by Aly Sidgwick
#
The sky is changing. Shades of indigo creeping in to conceal the stars. I lie on my front at the north edge of the field. Listening. Waiting. Not far ahead, I see the lights of the main road. Every so often I unclasp my hands and check my passport’s still there. In the bag, I hear the dull jangle of spare change and thank God I didn’t just leave it under the tree. My nose is fucked up, and my right eye too. Now I’m closer to the street lights, I see red in the corner of my vision. For a while I close both eyes and concentrate on listening. Nearby, a dog is yodelling. Time drags. The dog sounds like a woman. I wish I had my knife.
Sometimes, I hear footsteps. Hard against the ground. Sharp and fast. The first time I hear them, I freeze. Then I remember the deer. Of course, just deer. Like in summer.
Christ. Summer. All those nights, lying out here on my back. Why didn’t I get out then? Before things went this far. Was it because of Magnus? Despite all the pain, I still believed he was the one …
Everything has gone wrong …
I have to go. I have to go now, before the sun comes up.
Come on …
I’m so scared.
Come on!
I climb out of the field and run. A single deer stands in the road. There are no cars. No people. Just us. We flee in the same direction.
Street lights flash over my hands and I see that the wetness is blood. The station. I reach the station. The payphones. Coins. Incredibly, the first number I dial is Magnus’s. Then I remember, and put my hand down to break the connection.
Fuck …
Holding the receiver to my face, I sob. In front of me, someone has scratched their name and number into the wall, and for a second I consider calling them. Then I think of calling the police, but that idea scares me most of all. The phone line hums. I hang up and sink to my knees. What now? Then Tim’s number just drops into my head.
I jam my money into the phone and dial. At first there is no tone, and I panic that I’ve wasted my last coins. Then I remember the UK dialling code. After six tries, I manage to input this correctly. The British dial tone comes on and I almost weep with relief. But that’s where my joy ends. I wait. I listen. But no one picks up. The phone rings and rings and rings. It’s an hour earlier over there. He’s probably still in bed. But I don’t stop calling. I can’t. This is my final lifeline. Each time the phone spits my coins out, I feed them back in. Over and over and over and over.
Click.
‘Hello?’
‘Tim!’
Pause.
‘Kathy, is that you?’
A sob blusters out of me.
‘Tim. Oh Tim. Thank God!’
#
I wander round the airport like a lost dog. My pockets contain only my passport and boarding pass. I hitched a ride here – not just because I’m penniless, but because Hans’s men might have been at the station. Tim bought me my plane ticket. I’ve been at Gardermoen for four hours.
Everyone has coffee. I want coffee too, but the coffee costs a lot of money. I keep walking past the kiosk, just to smell it. Maybe if I stand here long enough someone will buy one for me. I hang around for a while, but people only scowl, so I give up and return to my drifting. When I get hungry I go to the bathroom and drink tap water. I kill a lot of time this way. People stare at my face. It feels strange to have no luggage. I sit opposite the pizza place, watching all the people eating. Stealing crusts when they’ve gone. Sometimes I see men who look like Hans, and when this happens I dive into the toilets. Every man I see could be one of his men, or Kolbeinn’s. I try to stay in plain sight, so that no one can grab me without causing a scene.
Whenever I close my eyes, I find myself back in the field. Waiting for the sound of footsteps, or men’s voices, or sirens. Jumping at every breath of wind. For a moment I’ll drift away and the human voices of the airport descend into those horrible, animal vocals last uttered by Hans. At this point my eyes will shoot open, and I leap up to find myself covered in sweat. My fingers scrabble instinctively for my passport, and then relax. By the time my flight comes around, I have taken to clutching it in both hands.
The aeroplane takes off into a spotless sky. Below me, the landscape is intensely beautiful. Tall, serene trees and the fine black soil. Bare mountains shining with lakes. I cast my eyes down and feel nothing but hatred.
#
Tim’s smiling face is the most amazing thing I have ever seen. We embrace till my arms go numb. Then we walk to his car and get in. We sit there in the car park until I’ve managed to stop crying. Finally I look up and see Tim staring grimly out of the window. It feels strange for the driver’s seat to be on that side.
‘Where are you going to go?’ he asks when he sees me looking at him.
‘I don’t know,’ I answer. My voice sounds weak and faraway. It is strange to hear myself speak.
He flicks the keyring that hangs from the ignition. There’s a crocheted space invader attached to it, with neon beads for eyes. Space invader is Tim’s nickname, because he has this habit of standing too close to people. It freaked the hell out of me when I first met him. But it’s not his fault. He’s just one of those touchy-feely people. Like a big brother. Afterwards, of course, this turned into a joke. Whenever he got too much for me I’d quip, ‘Back off, Tim! I’m sensitive!’
‘Okay, cap’n,’ he’d salute, and that would be the end of it. We were daft like that back then.
‘Natalie’s home,’ says Tim flatly.
These are the worst two worst words he could possibly have said, and I know he knows it. I stare at him, knowing exactly what this announcement means. Tim does not meet my eyes. I struggle to construct a reply.
‘Can I—’
‘What about your family?’ asks Tim.
The restraint in his face breaks my heart. I know he cares, but I also know that no matter how much I regard him as one, he is not my brother. He’s not blood. And this is one mess he’s decided to sidestep …
‘You can stay on the sofa for one night,’ says Tim. ‘Natalie’s working the night shift. She won’t even know you’ve been there. But that’s all I can do.’
‘Thank you,’ I hear my voice say. And that is where I run out. Silence fills the gap where I should explain that I understand. And I do understand, in a way. But it doesn’t make this any easier to swallow. It’s hard not to start hitting Tim. Not to scream and cry and step out into the road. Emotions overwhelm me. I gulp and close my eyes. After an eternity, Tim’s voice returns.
‘You know … things aren’t good with us right now … I can’t just … I mean … There’s the baby to think about.’
‘She moved back in?’ I croak.
‘Yeah. A month ago. It’s due in August.’
I try not to let my face crumple.
‘What about your mother?’ asks Tim.
‘She … um … I can’t … I don’t … She’s …’
My lower lip curls. I fight it, but this nosedive is too strong to pull out of. For a moment my face elongates into a freakish, childish mask. Then I snap and the tears stream out. In the corner of my eye the space invader jiggles. Tim does not touch me or say everything will be okay. I close my eyes, feeling the tears leak out of them. Rain bangs on the windscreen.
When the real world returns, the car is moving. I lie with my eyes closed, swaying with the movements of the car. Tim turns on the radio and a British DJ comes on, talking about a band I haven’t heard of. The car jogs to the left, then to the right. Tim shifts into a higher gear. The vibrations from the car door tickle my forehead. Soon I have entered a weird state of calm. Visions jostle me. I remember taking my passport photo in Boots while Magnus held my hand under the curtain. Everything had been so perfect that day. If I’d done something differently, maybe things still would be perfect. How did this happen? Why did I trust him for so long?
‘I’m taking you north,’ says Tim when he sees me looking. ‘To your family.’
‘What?’ I say, sitting up. ‘Aren’t we
going to your house?’
‘I really think you should talk to them,’ he replies. ‘You’ve been through a lot.’
‘But—’
‘They’re your parents. It’s their job to look after you!’
‘But … I thought I could help you in the shop tomorrow—’
‘Don’t be silly. You need to rest.’
Tim lifts a hand from the wheel and squeezes my arm. With his eyes on the road, he smiles at me. A huge signpost flashes past us, with a big white arrow pointing to ‘The North’. For reasons I cannot fathom, the Englishness of the sign fills me with rage. Tim changes lanes. I put my feet on the dashboard and try to think. How can I explain about my parents?
‘Hey, don’t do that,’ says Tim as we pull up at the lights.
‘What?’
‘Your feet … I don’t want to get the police’s attention.’
‘What police?!’
‘No … There aren’t any right now! Just, you know … in case.’
‘Why would the—’
‘No insurance,’ says Tim. He winks at me. Then the lights turn green and he roars out onto the roundabout.
#
Poor dear Tim.
Everything is going to be all right.
I watch his mouth forming the words, before the sound comes. There is conviction in his eyes. I know he means well.
We’re nearly at Newcastle airport, and I convince him it’s too late in the evening to arrive at my parents’ house. No time of day would be good enough to turn up in such a state, right enough. But I convince him to stay the night on the airport floor with me. Just one night, I plead. Tell Natalie it was an emergency. Tomorrow he can take me there.
A matter of life and death.
I try to laugh. I think it fools him. We park the car and go in.
Hunter-gatherer style, Tim finds an empty spot and we lie down. The floor is freezing. I huddle into his shoulder, and he shelters my head. Through his fingers, I spy people walking past. Each time footsteps draw near, my heartbeat rises. But the faces are never ones I recognise.
Everything is going to be all right.
Tim. You have such a perfect family. You were lucky that way. How could you ever understand the type of father I have? Oh God, the shame of telling my parents I’ve failed. By now I should have a ring on my finger. A perfect house and a perfect husband. To prove the fucker wrong. But look at that. He was right all along.
‘You should call them. At least let them know you’re coming.’
‘Tim, I don’t have any money.’
‘Here.’
Fuck.
‘No, Tim. No. They’ll only worry. It’s late.’
‘Look, I’m taking you there whether you like it or not. I won’t leave you in the middle of nowhere in such a state. You need support. Go call them.’
‘Tim—’
‘Now.’
I love you for that fake anger in your voice. I nod and accept the coins you are pushing into my hand. You look happy. Proud to be helping me. And I don’t want to rob you of that feeling.
I walk away, feeling vulnerable in the near-deserted check-in area. Behind me, some people are sleeping in front of the desks. I check their faces for a long time before letting you out of my sight. Then, with trembling steps, I follow sign-posts to the public telephones. Am I really going to do this? Will I just tell you I did? Or …
There they are. I approach. My hand is sweaty when I take the coins out of it. They clunk into the slot. I dial.
Click.
‘Hello?’ says a voice, and instantly I want to hang up.
‘Hi Dad.’
‘Kathy! Where have y—’
I reel back, stunned by the torrent of words. He does not pause even once. I wait, feeling the words fall over and over me, and more over the top of that. He’s angry. Well, he’s always angry, but now he’s really angry … I pull at my collar. He keeps shouting.
‘… hospital …’
‘… come …’
‘… get on a plane …’
‘… hell have you …’
‘Dad. Wait. Dad.’
‘… to call you all day …’
‘Dad! Stop!’
‘… heard a word I’ve said?’
‘What’s happened?’ I manage. And he starts again. Only angrier.
‘… Your mum’s been knocked down. A hit-and-run …’
‘What? I … When?’
‘This morning.’
‘Is Mum all right?’
‘Get on a plane. Right now.’
‘Is she all right?’
‘Get on the first possible flight. She’s hanging by a thread. She asked for you. She’s waiting for you, Kathy.’
‘I …’
Bastards. Cowards. Just drove off. Foreign number plates. Didn’t stand a chance. A Porsche.
My vision swerves and I drop the phone. Dad’s voice rattles on, all tinny.
Oh God …
‘Kathy?’
It was Hans. Oh my God. It was Hans. Or Kolbeinn. Or one of their people. Hans knew my parents’ address. Hans tried to kill my mother.
Light behind my eyes. Flashing. Blinding. I swoon.
‘Get on a plane. Get to the hospital.’
‘I can’t …’
‘Why the hell not?’
‘I’m … too busy … My work …’
‘Well, Miss La-di-da … Sorry to interrupt your fantastic new life, but your mother is at death’s door—’
‘Dad, I can’t come …’
Kolbeinn might be there. Or Hans.
‘This is serious. If you don’t come, you’re no daughter of mine.’
They’ve killed her, and now he’ll kill me …
31
The darkened room glides with shadows. I watch the crack in the curtains. A slim triangle, swarming with white. Either it’s snowing outside or I’m hallucinating. Rhona’s head is bowed, but I think she is looking at my face. She hasn’t moved or spoken since I noticed her presence. Maybe because she thinks I’m still drugged. That I’m not really here, though my eyes appear open. And that’s certainly been the case lately. I’ve been away with the fairies and no mistake. But today I feel different. Slowly, so as not to arouse detection, I try flexing my toes beneath the sheets. They bend to my will with barely a delay.
‘Hi,’ says Rhona quietly.
Damn. I blur my eyes, hoping to fool her.
‘I know you’re awake,’ she says. Her voice is not angry. I focus my eyes on her. There’s a wide blue burn plaster on her cheek.
‘Why did you come back?’ I croak.
‘You’ve been shouting again. In your sleep.’
I stare. Annoyed. The nightmare is still clear in my mind, and I dread to think which parts Rhona overheard.
‘You said Hans killed your mother,’ she continues, in the same steady tone.
I draw in a breath.
‘And I suppose he tried to kill you too?’
‘What?’ I try. But I know it’s no good.
‘Don’t play the fool,’ says Rhona. ‘I know you remember.’
Her tone is sharp. But in her eyes I see excitement.
‘This is what we’ve been waiting for. We can finally bring this man to justice for—’
‘No.’
‘Don’t you see what a breakthrough this is?’
‘No.’
Rhona sighs heavily. I hide my face in my hands.
‘Look,’ she says. ‘There’s a lot to sort out. If we start the ball rolling now, this whole matter can be—’
‘Yeah. And what then?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re still packing me off to Dundee.’
‘Look … I’ve tried to be honest. I’ve done all I possibly can. But I’m not superwoman. I can’t—’
‘Is that what Joyce told you to say?’ I snap, before I can stop myself.
‘Look at me.’
Behind her head, the crack in the curtains swirls. It blist
ers from left to right, diagonally. It froths in little circles. Then it slows, and the individual flakes become visible. I follow them with my eyes. Trickling softly downwards. Is that snow? What month is this? I must be going mad.
‘Dundee is for the best,’ she says. ‘You’ll have the best doctors—’
‘Let go of me.’
‘You need to talk about him. I know if we just—’
I shake her hands off mine, and she does not try to put them back. There is moisture in her eyes, but I won’t let it weaken me. I’ve been weak for far too long.
‘I refuse to give up on you,’ says Rhona. ‘Sending you to Dundee is my way of doing that. They have better facilities there. They can deal with this far better than us. And Hans will get what’s coming to him.’
I shiver to hear her speak Hans’s name.
‘You don’t understand,’ I say.
‘I’m on your side, Kathy! I’m sending you there for your own g—’
‘Go on then. Fuck off. Get it over with.’
I turn my head down to hide the tears. Rhona gets to her feet.
‘I’ve tried my best for you,’ she says in a very small voice. ‘One day you’ll understand that. You’ll look back and know I did my best.’
As she walks from my side, I force myself to remain silent. The door handle trundles round. A swish of fabric. A gasp. Then the floorboard in the corridor creaks, and she’s gone. When I let myself look, the sight of the empty room crushes me.
#
My head is full of horrors. I count my heart as it patters and rises. Towing me into an unknown future. It’s the only clock I need now, and the only one to which I will surrender.
Mary, are you there? Can you see me?
I can’t see you. But I feel you.
They all left me. Like I knew they would.
The room is cold enough to see my breath. Slowly, I uncurl my legs and test their strength. I feel light-headed, but that’s okay because for the first time in ages my limbs are light too. When I try to move my legs, they move.
It’s just you and me.
The room is stuffed full of plants. Tall, black, they sway in the breeze. Far above my head, unable to help me. I want to reach for them, to hide myself in them, but nothing will work now. I am the one to run from. The hard, black kernel of evil. Night animals romp and bark, and I laugh in the knowledge that Hans is not amongst them. He’s not coming, because he’s dead.
