When Daniel reached up a shaking hand for a tumbler in the cabinet, his mind was scrambled with different thoughts.
There was blood on the back of his hands and he set the glass down so he could rinse them off under the cold tap. He scrubbed the skin with a washing-up brush until it was red and sore. The pain focused him down to a single thought that was clear and bright and hard, just like the tumbler beside him on the worktop catching the daylight.
He shut the kitchen door as quietly as he could and pulled out a wooden chair from the table and wedged it underneath the handle.
Go, said a voice inside him. Run. But Daniel made himself walk slowly to the back door and open it quietly . . .
. . . birdsong and sunshine and a long stretch of lawn.
The garden was bordered by a tall wooden fence on all sides and he searched for the best way to climb it.
‘DANIEL?’ shouted Mason from the hallway.
Daniel stood with his foot raised like a tightrope walker waiting for the right moment to step out on to a high wire as he looked for a way out.
‘DANIEL!’ came Mason’s voice more urgently. ‘Don’t go doing anything stupid now.’ Behind him the door handle wiggled vigorously, but the chair held it fast. And then a great force thumped against the door and the whole frame shuddered as the chair legs wobbled. Another crash came and two bright splinters popped out like fangs from the white painted wood around the top hinge.
Daniel spotted a compost bin positioned beside the fence and knew it was his way up and over.
‘Daniel, I know who you are. Everyone does after what happened to you. And I know where your dad is. Addenbrooke’s Hospital, right?’
Daniel put his foot down. The sunshine warmed his face, but he was deathly cold inside.
‘I’ll have to pay him a visit if you don’t open this door. So let me in, little piggy, or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow it right down.’
Daniel wanted to step out on to the grass. To run home back to his aunt and tell her everything. But he couldn’t. Not after Mason had mentioned his father. So he pulled the back door shut and turned round and picked up the tumbler from the worktop and filled it from the tap. He carried it in a wobbly hand and pulled away the chair.
Mason was standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets. So casual was his stance, he could have been waiting for a bus. He took the tumbler, drained it and put in on the sideboard, wiping his mouth with his hand.
‘Lawson’s dead,’ he said simply and then he turned round, making for the front door. ‘You’re coming with me.’
Daniel grabbed the edge of the sideboard to steady himself. He opened his mouth to ask if Lawson was really dead. About what had happened to the ambulance. But he found himself asking a different question. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I thought we’d visit your dad now. Say hello.’ Mason opened the front door and he seemed to grow even bigger in the daylight that flooded in from outside.
Daniel walked towards him, glancing into the sitting room as he did so. Lawson was on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, not blinking. Daniel looked away quickly. His legs were nothing but air. But he managed to make it out through the open door where he drew in great looping breaths that tasted of sunlight and green leaves and warm red bricks.
‘Don’t worry about your mess,’ said Mason, shutting the front door. ‘Frank and Jiff’ll clean it up.’ He cupped a big hand to his ear. ‘What’s that?’
Daniel said nothing. Mason leant further towards him as if he was trying to hear something very quiet.
‘Thank you,’ whispered Daniel.
And Mason beamed. Slapped him on the shoulder.
‘You’re welcome.’