‘You’ve met him?’ She glares at me.
‘Yeah. I … I went round there. When you stopped coming to school.’
‘Jesus, what are you? Some sort of stalker? Okay, you’re officially freaking me out now, as if I wasn’t freaked out enough already.’
She starts walking again, fast, really fast.
I jog along beside her.
‘Sarah, I was worried about you. I only went round there to see if you were okay.’
‘You shouldn’t go round to people’s houses. Not if they haven’t invited you.’
‘What was I meant to do? You drew me, Sarah, you drew me.’
‘It was just a drawing. Everyone there was drawing.’
‘It wasn’t just a drawing and you know it. No one’s ever looked at me like that, seen me.’
She hunches up her shoulders and leans forward, pushing the pushchair even faster. The wind and rain are still battering us. I’m almost shouting to make myself heard.
‘Sarah, you leant across the desk and touched me. Touched my face. I couldn’t just forget you.’
Still walking, she turns.
‘Well, you should have,’ she shouts back. ‘I can’t be anywhere near you. I’ve got to protect my daughter. It doesn’t matter how I feel about you. You can’t be near her. I can’t let you.’
How I feel. How I feel …
‘Stop a minute. Please, just stop!’
I put my hand on her shoulder to try to make her stand still. She jerks away.
‘Get off me! Get off! You said we could fight the future, well, this is me doing it. I think you’re going to hurt my baby, so I don’t want to see you again. I’m trying to change things, Adam. I’m trying to do it my way.’
‘I’d never hurt her. I’d never do that, Sarah.’
‘How do you know? You can’t know that. You see people’s futures, but you only see part of them. Get away from me, Adam. Keep away. Leave us alone.’
I slow down and then stop.
‘Where are you going?’ I call after her.
‘I don’t know. Somewhere safe.’
She’s speeding away from me. I’ll never see her again. And suddenly that feels worse than the whole of London falling about my ears. It feels like the worst thing that could happen to me. I’ve got to make her stop.
‘Sarah!’ I call out. ‘I know about your dad.’
I don’t. I’m winging it, but I’ve got a gut feeling.
She stops again, and turns round. I catch up with her.
‘He raped you, that’s why you can’t go home.’
She looks away from me, swallowing hard.
‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘He hurt you.’
It’s raining so hard, the water’s dripping off the end of her nose.
‘Yes, yes he did,’ she says, almost to herself. She shoots a quick glance at me, testing my reaction. It’s weird – she looks guilty, like she’s done something wrong and I’ve caught her out.
I want to say the right thing, but I don’t know what the right thing is. She’s so jumpy, anything could be right or wrong with her, you can’t tell.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Not your fault. Nothing to do with you,’ she says, but there’s still that look in her eyes, like she’s expecting me to judge her for something. I step forward and put both arms round her shoulders. It’s probably the wrong thing to do, but it’s all I’ve got. Her whole body stiffens up, and I think, Shit, I’ve messed up. She hates me.
‘I will never, never hurt you, Sarah,’ I say into the top of her head. ‘I promise you on my life.’
She’s still standing there like she’s made of stone.
‘You can’t promise things like that, no-one can,’ she says.
‘Yes, yes, they can,’ I say.
Our faces are so close together. The rain on her eyelashes is making them stick together in clumps. I want to kiss them so bad, it’s hurting me.
‘Come home with me, Sarah.’
‘No, no, I can’t.’
‘You got nowhere to go. I got somewhere. At least you can dry off, have something to eat.’
A gust of wind blasts a barrage of rain into our faces. I step back so I can see her properly.
‘It’s the twenty-eighth today,’ I say. ‘Your nightmare is on the first. So we’re safe. You’re safe from me, both of you. Come home with me tonight. Get out of this fucking weather. Get dry. Warm up.’
She’s wavering.
‘Come home. Get some sleep, and then you can go tomorrow. We can think of somewhere safe for you. Away from me, away from London.’
She doesn’t say another word. Her expression’s still grim and her eyes are firmly on Mia. She turns the buggy round, and we set off together.
Chapter 44: Sarah
He helps us on and off the bus and then we walk along together, side by side, not touching. This is mad. I’m mad to be going anywhere with him. But where else am I to go? Who else, in this city of eight million people, would take me in?
‘This is us,’ he says. ‘Electricity’s back on anyway.’
‘Here?’
He’s stopped in front of a modern terrace. Three windows are lit up, cheerful yellow squares, one downstairs, two upstairs. It’s tiny. There’s a small wall at the front and a metal gate, with the paint peeling off it. The yard is packed with garden ornaments, little stone gnomes and windmills and shit. He sees me looking.
‘My nan,’ he says, ‘she’s mad.’
‘Oh, right.’
He opens the gate and I wheel the buggy up the path. He pushes the front door, but it’s not open so he gets out his keys. There’s one moment when he’s inside the front door and he leans out to grab the front of the buggy to lift it over the step, and I think again, What the hell am I doing? This is the last place we should be – he’s the last person we should be with. He looks down at me, reaching for the buggy; the rain’s dripping off him, and he smiles. And I think, It’s okay to be here, and it’s okay to be with him. Just for tonight.
Chapter 45: Adam
We get the buggy into the front room. Mia’s asleep, one hand flung up on either side of her head.
‘Can I use your bathroom?’
‘Sure, it’s upstairs, straight ahead. I think my Nan’s asleep up there.’
‘Oh, right.’
While she’s gone, I make a pot of tea and take a frantic look through the cupboards for something to offer her. The best I can find is an old packet of Pop-Tarts and a tin of tomato soup.
She comes downstairs looking better than when she went up.
‘My hair’s all fucked up. Mangy hedgehog, not a good look,’ she says. ‘I should just cut it off.’
‘You could have a bath if you like, the water’s hot enough. Wash it out and start again.’
‘Could I? Could I use your bath? We never had much hot water at the squat.’
She looks back at the buggy in the front room.
‘She’ll be all right,’ I say. ‘I’ll be here if she wakes up.’ I have no idea about babies, not a clue. ‘Do you want some clean clothes? I could find you some if you want. Nan’s, not mine.’ The thought of her in my clothes makes me melt inside.
‘No, no, I’m fine. Just a bath.’
‘I’ll sort it out,’ I say, and sprint upstairs. I run some bubble-bath under the hot tap. Instantly, the room fills with a sweet, chemical smell. I rummage in the airing cupboard and find the best towel I can. It’s large, anyway, and clean.
‘Thanks.’ Sarah’s in the doorway. She’s followed me up.
‘That’s okay. Are you hungry? I’ve got some soup.’
‘Yes. Starving actually.’
‘I’ll heat it up. You can have it after your bath.’
We go to squeeze past each other, but I can’t help stopping beside her. She smells of the city, of traffic and grime, and unwashed skin. It’s exciting. She’s so close to me, I’d hardly have to move to kiss that place where her neck meets her shoulder.
‘Thanks,’ she says again, and I realise she’s feeling crowded, she wants me out of the way.
I leave her to it, trying not to think of her peeling off her clothes, stepping into the foaming water, lying back and closing her eyes … I make myself do something normal, open the tin of soup and pour the contents into a saucepan. Then I put the tin opener down and lean against the kitchen bench so my crotch is pressing against the hard plastic of the cupboard door. I’m aching. Don’t think about it. Don’t go there. But I grow hard, hard, harder still as I think about pressing somewhere else, somewhere soft and unresisting. Saliva floods into my mouth, and I close my eyes and listen to the noises upstairs; her skin squeaking against the plastic as she shifts position, the shower being turned on and off, and then the gurgle of the water going out of the plughole and down the pipes.
The water going down the pipes. Shit! She’s finished. She’ll be down in a minute.
I stand up quickly, too quickly. I feel slightly dizzy. Must look normal. Quick, get the soup ready.
I light the gas ring under the saucepan, and just have time to grab a dishcloth to hold in front of my trousers when Sarah appears. She’s got one towel wrapped round her body, and another round her hair like a turban. She looks so young; no make-up, just clean, pink skin. Pink legs, pink feet, pink arms, pink hands. I’m not expecting that. She’s like a vision, an angel. I can’t take my eyes off her.
She don’t seem to notice the effect she’s having on me.
‘You were right,’ she says, rubbing at her hair through the towel, ‘my clothes were skanky. Do you think I could borrow some? Yours would be okay.’
‘Yeah, ’course. I’ll just do this.’ The soup’s boiling up the sides of the pan. I turn away from her to dish up. My dick’s still fighting to get out of my jeans, so I hold onto the dishcloth while I put her bowl of soup on the table for her.
‘I don’t think we’ve got any bread. There might be some crackers,’ I say.
‘Don’t worry. This is great. You having some?’
‘No, I’m not hungry. I’ll go and look for some clothes.’
In my room, I find a T-shirt and some tracksuit bottoms that’ll do, but when it comes to underwear, I can’t take her my pants, that’s plain wrong. I can’t go through Nan’s things either. For a start, she’s asleep in her room and even if she wasn’t I’d rather cut off my own hands.
I take the bundle of clothes downstairs. Mia’s woken up and Sarah’s holding her, showing her some of Nan’s ornaments on the mantelpiece. Mia’s eyes are popping out of her head. Her hands brush against the polished wooden box that’s got pride of place. Sarah moves her away.
‘Don’t touch, Mia,’ she says. ‘Don’t touch the pretty things.’ Then she frowns. ‘What is that?’
‘My great-grandad’s ashes. Nan won’t go anywhere without them.’
She takes another step away, pulling a face.
‘Ew.’
‘Here,’ I say, holding out the clothes I fetched, ‘these might do. While we wash yours.’
Mia turned her head when she heard my voice. Now she makes a kind of squawk. We’re all taken by surprise. Without even thinking, I put my arms out for her.
‘Is this all right?’ I ask Sarah. She’s as caught out as I am.
‘Yeah, I suppose so.’
I take the baby’s weight and hold her awkwardly.
‘Put your hand on her back so she doesn’t tip backwards.’ Sarah moves my hand into place.
The baby’s face is near my shoulder. I crane round, so I can see her.
‘Hello,’ I say.
She stares at me intently. My stomach flips over as her number hits me again. Why should someone so young, so beautiful, die?
Her hand brushes against my face, on the bad side and her fingers curl so they dig in.
‘Mia, don’t do that, you’ll hurt him! Here, I’ll have her back.’ Sarah steps forward, ready to take her.
‘No, it’s okay. She’s not hurting me.’ It’s a lie. One of her fingers has found a sore spot, but I don’t want her taken off of me. I’ve never held a baby before. It’s magic. Or maybe it’s just this baby. She don’t shrink away from me, or get upset at my face: she just looks.
When I glance over to Sarah, she’s smiling, first time today. First time I’ve ever seen her smile properly. It transforms her face.
‘You’re good with her,’ she says. ‘She likes you. She normally screams her head off if I give her to someone else.’
‘I’m a natural,’ I say. It’s a joke, but inside I feel like a hero.
And then we both hear footsteps on the stairs and Nan comes in. She looks from the pram to Sarah, standing there in her towels.
‘Christ,’ she says, ‘it’s full house here. What’s all this?’
Sarah’s shoulders hunch up again, on the defensive.
‘Hello,’ she says, ‘I’m Sarah. I just …’
‘You’re the girl at the hospital. The girl who did the painting.’
‘This is my Nan,’ I say, ‘Val.’
But Nan don’t smile. She looks at me, and her face turns grey.
‘Put the baby down, Adam. What do you think you’re doing?’
‘It’s all right, Nan, she likes me.’
‘Put her down!’
‘Nan, stop it.’
She comes towards me and makes to take Mia out of my arms. Mia’s scared. She burrows her face into my shoulder.
‘What’s wrong with you, Nan? She likes me.’
‘What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You’ve seen her painting – you know what happens.’
We both look at Sarah then.
‘I know, I know,’ she says, ‘but it’s all right now. It’s all right today.’
Nan wheels round.
‘Do you want her to know him, to trust him, to turn to him on the first of January? Do you?’
Sarah’s face twists up.
‘No, course not. I don’t know. I don’t know.’
‘Why are you here?’ The hardness in Nan’s voice is covering something else. There’s fear in there too, but I don’t s’pose Sarah knows that. Nan can be pretty intimidating, and she’s turning it on now.
‘Why am I here? The friends I was staying with, they’ve been arrested. There’s no one else. I’ve got nowhere else to go. But I’ll leave if you don’t want me. It’s fine. We’ll find somewhere.’
She puts her hands up to Mia’s tummy to lift her away from me, and one of them brushes my arm. It’s so warm against my skin, smooth. I can feel her bones through her skin. The feeling’s like an electric shock. It wakes me up.
‘Nan, Sarah needs a place to stay tonight. I said she could stay here. She can have my room and I’ll have the sofa. It’s one night, Nan, and I’ve said it’s okay.’
Nan looks at me. For a split second I can’t tell if we’re in for an almighty row. Then she gives a little shrug and looks away to Mia.
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘I’m not going to turn you out on the street, but it’s a mistake. I can feel it.’ She takes a step towards me. ‘Who’s this, then?’
‘Mia,’ says Sarah.
Nan comes close. The baby shrinks away but she can’t resist peeping at her.
‘Don’t be scared,’ says Nan, gently stroking her cheek. ‘I’m not a big, bad witch. I’m a good one.’
Chapter 46: Sarah
Good witch, bad witch. What’s the difference? It’s not the bony, stained fingers or the spiky purple hair – it’s the eyes. Once she fixes you with those eyes, you’ve had it. It’s as if she’s hypnotised you. You can’t look away until she decides to release you.
Having shouted her head off, and frightened Mia half to death, she tries to make friends with her, but Mia isn’t having it. She clings to me like a little monkey, and won’t even look at her. So Val turns her attention to me. It’s like a bolt of lightning going through me. She frowns.
‘Lavender,’ she says, ‘of course, but also dark blue. And all bathed in pink.
’
‘Nan,’ Adam says, ‘don’t start.’
‘What? What is it?’
‘It’s your aura,’ he says with a sigh.
‘My what?’
‘Your cosmic energies,’ says Val. ‘Bright pink, sensitive and artistic. Lavender, a visionary, a dreamer of dreams. Dark blue, full of fear.’
I feel suddenly naked. Here’s this woman, this strange, shrivelled-up woman, with hair three shades too bright for her, and she knows me.
‘I’m right.’
It’s a statement, not a question.
‘Yeah,’ I breathe, ‘you’re right.’
‘Sarah,’ she says, and I hold my breath, wondering what’s coming next.
‘Yes?’
‘You’re welcome here. You’re welcome in this house.’ And now I feel surrounded, wrapped up, a comfort blanket over my shoulders. I can’t explain – it’s not just relief, although I am relieved – there’s something physical in the room, a warmth that feels like light and heat together. If you could bottle it, you’d make a fortune, and the label on the outside could read comfort or love or home. Yeah, I’d call it home. Not the one I came from, but the one everyone should have, in a perfect world. The place where you can be yourself, where you feel safe. I feel like crying, as if it would be okay to cry here, but I bite my lip. I’ve done enough crying in the last few days, and seen enough come to that. It’s time to stop the tears.
‘Thank you,’ I say. Then, ‘I’ll go and put these clothes on.’
I give Mia back to Adam. She digs in a bit when she realises I’m handing her over, then she sees that it’s him and relaxes, going to him willingly. The way she’s taken to him is weird. She’s never been like that with other people. She’s shy, cautious. Perhaps my dream was only a means to an end. We were meant to meet Adam, and this is how it came about. He found the painting and then I found him. Is that it? Is that all it is? Is there a happy-ever-after waiting for us, instead of a nightmare?
Upstairs, I put on the T-shirt and joggers. As I pass the shirt over my head, I pause and sniff the material. It’s his shirt. Adam’s. I want it to smell of him, that slight sharpness, and it does, very faintly. I pull it down over my body. The thought of his smell on my skin makes me tingle in the places the shirt touches.