Good Me Bad Me(8)

6


I’ve managed to keep your night-time visits a secret so far.

The fact you come as a snake, underneath the door. Up into my bed. Lie your scaly body next to mine, measure me. Remind me I still belong to you. I end up on the floor by morning, curled in a ball, the duvet over my head. My skin is hot, yet inside I’m cold, it’s hard to explain. I read in a book once that people who are violent are hot-headed, while psychopaths are cold-hearted. Hot and cold. Head and heart. But what if you come from a person who’s both? What happens then?

Tomorrow, Mike and I are due to meet the prosecution lawyers. The men or women recruited to take you down. Throw away the key. Do you sit in your cell and wonder why? Why I left when I did when so many years had already gone by? There are two reasons but only one I can talk about, and it’s this.

Sweet sixteen, mine. It’s not until December though you began planning it months ago, but not in the way a mother should. A birthday you’ll never forget, you said. Or survive, I remember thinking. Emails started to arrive from others you’d met. The dark belly of the internet. A shortlist. Three men and a woman, you invited them to come, share in the fun. Share me. It was to be my birthday, but I was the present. The pi?ata to punch. Sweet sixteen, you said, you couldn’t wait. The words like sugary treats in your mouth. Lemons for me. Bitter and sour.

I feel the beginnings of a migraine as I get ready for school, another little gift left over from you. The buttons on my shirt defy my fingers, like trying to thread a needle with chopsticks. It takes me longer than usual, and by the time I pass Phoebe’s room, the door’s closed and I wonder if she’s already left. I haven’t seen her since yesterday in the locker room at school. I hope she and the girls have had enough ‘fun’ with me now.

Three flights up we are, thick cream carpet. Changes to tiles once you reach the hallway below. I misjudge the last step and trip, landing on the cold marble. I must have called out because Mike comes out of the kitchen.

‘Easy now,’ he says. ‘Let me help you.’

He moves me on to the bottom step of the staircase, sits next to me. Stupid, I tell him. ‘Not to worry,’ he replies. ‘Easily done, the house is still new to you. You’re shading your eyes from the light, is it a migraine?’

‘I think so.’

‘We were told to expect these. It’s probably best if you stay off school, certainly for the morning anyway. Try and sleep it off.’

My first instinct is no, but then I remember where I am – and where you are. Sometimes you’d take a Friday off work, a long weekend. You’d call school, tell them I was sick, a stomach bug or flu. Three whole days, just me and you.

‘The kettle’s boiled, I’ll make you some tea then back to bed, okay?’

I nod, he helps me up. I ask him where Phoebe and Saskia are, they’ve gone already, he explains.

‘Which reminds me, Sas left you a present in the kitchen.’

The present is small, shaped like a square. Wrapped in blue paper, a red bow.

‘Open it if you like.’

The gesture is kind. I sit down at the table and as I watch Mike make the tea, the gentle way he lifts things, places them down, I’m flooded with gratitude. Not many people would take someone like me in, not many people would want that responsibility. That risk. I fight back the tears but they win. Land on the lilac tablecloth. Mike notices as he brings the mugs over, sits in the chair next to me. He looks at the unopened present in my hand, tells me not to worry. Take your time, he says, drink the tea, there’s some honey in it, the sweetness will help.

He’s right, and the warmth.

‘I know it’s only Tuesday but we should meet later, if you’re up to it. I think you’d benefit from some time today, what do you think?’

I nod, though I want to say no. I don’t want him to trample, wade through my inner thoughts and desires. He’d be disgusted to know I miss you, am missing you now as I sit here. When I opened the curtains this morning I noticed a bird box in the neighbours’ garden and it reminded me of the time we built one together. You used a hammer to bang in the nails. When I asked to have a go, you stroked my hair, said yes, but be careful with your fingers. The nurse in you, thinking about preventing pain rather than causing it, for once.

‘Good to see you’ve got some colour back. Why don’t you head up to bed and I’ll wake you later?’

I manage to sleep for the rest of the morning. Mike works from home for the day and we have lunch together, soup prepared for us by Sevita the housekeeper, and ham sandwiches. Rosie sits with her nose almost touching my leg, dewy brown eyes boring into my side. I slip her a piece of meat while we clear the table.

The lighting is kind in Mike’s study, two lamps, nothing on overhead. He explains he’ll drop the blinds but keep the shutters open. The blinds have elaborate purple pom-poms at the end of their ropes. He follows my gaze, smiles.

‘Sas. She’s the artistic one, not me.’

He walks to his desk, closes the lid of his laptop, takes his glasses off. Take a seat, he says, pointing to the armchair I sat in last time. I count as I sit, backwards from ten, try to calm my breathing. He picks up a cushion from one of the other armchairs. Blue velvet. Walks over to me, places it on the arm of the chair I’m sitting in. Smiles. He sits down opposite me, crosses his legs, interlocks his fingers, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair.