The doorknob. The rattling. Back.
‘Okay,’ Soli whispers, ‘okay We could face them down but…’
Tidge takes over: ‘we’re kids not super-heroes and this is real life.’
The nerve-rash Mouse gets is claiming his face. ‘The bathroom’s scaring me like crazy, guys,’ he warns. ‘What went on, before, in the bath, it’s got scratches like something was trying to get out and, and …’ He can’t go on.
‘Didn’t,’ Tidge concludes. Neither has been to the loo all morning in fact.
‘The bed,’ Soli commands. They scramble under it. She drags down the duvet to cover the gap between the mattress and floor and Mouse finds his brother’s hand and they wait with trembly breaths.
Footsteps. Hesitating. Changing direction. Heading to the bed. Closer. Closer. They stop. The cover’s grabbed. Tugged. Your daughter yanks back. The boys are now gripping each other so tight Mouse’s fingernails are digging into Tidge’s palms and there is blood in tiny sickles. Tidge can feel its sticky wet—
‘Why do you lot always have to make everything so difficult?’
The duvet’s dropped. Three little faces peer out. Burst into laughter.
It’s B.
B! They are safe, they are safe and you sink to your knees with relief unfurling in your chest. Motl’s protégé, surrogate son, closest friend.
‘Um, sorry, guys,’ says your daughter, ‘love you lots but there’s something I’ve got to do.’
She dashes to the bathroom.
‘Hurry up!’ Mouse wails, then Tidge.
‘La la la,’ she sings back.
Whatever one expects, things turn out otherwise.