22.

After dark I climb into the arms of a redwood, safe from anyone’s view. Sitting here, I wait for Celeste, half expecting her to storm down the hillside, a lightning flash in white robes.

But she never comes.

Did they carry her up, or did she wait until nightfall? I don’t know, but she’ll find me. It’s only a matter of time and she won’t forgive. Unless I wait until she forgets, but what if I forget first? I might wander into her territory, unprepared … and I still remember what she told me.

I’m not her son. I might’ve had a family. Some troll took my memory, but I’d never be able to find them and get it back. Unlike Stella, I’m doomed. Soon, I won’t even remember and the thought sends rivers of panic through my chest, threatening to drown me from the inside.

No, don’t think about it. Not now. Take deep breaths, focus on the Walker’s house.

From up in the trees, I’ve been listening and they’re packing. It’s a fair distance away, but I’ve heard snatches of conversation through open windows —

‘We’re not staying here …’

‘Where’s my Lego dinosaur?’

‘We’re safe behind the iron gates.’

‘I don’t care. We’ll find somewhere else to live. We’re leaving tonight.’

‘But Mum.’

And I’m left here inside the darkness, trying to stick pieces of a puzzle back together. Celeste chased Stella, but I can’t remember why. There’s a clean cut as if words have been sliced out and thrown away. My memories keep melting and changing shape. There’s a feeling of emptiness growing inside me, wider by the minute.

The night stretches before me, but also behind me like an endless black smear through my memory. How long before I forget Stella? Days? Weeks? Worst of all, I can’t remember everything we talked about. Our conversations keep vanishing like hot breath on a cold night. Even if I carved out words and pictures, they wouldn’t be real memories, more like …

Something thuds; a small clap of thunder echoing over the playground. What’s that? Sounds like a door, I think, and it just slammed shut.

I lean forward, edging along the branch. Through the leaves a light flickers, moving across the garden path. Is that a torch? The garden gate squeaks open.

Stella calls out in a harsh whisper, ‘Seth? Can you hear me?’

I hesitate, but only for a second.

Swinging off the branches, I land with a soft thud. Jumping over twisted roots I sprint towards the playground, my feet sinking as I run across the soft grass. ‘Over here.’

Her torch light slashes through the darkness, landing on my face. ‘Hey, watch that thing.’

‘Sorry.’ She lowers the torch and hurries closer, shivering inside an oversized puffer jacket, breathing white clouds from her mouth. They hover like frozen speech bubbles above our heads, unspoken words bursting in the night air. We stand there, staring at each other until she says ‘We’re leaving.’

‘I know.’

She nods. If anyone understands the strength of my hearing it would be her. A grinding sensation starts, deep in my chest. She’s the only one who knows me and, when she goes, I’ll be alone.

I look away, up at the sky. Of course I was alone before. But somehow, I didn’t know it, not until I met her. Now I’m stuck forever in this stupid garden and the grinding grows deeper, like it’s tunnelling a hole through my chest. When it stops, I’ll forget everything. Somehow, this makes me feel worse.

She frowns. ‘Are you okay? You don’t look so good.’

‘It’s just feelings.’

‘But you’re feeling something. That’s good right?’

‘Is it? My chest aches like a burn but soon …’

Stella finishes for me. ‘You’ll be back to your old self. You’ll forget.’

‘Yeah. It’s already happening.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be, pretty soon I won’t care at all.’

She shakes her head. ‘Don’t act like you don’t care, not already.’

Shrugging, I look along the park, towards the kids’ playground. What’s the point in saying unhappy things out loud? It won’t change anything. Stella sighs and shakes her head.

Following my gaze, she glances over her shoulder then back towards the gate. ‘I — I can’t stay for long. Grandad’s in bed and Mum’s finally asleep. I think she’s been trying to stay awake all night.’

‘In case you ran out of the house to visit me?’

‘Probably.’ She holds herself tighter, bouncing on her toes and trying to keep warm. ‘We’re leaving tomorrow — but I’ve got five minutes, at least. Come on.’

She nods at the playground and I shrug, keeping one eye on the silent house. I don’t fancy breaking my promise to Mrs Walker. I’m not sure what she’d do, but it won’t be anything good.

Still, I take a deep breath and follow.

Not talking, we hurry over the grass and past the seesaws, until Stella reaches for the swings. She stops for a moment, fingering the cold chains, then drops onto a seat and looks up at me.

‘Well? What’re you waiting for?’

I take the plastic swing next to her and sit down. Pushing back with my feet, I start to rock backwards and forwards, while Stella pulls a pen from her jacket pocket. Feet dangling, she frowns and tucks her torch under one arm, directing the light onto her hand, then scribbles something on her skin.

‘What’s that?’

‘An idea.’

She doesn’t want to tell me. Well, okay, I could eat her thoughts by accident. Still something twists inside me. I wish she could trust me, but I don’t want our last conversation to be about something stupid, so I say nothing. Trouble is, I can’t think of anything to talk about. Nothing seems important, except goodbye — and I don’t want to say the word. As I stare at my muddy feet, my stomach keeps flipping and the silence feels heavy. I’m almost glad my feelings will disappear.

Next to me, Stella’s feet scrape against the rubber playground mats. She pushes off into a light swing but her feet trail along the ground; we’re both too big for our seats. ‘Why do you think I didn’t end up like my granddad?’

‘What?’

‘Why didn’t he become a troll, too? Or why didn’t I get dementia?’

‘I dunno, but he lost all kinds of memories, right? You only lost your unhappy ones, maybe that makes a difference.’

She nods. ‘You think that’s why I started turning?’

‘I don’t know.’ I look away, up at the starless sky stretching above us like a black river. ‘Maybe you need to remember bad things in order to understand other people’s pain. You don’t want to hurt anyone because you know how bad it feels. And maybe, remembering unhappy things makes people kinder, more empathetic.’

And, I add to myself, more human.

She leans her head against the swing. ‘So I guess without it … people turn into monsters?’

I don’t answer and she says, ‘Do you think you were born this way? I mean, was Celeste your mum, or did you give your memories away and turn?’

I stare back at her, knowing she can’t make out my expression in the darkness. ‘I think I was like you, but I’m not sure. Celeste told me outside the aviary; she said a troll took my memories a few years ago in Regent’s Park, before we were sent here. But she could’ve been lying.’

Stella’s breath whistles over her teeth. ‘But maybe not.’

I shrug, my feelings already growing duller. Soon I won’t remember or care. Is Celeste right, will that be better?

‘Okay, that makes sense.’ Stella nods at her feet. Does she understand? Maybe. Just a few hours ago she was like me.

Pushing off again, she starts swinging, forcing her feet off the ground. Neither of us says anything and it’s weird but the silence grows until it feels like there’s an empty space between us. I’m starting to think I should say something, anything to fill it, when she blurts out —

‘Do you want to forget me?’

‘Uh, no. Not really.’

Okay, now my ears burn. It’s like someone set a fire inside my head. Can that happen? Probably not.

‘Right then.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Look, we’re moving into a motel, but I’ll leave you something. I can’t tell you what or I might forget, but I’ll tell you where to find it. Okay? I’ll write it on your hand.’

I stare at her.

She keeps talking. ‘I’ve written instructions for myself in the house, so it won’t matter if I lose my memory. But I want to be careful, there’s a chance I won’t follow my own directions if I think it’s one of my old stories. Even I mightn’t believe me.’

What’s she on about?

Stella grabs my hand and squints in the darkness. My body jumps and I’ve got the urge to pull away but stay at the same time. I force myself to sit still; her pen feels like beetles crawling along my arm, but her skin reminds me of sunflower petals, smooth and warm on a summer’s evening.

‘Don’t go yet, wait until after we’ve left the house. My surprise isn’t ready.’ She tucks her hand back into the sleeve, but the other one still holds mine. ‘I feel better, you know — since I told you that stuff about my dad. I’d never told anyone and now I’ve said it out loud, all the bad stuff hasn’t gone away, but it’s growing smaller. If that makes sense?’

‘Oh.’ She’s getting close to sharing memories, and I say, ‘Careful.’

She nods. ‘Some of the other stories I told you, all the nasty things some kids said … I used to think maybe they were true. But when I saw myself in your memories, I saw the parts of me you liked — and I liked me, too.’

She blinks and I pass the words back, watching her gather thoughts back together. ‘Stella, those other girls just didn’t see you right. Even if they never do, they’re just idiots.’

She nods. ‘I know, but it’s like I’ve got another perspective in my head; a better one. Of course even your view of things mightn’t be perfect, but that means I need to think more about my own opinions … does that sound weird?’

‘I don’t think so.’ I remember the way her ordinary memories tasted strange. I think sometimes unhappy memories infect others, until you see everything the wrong way, including yourself.

She glances away, looking awkward. ‘And I’ve been thinking, no I can’t tell you … so I’m just going to do it.’

The memory of her thinking about me sinks into my head, but I don’t mention it. I’m keeping this one. Instead I say, ‘Do what?’

Stella takes a deep breath. ‘I met you by the front gate, and I was barefoot. Max was meowing.’

And her words rise up through the air, painting pictures with indelible ink, splashing the memory of her into my brain.

‘Wait, Stella, you can’t! You’ll forget, too.’

‘Relax.’ She frowns. ‘It’s sort of like a goodbye present. I don’t have anything else to give you. And the point is you won’t forget.’

‘But …’

‘Shut up and listen. You need these memories more than I do. It’s not all of them, just the story about us. I saw you through the bars …’

And then I can’t stop her, because I’m hungry and so empty, I let her talk even when she pulls pages from her pocket and reads the memories to me. She talks fast, swinging backwards and forwards, telling me about playing on her computer, racing from Celeste and the expression on her mother’s face when the old man’s memory came back. She even tells me about my conversation with Celeste, gluing the possible truth about my past into my mind. I’m so grateful, I can hardly breathe.

I should stop her, but my mind opens wide, swallowing her memories whole. When did I last eat a happy thought? They taste like early summer rain; fresh and cool. And now, I see myself not just as I am, but the way she thinks of me.

Pictures form inside my mind; I’m strong enough to stand up to Celeste, brave enough to trust humans and, under my smooth words, honest and blunt as a snapped branch — just like Stella.

Maybe, we’re two of a kind.

When the last words fall, she blinks at me. The swaying stops, her face strains as if she’s listening for something far away and every inch of her body freezes. She’s like a tree after the storm dies and the branches settle, unnaturally still. And then her hand drops, letting the pen fall.

‘Ummm, how did I get here?’

‘Are you okay?’

She frowns, not happy with my answer. ‘I’m not sure, what am I doing here?’ She bends down and snatches the pen, like she thinks I might steal it.

My heart sinks but I keep my voice light. I don’t want to scare her. ‘Um, you went for a walk. Maybe you were sleep walking.’

She looks around, eyes wide, clearly unconvinced. ‘You look kind of familiar. I’ve met you before, by the gate … haven’t I?’ She still has a few memories, scattered and meaningless. Her eyes tighten, not waiting for an answer. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m … nobody.’

She blinks, not quite believing but knowing something isn’t right. ‘Uh, I’ve got to go. I shouldn’t be out here at night, my mum will worry … sorry.’

She jumps out of the seat, a jerky movement, running over the grass towards her house. Stella doesn’t look back at me. She almost slips on the path and I watch until her shadow disappears and the gate clangs shut.

Then I sit there for a long time, watching the space where she disappeared, as if I could drag her back with my eyes. But I know that can’t happen. I won’t see her, ever again.