Taken Away (8 page)

‘
HEY, SWEETHEART
. '

I leapt, my scream nothing more than a soundless rush of air, and Ma drew back in surprise. ‘Did I give you a fright?' she whispered. ‘Sorry, love.' She brushed my hair off my face. ‘You know you were asleep with your eyes open? You looked a bit creepy, staring at the ladder like that. Were you dreaming?'

I blinked at her, frozen and disoriented, the blankets bunched at my chin. The storm still gushed and buffeted outside the house. Downstairs, the telly burbled cheerfully and Dad and Dee chattered away to each other.

Ma smiled at me. ‘The Eurovision's just about to start. D'you want to come on down and watch it?'

I nodded dumbly, not trusting my voice. Ma handed me my dressing-gown and stood to wake Dom. He jolted awake, the bed squealing as he jerked into a sitting position.

‘Who's there?' he cried.

Ma laughed. ‘You're as jumpy as cats, you two! Come on! I kept your dinner, and there's apple tart and custard for after.'

At the mention of food my stomach contracted and I was overwhelmed by a dizzying cramp of hunger. I heard Dom above me, escaping his blankets in a flurry of urgency. The bed lurched as he leapt from the ladder. ‘I'm
starved
,' he said.

Ma said, ‘Hey,
watch
it!' as he pushed past her out the door and onto the stairs. They entered the kitchen together, their voices under me now, coming up muffled through the floorboards.

I sat hunched on the edge of the bed, listening as my family moved about downstairs without me. I was shaky and sweating, folded over the emptiness in my belly, too dizzy to move. The hunger in me was as sharp as a pain. My hands were trembling with it, and my head ached so badly that I had to squint in the weak light. I wasn't sure that I could get my feet under me. The door looked miles away, across acres of bare wooden floor.

Then, above my head, Dom's bed creaked slyly.

I was up and moving in a flash, staggering out the door on legs so wobbly that I thought I'd fall head over heels all the way to the bottom of the dark steps. Somehow I managed the stairs, clinging to the wall, my knees buckling with every step. I was making frantic sounds in the back of my throat, because I could feel that little child behind me, his black eyes hating me, his little hands ready to push.

I stumbled into the kitchen in a sweat of fear, looking over my shoulder and almost crying with relief. I turned to Dom. He was sitting at the table, grinning. Ma laid our dinners down, and the sight of them blew everything else from my mind. I rushed over and grabbed a spud, cramming it into my mouth before my arse even hit the chair. I groaned at the lovely gravy, the delicious, salty potatoes, the frothy, ice-cold milk. I couldn't get them into me fast enough.

Across the table Dom was shovelling food into himself, his whole attention focused on cramming down the spuds and chops and forkfuls of buttery turnip. Swallowing without chewing, he paused only to drain almost an entire huge glass of milk, then went on eating.

I lowered my shaking fork, staring at him.

He was delighted with himself: happily, blissfully, ignorantly stuffing his face while I looked on, barely capable of holding it together. It hit me at once that Dom didn't remember! He had
no
idea
what had just happened, no memory of the little creature that had been sitting on his bed.

Had I dreamt it all? Was that possible?

Finally, Dom seemed to have filled himself; he took one last draining swallow of milk and sat back. Then he grinned at me, patted his belly and belched, loud and long.

‘Nice one!' Dad called from the sitting room. ‘Neuf points!'

Dom grinned even wider and stretched like a satisfied cat.

‘It's starting! It's starting!' called Ma as the music for the Eurovision swelled up from the telly.

Dom rose heavily from the table and winced, doubling over.

‘Je
sus
!' he laughed. ‘How much did I just
eat
?'

The food in my belly heaved. The door to the stairs, a gaping hole behind me, breathed ice down my spine. This morning, neither of us had been able to remember a thing about our bad dreams. Just like now, we had stumbled downstairs crazed with hunger and stuffed ourselves fit to burst, with nothing but the vaguest recollection of the night before. Even now, I had no clear idea of what last night's dream had been about – only that it had woken me, left me staring and terrified in the dark, the taste of mud on my tongue, the image of soldiers in my head. Well, here we were again, demented with hunger and, as far as Dom was concerned, with no memory of what had happened upstairs. But one thing was different.

I
remembered. I remembered
everything
.

Because this time I'd been awake. I'd been awake the whole time.

Dom was grinning back at me from the sitting-room doorway. ‘Pat,' he said. ‘You coming?' His grin faltered a little and he stepped back into the kitchen. ‘Pat? You're white as a sheet. Are you alright?'

‘Pat?' Ma called from the sofa. ‘What's wrong?' I could hear her beginning to get up.

I shook my head at Dom, my eyes wide, and held my finger to my lips. The last thing I wanted was to try and explain this to Ma and Dad. What would I say to them?

There was a monster, Ma. A goblin-boy. He scared me.

Dom frowned, spread his hands, questioning:
What?

I called in to Ma, ‘I'm grand. There's nothing wrong with me. Just got a bit of wind is all.'

‘Well, rip a fart then,' laughed Dad.

‘
Dave!
' There was the sound of Ma thwacking Dad with her book, then general shuffling and giggles as she arranged herself on the sofa again and Dee climbed back onto her lap.

‘Come on, lads, first song's coming on soon.'

I stood up from the table. The floor did a massive ninety-degree tilt under my feet and I staggered. Dom crossed the room in a stride and caught me.

‘Bloody hell, Pat,' he whispered. ‘What's the matter with you?'

I took three deep, controlling breaths in and out of my nose and held onto him while I got my legs under me. Then I nodded and he let me go. I didn't fall over. That was good.

I think I faded him out for a minute, ignoring my surroundings as I tested my equilibrium, because he surprised me by taking my arm again. ‘Pat!' he whispered. ‘
Talk to me!
'

Oh Jesus! ‘Talk to me!' Typical Dom! What the hell was I meant to say?
Well, Dom, I'm a bit freaked out because a little white goblin-boy was sitting on your bed talking to you. Oh and hey, you don't remember this, but you were more than willing to listen! In fact, you sent it down to take a peep at me! Would you like me to tell you that, now? And while I'm at it, will I tell you how he looked at me while he was getting ready to climb headfirst down the ladder? Will I let you in on a secret? He looked like he wanted to
eat
me, Dom. He looked just like he wanted to
eat
me, and you don't remember this because you were asleep, but I was awake. How's that? Good? Okay, now let's go on in and watch the Eurovision, and we'll finish this conversation when we've gone to bed. Where, by the way, I think that little goblin-boy may be living. How's that, Dom? Glad we had this chat now? Glad we talked things through?

Dom stepped away from me, a strange expression on his face. ‘What's wrong with you?' he whispered. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?'

The tone of his voice and the hurt look on his face stopped me cold. I realised that I was glaring at him, my hands balled into fists, my shoulders hunched like a boxer. I straightened. I shook my head.

‘I'm scared,' I said.

This totally threw him. I could see him doing a double-take and running things backwards in his head to see what he'd missed.

‘I'm bloody terrified,' I said. ‘I don't know how I'm standing here talking to you, actually having words come out of my mouth, without crying or screaming or something. But I
can't
talk about it now – you've got to promise you won't try and make me, Dom! You've got to promise that we can just go in and watch the Eurovision and pretend that everything is alright. Because I just don't want to have to—'

Suddenly, I grabbed onto his two shoulders like a drowning man clutching a lifebuoy. It was a gesture that surprised even me, and Dom staggered back a little bit in shock. But he managed to keep his feet under him, and he kept his eyes locked on mine.

‘Promise me, Dom!' I whispered. ‘Promise me you'll just go in there with me and pretend everything is alright?
Promise
me. Because if I try to talk . . . '

I'll lose it!
I thought.
I'll lose it and I'll start to cry, and if I start to cry I won't stop!
And it wasn't just that I didn't want to look like a big Jessie. It was Nan. It was the house. It was my books. All the things I'd lost. It would all just pour out of me. It would
pour out of me
, and I'd be broken. I'd cry so hard I'd be
broken
.

I began to lose it. My nose started to run, and my eyes started to water. I was on the verge of breaking down. Oh God, I didn't want that to happen.
Dom
, I thought,
don't let this happen!

Dom grabbed the top of my arms and shook me once – hard.

‘
Hey!
' he said. ‘Get it together.'

That settled something inside me, like a big stone dropping down and blocking something off. I took a huge, sharp breath and held it. Dom kept his eyes locked with mine – fierce, absolute, determined – and held onto me while I found the control I so badly needed. Then I nodded and pulled away.

Breathing deep, one hand resting on Dom's chest, I scrubbed my face with the sleeve of my pyjamas. Dom awkwardly patted my arm. We stood quietly for a minute while I got my breathing under control.

‘How do I look?' I whispered.

Dom grimaced. Yeah. I could imagine.

I snorted back my tears and scrubbed at my face again.

‘Stop that – you're making it worse.' Dom looked over his shoulder, but there was nothing suspicious from the other room. They hadn't heard us. ‘Let's just go in,' he said. ‘They have the lights off. You'll look fine with only the fire to see by.'

Alright then.
He held onto me all the way up to the door, then let go as we entered the room. We sauntered in together as though nothing was wrong and took seats at opposite ends of the sofa.

I can't remember much about the Eurovision that year. I could tell that Ma thought it was strange I wasn't more into it. The Eurovision was
our
thing, hers and mine. Usually Dom would sit in the background, reading a book or listening to his transistor or something; that kind of music just wasn't his scene. Dad and Dee usually fell asleep after the first three songs. (No exception that year. I distinctly remember Dad snoring through most of the northern European entries.) But Ma and I, we'd have an all-night running conversation on the costumes, the crappy lyrics, whether or not we'd remember the song in a week, a month, a year.

I did my best. I remember
some
give and take. But all the time my mind kept drifting upstairs, kept seeing that pale arm snaking over the edge of the bed. Kept thinking,
I've got to go back up there, tonight. I've got to go back up there.

I remember the Swedish entry, ABB A, coming on. I remember thinking,
Oh yes. They're going to win.
Ma and I even sang along, bouncing in time to the music, my arm around her shoulders; it was
that
good. Then I caught Dom looking at me from the end of the sofa, his dark eyes anxious, and the last line of the song died in my throat.

I remember when ABB A won the TV station cut to the news before the victory performance was over, and Ma leapt up and ran into the kitchen to turn on the radio. Larry Gogan was still commenting on the show, and he played the song all the way to the end. Ma raced back in and grabbed me by my hands and hauled me to my feet, and we danced all around the kitchen, singing along at the tops of our voices.

In that moment, I felt feverishly happy. I was almost hysterically happy. And when the song was over, I remember thinking,
No! No! Don't let it stop. Let it go on forever.
So that I could go on forever, dancing and singing in the kitchen with Ma. And not have to go upstairs.

But it did stop, and it was dead late, and Dad carried Dee to bed, and Ma started doing the dishes. I stood in the middle of the kitchen, the harsh centre light beating down on me, while Ma and Dom had a conversation with each other that was all sound and no words and seemed to come from very far away.

I stood there in my pyjamas and dressing-gown, tired and lost and bloody terrified, looking at nothing in particular, thinking of nothing but how scared I was. Then Dom came quietly up behind me, took my elbow in his hand, and led me up the stairs.

THE FEEL OF MOONLIGHT

THE NIGHT BRINGS
all kinds of surprises, doesn't it? Nothing is ever quite what it first appears to be. Things don't ever go quite as you anticipate.