‘He ran. He ran away. His eyes – they must know. The police must know about his mum. He needs me and –’

‘Why don’t you call him, kiddo?’ Dad says, handing me my phone. ‘Maybe he’s just gone for a walk to clear his head.’

But Dad didn’t see his eyes. Didn’t see the slight push on his chest from the police officer. Doesn’t know just what’s at stake for Rowan and his brother if the police have found out that his parents are no longer around.

I pick up my phone, though. And I dial his number just like last time, when he turned away from me and thought that I didn’t care enough to meet him.

I close my eyes and press call.

68

Rowan

My phone screams at me.

Alice.

My thumb

H O V E R S

over the green answer button.

But what would I say?

What are the words for?

I fucked everything up

and

I thought I could protect him, but I

can’t

can’t

can’t.

How can I look into the eyes of someone else

who wants to leave me

and tell her that

she’s right.

Alice. Mum.

Even Jonah.

They’re better off without me.

Call declined.

69

Alice

The line goes dead and I come alive. I stand up.

Mum keeps her hands round my wrists.

‘Alice – this is stupid. You can’t do it. Your dad can go out and try to find him, but you –’

‘No!’ I shout, and the words stop even Manta. ‘I’m going. Me. Me in this body. And I know it’s broken and I don’t need you to remind me of that, thank you. But Rowan’s my friend and my friend is in trouble and I can’t just stand by and watch this time, Mum – I can’t! Not like with Cecelia. Not like with – Wesley.’

His name haunts the room. And I see the thoughts pass across their faces like shadows – how I sat in my bed and watched him die. How I couldn’t cry out or stop it from happening.

But not this time. Not with Rowan. He needs to know that I’m here for him. That even when everyone else leaves – his dad, his mum – I stay. I’m here.

I wrench my arm away and Mum steps back, looking shaken. ‘I can’t,’ she says. ‘You can’t. It’s too dangerous.’

And I know that she’s seeing into my tomorrow, when all my spoons will be buried. But, right now, my tomorrow isn’t quite as important.

‘I’m going,’ I say. ‘You can’t stop me.’

Mum throws up her hands and turns away. But Dad smiles, sadly, clearing his throat so he sounds almost normal, even if he doesn’t look it.

‘We’re not your jailers, Alice. If you’re going – then go.’