“You’re a fast runner for such a wee boy.”
Billy gasped and spun around.
The old lady stood there, a few feet along the path, her shawl still wrapped around her.
“How fast can you run?” she asked.
“Dunno,” Billy said.
“Bet you can run faster, anyway.”
The voices of the other children rang through the trees, echoing along the path. The old lady’s eyes sparkled.
First Kevin, then the girl erupted from the dense growth on either side. They charged past the old lady, looking back over their shoulders at Billy, smiling, laughing. Then the other children, all shouting, telling him to come on, come on, run, run, run!
From behind, Michael’s hand slammed into Billy’s shoulder, almost knocking him off his feet.
Michael shouted, “You’re It!” as he tore past.
His laughter receded along the path.
The old lady reached out her hand to Billy.
“You heard him,” she said. “You’re It. Come on. You can catch them. A fast runner like you. Run as fast as you can.”
Billy stood quite still, watching her.
“Come on,” she said, rippling her outstretched fingers.
Billy looked back towards the distant rooftops, barely visible above the trees.
So far away.
“You’ve no one to play with back there,” the old lady said. “Come on with us. You’ll have so much fun.”
Billy took small steps closer to her. He let her take his fingers in hers.
“Come on,” she said again. “Let’s catch them. Let’s run.”
She took off, dragging Billy after her. So quick, her strange olden days boots barely touching the ground. Billy ran too, faster, until he kept pace with her, then faster, pulling her along behind him.
Up ahead, the other children, laughing and laughing.
And more, dozens now, all calling his name, all shouting can’t catch me, can’t catch me.
Deeper into the trees until he didn’t know where he was, until it he could no longer see the sky above, until he couldn’t have found the path home if he looked for a hundred years, or a thousand years, or a million years. Still he giggled, the old lady’s hand in his.
So far away now, so far he would never hear his mum’s voice, no matter how loud and how long she called. Even if she searched all day and all night, she would never find him, not out here, not so deep and lost among the trees.
Billy felt like he could run for ever and ever and ever.
Echo
I’m lucky. I have two birthdays. The ninth of March and the second of September. Two cakes and two presents. On Christmas Morning, there are two piles in the living room. I don’t know if I get more things than other kids. Maybe I just get the normal number of presents split in two. One pile is always girls’ things, but that’s okay.
Today is my twelfth birthday. The second one. The real one.
There are bottles on the coffee table in the living room when I come downstairs. The lino on the kitchen floor is cold on my bare soles, so I walk on tippy-toes. Angus looks up from his bed in the corner, blinking. He sighs and huffs, buries his nose between his paws, and goes back to sleep.
The Crunchy Nut Corn Flakes are kept in the top cupboard, out of my reach. I bring a chair from the table, careful not to scrape it across the floor, and place it beneath my target. I climb up, open the cupboard, and grab the box.
Later, I’ll have Weetabix without sugar, and I won’t complain. Mum will be happy, and Dad will wonder how he gets through the Crunchy Nut so quickly.
I wash the bowl and spoon, dry them, and put them back.
Not a word.
Back in bed, the sheets are cool. Dry, thank God. The first time in weeks. I burrow in, like a worm through soil. I flex my toes between the cotton.
Clanking bottles wake me up. Mum sings to herself downstairs, “She’s a waterfall.”
The Stone Roses, I think. She only plays them when she’s had some wine. On LP, spinning on the old turntable that Dad bought at a vintage fair.
I like the crackle and hiss, but you can only hear them when you’re up close. Close enough to see your reflection wavering in the black vinyl.
For the second time, I get out of bed and go downstairs.
I do lots of things twice.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
Mum takes a bowl from the cupboard, drops two Weetabix in, and a splash of milk.
I eat at the table, in the same seat as earlier.
“Do you think the postman will have anything for you?”
I shrug.
She strokes my back.
“Bet he will.”
I look up at her. Her face is dry and lost. Her eyes are red.
Today will not be a good day.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask.
“He’s having a lie-in,” she says, and clears the last of the bottles into the recycling bag. “Are you looking forward to your party?”
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m not.
Two hours of forced smiles and thank-yous. No school friends will come because I don’t go to school. Mum teaches me. She used to be a primary school teacher. There’s a blackboard in the front room, but it’s rarely used. Mostly, I read books. People from the education authority come round sometimes. Mum smiles for them. So do I. They go away happy.
The only guests at my birthday party will be my parents, Aunt Laura and her latest new boyfriend, and Granny Carol.
Granny Carol will get weepy. Aunt Laura will put an arm around her. Mum will start clearing up while they’re still eating. Dad will wait for them to leave, then he’ll excuse himself and go back to his office upstairs in the attic.
That’s the easy part. Before that, it’ll be the photo album. I wonder how long she’ll go before she gets it out. Maybe an hour or two, if I’m lucky.
“Can I walk Angus?” I ask.
“Your dad walks the dog,” she says, sitting down opposite.
“He could walk him again,” I say. “Later on. Angus wouldn’t mind.”
“No, sweetheart. It’s too dangerous. Those roads. And you can’t go into the Folly on your own.”
“You said I could walk him when I was old enough.”
“Twelve isn’t old enough. What if you fell in the river?”
I realise my mistake.