The diagrams were like mazes. Pepper knelt on the floor in the study and squinted down at them. At first they’d made no sense, but slowly she was working things out. How to fit on a bigger lens. Which lever to move round after she took each picture. How to adjust what Luke had called the focus. Everything fitted together and then the satisfying click when she pressed the button.
It had been raining forever. Sallow days, like something woollen left on the line too long, its colours rinsed out. The trees smeared into wet air. There was no going out but the woods and river looked different every day and she kept watching them from the window, not wanting to miss anything.
She turned the page. It was late afternoon: just on the cusp between light and dark. What her mother called dimpsy even though Pepper had never heard anyone else call it that. It was hard to see the next picture and when she looked up it had suddenly gone very dark, the sky turning the same green as boggy water. The wind knocked against the house. Lightning lit the sky like an X-ray, showing the pale bones of the trees. Pepper stood in the window and watched, remembering her own bones showing up on a screen when she’d swallowed that bit of metal which was stuck in her chest.
There was a low rumble of thunder. ‘Come up here and watch,’ her mother called down.
The house stank of wet paint and Pepper could taste it in the back of her throat. She went upstairs and into the room her mother was sleeping in. The wind shook the window. ‘I got born in a storm,’ she said.
‘Just after,’ her mother said. She was holding a paintbrush with cream paint on it, the same boring colour the walls were anyway.
‘And the nurse said I cried louder than all the thunder.’
Her mother picked out bits of brush that had stuck to the wet paint on the wall. ‘I don’t think she did. All that woman talked about was her apple tree; how she had crates of apples all over her house that were rotting.’
‘Louder than all the thunder,’ Pepper said. It was better to be born in a storm than just after one.
They leaned against the window and watched. Huge thundery booms and gusts of wind. White sheets of lightning. The reflection of the rain rippled over their skin. The thunder was right above their heads – it sounded like the sky was cracking. More lightning, then more, and Pepper didn’t want it to stop, crack after crack of thunder. But there were longer gaps in between now, and the thunder was quieter, the lightning flashed less bright. She willed the storm to come back but the clouds moved apart, the sky turned grey again and the quiet was almost too much to bear.
‘You can do some painting if you want,’ her mother said. She turned away from the window and went back over to the wall.
Pepper pressed her forehead against the cold glass. The paint was sour in her throat, the horrible rasping of the brush against plaster, just so that man could come and see if he wanted to buy the house.
‘It’s not going to be for much longer,’ her mother said. ‘OK?’
A shivery feeling rushed over Pepper. She covered her ears, la la la. If only the storm would come back. She closed her eyes and then opened them again. The sky was the same old grey and the wind had calmed right down. She went over to the wall and stood in front of the bit her mother was painting.
‘I’ve got to get this done,’ her mother said.
Pepper stayed where she was and when her mother tried to lift her she made herself as heavy as she could. It was easy: all you had to do was go completely slack and imagine your legs were made of the heaviest metal in the world, whatever that was.
‘You’re a bloody lump.’
‘You are,’ Pepper said. ‘You are.’
Her mother tried to move her again. ‘Stop being boring,’ she said. She touched the paintbrush lightly against Pepper’s cheek.
Pepper clutched at her face. ‘My eye,’ she said. ‘I can’t see anything.’ She staggered around and bumped into the wet wall, then she lay down on the floor and covered her face with her hands.
Her mother sighed and went over to the window. She tucked her hair behind her ears, tucking and tucking over and over. There was the faintest rumble of thunder in the distance.
Pepper stayed on the floor and watched her mother from between her fingers. They both knew she was faking it. After a while, Pepper went over and stood next to her. Very close but not touching.
‘Maybe we should play the hiding game,’ her mother said.
‘We probably should,’ Pepper told her. Already running through her mind where she could hide. She always found the good places. She had hidden in the loft of one house and stayed there all afternoon – her mother hadn’t even known there was a loft. And another time, in another house, she’d balled herself up in a deep drawer with a sieve on her head. Her mother was terrible at hiding. She would stand behind a door that had glass panes in it. Or she would hide in a curtain with her feet sticking out.
‘You go and hide,’ her mother said. ‘I’ll count here.’ She covered her eyes and started to count slowly.
Pepper ran out of the room and stopped, looked left, then right. Panicky laughter bubbling up. The house sprawled in front of her. She looked back at the bedroom then ran, skidding, along the corridor. Went halfway down the stairs then tiptoed back up, hand over her mouth and snuck into the bathroom. Looked around and heard her mother saying she was coming. It was too late to find somewhere else so she stood in the bath and pulled the curtain around. Hunched up, her shoulders shaking and her stomach all tight and sloshy.
Her mother walked past, paused outside the bathroom. ‘Muuhhuuuha ha ha,’ she said in the deep scary voice. ‘I’m going to find you.’
Pepper stuffed the shower curtain in her mouth but still a squeaky laugh came out. Her mother came into the bathroom and stopped. Then she pretended to give up and leave the room but at the last minute she turned and pounced on Pepper, who shrieked and thrashed around in the curtain, the shower dribbling onto their shoulders.
‘Your turn,’ Pepper said. ‘Your turn now.’
‘OK,’ her mother said. ‘Are you wearing shoes?’ She checked Pepper’s feet but she was only wearing socks. ‘There’s water and gritty stuff all over the hall.’
‘Come on,’ Pepper shouted. ‘Let’s play.’ She stayed in the bath and counted. Maybe peeked a bit. One, two, three, four. Miss a few, one hundred. ‘Ready or not,’ she called out. The first thing she did was whirl right round to check her mother wasn’t hiding behind her. Which had happened once before. Then she ran downstairs and checked the kitchen. Everywhere was quiet. Through the hall and all the downstairs rooms, pouncing on a coat that she thought had moved, pouncing on a curtain. Up the stairs and back into the bathroom, snatching back the shower curtain. Nothing. Under the beds in each bedroom. Down into the kitchen, across into the lounge, the study. ‘I know where you are,’ she called out, but minutes passed, then more minutes. She started upstairs again, looking under beds, flinging open wardrobes, but the house was quiet and she stood at the top of the stairs looking down. ‘I know where you are,’ she said softly, but she stayed hovering at the top of the stairs listening for any . . .