Page 85 of In Knots

And I realise for the first time that I always have been.

It’s just the cage was so big; I’d never discovered the bars before. But here they are locking me into this world. A world that glitters and shines but is cold and miserable.

I want to get out.

My skin is so tight now, my flesh burning, my gland irritating in my neck.

I scrape my nails along my arms, scratch my neck, and let the rain soak me completely.

I need to get out.

I have to escape.

I tip my head back and look at the fence. It’s tall. The height of a double-decker bus. There is no way I can scale it.

I scream again. And my gaze rushes along the fence line.

There.

There in the distance.

A tree, growing close to the fence line, one great bow, resting above it.

I run. Run as fast as I can.

I don’t know how long I have.

Soon, they’ll bore with what my mother will describe as my ‘little performance” and someone will be sent to fetch me inside, kicking and screaming if necessary.

My disobedience has always been met with my father’s slamming fist. It is his word, his way, or nothing.

At the tree, I reach up, hooking my hands around the lowest branch and pulling myself up into the tree.

It’s a long time since I’ve done this; since anyone let me.

But it comes back to me easily and I scale up the branches as if they were steps lifting me higher into the canopy of the tree. When I’m level with the top of the fence, I look out at that bow.

My gaze floats to the ground and it’s so far away for a minute my stomach lurches and I grip the bark with my fingers.

If I can scale across the bow, I can reach the other side of the fence. But then what? I’ll be far above the ground and the drop is a vast one. I twist my head, looking back through the leaves and the rain at the garden, a mist blurring the house.

The sky cracks again, the undersides of the leaves lit up momentarily by the flash of lightning.

I’m going to do it.

I manoeuvre myself until I’m lying out on my belly on the branch.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down.

Then I wriggle along, clinging to the wood with shaking fingers. The bark scrapes my stomach, and the smell of earth and wood is strong in my nose. I heave myself along by my fingers, further and further across the branch. My arms burn with the effort and my nails snap. But I keep going, further and further, my progress achingly slow.

Then suddenly, I slip. My body spins around the branch as I grapple to hang on. My phone drops from my pocket, and smashes on the grass below.

“Shit!” I mutter, closing my eyes. “Shit!”

My heart hammers and I have to force myself to move, dragging myself back to the top of the branch.

The branch moans and the tree creaks. I halt. My breath is loud in my ears. And I’m wet with the rain and the sweat, my hand slipping again.

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