When I crept down under the bedclothes in the cellar that night, there was only one thought in my head: Moira has promised to give me to the Razor Queen!
I couldn’t let that happen!
That strange girl and her sharp razor terrified the life out of me. How long would I survive as her pet? And how would the Chief ever locate me if I was no longer in Oswald Street when he returned to Glasgow?
There was only one thing to be done. I had to run away before it was too late.
Preferably this very night!
But how to go about it? Since the Kingston Kings had moved in and taken over guard duties, the house had been turned into a fortress. They patrolled the street and kept watch night and day on all the gates, doors and windows.
I lay for a while in the darkness of the cellar, thinking things through, before coming up with a plan. I would try to make my escape through the loft of the house.
The gang used the loft as a storage space. Bernie and I had frequently been ordered to carry dining tables and heavy bureaux up from the shop. I didn’t remember ever noticing whether there were windows up there, but there was a hatch in the ceiling for the chimney sweep. If I could manage to get out through that hatch, it would be easy to climb over to the marshalling yard from the roof of the house. And then to simply disappear into the night!
But what about Bernie?
I was torn by the thought of leaving him. Bernie would be terribly lonely if I was no longer around, but I couldn’t stay, not even for his sake. It had become a matter of life and death for me.
I waited until the small hours, when the night is at its darkest and the guards at their most tired. Then I left my room in the cellar and crept up to the first floor, where I tapped carefully on Bernie’s door.
He opened it almost immediately. He was still fully dressed.
“I can’t sleep either,” he said, letting me in.
We sat at the table and Bernie poured what was left in the teapot into two mugs. Somehow or other I sensed that Bernie suspected I was there to say goodbye to him. I couldn’t be sure, though, as he said nothing about it.
When I did eventually get up to leave, he followed me to the door and looked at me with his weary, sad eyes. I patted his shoulder gently and he patted me back.
I stood there for a while after Bernie had closed his door. It was as if all my energy and determination had drained away and I was left feeling utterly despondent.
But then I heard muffled voices approaching from the direction of the backyard. Someone might open the door and come in at any moment. I pulled myself together and ran quickly and silently up the stairs.
There were two doors on the top floor, one of them leading to Moira’s flat and the other to a narrow staircase going up to the loft. I remembered that the latch on the loft door tended to squeak, so I opened it cautiously.
Once I’d closed the door behind me, I had to wait for my eyes to adapt to the darkness. And I started to shiver—it was as cold as outdoors.
I crept forward slowly and carefully. When I reached the top of the staircase, I stopped once more to listen for any noises following me. I heard nothing.
Moving on tiptoe I passed piled up junk of all sorts, including a large wardrobe that had given Bernie and me endless trouble lugging it up there.
I was now standing right under the spot where I thought the hatch was. There was usually a ladder somewhere around. Ah, there it was!
The ladder was heavy and I had to put it up without making any noise. No thumps! No scraping across the floor! I succeeded and, with the ladder leaning firmly against the nearest rafter, I began climbing.
It wasn’t until I reached the hatch that I realized all my efforts had been in vain.
It proved impossible to open.
Someone had already been there and attached a large padlock with strong metal fittings. The intention had presumably been to prevent attackers entering the house that way.
I ran my fingers all round the lock in the hope it had been badly mounted and I would be able to tear it off. But it had been carefully bolted to the strong beams. With no proper tools and swaying at the top of a rickety ladder, I would never get the lock off in a month of Sundays.
With heavy steps I climbed back down. I moved the ladder carefully to one side and began to go down the same way I’d come up.
But I wasn’t as cautious as I had been on the way up. That was a mistake. Just as I was closing the door to the loft behind me and about to continue down the stairs, I suddenly came face to face with Carl.
“What do you think you’re doing up here, ape?” he asked.
I looked down at my feet to avoid his suspicious glare.
“I thought I felt a gust of cold air,” Carl said, looking up the stairwell. “Has someone been up to the loft?”
I stood still while Carl glared at me.
“You shouldn’t be running around snooping up here,” he said angrily. “Get back down to the cellar where you’re supposed to be! Understand? Get a move on!”
Keeping my head down, I slipped past him and didn’t stop until I was back in my cellar. I was too upset to sleep, but too tired to think clearly. All I could do for the next few hours was lie on the mattress, stare at the ceiling and try to convince myself that I would come up with some other way of escaping tomorrow.