Since You've Been Gone (4 page)

T
he
stench of urine burns my nostrils as I trudge up the stairwell to the third-floor landing of our building. Everything is grey concrete, bleak and indistinguishable, aside from the different colours of the front doors. Mom and I live in flat 14. It has a red door. Depressing doesn't even begin to describe this place.

I'm freezing. The light drizzle has dampened my hair, making strands of it stick to my cheeks like overcooked spaghetti. Already I am sick of rain and the thick curtain of cloud that is perpetually drawn across London's sky. I reach under my sweater and pull out the key to the flat.

It's Mom's first night at her new job. I wish she were waiting inside the apartment for me with cups of hot chocolate for us to share. Though I wouldn't worry her by telling her what happened in the morning with Precious and her gang and then with Ms. Bryans, just her presence would make me feel better.

Once inside, I strip off my sweater and hang it over the radiator. The radiator, once white, is now badly chipped and mottled with rust. Then I turn on all the first-floor lights. Somehow the brightness makes me feel a little less lonely.

Darkness comes so much earlier here than in Canada. This has something to do with latitude and longitude. Mom says London is farther north than Toronto, even though winters are colder in Canada. She's promised she'll take me to Greenwich Park and the observatory so I can stand on the Prime Meridian line and be in two time zones at once. I wish I could tell Rume I'm going to do that. She loves Indian astrology and anything astronomy-related.

After a dinner of leftover chicken, I finish my homework in the living room then curl up on the sofa and watch television. There's not really anything on, but I don't want to go upstairs yet. Pulling a blanket around me, I rest my head against a cushion and try not to think about the fact that I'm going to have to spend more nights like this, all alone. Besides, we're finally safe. There's no way he'll find us here.

I wake up as the room brightens. The thin curtains allow the morning light to stream into the room. It's been so long since I've seen sunshine, that I immediately feel happy. I stretch my arms above my head and sit up. My shoulder and neck ache from sleeping on the lumpy couch. Tonight, I'll have to force myself to sleep in my own bed. Yawning, I make my way to the kitchen for some juice. As I open the fridge door, the digital clock on the microwave catches my eye.

Eight o'clock!

Adrenaline shoots through my body, leaving me cold and shaky. Forty minutes until classes start. I can't be late or else Ms. Bryans will start snooping into my business for sure.

I gulp down a glass of orange juice and run upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. After a quick glance at my reflection in the mirrored door of my wardrobe, I decide to skip taking a shower and just throw my hair back into a ponytail.

If I'm late again, Ms. Bryans will lose it for sure. The last thing I want is for her to call here and bug Mom to come in and discuss things. Mom doesn't need more worries. And she certainly doesn't need to be woken up after working all night. I look at my watch. Eight-fifteen.

Mom said she'd get off at six every morning and be home in plenty of time to see me before school.

So where is she?

I
make it to class just as the morning bell sounds. My tongue is thick in my mouth from running the entire way along the high street and up the hill to school but there isn't a second to spare for a drink.

As I walk through the doorway to class, I feel a sudden, painful jab between my shoulder blades. I whirl around.

“Sorry about that, Texas.”

Precious. She's holding a binder in her hands with one of its corners jutting towards me. She smiles. It's a smile that doesn't reach her eyes and seems full of violent promises.

Before I can even react, an unfamiliar voice interrupts us. Considering the fact that I was about two seconds away from punching Precious in the face, I guess it's a good thing.

“Ladies! Inside immediately and take a seat before I mark you late!”

Gritting my teeth, I walk away from Precious and into the room. In order to save face, I'm going to have to stand up to Precious sooner rather than later. The problem is, though I want nothing more than to feel the skin of her jawbone connecting with my fist, I need to stay out of trouble. Why doesn't she just leave me alone?

I sit down at my desk. The class is practically humming with anticipation. Substitute teachers guarantee a day full of the worst behaviour a class can conjure up. Personally, I'm just relieved to have a break from Ms. Bryans.

“Hey, girl,” Savitri says. “This one's new. She doesn't stand a chance. Even really experienced teachers have walked out of our school.”

The teacher walks up to the front of the room, picks up a piece of chalk and writes her name across the blackboard in large, block letters.

MS. THELWELL

“All right, everyone!” she says, turning back around. “Settle yourselves and quiet down to listen to morning announcements.”

“Did you know you're hot, Miss?” someone near the back shouts out. I turn around. It's the boy who nearly decapitated me with a soccer ball the first day of school. Everyone laughs.

“Leave it to Rodney to play the fool,” Savitri says, rolling her eyes.

Ms. Thelwell doesn't even flinch. Maybe Savitri's wrong about her.

“Fifteen-minute detention for you after class today,” she says.

Rodney sits back down. He looks both angry and confused all at once.

Ms. Thelwell asks two students to hand out our novel study questions. We're reading a book called
Journey to Jo'burg
. I love the book even though it's way below my reading level. It's set during Apartheid in South Africa and revolves around a girl named Naledi who has to go and find her mother in Johannesburg because her baby brother is dying. I'd read a bit of it last night before falling asleep on the sofa. Today I want nothing to do with a book about a girl being separated from her mother.

A white blur flies by my face. It passes so close, I can feel the air in its wake whisper against my cheek. Several moments later the paper projectile collides with its intended target: Ms. Thelwell's head.

For a moment it sits wedged in the teacher's fiery curls. She slowly reaches up to retrieve it. There's writing scribbled down one side of the paper. Ms. Thelwell reads it and reddens before violently crumpling the paper in her hand.

“This,” she says, “is tantamount to sexual harassment and I need to know who wrote it immediately.” She scans the room, meeting the gaze of as many students as possible. No one says a word.

“That's fine,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “It's fine because until the person responsible for this comes forward and demonstrates to me that he or she is not a complete coward, the entire lot of you will serve a thirty-minute detention after classes today.”

There's a massive groan from the class, but Ms. Thelwell still doesn't get the answer she's looking for. No one is willing to be a rat. The bell sounds for second period.

“Go to your next class,” she says. “But I still expect the person who did this to see me before the end of the day. Or else I will be seeing all of you.”

“That Irish cow isn't going to tell me what I can and can't do with my time after school,” Precious snarls to no one in particular as we file out the door. Her face is a mask of fury. “My mum is expecting me home. So, I'd like to see that woman just try to make me stay.”

Her comment makes me think of Mom again. She should've been home before I left for school. I know traffic in London can be really bad and that Mom was taking buses to save money rather than the subway or trains but still … the night shift was supposed to end at 6 a.m. Two hours was more than enough time to get back to our apartment.

“You're really quiet today,” Savitri says, interrupting my thoughts.

“I'm just tired.” I want to tell her about Mom not being home, but know I shouldn't.

“Are you sure that's it?” she asks. I wonder what she thinks is bothering me. She wouldn't believe the truth if I told her.

“Yeah, I hear you. I just really want this day to be over so I can get home to sleep. Rodney better tell that teacher that he threw the stupid airplane or I'll slap him into next week.”

When Ms. Thelwell finally dismisses us, I say goodbye to Savitri and then run out of the school. Both Precious and her friend Shandel didn't even show up for detention. If Ms. Thelwell noticed they weren't there, she certainly didn't show it. I wish I'd just left when the bell rang too.

As soon as I get home, I drop my knapsack in the hallway and rush into the kitchen. Nothing's been touched. My juice glass from the morning is still sitting on the counter exactly where I'd left it, the ghostly remains of a watermark visible around its base. My hairbrush is perched on the edge of the sink. One thing about Mom is that she's a neat freak. She would've washed the glass, put the hairbrush back into the wicker basket upstairs in the bathroom, and then nagged me endlessly about the fact that hairbrushes had no place in kitchens. She'd have told me to tidy as best I could before leaving for school in the morning …

But she hasn't been back.

I rush out of the kitchen into the living room. No sign of Mom having been there, either. Cold fingers of fear close around my heart. It's impossible. Maybe she just came home and slept. She'd be exhausted after working the night shift.

I take the stairs two at a time. My heart is thumping in my chest like a djembe drum.

Mom's bedroom door is closed. Was it closed this morning? I'd been in such a rush I hadn't noticed. Taking a deep breath, I knock just in case she hasn't left for work.

“Mom? I'm back from school.”

No answer. I wait a few moments and then, my heart still hammering away inside my ribcage like a woodpecker, I slowly open the door.

“Mom?”

The bed is empty, its cheery red-and-yellow flowered quilt stretched neatly over the mattress.

I walk into the middle of the room. It's so quiet I can hear the rumble of a bus on the road outside and the soft beating of rain against the windowpane. A wave of dizziness sweeps over me and I realize I've been holding my breath for the last few moments.

She isn't here. There's no note. And nothing's been touched. She hasn't come home all day.

I
sit down on the edge of the bed and try not to panic. Where is Mom? Could she have been offered an extra shift? Had she been asked to stay on and work today and said yes because it meant more money? Deep down I know there's no way. She'd never change her plans like that without informing me first. We always let each other know where we'll be and when we'll be back.

I place the palms of my hands against my face, taking refuge for a moment in their dark softness.

Then it comes to me. Her cellphone! Mom bought one yesterday and left the number on a piece of paper on the bulletin board in the kitchen. Why hadn't I thought of that before?

There's a red phone box at the bottom of the road. Grabbing my jacket and the phone number, I open the front door and step outside onto the concrete walkway.

“Oi! Watch out!” A miniature red bike flies past me, its tires just missing my toes. “Get outta the way, lady!”

Twisting his body away from the handlebars, a small boy of about five glares at me. The skin around his mouth and chin is smudged with remnants of what looks like chocolate. I want to wring his neck.

Instead, I turn and hurry down the steps to the side of the building. The cold drizzle is steady rain now. I zip my jacket as I run across the parking lot between our block of flats and the street. Yellow light spills from the streetlamps, throwing jaundiced shadows across my path. A rush of people, their umbrellas held high, pass me as I make my way to the bottom of the hill.

Once inside the phone box, I listen to the angry drumming of the rain while rummaging around the front pocket of my jeans for some change. The wet denim makes it almost impossible to manoeuvre my fingers. I finally retrieve a pound coin. Tucking the phone's receiver between my shoulder and the side of my face, I take out the piece of paper with Mom's number on it and dial.

As soon as it begins ringing, my body relaxes. In a few moments, Mom will pick up and give me a logical explanation for all of this. Three rings. I begin to drum my fingers against the glass in time to the raindrops outside, noticing how quickly my breath is causing the windows of the booth to fog up with condensation. Five rings …

A sharp rapping sound on the glass right beside my head makes me jump. The receiver drops to the floor where it rattles around like a decapitated snake.

Before I can even pick up the phone, the door flies open and a matted head of grey, woolly hair appears.

“You goin' take all night, Missy?” the man snaps, revealing teeth that look and smell like they've been soaked in urine.

I cover my nose with my hand to keep from retching. He smells like Peaches's litter box would when I forgot to clean it.

“What's the problem? Cat got your pretty tongue?” He leans forward, filling the entire doorway. His eyes slowly crawl up and down the length of my body. Then he raises an eyebrow at me and smirks.

My body freezes in fear. Things happen to girls my age in situations like this. When I was only ten, two girls were abducted in Toronto and killed within a couple of months of each other. One of them was walking from a friend's house in broad daylight. She was only blocks away from her house. Like I am now.

“Are you trying to phone your boyfriend? I've got a nice phone at my flat.” He leans in closer. “I'll even let you use it for free.”

I look the man in the eye, trying not to vomit. His body odour is now so strong I can taste it. I should shout at him to get other people's attention, but my vocal chords are frozen with fear.

Our eyes lock. His are a reptilian green. The left one is milky.

Suddenly his hand shoots out and clamps onto my wrist, his fingers digging into my bones.

I think about Mom. I can't let this man do anything to me; I can't leave Mom on her own.

“Let go!” I yell. Then I scream as loudly as I can.

The man clamps his free hand over my mouth and wrenches my head back. Pain rushes up my neck into the base of my skull.

“Shut up you little …”

Before he can finish, I take a deep breath and sink my teeth into the fleshy skin of his palm as hard as I can. His skin tastes bitter and dirty.

Now it's his turn to scream. He snatches his hand away from my face as though he's just been scalded.

I know I have only seconds to make my escape, so I push him as hard as I can directly in the chest, using both arms and throwing my entire body into the movement. He stumbles aside, leaving a small space in the doorway for me to run out.

The fresh air and rain hits my face, giving me an extra burst of energy. I feel adrenaline surging through me, making every cell in my body feel like it's vibrating. I scream again. Several commuters trudging up the sidewalk on the other side of the street stop and look over. A man and women both wearing suits and carrying briefcases hurry across the street toward me.

“Are you all right? What's happening?”

I point toward the man, who is beating a hasty retreat to the bottom of the hill and around the corner. “He tried to grab me!”

“That old geezer there?” the man asks.

Though I'm still shaking, I can't help but notice how cute he is.

“Dirty pervert,” the woman says, her lips flattening into an angry grimace.

“I'll be right back. Watch my bag, would you, darling?” Without waiting for his girlfriend's reply, he drops his leather case and takes off running after the man.

His girlfriend watches until he's rounded the corner, her eyes narrowing with concern.

“I wish he wouldn't do these sorts of things. This isn't the safest neighbourhood.” She turns back to me. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head. Though I kind of like the idea of a good-looking guy coming to my rescue, it was obvious his girlfriend isn't in love with this situation. I feel uncomfortable and wish I could sneak away.

“Do you live around here?”

“What? No,” I say. The question startles me.

She regards me carefully. “Well, I think Simon and I should get you home and let your mum and dad know what's happened. They'll likely want to ring the police and to put in a report so that man doesn't hurt some other kid.”

I feel a flash of annoyance when she calls me a kid, but ignore it. The big issue is her suggestion to take me home. How am I going to get out of this?

“I live with just my mom. And she's at work until six.”

Let this woman drop it. Please. If the police find out Mom hasn't been home for over twenty-four hours and that I have no clue where she is, I'll be taken to into care for sure.

“Actually, if you have a cellphone, maybe I could call her right now and have her leave work to meet me at home. It's already five. She wouldn't have to leave that much earlier than usual.” I bite my bottom lip, waiting for her response.

“Of course you can borrow my mobile to ring your mum.” She begins rummaging around in her purse. “Are you American?” she asks, handing me the phone.

I shake my head as I flip the phone open. “No, Canadian,” I reply. “Thanks for this.”

I dial Mom's cell number once more. Somewhere deep in the pit of my stomach a small worm of hope unfurls itself as the phone begins to ring again. If something really terrible had happened to Mom, surely her phone wouldn't still be working, would it?

After three rings, I start to talk into the phone. I might be paranoid, but the woman seems to be watching me really closely.

“Hi, Mom. It's me … Susie,” I begin. I'm careful to leave a reasonable length of time between speaking. “Something really bad happened today … no, I'm okay … it's just I think it would be good if you came home as soon as possible so I could talk to you about it … This man tried to grab me … no, no really I'm okay. Seriously! Some really nice people came to help me.” I flash a wide smile at the woman. “Okay, see you soon … love you too.” I press the button to hang up, ending my imaginary conversation.

“She's leaving work right now,” I say, handing the phone back.

Simon comes bounding back at that very moment. The woman's attention immediately switches from me to him. Great timing!

“Are you all right? What happened?” she asks, a little more breathlessly than I think is necessary. It's pretty obvious he's okay.

Simon, still breathing heavily, runs a hand through his blond hair and sighs. “Got away, didn't he? Must've slipped onto a train or the Tube. I saw him go into the station. Fast for an old geezer.”

“Never mind. I'm glad you didn't catch him. You never know what he might do. Anyway, Susie's going to go with her mum to the police and let them know what happened.”

Simon turns to me. “Can we at least walk you home?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I'm only just up the hill. I'll be okay, really.”

“I thought you said you didn't live around here,” the woman says with a frown.

Stupid me. I hold my breath, desperately trying to scramble together an explanation.

“God, Mom would kill me if she thought I was telling people I just met on the street where we lived. You know, stranger danger and all that stuff.”

The woman opens her mouth to speak, but Simon interjects.

“I understand,” he says. “If I had a daughter I wouldn't be able to let her out of my sight the way things are going in this city.”

I nod. “Besides, you've already been so great chasing him away from me and stuff. Thanks so much.”

“Just a minute,” Simon says, opening his satchel. He pulls out a brown leather wallet. “Here's my card in case the police want to speak to us at all. They'll likely want to.”

He hands me a business card. Emblazoned across a red background is a blue and white logo that reads:
chestnut estate agents: where your home is our home
. In the bottom is the name
simon thompson, estate agent
.

“Take care of yourself, Susie,” Simon calls over his shoulder as they cross the street.

“I will,” I say, tucking the card into the front pocket of my jeans. I need to keep Simon's contact information safe. After all, there's no telling who I'll have to turn to for help if Mom doesn't show up soon.