‘Holy fucking Christ,’ my father said. He turned to me. ‘Was she down here just now, before you came upstairs?’
I nodded.
‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘She can’t have gone far.’
I sat on the sofa Mum had recently left. There was still an indentation in the middle from where she had been sitting. I stared around at the odd place in front of me. There was a television, smaller than ours at home and with a thick layer of dust on top of it. There was also a fireplace, with a rusty metal thing around it. I looked forward to watching logs burning on it.
I was about to go and put some wood in it from the little pile by its side, hoping Dad would see it and be inspired to build a fire, but then I heard noises from outside: Dad shouting my mum’s name, then another shout from her, then her voice, loud and clear. It sounded like she was walking around the side of the house. ‘I need to check to see if they’re listening,’ she said to my dad, speaking as if she thought he was stupid, while at the same time annoyed he was bothering her.
‘There isn’t anybody out there to listen to anything. Even if there was anything they’d want to listen to! Marjory, please, come back inside.’
‘He has thousands of spies, Nathan. Thousands. Do you want to know how many I see every night in my dreams?’ She shouted these words, coming closer still. I twisted round on the sofa and leaned over the back so I could see out of the dirty, green-tinged window. I could just about make them out. She was standing out there, clutching something – I thought it was a stick. And Dad had his hands out, trying to take it from her. ‘I see their eyes. Their EYES. You know what that means, don’t you? You know what they tell me to do.’ Then she burst into tears. Loud tears with serious sobs and lots of words I couldn’t properly hear.
Dad walked over to her. For a second, I thought she was going to run him through with the stick, but he just put his hands round it and took it from her. She let him. She was too busy crying.
At first, when I started to see Mum cry more and more, I wanted to cry too. I didn’t really know what was happening, or why she got so upset, but I used to think there must be something really serious to worry about if a grown-up was crying. Because crying was something children did. Adults only cried when something was really bad, I thought. But when I started to see my mum cry about four times a week, I stopped finding it as upsetting as I once did.
‘It’s OK, Marjory. Why don’t we just go back inside? We need to make this place a home.’ Dad was doing his best to be kind, now. And, finally, she let him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her sobs turned into silent crying. I turned around and sat back on the sofa properly to watch them as they came in.
‘Hello Kitty Cat,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about my little moment.’ She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hands, as if she was trying not to disturb the make-up she wasn’t wearing. ‘I just got so upset at the thought of someone listening.’ She sat down and Dad murmured something about a glass of water as he left the room. ‘Do you know what I mean by listening?’ she said. Her eyes were going wide again. I thought about calling Dad, but before I could he was back and giving her a drink.
‘Have some of this,’ he said, and Mum did as he said and took a sip of the water.
‘Better?’ he said.
‘It’s not from the stream is it?’ she whispered, urgently.
Dad looked confused. ‘No, it’s from the tap.’
‘Are you really, really sure?’ She gripped his hand, stopping him moving away, staring at him as if desperate for him to reassure her.
‘Yes, I’m very sure. I haven’t seen a stream.’
‘We passed one on the way,’ she said, sipping at the water and flicking little looks at me that I found more disturbing than the crying.
‘No we didn’t,’ Dad said with a sigh. ‘And it was dark. Even if we did I don’t think you’d have seen it.’
Mum muttered about ‘all-seeing eyes’ and then went quiet, concentrating on her drinking.
‘Why don’t you go up to bed, Kitty?’ my dad suggested. ‘We’ll carry on with the unpacking in the morning.’
I nodded and got up. ‘Goodnight Mum,’ I said. I went to give her a kiss, but she didn’t look up. She was staring into the water in the glass as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. ‘Night, Dad,’ I said, walking past him. I didn’t offer him a kiss, as he’d made me cross too many times today.
‘Goodnight,’ he said.
I went up the creaking stairs and made sure I pressed hard on the loosest ones, hoping some dust or wood flakes would snow down on any creatures inside. Perhaps they’d come out and play during the night.
My duvet and things were all on my bed. I didn’t know where my toothbrush was – probably in one of the hundreds of bags and boxes either downstairs or in the car – so I just used the stiff tap in the bathroom to wash my mouth out (five spits, one gargle) and then went back to get into bed. On the landing I could hear my dad saying something to my mum about sleeping downstairs if she ‘promises not to go walkabout’. She replied straight away, ‘Oh dearest, why on earth would I want to go walking about in the woods at night? Anything could be out there.’
Once in my room, I spent a good few minutes trying to put the bed sheets on myself. I eventually succeeded, feeling a little proud at how good I was starting to get at doing things like this without help. I then got under the covers and tried to sleep straight away, but it didn’t work, so I just started counting the drips of water I could hear falling outside the window. Then the drips became rain and the rain became a downpour. I burrowed into my bedding and pretended I was a little mouse, caught in the fields in a storm, in need of a large leaf or a den to shelter under and stay dry and warm. I need to stay safe and sheltered, I thought to myself as I finally drifted off to sleep. After all, Mum was probably right. Anything could be out there.