I Was Born for This(42)

As soon as the lift door opens, I’m running. Run out of the building, through the door, down the steps, and – there. Fresh air. Light. It’s so light. The rain is cool and clean and pure. The rain isn’t going to hurt me.

‘Mr Kaga-Ricci!’

The sound of a voice makes my heart hammer in my chest and I spin round – but it’s only Ernest, one of our apartment block’s doormen. He’s hurrying towards me down the steps outside our building as fast as he can, which isn’t very fast, because he is eighty-two years old.

‘Mr Kaga-Ricci, should you be outside by yourself?’

I blink very slowly as he approaches. ‘What?’

Ernest produces an umbrella and holds it above my head.

‘You should come back inside, sir, it’s pouring. And you shouldn’t be outside on your own.’

I hate it when Ernest calls us ‘sir’. He’s over four times our age. He’s witnessed the Second World War.

‘Are you all right, sir?’ he frowns at me. ‘What’s all that blood doing on your shorts?’

I glance down. Oh. Shit. There’s still blood all over my shorts.

‘I … er … cut my hand. On a mug.’ I vaguely wave my bandaged hand.

‘Well, you rather look like you’ve had a bit of a rough and tumble, if you ask me.’ Ernest chuckles. ‘Not fighting with your friends, are you?’

‘No,’ I say, which is much easier than attempting to explain the truth.

Ernest sighs heavily. He reminds me so much of Grandad. And a bit of David Attenborough. Both are reasons why I befriended him in the first place.

‘What are you doing out here, eh?’ he asks.

‘I wanted to go for a walk.’

‘In the pouring rain?’

‘… yeah.’

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea without a bodyguard, sir.’

‘… I know.’ I look at him. He’s gazing at me sympathetically. I wish I could give him a hug. ‘Can you come with me?’

Ernest chuckles. ‘I’m not allowed to leave the building, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh.’ I shove my hands into my pockets. ‘I’ll just go on my own, then.’

‘Sir, I really don’t think—’

‘I’ll just walk around the park. I’ll only be ten minutes.’

‘But if someone recognises you—’

I’ve already stepped out from underneath his umbrella and started walking away. ‘I’ll be fine.’

I don’t care. Ernest’s voice fades away into the rain.

I open the gate into the park. It’s not really a park, it’s just a long strip of grass, trees and flowers in between the rows of apartment blocks. You’re only supposed to enter if you’re a local resident, so I should be fine. Plus, it’s getting dark now. Not that there’s any level of sunset visible through the thick grey rainclouds.

There’s no one around.

I sit down on a bench, pull back my hood and take my cap off. The rain patters against my skin, against my forehead and cheeks and knees. It’s therapeutic. I rub my face, washing it with the rain, getting the sleep out of my eyes. I run a hand through my hair, which is soaked and soft. I look at my hands. My body feels like it’s mine again.

A squirrel darts through the grass in front of me and clambers up a tree. It climbs all the way up to the top, then disappears. I smile.

Then I see someone approaching.

Fuck. No. What do I do? Run? Should I go? Should I hide? Are they going to recognise me? Probably. I shouldn’t really be seen looking like this. They might guess where I live. Call other people. Everyone will know. Everyone will— ‘Have you seen those gloriosa daisies?’

I snap my head up. I must have been panicking for longer than I thought.

But it’s just an old woman, walking with a Zimmer frame. She looks very, very old. Older than Ernest. And Grandad. Her skin looks so worn and wrinkled, her hair wispy and white. She’s wearing a big purple raincoat, and her glasses are so thick that her eyes are huge. She’s walking about four times more slowly than most people.

She grins crookedly at me. ‘Aren’t they lovely, eh?’ She points shakily at a big bunch of yellow flowers growing in one corner of the park. ‘They’ll be bringing butterflies and bees here once this rain clears up.’

I don’t say anything.

She laughs. She sounds so happy.

‘Beautiful,’ she says. ‘What a world we live in!’

And then she walks away.

The sky gets darker and darker, and then it’s night-time. I didn’t bring my phone so I have no idea what the time is. Streetlamps shine into the park between gaps in the trees, giving the whole area a dim yellowish glow, the rain blurring everything, lights sparkling off the water, and when I next open my eyes, nothing seems very real any more, just dark and melting, everything’s just melting into yellow slush, and I stand up, my knees aching a little from sitting for so long, and walk out of the park, mud sticking to the soles of my shoes. It’s not cool now, it’s just cold, and I don’t want to be here any more. I want to be warm and dry and I want nobody to talk to me, ever— ‘Oh my God, is that—’

Fuck. Don’t look. Pretend you didn’t hear.