So it’s Edward, thinks Lampie, as she climbs the stairs. Not Fish. Edward. She thinks Fish suits him better. The cup and the plate are rattling on the tray, because she is shaking a little.
Her rabbit had never had a name. She had thought of a lot of different ones: Fluffy, Long Ear, William. But her mother had said, “Don’t do that. Don’t give him a name. Or you’ll only get attached to him.”
Which was, of course, what had happened anyway. She had cuddled and stroked him until he was tame and slept on her bed and had stopped trying to run away.
But her mother had just shaken her head. “Don’t become too fond of that rabbit.”
“I will,” she had said. “I already am.”
She has to move slowly so as not to startle him. Smile. Talk quietly in a kind voice. That is what she needs to do; that is how she will tame him. He is not a monster – she is certain of that. Her rabbit used to bite her at first too.
Slowly, she slides the bolts.
“Don’t be scared. It’s just me,” she says as she opens the door. It is still a bit smelly in the room. She’ll open a window, she’ll wash the sheets, she’ll—
“Can’t you knock?” says an angry voice. She is not sure where it is coming from.
“Um… Well, yes.” Lampie looks around. The curtains have been closed again. There is barely any sun shining through the gaps. The room is dark.
“Well, do it, then,” says the voice.
“Now?”
“No, it’s too late now. Just leave it. You can put that down. Here.”
Lampie turns around, but she still can’t see anyone. That voice, is that Fish – no, Edward?
“Over here. Hello! Are you blind or are you deaf?”
Then Lampie sees him. He’s lying almost completely under the bed, with a book in front of him on the floor, and he is looking at her with his pitch-black eyes.
“Or are you just plain stupid?”
“Oh, there you are,” she says in her sweetest voice. “I didn’t—”
“What is that? What have you brought?”
“Your breakfast,” says Lampie cheerfully.
“Well, it smells absolutely disgusting. Oh, just put it down.”
He drums impatiently on the floor in front of him.
“You must be hungry.” She bends down and puts the tray on the floor in front of the mouldy bed. “You haven’t eaten anything for—”
“What’s that supposed to be?”
“Um… Well, Martha said you only eat fish but there wasn’t any, so she’ll buy some this afternoon,” Lampie quickly says, still in her sweetest voice. “But you haven’t eaten anything for so long, and I thought: how about some eggs? That’ll—”
“Take it away.” The boy pushes the plate away with such force that the eggs slither off the bread. “And what about that? Is that milk? I don’t drink that.”
“But you haven’t eaten anything for so—”
“I can wait another day. I’d just like some water, please, in a glass. A clean one.”
Lampie looks around the room, where everything is grubby and mouldy. “A clean glass,” she says. “Right. I’ll just—”
“Then you can change the bed. And someone needs to come at half-past three, because that’s my bath time.”
“Your bath time?”
“My bath time, yes. I have to take a bath at half-past three every afternoon. Do you think you can remember that?”
“Yes. Yes, I can.” Lampie stoops to pick up the tray. He glances at the bandage on her wrist, but does not say anything. Close up, she can see that his skin is no longer as grey and scaly. He looks very different to last night, no longer as pale and white and feverish. Now that she can’t see his tail, he seems just like an ordinary boy. But one with green hair and pitch-black devil’s eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth.
“What? What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” says Lampie quickly. “I’m not looking at anything at all.” She puts down the tray on a big chest of drawers that’s covered with books and papers. There are some used cups too – she will take them back down to the kitchen. She starts opening the curtains, one by one.
“Did I tell you to do that?”
“No.” Lampie gives him her very sweetest smile. “But the sun’s shining so nicely today, so…”
“I hate the sun. Close them.”
“Oh,” says Lampie. “Fine.” She closes the curtains again. Taming a wild rabbit with strokes and cuddles was easier, she thinks. But that took a long time too. She stops for a moment at the fifth window and looks out. There, in the distance, the lighthouse stands, a grey line against the blue spring sky.
“So are you deaf?” says the boy. “Or just slow?” He clicks his fingers impatiently.
“Did you say something?” Lampie turns around.
“Yes. Twice. And I’ll say it again. The atlas, please. Just put it down here.”
“The what?”
“Don’t you know what that is?”
“Of course I do,” says Lampie. “I just didn’t hear you properly.” Talking in her sweetest voice is becoming more and more of an effort.
“The atlas. At-las.”
“Um…” Lampie looks around the room.
“Under A.”
“A?”
“On the bookshelf.” He says it with clenched teeth.
“Oh,” says Lampie. “So it’s a book?”
“Yes! It’s a book, yes!” He starts yelling. “A book! A book of maps! Maps of the land! Maps of the sea! Have you never seen a map before, you… you bumpkin?!” He bares his teeth, and his eyes spit poison.
Lampie steps back; she has no idea what to do. There are books all over the room. So she walks over to the wall and looks at the rows of books on the shelves, all made of brown leather, all with their spines facing her, as if they have turned their backs on Lampie and are laughing at her.
“Is it, um, one of these, um, brown ones?” The letter E – that is the only one she can read, but she can’t even see that anywhere. The boy on the floor is watching everything she does. Hesitantly, she picks up a book, just any old book.
“This one?” The boy does not reply, so maybe it was a good guess. She turns around to see him looking at her with disbelief.
“She can’t read!” he says. “You can’t read, can you?”
Lampie does not answer. She puts the book next to him on the floor.
“It’s not the right one.”
“A book is a book.”
“A book is most definitely not a book!” On his elbows, he wriggles out some way from under the bed. She can almost see his tail. “Why can’t you read? Have you never been to school?”
“Yes, I’ve been to school.”
“But I bet you were too stupid, weren’t you?”
“Two weeks. I was only at school for two weeks.”
“Two weeks? And then what happened?”
“Then… Other things happened.”
“What sort of other things?”
“That’s none of your business!” She picks up the tray, which tinkles and clatters. “Right, I’m taking this back downstairs. And I’ll fetch some sheets. And towels. And a clean glass. And I’ll come back at half-past three because that’s your bath time. And because, yes, I can remember that, and yes, I can tell the time, if you really want to know.” Lampie takes big steps towards the door. She completely forgets to move calmly, slowly, but what good would it do?
As she leaves the room, she hears him say something.
“Wait a moment.”
“What?”
“It’s not you, is it?” He has crawled back under the bed. She can barely see him now.
“What’s not me?”
“The one who’ll be coming from now on.”
“Yes,” says Lampie with a nod. “Yes, it’s me, Edward. That’s your name, isn’t it? Edward?” She tries her smile again, but it has stopped working. He can’t see her anyway.
“Isn’t there anyone else?”
“No,” says Lampie. “There’s no one else.” Then she walks out of the room and down the stairs.
One morning it was gone, of course, her rabbit. Her mother had already warned her though, hadn’t she?
It was not on her bed as usual, and she found it that afternoon, hanging up in the shed, head gone, fur gone.
They did not have much money, but they still needed to eat. Yes, Lampie understood.
It was painful, but she understood.