6

He heard the sound of the television as he opened the front door. His first thought was Bean but when he went into the living room it was his mum alone in the darkness with the light of the screen shimmering across her face. She was watching a dumb shopping channel selling jumpers with pictures of wolves on them.

He dropped the stuff from the break-ins, picked up the remote to turn the volume down.

‘You’ll wake Bean, Mum.’

Angela was lying on the sofa, head at an angle. Her eyes were drooped but still open, a joint smouldering between the fingers of her right hand. There was a bottle of vodka on the floor next to her with an inch left in it, alongside a spoon with a used cotton filter, lighter and needle. She still had the belt loose around her upper arm.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Tyler said, picking up the heroin gear. ‘You can’t leave this lying around.’

Angela turned her head like a sloth from the screen to him.

‘Don’t throw that out.’ Her voice was ragged. ‘It’s my last needle.’

Her hair was greasy, blonde at the ends, flecks of grey through the darker stuff at her scalp. She was short and emaciated, limbs like twigs, arms pocked with puncture marks. She wore a stringy off-the-shoulder top with Pineapple! across it, no bra underneath, leggings covered in joint ash and other stains.

Tyler imagined grabbing her and shaking, screaming in her face to get her shit together.

She turned back to the TV, lifted her hand to her mouth and took a drag of the joint.

‘Look at this shit,’ she said, waving a finger at the screen. A woman wearing too much make-up was talking about a bed throw with a family of bears on it.

Tyler took the syringe and the rest to Angela’s bedroom, placed it in the drawer next to her bed, then went back to the living room. He got a blanket from the chair by the window and opened it out, laid it over her. He tucked the corner away from her joint hand, found an old tea mug and placed it on the ground as an ashtray. She let out a breath in acknowledgement.

He reached into his pants and took out the money, peeled a twenty off and replaced the rest.

‘Here,’ he said, holding the note out to her.

She turned, saw the money, smiled and took it.

‘Sweet boy,’ she said. ‘Come here.’

He sat down on the sofa but not close enough to hug. She tucked the money into her leggings and touched his hand on the blanket. Her skin was damp with sweat.

‘Mum,’ he said, staring at the screen.

‘I know,’ she said. The faintest squeeze of his hand, like a ghost. ‘I’m trying.’

He closed his eyes and pictured the woman from the house, lying on the floor and staring up at him. When he opened his eyes, Angela was blinking at the screen again.

He went through to Bean’s room. She was lying across the bed, feet dangling over the edge, covers on the floor. She clutched Panda tight in both arms, the toy pressed into her chest. Her nightlight was on, throwing a blue shadow across her face.

Tyler eased her round the right way, pulled the covers over and tucked her in. She was a restless sleeper, would likely kick them off in five minutes anyway, but it was good to feel you were doing something. Her mouth was slack and her breath caught in her throat a little as she snuggled into her teddy. Tyler stared at her for a long time then left, pulling the door almost closed.

He went out of the flat, along the corridor and pulled down the ladder for the roof. Climbed up and took gulping breaths of cold air as he opened the door at the top, then walked to the western edge and looked down. Forty-six metres to the ground. High enough.

He gazed out. So strange to be the only two buildings left standing, like a pair of lookouts keeping watch for trouble. He looked at the lights of the hospital campus. He wondered if she was there already, rushed to A&E in the back of an ambulance, past the football injuries and domestic abuse, the turned ankles and allergic inflammations. Already being cared for. Or maybe they hadn’t believed him, thought it was a crank call and hadn’t bothered. He had no idea what their protocol was.

‘Tyler?’

It was Bean behind him, by the access door, holding Panda.

He went over. ‘What are you doing up?’

‘I had a bad dream,’ she said, lines on her forehead. ‘Barry’s dogs were after us. They chased you away, I couldn’t find you.’

He picked her up and stroked her hair.

‘It’s just a silly dream.’ He carried her back down the ladder, smiling for her benefit.

‘But it seemed so real,’ she said.

He could feel the tension in her body, but it was easing.

He kept his voice level. ‘Don’t worry, nothing will ever chase me away from you.’