Queen of the Night (17 page)

Nia and I sit on the roof of

my house, facing each other. The spine is narrow, but it’s possible to get almost comfortable by sitting with a leg on either side of the pitched roof.

‘When is your mum due back?’ I ask.

Nia grips tightly with her knees so she has both hands free to type a message on her phone.

‘She missed the train, so late. Later than she expected.’

‘We still have time then.’

‘A little. I’ve arranged to meet her in the city when her train arrives at Central.’

‘You want me to come with you?’

‘To meet my mum?’ Nia puts her phone away, and
gives me a goofy look. ‘I don’t think so. God, no.’

‘It’ll have to happen eventually.’ I wouldn’t mind meeting Nia’s mum. Well, I would, but if she met me, she might be more relaxed about letting Nia spend time with me. It’s a small price to pay.

She smiles. ‘Yeah, sure. Maybe in a hundred years or so.’

Now that the panic over Paul and then Diana has subsided, all that’s left in my mind is the night we spent together in Amelia’s house. I reach out and brush her cheek. ‘You’re good for me,’ I say. ‘The light to my shade.’

‘Then you’re the night to my day. A person needs both, you know.’

She stretches her arms upwards, arches her back, feline. ‘It’s so beautiful up here. What is it about the stars and the wide open sky that makes everything better?’

I look up as well. ‘We don’t seem to be able to avoid high places when we’re together.’

The moon is still in view but I don’t feel as if I’ll ever howl again. I’m not sick or angry or sad anymore. I almost lose hold of the roof when my phone rumbles in my pocket. Nia reaches out to steady me.

Private number.

‘Hello?’

‘Jethro?’

I hesitate, not sure enough to guess. The woman pauses, then realises I’m not going to keep talking.

‘Jethro, it’s Mum.’

‘Oh.’ I feel myself tip again and tighten my hold on the tiles. Nia’s hand on my leg anchors me. Mum sounds brighter than usual.

‘Hi, Mum. Sorry, I didn’t—why are you calling?’

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a call from my parents. I can only hear my mum’s voice, but my dad’s presence hovers just behind her shoulder. He won’t talk to me, but he will be listening.

‘Can’t I call my own son for a chat?’

I don’t reply.

‘Well, the thing is, we heard what’s happening there.’

She could be referring to almost anything. ‘What have you heard?’

‘Honey, we heard the Darkness is lifting.’

I look at Nia, who stares back curiously, wondering who I’m talking to. Behind her is a backdrop of night, patchwork roofs, stars, dead trees, abandoned towers. The sky might be bleeding purple at the horizon, I don’t know.

‘You heard wrong,’ I say. ‘It’s still dark.’