“He didn’t tell me what. I was thinking, oh shit, they’ve been found by whoever it was they were running from. I told him they could hide out at my place if they needed, but he cut me off. He said things were tense all weekend, she was snippy and forgetful. He had to sort out dinner himself Sunday evening because his mum had conked out on the sofa. She’d been up at all hours, acting antsy. Eventually he put a blanket over her, headed up to their room—first I’d heard they’d been sharing a room—and packed his bag, just in case, and settled in for the night.”
Fergus looked about again and leaned in closer.
“At about two in the morning he was woken by a sound. A creak. After jumping awake he remembered where he was and figured it was just his mum in the living room. He thought she’d woken up in the dark and was making her way up to bed. Then he heard a different sound. A voice. His mum. She was calling for him, but her voice was hushed slightly. Y’know, like when you’re trying to get someone’s attention in class but without alerting the teacher writing on the board upfront. He got up and listened at the bedroom door. She was quietly calling him to come downstairs. His first thought was that they’d been found, that they had to go, now. He quickly, quietly, got dressed in the uniform he’d left hanging on a chair, grabbed his bag and opened the bedroom door.
“The landing was dark and it was dark down the stairs in the living room too. He thought she was keeping the light off so as not to alert whoever was looking for them. They had to be outside. At this point his heart was pounding already, so when the bathroom door opened behind him it took everything in him not to cry out.”
“What was in the bathroom?” I asked.
“Not what, who. It was his mum, hiding behind the door. He said it felt as if his brain had broken. He was sure he’d heard her call him from downstairs. As if answering his question, he heard his mum call for him once again. From downstairs. All while he was looking at her hiding in the dark of the bathroom. ‘Come down to the kitchen,’ the voice downstairs said. The mum peeking out from behind the bathroom shook her head and mouthed, There’s something in the house. Then she reached out a hand to pull him into the bathroom with her.”
I gripped the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles turned white.
“What did he do?”
“He went back inside the bedroom and barricaded the door.”
“He didn’t go with his mum into the bathroom?”
“He said he couldn’t know for sure which one was her. So, he pushed one of the beds up against the door, then he opened the bedroom window and escaped out over the roof. Winded himself landing in the back garden. He ran to the only other place he knew in the village. He ran to the school and waited for daylight.
“After he finished, I gave him one of the sandwiches from my packed lunch and thought for a bit. Maybe he’d had a nightmare or something. Maybe someone had come to the house sounding an awful lot like his mum. Either way, I told him he was coming over to mine after school and he wasn’t going to argue. He agreed. Too knackered to fight, probably. He was quiet all day in school. The teacher could tell something was up, but he was done talking about it, so she let him sleep in the classroom through lunch. I kept guard. After what he’d told me, I didn’t want to let him out of my sight. I thought maybe after talking to my parents, we could figure out what to do.
“But then, right as the bell sounded to let us out of school, who turned up but his mum. Right on time, like she always did, as if nothing had happened. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted him to come home with me, but I knew I couldn’t overrule his mum. He stood frozen next to me. Probably thinking the same. She stepped forward and lowered her voice.
“‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘It’s all going to be okay now. It’s over.’
“I’d no idea what that meant, but it seemed to mean something to him. He took her hand and away they went, back down the lane, back to the house.
“Next day, he didn’t come in. Nor the day after. Or the day after that. I asked the teacher where he was. She said they’d moved on again. I was a bit miffed he’d just up and leave like that, especially after how much he’d worried me with that tale of his. I’d hugged him while he shook in my arms and then he’d disappeared without so much as a ‘See ya around’. A few weeks went by and it was another Monday, just before school closed for Christmas break. Must have been close to midwinter because the sun didn’t come up until just before the school bell rang. I’d arrived early, like every other Monday, and I saw someone waiting at the gates. It was him. He was back. But as I got close, I saw he was missing that birthmark. So instead of the ‘Hello’ or ‘What the hell were you thinking leaving without saying goodbye?’ I was planning on shooting his way, I said, ‘What’s happened to your face?’
“‘I changed it,’ he said, ‘so Mum could be safe.’
“I stopped approaching at that. Made up some excuse like I’d forgotten my PE kit or something, turned around and ran home. When I came back to school, as I inevitably did as my mum chucked me back out of the house, he was gone. No one else had seen him that morning. And I never saw him again.”
My stomach clenched.
“His house was my house, wasn’t it?”
Fergus stared at me, stony and cold for a moment.
Then the skin around his eyes cracked into wrinkles and he heaved a creaky laugh.
“Got you,” he said. “Got you proper that time.”
My face flushed hot. He was making it up. He’d made the whole thing up to mock me. And like an idiot I’d believed him.
He kept laughing, mouth wide, wide enough that I could see all of his teeth at once.
The high ringing in my ears grew.
My eyes locked onto the loaded, industrial stapler on the desk, his hand laid close by.
Then there was a real ringing. The electronic bell.
Rowan stood in the door, face flushed, mouth gaping with words that would not come. The sight of him shook the thundering blood from my ears. He must have chased down after me. Every vengeful imagining left me and my cheeks burned.
“Tamsin, I—”
