge, her legs kicking against the outer wall. The street was eerily quiet, nearby houses in complete darkness. It felt like the entire world was sleeping except for Tilly. From her window it was just a short drop to the flat extended roof of the kitchen below.
A cool breeze pressed against Tilly, almost urging her to go back inside but she ignored it. She checked that her backpack was securely in place and, taking a deep breath, she dropped down.
Second Star to the Right and Straight on until Morning
Tilly landed against the roof with a dense thud. Luckily, no one was in the kitchen below else they’d have surely heard her. With as much stealth as she could muster, she scrambled to her feet and carefully plotted her way to the edge of the roof. Moss covered most of the roof like a deep green carpet. Tilly reached the end and peered at the cracked tarmac of the small driveway. She was still at least six feet from the ground without anything soft she could land on.
Looking back up at her open window, she could faintly make out the lines of her curtains trembling in the breeze.
‘Come on,’ Tilly urged herself, her words fogging in a light mist. She lowered herself against the roof, facing the house. Reaching for the drain pipe she secured her hands amongst the damp leaves gathered within it. Tilly tensed as she felt something scurry across her fingers but she managed not to scream. She was wedged at the end of the roof like a swimmer poised before a race at the edge of the pool. But she wasn’t about to push off with her legs – instead, she released them so she was hanging by her fingertips. Her booted feet knocked against the glass of the kitchen window. Now all she had to do was let go.
Tilly closed her eyes and imagined that she was dropping onto a cloud. Her fingers released the drain pipe and a second later, her face connected with the rough driveway. Tilly gasped as the fall knocked the air out of her lungs. The ground felt hard and indifferent beneath her. As she shakily climbed to her feet, Tilly felt a deep ache in her leg and the flame of a fresh cut on her cheek. When she examined her face her fingertips came away stained with blood.
More than anything Tilly wanted to run to the glass-fronted door and hammer on it until someone let her in. She could go back to the warmth of her bed, have her wounds bathed and plastered. But what would her father think? If he found her crying on the doorstep like a baby it’d only further fuel his anger. No, Tilly couldn’t go back.
Sucking in her tears, Tilly adjusted her backpack and began to walk down the driveway.
The street her family lived on was eerily still. Houses were shrouded in darkness, their curtains drawn tightly closed. Cars were idle in driveways and only the wind whispered as it blew past Tilly, tangling itself up in her already dishevelled hair.
Lowering her head against the wind, Tilly walked. Forcing one foot in front of the other she moved without daring to look back.
A cat almost as black as night darted out in front of her, pausing briefly to stare, its wide eyes reflecting the yellow from the street light. Tilly knew the cat. He was called Thomas and he lived two doors down with Mrs Bradshaw. Thomas’ yowls regularly interrupted the stillness of the night as he fiercely fought to defend his territory.
‘That damn cat has been in our garden again,’ Tilly’s father would sigh. ‘He always comes round here, leaving mess everywhere.’
‘Leave him be, Clive,’ Tilly’s mother would urge.
‘You’re not the one trying to weed, and digging up what he’s already buried!’ Tilly’s father raged.
‘Mum, can we get a cat?’ Tilly asked. She liked how on hot days Thomas would stretch out on their small lawn, exposing his belly to the rays of the sun. And when Tilly tickled his belly he purred so loudly he sounded like her father’s lawnmower.
‘No.’
‘Yes.’
Both her parents had answered at the same time.
‘No,’ her father was the first to repeat. ‘Cats make too much mess.’
‘I’d like a cat,’ Tilly’s mother said with a smile.
‘How do you think he’d take to them?’ Clive nodded at the garden. ‘This whole street is Thomas’ territory. You think he’d welcome a new cat? You’ve heard the way he fights. The little sod has even hissed at me once or twice.’
Thomas had never hissed at Tilly. She liked to think they shared some sort of secret bond, that Thomas was only nice towards her because he knew she was actually a princess and he was an enchanted cat who would one day return to his human form.
Thomas mewed at Tilly. The sound was plaintive yet affectionate.
‘Hey, Thomas.’ Tilly bent down and reached for his soft fur. She stroked his chin as he enthusiastically leaned against her.
‘You’re such a good boy,’ Tilly told him affectionately. ‘I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing out so late.’
Thomas didn’t seem troubled by her presence. He seemed more interested in the fuss he was receiving.
‘OK, OK, I’ve got to go now.’ Tilly straightened and Thomas gazed up at her before releasing a single pleading mew.
‘I can’t stay,’ Tilly explained with a shake of her head. ‘My dad is too angry at me.’
Tilly continued walking down the street. She was almost at the point where the road forked and she’d be forced to choose which way to go. Thomas stalked her every step, trotting beside her in the shadows. It comforted Tilly to know he was there.
At the end of the road, Tilly paused and glanced in both directions. She had no idea where she was going. Like a lost soul at sea she’d been hoping that the stars would guide her but they remained obscured by the glare of the street lights.
‘Which way?’ Tilly wondered aloud. If she went left she would be pulled deeper into a housing estate filled with countless homes like her own. It was a warren of driveways and dead ends. If she went right she would pass by the park and beyond that, her school.
/> Tilly began moving before her mind had registered that she’d made a decision. She went right. Thomas loitered at the fork in the road, his head tilted in her direction inquisitively. Pausing, Tilly glanced back at him.
‘Are you coming?’ she asked.
Thomas remained regally sat on his back legs, his tail curled around him.
‘Suit yourself.’ Tilly turned away and continued trudging down the road. She saw the distant glow of headlights like bright eyes in the darkness. For a moment, she panicked. What if the driver pulled up and asked why she was out so late? What excuse could she give?
‘I’m out for an evening stroll,’ she could tell them sarcastically. As if they’d believe that. They’d probably report her to the police, which would result in a shameful homecoming. Her father would well and truly hate her then, and she could only imagine how mortified her mother would be if a patrol car pulled up outside and hauled Tilly out of the back.
But what if the driver wasn’t that concerned about her safety? What if they were the sort of person who lingered too close to playgrounds and harboured dark intentions? It was only a few years ago that Dullerton’s residents had been shaken when a little girl was abducted. She was only five. After ten days she was found in the woods on the outskirts of town.
Tilly only vaguely remembered the story. Her parents had watched the news with pale faces each night and demanded that none of the girls linger on their way home from school. Olivia White was the little girl’s name. People lit candles in their windows and at school in assembly the students were encouraged to pray for her. But when they found her it was too late.
The wind grew sharper and Tilly shivered, tightening her coat around her.
‘They never found them, you know,’ Monica had told Tilly last Halloween.
‘Found who?’ Tilly asked, her frown barely visible underneath a layer of face paint. Tilly was going out dressed as a ghost, which meant that her face was painted white and she would be hidden beneath an old sheet with two eye holes cut out.
