Fragments (19 page)

Footsteps pound behind me. He’s shouting my name.

‘Kyla! Kyla, stop!’

I’m a fast runner but he’s faster than me. The footsteps get closer and closer until I feel a cold, strong hand grabbing my wrist.

And I turn and hit him, hard, in the face. I don’t know why I do it. It’s pure instinct at being grabbed. But maybe it’s the fact that the word ‘terrorist’, ‘terrorist’ is screaming in my mind, over and over.

He gasps and touches his lip where I’ve thumped him. It’s puffy. He looks down at the blood on his fingers.

‘Kyla?’ he says and there’s a cracking in his voice, like he wants to cry or something. ‘Why did you hit me?’

This question takes me by surprise for some reason. But the one I was expecting comes next.

‘Why did you run away?’

Confusion swamps me with the strength of a tsunami. I gulp, trying to hold it back. All the fight in me melts away like it was never there. I start to cry and a painful kind of hope starts to spread through my belly and up into my chest. I bow my head and he steps forward, tentatively. His arms snake around me then, strong and warm. I smell the rain and chill in his jacket and bury my face into it. My head only comes up to his chest now. Last time he held me, I reached his shoulder. He’s broader too. Not the boy he was but a young man. And I know. It was him I saw, watching me before.

I can feel the shakes in his body as he holds me. He’s whispering, ‘Kyla, Kyla,’ so softly it’s more like I sense it than hear it.

I keep my eyes closed, wishing I could stay where I am and not have to think about the next second, minute, hour, lifetime.

‘Cal?’

Laura is standing next to us and Cal quickly pulls away. He blushes and looks flustered at the sight of this rain-drenched girl.

‘Oh,’ he says, hoarsely. He clears his throat. ‘I’m sorry. This isn’t why, though. I wasn’t lying before.’

Laura snorts loudly. ‘Yeah, RIGHT,’ she says. Then she moves in closer. Her eyes are wild. ‘I’m done here. If you think I’ll help any more after this, and put myself in danger for your stupid cause then you can
piss right off
.’ She gulps a sob as Cal tries to speak.

‘Laura, I’m sorry, I never —’

She swears at him in a hiss and then stalks away, pulling her leather jacket closer and hunching in on herself.

Cal turns back to me. We stare at each other for I don’t know how long. Everything feels hazy and unreal, despite the rain thundering down around us and dripping off our faces and chins. And all we can do is look.

After a moment he says, ‘I can’t believe it’s really you.’ He reaches out a hand as though to touch me and then lets it drop.

I’m getting colder and colder by the second. I start to shake, gently at first and then my body is almost convulsing. I have a headache that clutches my scalp like fingers that are at once ice cold then seem to burn through to my skull.

‘Kyla?’ Cal comes closer. His face seems too big, distorted, like it has been reflected by some weird mirror. ‘Are you OK? You look a bit . . . sick.’

‘I’m all right,’ I say through gritted teeth as goose pimples prickle up my arms and my vision does a complete three-sixty spin. I clench my fists together and press them to my sides. I don’t know what I might do with them because even though I want to grab Cal and kiss the lovely face off him – clinging on and never letting him out of my sight again – it’s like someone is whispering in my ear. Three words, over and over again.

Terrorist
.

and

KILL HIM . . 
.

The world spins and I stagger sideways. Cal grabs my arm in a strong grip and puts his arm around me, stopping me from falling.

‘Come on, let’s get out of the rain so we can talk,’ he says quietly. I’m feeling too pathetic to argue.

I lean into him, still violently shaking, as we head towards the gate.

I don’t pay much attention to where we go. I know I should but I tell myself that if I don’t know where he lives, then I’m under no obligation to tell anyone. But I
should
tell someone, shouldn’t I? I’m so confused.

We end up getting two Tube trains. On the second one, the train slows ominously and then stops in a tunnel. We’re plunged into darkness and the anxiety filling the air spreads like a bad smell.

I feel so weird. My mouth is dry and my hands keep sweating. I seem to be able to sense every inch of Cal next to me. His leg is right by mine. I can feel the heat of him rising from his damp jeans and seeping into my skin. I look down at his hand, resting on his knee, and see that the skin is all puckered and white. Burned.

I look away.

We haven’t spoken since we got onto the train.

I can’t seem to find any words to say. Maybe it’s the same for him. I’ve never felt such a weird mix of emotions. There’s a sense of something terrible coming, and then short bursts of total, happy, fling-your-arms-up-and-cheer joy. I’m all mixed up, churning, inside. My head’s not straight.

And we’ve been sitting here too long. Has something . . . Oh God, has something happened? Maybe there has been a bomb somewhere on the line?

The emergency lights snap on and the sickly glow renders everyone with the same hollow-eyed, nervous expression. Smells of wet wool, stale breath and sweat creep further up my nose. It’s too hot. Sweat prickles my neck and palms. There isn’t enough air . . .

To distract myself from the panic rising inside I stare at our reflections in the window opposite. It’s the first time I’ve been able to get a proper look at him.

His blond hair is shorter and darker than I remember from before, maybe dyed now? His face is more angular, older, and his eyes look like they have seen too much. Like mine, I guess. When I knew him before, he had a sort of innocence about him, plus a big laugh and a smile that lit up his eyes, despite all the shit he’d been through. Like none of it had spoiled the goodness inside. But what about now? What kind of things might he have taken part in if he’s still with Torch?

Torch . . 
.

My body gives an involuntary shudder and Cal sits up quickly, concerned.

‘Are you all right?’ he says. I nod sharply and stare down at my soaked trainers, willing myself to keep it together. Maybe I should get off at the next stop and just run away, pretend I never saw him. But even thinking that gives me a sharp pain in my ribs like someone has stabbed me in the heart. I want to, I want . . .

Kill him . . 
.

I yelp at the thought, which came complete in my ear as though someone hissed the words. Cal just reaches for my hand and squeezes. I look down at his long, pale fingers around my smaller brown one. I close my eyes and try to breathe slowly.

After a few more stops we get out somewhere I don’t recognise. I force myself not to notice the name of the stop although I can’t help seeing it’s
Something
Grove.

There is a long walk up a path enclosed by fences from the station. People walk with heads down against the rain. We don’t speak as we walk past a row of boarded-up shops. A launderette. A newsagent’s. An Indian restaurant with broken windows. I find myself trying to memorise the names and then I force myself to stop. It’s automatic now. I can’t seem to help it.

After some time we turn left into a street lined with trees. The houses are all the same: red brick with bay windows and layers of slates on the front that are generally cracked or missing in places. They remind me of broken teeth. I feel Cal become more alert, like his muscles are coiled and ready for attack. But soon we stop outside a house with completely dark windows. Cal puts a key in the lock and turns it and gives me a reassuring smile as we step into a bright hallway. I quickly see that the front door is covered in thick, light-absorbing material.

We turn into a living room with a big bay window covered in the same material.

A fitness video game is playing, too loud, and the bouncy American woman in 3D screeches about crunches and thrusts to an otherwise empty room. Cal goes over to turn it off and then goes back into the hall, opening a door and then returning with two thin, threadbare towels, their colour long since faded into grey nothing.

We stare at each other again for a minute. I’m so cold now from being wet through my teeth chatter. I dab at my face with the towel. He looks freezing too. The tip of his nose and his cheeks are a bit red and for a second it seems like the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. I start to gently dry my face, wishing I was touching his instead.

He does the same and our eyes lock together. I’m tingling all over. The dizziness and the evil voice in my ear have gone away now. Everything has shrunk down to this room; us standing here, so close. Cold and hot all at once.

Then he breaks out into a huge grin and pulls me towards him. And we’re kissing and laughing all at once and I feel like a bottle of Coke that has been shaken up and is about to explode inside me.

It’s all going to be OK now. This is
Cal
. How could I even think about hurting him?

We sit down on a sofa that has tiny scratches all over it, like a cat has been using it as a claw-sharpening post. It’s lumpy and uncomfortable and springs dig into my legs and back.

There’s so much to say, I don’t know where to start and, I think, neither does he. But I speak first.

‘How did you survive the bomb and . . . ?’ I whisper.

I don’t finish the sentence. He grimaces and looks down, clenching his hand into a fist. His voice is low and trembles with emotion when he finally speaks.

‘Sam wanted to get some champagne to celebrate me meeting . . .’ He pauses and I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows deeply before continuing, ‘. . . my parents.’ Another pause. ‘Said there was an old bottle in that little cupboard in the kitchen. He wanted to go but I said I’d get it. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed and needed a few minutes.’ He delivers the words as though they’re hurting his mouth. ‘I could hear Julia talking to them. Everyone was laughing. Sort of nervous laughter, but happy. And . . .’ he sucks in a great draught of shuddery air, ‘the next thing I knew, I was deaf. Everything was dark. I hurt everywhere. And something was on top of me.’

He pauses, staring down at the ground. I feel like I should comfort him but I don’t know how.

Cal clears his throat and gives a shaky sigh. ‘Remember that massive old table in the kitchen?’

I nod. It was big enough to seat about twenty people, carved from heavy, dark wood.

‘Well, it saved my life. I was wedged underneath. Two of the legs had come off but it was covering me so I only got a bit injured. I was lucky . . .’

My eyes creep to his scarred hand and he must sense it because he shifts and pulls the sleeve down a bit further.

We sit in silence. Then an image flashes into my mind. It’s the farmhouse seen in 3D projection during the HT lesson at camp. A sharp pain prods between my eyeballs, like someone is pinching me there, squeezing.

‘Kyla?’

I jolt, realising Cal is frowning at me.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I say quickly. ‘What did you do then? After?’

Cal looks off into the distance, biting his lip. His brown eyes glistening a little. ‘Nathan had been away that day, do you remember?’

I nod, even though I don’t really. And the name ‘Nathan’ causes a spasm of bright light to bloom inside my mind. Explosions . . . people being hurt.

Who’s to blame, Kyla?

Voices in my head. But Cal doesn’t notice. Just carries on talking.

‘Anyway, he came back that night. Got me out and helped me get patched up.’

He lifts his sleeve then. His whole right arm is puckered and scarred. I wince. I’m trying to concentrate but the strange buzzing in my ears is distracting me. I shake my head, trying to clear it.

It takes me a second to realise Cal is speaking again.

‘. . . and then I ended up down here.’ He laughs suddenly. ‘I still can’t believe it’s really you! I wondered. I even thought I’d seen you the other day.’

I don’t respond. Maybe it was him. I don’t want to tell him; I don’t know why.

There’s a rapid-fire sound of footsteps down stairs then. A lanky bloke in his twenties with stringy blond hair comes into the room at top speed and then brakes suddenly, his eyes on me.

‘Who’s this?’ he says to Cal. His voice is high and tight; suspicious.

‘It’s OK,’ Cal says, jumping to his feet with his hand raised. ‘It’s the girl I told you about, Kyla. She’s alive!’

The other bloke moves closer. His eyes are narrowed into slits and his body seems coiled. I feel as though he’s smelling my intentions, like a dog. My hands start to shake uncontrollably and the buzzing ups in volume. I can’t look at the bloke or Cal. I feel like something really bad will happen if I do.

I stare instead at the low table in front of me that’s made from bricks and a slab of wood. There are plates smeared with colours that make me think of blood. A single sock. Someone’s game controller. My feet are planted side by side in front of me on the scruffy carpet and I try to concentrate on them.

‘What’s wrong with her? Why is she rocking like that?’

I’m
rocking
?

But I’m in the dark place now. I hurt. There’s too much pain and noise.

Another harsh voice comes from the end of a long, long tunnel.

Enemy . . . Kill the enemy . . . Wipe out Torch . . 
.

I flap my hands at my ears to make the words go away. Then my hand seems to creep towards my right trainer, like it has a life of its own.

‘Kyla?’ Cal’s voice is distant, like something half-remembered.

It has to stop . . . Stop the pain . . 
.

The other bloke is talking, louder. The words are almost distorted.

‘Look, mate, I’m happy you’ve found your old girlfriend but she’s a liability, she can’t stay h—’

He doesn’t finish the sentence, though.

Because I’ve pulled the blade from the sole of my trainer and I’m lunging at his throat.

C
HAPTER
20

we don’t do things that way

S
houting. Movement. Pain.