Page 36 of A Flash of Neon
“I’ve got it. Come with me.”
After a few more carrots, we lead Aurora from the barn. Tilly runs home so her parents don’t start to worry, and also to keep them distracted while Neon and I take the unicorn down the path to Carrie’s car. We climb into the back of the bright yellow Beetle with Aurora splayed across our laps like an oversized cat. Carrie does a U-turn on the narrow country road and drives in the opposite direction from our town. Neon asks where she’s taking us, but all she says is that we’re going to a friend’s house.
After ten minutes, Carrie turns off the main road and down a narrow country lane. Beautiful old oak trees line the path, their branches stretching together to create a tunnel leading to a large metal gate. She stops the car and presses a number into a panel on the old stone wall. The gates slide open, and after a moment the biggest house I’ve ever seen comes into sight: three storeys of cream walls, countless windows and at least four turrets, all lit by the soft glow of old-fashioned lamp posts.
“Whoa!” Neon presses his face against the car window. “Who lives here?”
“This is my friend Tamara’s place,” Carrie says casually. “The one who asked me to look after their bonsai collection.”
I’ve always taken Carrie’s stories with a pinch of salt – sometimes an entire spoonful of salt – but it seems the one about the film director friend shooting a movie in Thailand was true. She parks the car, gets out and punches a number into a second keypad by the towering front door. Neon and I help Aurora out and then follow Carrie into an enormous hallway with a domed ceiling. The wooden floor is so shiny that Neon and I instinctively pull off our shoes so we don’t trail dirt through the house.
“What do you think?” Carrie asks, grinning. “Bit comfier than a barn, eh?”
Neon gapes at a row of glittering awards lined up on a table by the door. “We can really stay here? Your friend won’t mind?”
“Not at all. They always say they’re happy for me to use the place.” Carrie pauses. “We should probably keep Aurora away from the bonsai, though. I don’t know if she’d eat them, but best not to find out.”
She takes Aurora to the back garden to sleep in the dog kennel, which turns out to be a cabin-style building that could easily fit me and Neon, let alone one small unicorn. While Carrie gets her settled in, Neon and I go upstairs to pick a guest bedroom for him to use. Each one has a different theme, almost like a hotel. One is nautical, all stripes and anchors and navy blue. Another looks like a jungle, filled with so many plants you can barely see the bed, and one is painted like space, with beautiful glass planets hanging from the ceiling.
The last one has been inspired by the eighties. The walls are bright pink and the carpet is turquoise, and the bedsheets are covered in colourful geometric shapes and squiggly lines. There’s a vintage record player in one corner, fancy electric guitars on a special stand by the window, and signed album covers by artists like Prince and Kate Bush hanging on every wall. When I switch on the lights, a neon sign spelling outGood vibes onlyflickers on above the bed. It’s colourful and musical and perfectly Neon.
“This is it.” He beams and throws his bag on to the bed. “This place was made for me.”
I sit down at the foot of the bed. Neon stretches out beside me, his hands clasped behind his head, and closes his eyes. He lets out a long sigh of relief, sending all the stress of the past couple of days into the air. The light from the sign washes across his face, painting his eyelids and cheekbones in bright pink.
“Oh, man. It’s going to feel so good to sleep in an actual bed. Not that I didn’t appreciate the sofa bed or the sleeping bag,” he adds, grinning.
I don’t answer. He looks so peaceful in the pink light, so pretty. If Caitlin was here, she’d tell me to kiss him now. She’d practicallyforceme to kiss him. My hand edges across the duvet until my fingertips are millimetres from Neon’s. I could hold his hand. I could take this one tiny step forward – but then his eyes open, and the opportunity is gone.
“Should we see if this director’s got any fancy food in the cupboards?” He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m starving.”
“Um, sure.” My cheeks are hot with embarrassment, but Neon doesn’t seem to notice. “Me too.”
Downstairs, we find Carrie putting on her coat. She says she’ll drive me home and pop into her house for some food, clothes and other things she needs, but will come back right away to make Neon dinner and spend the night here. Neon tells her he’ll be fine on his own, but she shakes her head firmly.
“You’re a kid. I don’t want you here alone if those Blank things track you down.” She picks up her car keys from the worktop. “Plus, that way I can drive you to school in the morning and bring you back in the afternoon.”
Neon throws his arms round her and mumbles thank you into her shoulder. Carrie looks taken aback for a moment, but then she smiles and squeezes him tight. I made Neon more independent than I was, gave him more freedom than my mums would ever let me have. But he’s real now, and, like Carrie says, he’s still a kid. He needs someone to look after him too.
The dinner table is oddly quiet that night. Mum makes massaman curry, which is one of our family favourites, but the conversation never really gets going. Everyone seems to be lost in their own world, including me. Once the dishes are done, I fetch my school tablet to do my Geography homework and Mutti and Joel whip out their computers. They sit on either side of me at the kitchen table, frowning at their screens, occasionally typing something and then deleting it. After twenty minutes, Mutti lets out a groan of frustration.
“I don’t know what’s happened to me.” She drops her face into her hands. “I haven’t finished a single paragraph since I came back from London. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to write.”
A guilty feeling niggles at me. It’s not my fault that the Blanks are here, or Neon’s, but our decision to keep him hidden is the reason they’re hanging around. As long as they’re in town, Mutti won’t be able to finish the next draft of her book. Her deadline is the end of November, so she only has a month to go.
“Maybe you need more of a break,” I say, forcing a smile. “You’ve had a lot going on, between the London trip and everything happening with the bookshop.”
“Laurie’s right. You’ll be fine if you let it rest for a couple of days.” Mum rubs Mutti’s shoulder. “How about we all play a game after Laurie’s done with her homework? Something to take your mind off it.”
Joel closes his laptop. “I’m in. I’m not getting anywhere with this essay, either.”
Mum heads to the cupboard upstairs where we keep the board games, and Mutti goes to get the biscuits. They both come back with a few options, and we eventually decide on some fancy caramel shortbread and a numbers game, a simple one that doesn’t require much brainpower. As I count out the plastic tiles for each of us, I realise something: Joel was supposed to go back to St Andrews last Sunday, after Mum and Mutti came home from London. I’ve been so focused on everything going on with Neon, I haven’t thought to ask why he’s still here.
“Youngest starts,” Mutti tells me. As I’m working out the combinations I can make with my selection of numbers, she dunks a biscuit into her tea and takes a bite. “So, are you ready for the open-mic night?”
A jolt of nerves hits me at the mention of our performance. I pick out a row of consecutive numbers and move them to the centre of the table. “I think so. We’ve got a good line-up, and hopefully a few others will join.”
Mum is to my left, so she sets out her numbers next. “What about you, Joel?” she asks. “You fancy signing up?”
