4.

Dreams tumble through my head, strange stolen memories appearing in the darkness. A soldier steps off a train and sees his mother, then fades away. Now, two children swing on a tree while I taste the memory of their mother sipping green tea and turning the pages of a novel, the paper soft and dry like autumn leaves and then — my own voice.

‘Tell me a story.’

A man answers, ‘Another one?’

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘Tell me. I want to know.’

And I look up at the moon, which is cracked and worn, craters splitting its white skin. Close by there’s a wheezing laugh and a man clears his throat, making way for words, ‘There once was a girl …’

‘Why?’

‘Don’t ask me — why anything? It’s not a made-up story.’

‘Well, where is she now?’

A sigh. ‘Out there, somewhere.’

He means places I can’t visit. I want to walk though those iron gates, meet strange kids and laugh like I know things too, but I can’t. I never go anywhere. And the wanting wakes me with a gasp, causing stone to crack across my face, almost giving way even though there’s still daylight. My heart thumps as I watch the last memory inside my head, withering around the edges. It’s dying. That’s how I know it’s mine.

Don’t think about it; look away. It’s early afternoon, I’ve woken far too soon and sunlight still burns the air. Frozen in stone, I’m breathing through tiny cracks in my skin as thoughts pile up inside my head, each one slamming into the next. Think about … Stella.

We’ve met a few more times now, though it’s hard to keep track. She waits on her porch stairs, huddling under thick ferns which line the side of the house in rows of unfurling question marks … I can still taste the memory of a birthday cake from our last conversation, but I’m worried. My memory’s full of holes, but she acted funny last night, not meeting my eyes and then running off, like she couldn’t wait to get away. Still, everything else seemed fine, so why do I feel like I’ve forgotten something important? Something strange happened on the way back to my bridge a few nights ago, I saw something … but I’m not sure what.

If only I could ask Celeste. She knows more than me. But I don’t dare go and visit her garden, she’d ask too many questions. She’d find Stella interesting for all the wrong reasons. No, I need to think of something else, a better plan.

Stella.

Will she be waiting by the gate tonight? What if she doesn’t come? What will I do, instead?

Ugh.

Think of something else — anything.

Old ladies walk over the bridge and discuss racing bets, grandchildren and Sunday sermons. Insects buzz arcs around my head, slicing their way through the air while the Leith sweeps past clearing rubbish from the hills. I sit here, staring into the water, and it’s not a bad view. Colours change, currents quicken or slow as debris passes down the river. I wouldn’t mind seeing a fish, something alive with a will of its own and a body to turn whenever it wants.

Above me a voice calls out, ‘Seth?’

Wait, is that?

‘No way!’

I know that voice.

Feet scrape through mud, sliding and crunching over dead leaves. My heart pounds inside my concrete shell like it’s trying to break out and run away. Idiot, of course Stella could find me. Most people don’t pay attention to old statues but she’s different. Stella lives next to the park. She probably comes here all the time. Why didn’t I think of that?

My heart smacks harder against my ribs. Okay. Don’t panic.

Maybe she won’t recognise me. There’s a huge difference between flesh and stone. My features might look worn by weather and time. Of course I wouldn’t know but … she’s getting closer.

‘Seth?’

Her hands clamp around my shoulders and there’s no warmth, only pressure. I can’t move. Her feet slip until she’s behind me, wrapped against my back, balancing her weight and trying not to slide into the water.

‘Seth?’ Her voice passes by my ear, drifting down towards the river.

Inside my shell, I’m pressing against stone, willing it to break. Everything inside me grows cold.

Stella’s sneakers slurp against soft dirt as she edges sideways. I’m sitting on a ledge over a sheer drop and the only way is down. I’ve tasted the sour memories of accidents and if she tumbles I can’t help her. Careful, Stella. I’m glued here while the sun shines.

‘This is crazy,’ she mutters to herself, gravel in every syllable.

Good, stick with that. None of this makes sense, so go back to your bedroom, listen to music and do something ‘normal’. Act like a teenager. Don’t talk to statues.

But she just sits here, saying nothing.

Wind rushes between us, curling around my head and rushing under the bridge. Sneaky wind. It moves and twists without warning, appearing from nowhere. You can feel one thousand invisible arms, a million cold fingers. I don’t trust something I can’t see.

Stella leans in, her breath like a single breeze against my ear. ‘Seth … is that you?’

Deep inside my heart speeds up again, slamming now against my ribs, a rock-fall sending down chips of pain.

She knows.

But she can’t understand. She doesn’t have a clue. And yet … she knows something isn’t right.

Sighing, she pushes herself up, shoving hard against my arm. I barely feel her. A corner of her skirt flaps in my face, blue like a torn-out piece of sky. And then there’s nothing, except the sound of grass and crunching twigs as she stomps back up the slope.

She’s gone.

Stella can’t believe I’m a statue, it’s too crazy. But what will she think? Better question — what should I do?

Frozen inside my shell I stare into the twisting water, my mind moving like the river, churning and dragging me under until I feel like I’m drowning under the weight of my own questions. I’m in serious trouble now.