Page 71 of Knowing You
It is so dark. Not even the moon shines through the treetops. I already miss my warm bed.
‘Don’t be a wuss, Violet. You’re doing the right thing. This way you won’t have to ever see Alice again. And your Uncle Kevin would be so proud. He travelled the whole world. The least you can do is see a bit more of England.’
He’s right. Flint always makes me feel better. He climbs up the rickety steps first, turns around at the top and violently jerks his head for me to follow. I do as I’m told.
Tim is waiting, rubbing his hands together. He clears his throat. ‘Hi guys.’
Why does he sound nervous? And he’s a bit out of breath. I hand him a sandwich and he smiles before wolfing it down.
‘You’re decent to me, Violet,’ he says. ‘And I hope one day you’ll realise that I’ve only ever wanted to be decent to you.’
What does that mean? I shiver – and it’s not from the cold.
Voices appear from the bottom of the stairs.
Voices I don’t know. Adult ones. Strangers’ ones.
My heartbeat sounds really loud in my ears. ‘Who’s that?’ I whisper.
‘Nice people,’ says Tim. ‘Nothing to worry about.’ He bites his nails.
My hands feel clammy in my gloves. I look around but Flint isn’t there. Where has he gone?
What’s happening? Footsteps sound on the wooden ladder. I suddenly need the toilet.
‘Tim? I don’t want to stay here anymore.’ My voice sounds all wobbly.
He smiles. ‘It’s okay, Violet. Everything’s going to be all right.’
For the first time in a while, I think good things about Mum. Her arms around me. Her warmth. Her closeness that smells of cooking and laundry.
Tim reaches out and takes my hand. He squeezes it. A woman’s face appears. She’s got crooked teeth and smells of cigarettes.
She looks scary.
‘May I come in?’ Without waiting, she ducks her head and crawls next to me. She sits down.
I feel as if I’ve done something really, really stupid. I try to run but my legs won’t move.
‘I want to go, I don’t like this treehouse anymore, don’t try to stop me,’ I shout.
Chapter 29
I’m lying in a bed. It feels softer than my own. I open my eyes. A crack in the curtains lends the room enough light for me to distinguish the detail. Books, make-up, joss sticks, posters of Shawn Mendes.
I’m in Irfan’s house. This room must belong to his eldest daughter. Farah went to a Mendes concert with her last year. I glance at the digital clock on the small pine table by my side. It is already ten o’clock.
I stare at the ceiling. It’s coming back to me now. Lenny leaving me in the backyard as I tried to stop crying. Farah appearing. Her arms around me. Her and Irfan bundling me into their car. A cup of tea before bed. Me being grateful for no questions. I look under the covers. Farah lent me one of Irfan’s shirts.
Someone knocks at the door and I sit up. Farah comes in. I shuffle up into a sitting position and another mug of tea finds its way into my hands.
‘How do you feel?’ she says.
‘I’m okay. Sorry about last night. I must have had too much to drink. I’ll go when I’ve finished this and—’
‘No,’ she says firmly. ‘You relax here for as long as you like. If you want anything to eat just let me know. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.’ She turns to go.
I reach out my hand and tug on the bottom hem of her blouse. I recall doing that to Mum when she used to leave my room at night. I’d always beg for just one more story.
