that we should be getting back.
‘We’ll talk about this more later,’ Dad says to me, before beginning to walk back towards the main road with Gordon.
Irritation bubbles inside me, making the hot chocolate taste sour in my mouth.
I
was talking to Dad. Why does everyone always have to interrupt? Why are their questions always more
important than mine? We won’t talk about this later. We never do talk properly.
Gordon and Dad are walking a little ahead of me now, with Gordon laughing at something Dad has said. I drop back further, watching my boots turn white to black to white as I drag my feet
through the snow. Dad stops to wait for me, throwing his arm around my shoulder as soon as I get close enough. I shrug him off, sidestepping out of reach. I am rewarded by seeing a flash of
annoyance in his eyes. Good. Now he knows how it feels to be disappointed. It is childish, and I immediately regret it when Dad stalks off without a word. I want to call out that I am sorry, that I
just want to spend more time with him – but something in the set of his shoulders keeps me silent.
Dad is standing over my bed when I wake up. It must be early evening, as his face is an inkblot in the thin light from the high-up window. A gasp catches in my throat. They
have found me!
‘Dad!’ I say, tears welling in my eyes as my arms go around his neck. He holds me close and I breathe in the familiar musky scent of his aftershave and the traces of cigar smoke.
‘How did you find me?’ I cling to him more tightly.
‘We’re going to get you out of here. There are police everywhere. You’re safe now. You’re safe.’
I open my eyes. The cell is flooded with sunlight; the window is a splice of pale blue. Dust particles dance in the sparkling light, pirouetting in a golden line from the window to the opposite
wall of the cell, where they seem to converge into shapes. It is like looking into a kaleidoscope.
Dad isn’t here. No one is, but me. It was just a dream. I wasn’t even asleep. It’s too uncomfortable with my hands pulled over my head. I think I just passed out for a while,
which is annoying as I’d been trying to keep track of time. How much darker is it in here now than before? Was I out for ten minutes, twenty, an hour? I have no idea.
The flue of sunlight disappears, taking the frolicking dust particles with it. A spider scuttles across the bare wall towards the door. I watch as it disappears through a crack in the doorframe.
My mouth tastes like a rubbish tip and a headache is pushing at my eyes. I must have been sweating in my sleep because my hair is stuck to my face in clumps. I can’t even push it away.
Outside, a bird is crying a thin, high note.
Zi-zi-zi. Zi-zi-zi.
I imagine the view outside: a garden, an oak tree, birds. Beyond, what? A hill? A forest? Fields? The image is replaced
with another: the Eiffel Tower through my camera lens, looking black and spindly, and standing tall in a world of ice and frost.
I force the memory away and instead imagine the Downing Street garden. The trees arch over my head, corseting the blue sky. Addy is running, screaming with laughter, because Poppy is chasing
her.
My wrists are so sore. I want to sit up, just for a little bit. Maybe if I shout? I’m afraid that Scar will come, but I’m more afraid that my hands will drop off soon if I
don’t get the blood circulating. I call out, quietly at first, and then louder. Eventually the door opens and Talon comes in. The second I see him, I beg for him to untie me, knowing
it’s degrading, but I don’t care. It’s not like he doesn’t know who has the power here. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ I add, when his hand goes unconsciously to the
stab wound on his arm. ‘Please, I just have to move. Just a couple of minutes.’
Finally he comes over to the bed and cuts the flexes from my wrists with the penknife from his belt. Just as he is fiddling with the second flex, the door bangs open again. ‘What the hell
is
‘We’ll talk about this more later,’ Dad says to me, before beginning to walk back towards the main road with Gordon.
Irritation bubbles inside me, making the hot chocolate taste sour in my mouth.
I
was talking to Dad. Why does everyone always have to interrupt? Why are their questions always more
important than mine? We won’t talk about this later. We never do talk properly.
Gordon and Dad are walking a little ahead of me now, with Gordon laughing at something Dad has said. I drop back further, watching my boots turn white to black to white as I drag my feet
through the snow. Dad stops to wait for me, throwing his arm around my shoulder as soon as I get close enough. I shrug him off, sidestepping out of reach. I am rewarded by seeing a flash of
annoyance in his eyes. Good. Now he knows how it feels to be disappointed. It is childish, and I immediately regret it when Dad stalks off without a word. I want to call out that I am sorry, that I
just want to spend more time with him – but something in the set of his shoulders keeps me silent.
Dad is standing over my bed when I wake up. It must be early evening, as his face is an inkblot in the thin light from the high-up window. A gasp catches in my throat. They
have found me!
‘Dad!’ I say, tears welling in my eyes as my arms go around his neck. He holds me close and I breathe in the familiar musky scent of his aftershave and the traces of cigar smoke.
‘How did you find me?’ I cling to him more tightly.
‘We’re going to get you out of here. There are police everywhere. You’re safe now. You’re safe.’
I open my eyes. The cell is flooded with sunlight; the window is a splice of pale blue. Dust particles dance in the sparkling light, pirouetting in a golden line from the window to the opposite
wall of the cell, where they seem to converge into shapes. It is like looking into a kaleidoscope.
Dad isn’t here. No one is, but me. It was just a dream. I wasn’t even asleep. It’s too uncomfortable with my hands pulled over my head. I think I just passed out for a while,
which is annoying as I’d been trying to keep track of time. How much darker is it in here now than before? Was I out for ten minutes, twenty, an hour? I have no idea.
The flue of sunlight disappears, taking the frolicking dust particles with it. A spider scuttles across the bare wall towards the door. I watch as it disappears through a crack in the doorframe.
My mouth tastes like a rubbish tip and a headache is pushing at my eyes. I must have been sweating in my sleep because my hair is stuck to my face in clumps. I can’t even push it away.
Outside, a bird is crying a thin, high note.
Zi-zi-zi. Zi-zi-zi.
I imagine the view outside: a garden, an oak tree, birds. Beyond, what? A hill? A forest? Fields? The image is replaced
with another: the Eiffel Tower through my camera lens, looking black and spindly, and standing tall in a world of ice and frost.
I force the memory away and instead imagine the Downing Street garden. The trees arch over my head, corseting the blue sky. Addy is running, screaming with laughter, because Poppy is chasing
her.
My wrists are so sore. I want to sit up, just for a little bit. Maybe if I shout? I’m afraid that Scar will come, but I’m more afraid that my hands will drop off soon if I
don’t get the blood circulating. I call out, quietly at first, and then louder. Eventually the door opens and Talon comes in. The second I see him, I beg for him to untie me, knowing
it’s degrading, but I don’t care. It’s not like he doesn’t know who has the power here. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ I add, when his hand goes unconsciously to the
stab wound on his arm. ‘Please, I just have to move. Just a couple of minutes.’
Finally he comes over to the bed and cuts the flexes from my wrists with the penknife from his belt. Just as he is fiddling with the second flex, the door bangs open again. ‘What the hell
is
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