CHAPTER 49

A few days later, Dad and Imelda took me back to the flat to pick up some of my things.

The unopened pile of post for Morag had only grown bigger: more bills, more letters about rent. Our laundry was still hanging on the radiator in the hallway. It was like time had stopped ticking while I’d been gone. Dad bundled the dry clothes under his arm and brought them inside.

My heart was hammering when we pushed the front door open. Even though Dad and Imelda told me not to get my hopes up, I had still expected Morag to be there when we arrived, sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me. Instead all we found was silence and the dim, dusty kitchen.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Dad said, patting me on the back. “I know you were hoping she’d be here. I think we were too.”

“It’s OK.” My lip sort of wobbled, but I bit on it with my two front teeth to stop it. “I knew she probably wouldn’t be, deep down.”

I was determined to be brave that day, but being back in the flat without Morag made it too real. I had sort of been pretending I was on holiday while I’d been staying with Dad and Imelda. But no Morag meant the holiday might have to become my normal life, and I’d have to say goodbye to my old life for ever. I pushed that thought away. Morag was coming back.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” said Dad. “It’s a while since I’ve been in this flat. Must be about five years. I barely recognize the place.”

Dad pulled the curtain back and light filled the flat. The rain had mostly washed the egg stains from the window, so now it only looked like bird poo.

“Morag definitely made the place her own after I left, that’s for sure.” He ran his finger along all the fairy lights that were stuck on the walls. “She always loved these.”

“Is this where you used to sleep, Solo?” Imelda asked. She was peering behind the sofa into my alcove. I’d forgotten nobody was supposed to know about my corner, but it was too late now. She’d seen it.

“Most of the time,” I said. “Or in Morag’s bed with her. I prefer my corner though – it’s really comfy. Usually Morag chats to me over the back of the sofa and tells me stories.”

Imelda seemed sad for some reason. “We’re going bed shopping on the way home, Jase,” she said to Dad. It wasn’t a request. “He’s not sleeping on that manky old airbed any more. He needs a proper bed.”

I didn’t see the point in going bed shopping. I’d only be sleeping in it for a few more nights, and then Morag would be home, and everything would be back to normal. It seemed like a giant waste of money to me, but sometimes Dad and Imelda liked to waste their money.

I’d noticed that they didn’t always have the supermarket versions of things that came in the white-and-red packets. Things like custard-cream biscuits and honey-nut cereal. When we went food shopping, they would choose the more expensive ones in nice boxes with pictures on the front and free toys inside.

One time, Imelda told me I could pick one treat from the food shop, so I chose one of the mini pizzas from the fridge bit. I loved the way they tasted. The doughy base, the tangy tomato sauce, the stringy yellow cheese on top. They were only 65p, and they were my favourite. Imelda put it back on the shelf and swapped it with a rectangle-shaped sourdough pizza that had long bits of salami and something called artichoke hearts scattered on top. The artichoke hearts tasted bitter. I picked them all off and put them in the bin when no one was looking.

I started walking around the flat and picking up my things. I closed up my throat really tight so no feelings would escape. I got my toothbrush from the bathroom, my blanket from my alcove. I fished my pyjamas out from the laundry pile and stuffed them into my backpack. I stashed some toy cars that I hadn’t played with in years, and an overdue library book from under my pillow.

Next, I found my crumpled funeral suit by the bed where I’d left it. I knew I would never wear the suit again, but I wanted to keep it anyway. Memories were stitched inside the fabric like threads. Memories of Morag rolling up my sleeves again and again, tucking in my shirt when it came untucked.

In my corner, I grabbed the photograph of Morag and me from our holiday in Normley-on-Sea, the one where we stuck our heads through the holes, and I was a diver and Morag was an octopus. I wondered if I would ever go back to Sunset Dunes again.

“Is that everything?” Dad asked. “You can take whatever you like, you know.”

I scanned the flat. Flecks of dust were swirling around in the sunlight. I wanted to take everything with me, the whole flat. The sofa, the telly, the kitchen table, Morag’s bed, the alarm clock, the bathtub, the wooden chairs, my mattress, the fairy lights. I would have taken Morag’s toothbrush with me if I could, but she would need that when she got back.

“Just one more thing,” I said.

I stepped into the bathroom and unhooked Morag’s fluffy polka-dot dressing gown from the back of the door. It was too big to fit in my bag, so I slung it over my shoulder. She would want this when she came home, and I would be the one to give it to her.

“Are you ready to go, Solo?” Imelda put her hand on my shoulder and rubbed it. “We can stay a bit longer if you want.”

“No.” My voice sounded really dry and weird. I coughed to clear my throat. “I think I’m ready.”

Dad locked the front door behind us, and I had a horrible feeling that I wouldn’t ever be coming back.