Black of Night

I’m lying in bed, but I can’t sleep. Alex is filling my mind, crowding out every other thought. I’ve tried counting sheep and imagining lots of cute little lambs leaping pointlessly over a farm gate, but the image of Alex in a shepherdess costume, screaming at the sheep to leave her alone, spoilt it. I’ve tried to be rational – maybe I’ve made a mistake – but then I think about those letters, written but not delivered, and I know that I’m right.

It’s the same problem as always. I know something, but I don’t really know. And now that I know (or don’t know) then I need to know it all. I’m completely out of control, dependent on when Alex chooses to fill me in on the whole story. And the not knowing is actually going to make me go mad. Unless I do something about it.

I sit up in bed, my mind spiralling round and round. Everyone thinks it doesn’t matter about me. They think I don’t understand and that I can wait until THEY think it’s the right time to tell me stuff. This is what happened with Dad – nobody actually told me that he was never coming back, I just kind of worked it out for myself. Not this time though. I’m not just going to sit here letting my mind run wild, imagining one hundred and one things that might be killing Alex. And now I know (or sort of know) I can’t just act like there’s nothing going on.

I swing my legs out of bed and reach across for my dressing gown. Mum and Alex went to bed hours ago, but I don’t want to risk waking them so I open the drawer on my bedside table and take out my In-Case-of-Emergencies torch. Turning it on, I quickly check my mood ring; it glows a brilliant gold. Gold is for strength and I know that I can do this. I’m strong enough to find out the truth.

I turn off the torch and pad quietly across my carpet to the door. Our house is old with lots of creaks, but I make it to the bottom of the stairs without hearing a sound from Mum’s or Alex’s room. At the bottom I speed up and walk quickly into the kitchen. Opening the back door, I grab my wellies from the welly-tree and step out into the garden, heading straight to where I saw Alex throw the phone.

It’s really strange being out in the garden at night. There’s a full moon and it makes the night seem almost like day, except the shadows are all wrong and there’s an eerie glow around the edges of the lawn that makes it hard to see beyond. I turn in fright when something makes a weird snuffling noise behind me, freezing as still as a statue until I see a hedgehog shuffling its way across the lawn. I wish that darkness-destroying Alex was with me.

Heading across the grass, I avoid the flower bed and step on to the little path that leads to the shed. I can hear something rustling inside the shed and hope that it’s a rat or a mouse and not an axe-wielding madman. I half jog past the shed door and then stop and turn back to face the garden. I’m looking straight at Alex’s swing and the direction that she threw the phone, and I know I’m in the right place.

Sliding along the side of the shed, I push through the branches of the fir tree and I’m inside our den. There’s an old wooden crate turned upside down that we used to use as a seat and I sit down on it now, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. The branches completely hide me from view – nobody would even know I was here.

I can feel my heart starting to slow down and return to its normal rhythm. Now I’m here, safe in the den, it feels quite beautiful to be out at night. It’s not that cold and I can hear the wind trickling through the branches of the fir tree. It reminds me of a book that Mum used to read to me when I was little, about three children who lived near an enchanted wood with a magic tree. The part of that story that I loved the most was the other trees in the wood – the way they went wisha, wisha, wisha and told each other all the secrets of the wood. I can almost imagine that happening now; that the trees around our old den are whispering the secrets and promises that Alex and I told each other when we came here.

Maybe they’re talking about what Alex would tell me about boys – that they aren’t to be trusted and they’ll never be as important as your family. Or the day that she made me swear we’d never have any secrets from each other – that sisters tell each other EVERYTHING. Maybe they remember our plans for our cafe – the brightly painted walls and the shelves stuffed with books that our customers could look at while they ate our delicious cakes. We spent hours trying to think of a name and agreed that everyone would be welcome; it wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t eat a particular food, you’d always find something good on our menu.

Alex won’t be around to run a cafe with me now. If I need any boy advice then I’ll have to ask Mum, which just won’t be the same. And Alex is keeping the worst possible secret from me right now, which is why I’m out here in the middle of the night, the cold, damp rubber of my wellies feeling utterly disgusting against my bare feet. I have to know what Alex is facing so that I can help her.

I look round the floor of the den. There are a few leaves and twigs, but I can’t see a mobile phone. Then I spot something tucked against the roots of the tree. It’s too big to be Alex’s phone, but I know instantly what it is. I pick it up and put it on my knees. It takes me a moment to prise the lid off because it’s rusted from all the rain, but then I manage to pull up one corner and the rest comes away easily. It’s our old tin – the tin we used to pass messages to each other.

I get my torch out of my pocket and turn it on, shining it into the tin. The inside is dry and, while the pieces of paper are crumpled and the writing’s a bit faded, it’s still possible to read what we’ve written. I pull out a note that I wrote in indigo felt tip when I was probably about eight – even then indigo was my favourite colour although I didn’t know then that it means being responsible and faithful. Indigo people like life to be structured and are very organized; that definitely describes me so I suppose I picked indigo because it’s such a good match for me. It’s very nearly violet, without the dramatic bits.

Hi Alex,

I hate school. Let’s run away together and never go to school again.

Love Izzy xxxxxxx

Nothing much has changed there then – that still sounds like a good idea to me. I find a note written by Alex.

Izzy,

Meet me here after supper tonight. I have chocolate and some hilarious gossip from school!

Love you forever,

Alex x

I slip this note into my pocket, remembering how special I felt when Alex treated me like that – like I was someone worth talking to. I don’t feel like reading the rest of the notes and I put the lid back on, slipping the tin into its hiding place by the tree. As I do, I see something strange – a weird light flashing on and off behind the trunk of the tree. Alex’s phone! I turn off my torch and stretch my arm as far as it will go and just manage to grasp it, pulling it across the dirt and leaves until it’s firmly in my hands. The screen is flashing with unread text messages and I stuff the phone deep into the pocket of my dressing gown, worried that the unearthly glow will get me seen if someone just happens to be glancing out of the window.

Finding the phone brings me back to reality and I remember why I’m out here. Suddenly the den feels creepy and unfriendly, and I start to feel anxious and scared. I bend down low to avoid the branches and duck out of the den, running past the shed and across the lawn until I’m at the back door.

Once inside, I shake off the wellies and creep upstairs. Back in the safety of my room I feel overwhelmingly tired and like I might fall asleep standing up if I don’t get into bed this very instant. But Alex’s phone can’t wait. I’ve got it now and I can find out the whole truth. Suddenly I’m not at all certain that the truth is what I actually want to know.

I’m not sure what I’m expecting to find. I know what I’m doing is wrong and that I’m invading Alex’s privacy in the worst way, but I just can’t cope with a single second more of not knowing. I never knew that half knowing something is so totally awful. The truth surely can’t be as bad as some of the things that I’m imagining?

I find the last text that has been read – the text that upset Alex so much, and press open. For a moment my eyes look everywhere but at the phone. There’s still time to change what I’m doing. I could turn off the phone and put it back in the den. I remember Pandora again and how a single action can change everything. And then I make my choice.