BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Birdseye (2014)
Published in 2018 by Umuzi
an imprint of Penguin Random House South Africa (Pty) Ltd
Company Reg No 1953/000441/07
The Estuaries No 4, Oxbow Crescent, Century Avenue, Century City, 7441, South Africa
PO Box 1144, Cape Town, 8000, South Africa
umuzi@penguinrandomhouse.co.za
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© 2018 Máire Fisher
www.mairefisher.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying and recording, or be stored in any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.
First edition, first printing 2018
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
ISBN 978-1-4152-0964-6 (Print)
ISBN 978-1-4152-1013-0 (ePub)
Cover design by Jacques Kaiser
Text design by Monique Cleghorn
For Hannah and Colleen, with love from Noah and Kate
‘There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them.’
– ANDRÉ GIDE, AUTUMN LEAVES
I wait, looking for somewhere to call home. I listen; my ears are keen.
I hear voices, so many voices, but not one of them is right.
I listen for a certain pitch. A tone, if you will. A feeling.
Patience, I tell myself, give it time. And so I float, in the deep.
Nothingness, I think you’d call it, but it is more than that. It echoes with all the sounds of the world, all the connections being made. Feelings calling, feelings answered. But me? No luck. I have no voice, no body to call my own.
I wait in the echo-filled emptiness.
I know that soon you will arrive, ready to be found.
I am yours, and you will be mine. If you weren’t here, neither would I be. I’m the creature of your mind. I grow in you and with you. I grow for you.
I almost have hold of you. You’re almost mine. I hear your voice, then you fade away. Yet something remains.
I’m close. Close to each beat of your heart, each breath, each word. Once I am in, your every thought can become mine. I can direct what you do, how you do it, why.
All I need is a chink. A small sliver of space.
And here it is, and in I shall slip.
Contents
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Part II
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
Chapter 122
Chapter 123
Chapter 124
Chapter 125
Chapter 126
Chapter 127
Chapter 128
Chapter 129
Chapter 130
Chapter 131
Chapter 132
Chapter 133
Chapter 134
Chapter 135
Chapter 136
Chapter 137
Chapter 138
Chapter 139
Chapter 140
Chapter 141
Chapter 142
Chapter 143
Chapter 144
Chapter 145
Chapter 146
Chapter 147
Chapter 148
Chapter 149
Chapter 150
Chapter 151
Chapter 152
Chapter 153
Chapter 154
Chapter 155
Chapter 156
Chapter 157
Chapter 158
Chapter 159
Chapter 160
Chapter 161
Chapter 162
Chapter 163
Chapter 164
Chapter 165
Chapter 166
Chapter 167
Chapter 168
Chapter 169
Chapter 170
Chapter 171
Chapter 172
Chapter 173
Chapter 174
Chapter 175
Chapter 176
Chapter 177
Chapter 178
Chapter 179
Chapter 180
Chapter 181
Chapter 182
Chapter 183
Chapter 184
Chapter 185
Chapter 186
Chapter 187
Chapter 188
Chapter 189
Chapter 190
Chapter 191
Chapter 192
Chapter 193
Chapter 194
Chapter 195
Chapter 196
Chapter 197
Chapter 198
Chapter 199
Part III
Chapter 200
Chapter 201
Chapter 202
Chapter 203
Chapter 204
Chapter 205
Chapter 206
Chapter 207
Chapter 208
Chapter 209
Chapter 210
Chapter 211
Chapter 212
Chapter 213
Chapter 214
Chapter 215
Chapter 216
Chapter 217
Chapter 218
Chapter 219
Chapter 220
Chapter 221
Chapter 222
Chapter 223
Chapter 224
Chapter 225
Chapter 226
Chapter 227
Chapter 228
Chapter 229
Chapter 230
Chapter 231
Chapter 232
Chapter 233
Chapter 234
Chapter 235
Chapter 236
Chapter 237
Chapter 238
Acknowledgements galore!
I
1.
30 January 2013 / 08:32
Noah Groome is strung out. He can’t concentrate, can’t think straight. He’s overslept this morning, for the 13th time in a row, and now he’s running late. 13 times his alarm has failed to wake him, 13 times he has had to leave his room without checking that all is where it should be, as it should be. 13 dog-nights, yipped into shreds.
Everything is off-kilter, out of balance; the scales are tipping, and Noah doesn’t have time, can’t find time, to set it all to rights.
He’s hurrying now, head bent, to get to class.
Move it.
A hissing from the Dark. A blur of shadow gathers as Noah tries to get things right.
He stops. Takes a minute he can’t afford to breathe in … 2 3 4 5 and out … 2 3 4 5.
He needs more time, to call on the 5s to restore order, but there’s none to spare. He’s so late, but he’ll slip into the back row as quietly as he can. That’s what he always does, that’s where he always sits.
Noah is tall. Taller than most of the boys in his class, but he does his best to be unseen. It doesn’t work, though. He’s the one who:
1.cannot open a door unless he pushes on the handle 5 times (down-up-down-up-down).
2.taps his fingers (1 2 3 4 5) and beats out 5 with his feet.
3.counts under his breath, and sometimes louder than that.
4.takes his pen out of his pocket and puts it back in (and out-in-out) before he can start writing.
5.keeps 5 pebbles in his pocket to run through his fingers like worry beads.
And that’s just the start of the 5s.
It’s hard for them not to notice him. He can’t move without counting under his breath, can’t pass a corner without tapping it quickly 5 times. He’s that boy who slips along corridors, a lanky shadow, head down, counting the steps between classrooms. He tries to stay below the radar. He offends no one, but he can’t make himself invisible.
Today, Kyle Blake is also late, as are three of his friends, but not because they’ve been counting the tiles in the boys’ washroom, not because they can only step carefully in sets of 5. The smell of nicotine is strong on them and Noah’s nostrils flare; his lip pulls back.
‘Hey, what’s with you, Nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh-Noah?’ Kyle is almost as tall as Noah, with the pale, etiolated look of a weed that has shot up in the dark. His chin and cheeks are dotted with acne and his blond hair flops over his forehead and falls into his eyes. He jabs Noah in the chest.
All Noah wants is to get to class and not be too late for English, not hear Mrs Simpson ask, Late again, Noah?, but Kyle has chosen this moment to have some fun with him. He steps away, but Kyle is in his path, weaving from side to side as Noah tries to get past him.
‘What’s the problem, Nuh-nuh-nuh-Noah?’ Kyle’s friends laugh as he taps Noah on his left arm and then on his right. Noah feels the Dark stir.
You don’t have time for this.
‘Hey, Nuh-Noah?’ Kyle’s hand moves up to Noah’s face, taps him on the cheek—
Noah wants to get away, that’s all he wants, that’s what he tells Dr Lovelock, six afternoons later: I wanted to get to class, that’s why I pushed him.
It’s not much of a shove, but Noah keeps his body fighting fit, exercising daily, morning and night (when nothing interrupts his routine, when he has time to make sure everything’s as it should be, before he opens the door – down-up-down-up-down – to face a new day).
Kyle goes sprawling and the three boys behind him snigger. Then Kyle is up and leaping onto Noah, grabbing at him, his breath hot and foul in Noah’s face.
There’s no time for this.
That’s when Noah twists Kyle’s arm up and back.
The sound is a dull pop in the quiet corridor. Kyle wavers, his arm at a weird angle. There’s a split second between that and his mouth opening with a howl.
Now look what you’ve done.
Noah steps back, feeling it again: Kyle’s arm in his hand, the way his elbow just gave, the sudden yell.
‘What’s all this racket?’
It’s Mr van Blerk, his classroom door open, looking at Kyle, taking in his oddly dangling arm. ‘My God, what’s happened?’
And then Kyle is jabbing the air with his good hand, pointing. ‘Groome,’ he pants. ‘That bastard’s broken my arm.’
2.
Kate had to get out of the house, away from the phone that would ring and tell her what was going to happen next and when and where. They’ll be in touch, that’s what Mr Reynolds said when she was called in to the school to meet the accusing stares of Kyle’s parents, Leonie and Buddy Blake. ‘We’ll be in touch soon, Mrs Groome. The sooner we can get things sorted, the better for all concerned.’
The better for whom? Kate thought as she saw the smug satisfaction on Leonie’s face. The better for Leonie, for Buddy Blake, without a doubt. Buddy, one of those men whose nicknames follow them from school and into the golf club and the bar after work. Better for Kyle Blake. And, of course, the better for the school. God forbid that even a whiff of scandal taint those exclusive halls.
But what about the Groomes?
‘Perhaps you should keep Noah at home for a few days. Not a formal suspension, mind you. We wouldn’t want that on his record, would we?’
‘No, no, of course. Of course not,’ Kate said, picking up her bag, stumbling to the door. Avoiding Leonie’s stare. Not looking at Buddy’s face. Wishing Dominic had been able to leave work and come with her.
She’s sitting outside a café now, watching the gentle swell of the sea, the holiday makers dipping into the waves and out of the heat. She should move out of the scorching sun, but she can’t summon the energy. Her coffee has gone cold, her hands are bunched tight in her lap. Relax, she tells herself. Breathe. Think. Mr Reynolds has set the ball rolling and Kate doesn’t know how to stop it.
She and Dominic need to talk. ‘Let me get more details, Kate, find out what they plan to do next and then we’ll work things out.’ That’s what he promised her last night.
Kate wishes now that she’d been quicker. Sharper. Replies churning in her head, the put-downs you never think of until it’s too late. But what about your son, Leonie? Buddy? I hear Kyle and his friends torment my son endlessly.
‘Not just Noah, Mom,’ Noah’s sister, Maddie said the night before, eyes blazing, her small frame bristling with frustration. ‘They pick on other kids too.’
So yes, ‘What about the bullies in your school, Mr Reynolds?’ That’s what she should have asked.
Too late now. The Blakes are out for blood. They’ve reported Noah to the police and are even threatening to press charges. Nothing Kate can say about how this is the first t
ime Noah has been involved in an altercation like this is going to make any difference. She feels it in every worrying memory of Noah mumbling under his breath and tapping his fingers. There are the notes sent home from school – ‘Noah’s constant tardiness disrupts the class’; ‘Noah’s behaviour is a distraction’ – and all the visits they have already made, to the school counsellor, to one therapist after another, the meds they’ve prescribed, their inability to get to the root of Noah’s anxiety, his behaviour.
His medical records will probably be examined for proof of an ongoing ‘condition’. For proof of the fact that Noah has a ‘problem’.
Kate imagines Leonie Blake nodding sanctimoniously. What she wouldn’t give to have Leonie sitting opposite her right now. Or maybe not. One assault against the Blake family is enough.
‘Kate?’ The voice is familiar, friendly.
Kate looks up. It’s Monica Ryan, another wife, another school mother.
‘Are you okay?’
Kate wonders if she should ask the same. Monica’s hair is uncombed, her pink sweatshirt stained. But before she has time to notice anything further, Monica has sat down.
‘You don’t mind if I join you, do you?’
Kate can’t say no; that she’d rather be left alone, away from the silence of the house, away from the phone waiting to ring to deliver the next instalment of bad news.
Monica catches the waitress’s eye. ‘Another one for you, Kate?’
All Kate can do is nod, unknot her fingers and lay her hands on the table. Unlike Monica’s, they aren’t shaking. In fact, everything about Monica looks shaky, grey-skinned and tired. She leans closer and Kate catches a tell-tale whiff. She wonders how much Monica drank the night before, whether she started the day with vodka in her coffee. Or cane. Cane’s not supposed to leave a smell, and there isn’t one, just a slight sourness.
‘I’m so sorry, Kate,’ Monica’s saying now, and Kate looks up and meets her gaze.
‘You’re sorry?’
She knows what Monica’s talking about, what they’re all talking about.
‘Someone was saying the Blakes want to take it further.’
‘Further?’ Kate looks at her blankly.
‘Lily said they were talking about it yesterday. All the mothers in the—’
‘The car park?’ Kate’s voice is resigned.
‘Are you okay, Kate?’ Monica is concerned. ‘When Juliet had to go away, it was hard, especially for Lily. She worships her sister. And now it looks like she’s going back there. Back to Greenhills.’
Kate isn’t listening as Monica talks about Juliet and Lily. She’s latched onto two ominous words: Go away. Then she remembers that Monica’s daughter had been in some sort of clinic, and more than once.