by Aly Sidgwick
‘BBC News, Kathy. Can you tell us why you turned on the people who—’
‘Get her through the other side! Get her through!’
‘Move back!’
‘—say to all the people you’ve let down?’
The bodies around me press closer. I can feel them breathing now, pressed close into me. I stumble.
‘Fucking pigs!’ shouts a man. A hand claws my arm. Fingers pull my clothes. Then, quite suddenly, the jacket over my head becomes taut. Everything jolts to a stop. I feel hands fighting above me.
‘Get back!’ yells a voice. Then the jacket whirls away and I am unveiled to a ceiling of eyes. Collectively, the crowd inhale. Several feet away, a woman in a pale suit holds a microphone, and I realise with shock that I recognise her. She’s the one Joyce was so mad at that day after the thunder-storm. Her microphone has a strip of metal embossed with the words Daily Post. Over her right shoulder, a huge camera lens is pointed at me.
She lunges.
‘Kathy, how do you justify your blasé attitude towards the Lullaby Girl Foundation? Don’t you think your supporters deserve some payback for all the—’
‘So that’s what you are,’ I exclaim.
‘Yes. I spearheaded the campaign which evolved into the Lullaby Girl Foundation. Until your lawyer shut us down, our readers raised over eighteen thousand pounds for your treatment. Aren’t you grateful for—’
‘You broke into our house. You said you were from the church.’
A hush falls. The woman in the suit looks shocked but recovers quickly.
‘We’ve invested so much in you. Don’t you think you owe us for that? Photographs? An interview? Some indication that you appreciate—’
‘I never asked for your help,’ I say. ‘Why did you help?’
‘Because we care.’
I look at the Daily Post woman. At the camera.
‘No. I don’t think you do,’ I say quietly.
The newspaper woman’s mouth opens and anger flashes through her eyes. Around us, I notice the mood shifting. The shouting has turned into whispering, but on the whole people seem taken aback. As though they’ve discovered a talking chihuahua and are figuring out what to do about it.
The policeman beside me has recovered the jacket now and tries to put it back on my head. But I duck away and say, ‘Wait.’
‘So you are ungrateful,’ snaps the woman with the microphone.
‘No. I just need some privacy, like anyone else.’
‘She’s mad,’ says someone. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s saying.’
‘I am not mad.’
‘You’re a public figure! People are interested in you!’
‘Why? What do you want?’
‘We want to know what happened!’
‘Why?’
‘We just do!’
I glance around the crowd. Some faces are kind, some are not, but the thing that unifies them all is the hunger in their eyes. Every single person is dying to hear me speak again. For a moment, I wonder if I do, indeed, belong to them. And regardless of the reasons behind their interest, I find this concept oddly comforting.
‘Well, maybe I’ll tell you one day,’ I say. ‘But not here. Not like this. We’ll do it my way.’
‘Let’s move, people!’ yells a police officer, and to my amazement people clear a path. But there’s a commotion at one side. Behind a row of police, one man is struggling like crazy. I see an elbow. A fist. A flash of blond hair.
‘Katherine!’ shouts a voice.
I freeze. A face slots through a gap and is shoved back through. People stumble. Arms and legs squashed tight, with the police line leaning on them. I’m running back to them now, but my captors intercept me. I slither to the tarmac. Look up. Struggle forwards. Look for the blond man.
‘Tim!’ I yell.
People gasp. A hand stretches through and holds my face. Then a gap opens up, and I see him. Slightly battered but grinning like a maniac. Tears spring into my eyes. His hair’s longer than when I last saw him. And someone appears to have smacked him in the nose recently. But it’s him. Alive and well and right here. Our eyes clamp together. Then more bodies barge between us and strong arms scoop me backwards. My heart is beating hard. But I’m happy. So happy. Stumbling, I am shepherded away.
At the van, Rhona catches up to me. Her face is flushed as they bundle me through the doors.
‘The police won’t let me go with you,’ she says. ‘But don’t be scared. I won’t press charges.’
‘I’m not scared.’
‘Everything’s going to be okay,’ she says.
‘I know.’
The doors close, leaving Rhona on the pavement. She waves as the van rumbles to life, and I’d have waved back if it wasn’t for my handcuffs. Camera bulbs flash through the darkened windows, and amidst this light show her silhouette fades from view. This ought to have been my worst nightmare. But instead I feel quite fine. My heartbeat slackens as the van whisks me smoothly away.
Everything is going to be okay. It is. Because finally I know what to do …
How many months have I carried this fear in my belly? Protecting it from those who sought to extract it. Kidding myself while it fed on me and grew fat. I’ve had enough of that parasite, and the time has come to purge it. Into the open air, into the ears of the police. I’ll tell them about Hans, about Kolbeinn and Magnus. About what they did to me, and what I did in return. God knows, Hans’s house was full of evidence. It might be enough to send Kolbeinn down, if they haven’t weeded him out already. Maybe Magnus too. But not Lina. The news that she got away hit my heart like sunshine, and I refuse to drag her back into this. Maybe that’ll mean prison for me. Maybe Dundee. But I’m ready for those things. Only by letting go will I free myself. Only then can the clock start to tick again.
Through the windows of the van, dark shapes whirr past. There are no flashing lights now, and no shouting voices. Just the rushing of the northern wind. Cold and crisp, laced with the scent of the sea. It’s the last thing the Lullaby Girl will ever smell, before returning to Mary’s side. My pale twin, born of despair. Tonight I hand the baton back, and reclaim my rightful place. My name is Katherine. I came from the waves. And at long last, I am awake.
Copyright
First published 2015
by Black & White Publishing Ltd
29 Ocean Drive, Edinburgh EH6 6JL
www.blackandwhitepublishing.com
This electronic edition published in 2015
ISBN: 978 1 84502 972 2 in EPub format
ISBN: 978 1 84502 950 0 in paperback format
Copyright © Aly Sidgwick 2015
The right of Aly Sidgwick to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Ebook compilation by RefineCatch Ltd, Bungay
