Chapters (87)
- Cover
- Praise
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgements
- Extract from To Keep You Safe
- About the Author
He got up and started rummaging through the cupboards. He found a sliced loaf and popped two slices down before answering. ‘If you won’t do it . . .’ he said, whilst I watched him with a sense of disbelief, my heart banging in my chest.
He waited until it popped up, the sound of the toast making me jump. He saw my sudden movement and laughed. ‘Jumpy! Surprised to see me?’
‘You don’t live here.’
He moved me away from the fridge and retrieved the margarine. He pulled off the lid and said: ‘You shouldn’t eat this rubbish. You know they put colourants in it, don’t you? Margarine is actually grey.’ He then took a knife, scraped out a wodge and spread it thickly on his toast. ‘I hope you don’t give this crap to Jack.’
‘The corner shop was out of butter.’ I put the lid back on the tub.
‘Have I just missed the school run?’
I don’t even breathe.
‘Ah, yes.’ He takes a hungry bite and chews it watching me. ‘I expect Mrs Turnbill, at St Joseph’s, is taking the register just as we speak.’ He checked his watch. ‘What am I talking about! His first lesson will be nearly over.’
My bladder froze. How long had he been watching Jack? How long had he been watching me? I shut the fridge door that he’d left open and saw a letter for a school trip and the colourful certificates won by Jack at school: ‘Top Speller!’, ‘Kindness Award of the Week! and ‘Perfect Pupil Politeness!’ all pinned under magnets to the door. Had he broken into my flat before? I tried to think if there had been any signs of it – moved things – but my brain felt like glue.
He took a huge bite of toast and chewed it, watching me with narrowed eyes. ‘I’ve seen him in the playground. I don’t think he likes it.’
There was so much danger in this, I wasn’t just suddenly lost in the ocean, but there was a tidal wave coming straight for me too. Despite it, I wanted to ask: Why do you think he doesn’t like it? And: Does he look scared? And: Does he have any friends? Is he lonely . . . like me?
Suddenly I was so lonely.
Not the loneliness that most of us get on a Saturday night when all our friends are out, the wine is gone and there’s nothing on TV. But that suffocating, black, damp mould that sits in your chest and spreads like an infection; that disables the rational mind and makes you want to reach for the paracetamol. That damp cold that can lie across your lungs and heart like a heavy secret that stays there even when you’re standing in a busy room at a drinks party. That lies behind a rictus grin reminding you that there’s no one who loves you or understands you.