house, he’d discovered the names ‘Hugo’ and ‘Saskia’ written against little black marks measured in inches that climbed up the door like a ladder. He had run his finger along a faded date in 1984 to his father’s name. Dad had already been three inches taller.
Jack rested a hand on his stomach. The warmth helped with the cramps.
His eyes drifted to the old fitted wardrobe beside the fireplace. The doors were still firmly closed, as he had left it last night. His electric guitar was still propped up against it to hold the doors in place, now that the metal catch had stopped working properly. The bright red instrument leaned a little to the left, like a drunken sentry. ‘What would his friends say about him being scared of sinister men in his wardrobe?’ he’d heard Nana say last night through the stripped floorboards, as he’d lain flat, wondering why she was talking in a strange voice. As if he was ever going to tell Gabe and Damon that?
His stomach cramped extra hard.
He reached up and took down the little snowdome from his shelf and shook it. Glitter exploded above a miniature plastic mountain. He waited, then shook it again.
Finally, he heard the noise he had been dreading since seven o’clock this morning.
His mother’s bedroom door opening. A pad of bare feet towards the stairs.
He rolled onto his back, stuffing his fingers in his ears.
‘Jack,’ she called gently. ‘Are you up? We’ve slept in.’
‘Hmm,’ he replied, removing his fingers a fraction.
‘You’ll have to get dressed quickly. What do you want for breakfast?’
His stomach gurgled.
‘Nothing. I’m not hungry.’
‘You need something. Do you want a bagel?’
There was a click. He stuck his fingers back in his ears so hard, his nails scraped the skin inside. But it was too late. He had heard it.
‘OK,’ he shouted, willing her to go away.
She was opening the gate. Trying to do it so he wouldn’t hear. Trying to pretend she hadn’t locked it again with that padlock he’d seen in her shopping bag on Saturday. Even though he’d heard Nana tell her not to on Friday night.
Jack looked up at the plastic stars Aunt Sass had stuck on his ceiling when they moved here from London when he was six. Blood thumped inside his barricaded ears. Boom, boom, boom . He shut his eyes and imagined he was swimming under the ocean among those shoals of baby rays he’d seen at the aquarium in London with Nana and Granddad, the muscles in his stomach stretched out and eased by the warm water.
When the biggest cramp came, he focused hard on the poster and imagined saving a penalty shoot-out for Arsenal in the FA Cup. Six foot two, Dad had been. Still smallish for a professional goalie but possible. He needed to eat more to try to catch Dad up.
The faint aroma of toasted bagel floated into his bedroom.
With a grunt, Jack pulled himself out of bed and swept his hair out of his face. He took off his pyjamas, found his school uniform things in his drawers, and pulled them on. He removed the guitar and opened the wardrobe hesitantly.
A rail of clothes appeared, above two shelves that Granddad had built. Checking quickly that Mum wasn’t behind him, Jack swept a hand behind the clothes, touching the wall to check no one was there. He went to pick up his trainers for PE from the bottom shelf, then stopped.
They had moved again.
He was sure of it.
He had chucked them in the other day, and now they sat neatly, pointing outwards.
Jack grabbed them by the laces and stood up. Had Mum tidied them up when she was putting away his clean laundry?
He rubbed his stomach hard, hunched his shoulders and went to open his bedroom door, knowing he couldn’t ask her. She’d just start going on again about someone eating the casserole and look even more worried.
The bars of the cage glinted in the morning sun. They were as flat and wide as his school ruler, embedded into a long bracket on the ceiling above. The door had been pushed back quietly
Jack rested a hand on his stomach. The warmth helped with the cramps.
His eyes drifted to the old fitted wardrobe beside the fireplace. The doors were still firmly closed, as he had left it last night. His electric guitar was still propped up against it to hold the doors in place, now that the metal catch had stopped working properly. The bright red instrument leaned a little to the left, like a drunken sentry. ‘What would his friends say about him being scared of sinister men in his wardrobe?’ he’d heard Nana say last night through the stripped floorboards, as he’d lain flat, wondering why she was talking in a strange voice. As if he was ever going to tell Gabe and Damon that?
His stomach cramped extra hard.
He reached up and took down the little snowdome from his shelf and shook it. Glitter exploded above a miniature plastic mountain. He waited, then shook it again.
Finally, he heard the noise he had been dreading since seven o’clock this morning.
His mother’s bedroom door opening. A pad of bare feet towards the stairs.
He rolled onto his back, stuffing his fingers in his ears.
‘Jack,’ she called gently. ‘Are you up? We’ve slept in.’
‘Hmm,’ he replied, removing his fingers a fraction.
‘You’ll have to get dressed quickly. What do you want for breakfast?’
His stomach gurgled.
‘Nothing. I’m not hungry.’
‘You need something. Do you want a bagel?’
There was a click. He stuck his fingers back in his ears so hard, his nails scraped the skin inside. But it was too late. He had heard it.
‘OK,’ he shouted, willing her to go away.
She was opening the gate. Trying to do it so he wouldn’t hear. Trying to pretend she hadn’t locked it again with that padlock he’d seen in her shopping bag on Saturday. Even though he’d heard Nana tell her not to on Friday night.
Jack looked up at the plastic stars Aunt Sass had stuck on his ceiling when they moved here from London when he was six. Blood thumped inside his barricaded ears. Boom, boom, boom . He shut his eyes and imagined he was swimming under the ocean among those shoals of baby rays he’d seen at the aquarium in London with Nana and Granddad, the muscles in his stomach stretched out and eased by the warm water.
When the biggest cramp came, he focused hard on the poster and imagined saving a penalty shoot-out for Arsenal in the FA Cup. Six foot two, Dad had been. Still smallish for a professional goalie but possible. He needed to eat more to try to catch Dad up.
The faint aroma of toasted bagel floated into his bedroom.
With a grunt, Jack pulled himself out of bed and swept his hair out of his face. He took off his pyjamas, found his school uniform things in his drawers, and pulled them on. He removed the guitar and opened the wardrobe hesitantly.
A rail of clothes appeared, above two shelves that Granddad had built. Checking quickly that Mum wasn’t behind him, Jack swept a hand behind the clothes, touching the wall to check no one was there. He went to pick up his trainers for PE from the bottom shelf, then stopped.
They had moved again.
He was sure of it.
He had chucked them in the other day, and now they sat neatly, pointing outwards.
Jack grabbed them by the laces and stood up. Had Mum tidied them up when she was putting away his clean laundry?
He rubbed his stomach hard, hunched his shoulders and went to open his bedroom door, knowing he couldn’t ask her. She’d just start going on again about someone eating the casserole and look even more worried.
The bars of the cage glinted in the morning sun. They were as flat and wide as his school ruler, embedded into a long bracket on the ceiling above. The door had been pushed back quietly
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