The Chaos (15 page)

‘Numbers?’

‘The numbers you see when you look at someone. You know.’ And then I realise she’s been looking at me; she’s looking at me now. My number must be staring her in the face.

‘Numbers?’ she says again. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Death dates. You know. You see them too.’

‘Shut up. I don’t see any numbers. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.’

And I think, 
Yes, yes, I do. I can see your years stretching out ahead. I can feel you with me, feel how we love each other, you and me.

She glares at me, but it’s not just hate in her eyes. There’s fear there, too. Even in the cold she’s sweating.

‘Shut up,’ she says. ‘Don’t talk. Just leave.’

‘Please, you’re the only other person who understands. Please can we talk.’

She raises her arm and hurls the stone at me. I put my hands up to protect myself. Too late – it clips the top of my head.

‘Jesus!’ I yelp. I bend over, trying to breathe through the pain as the world turns red and black in front of me. I look up to see Sarah disappearing into a side road.

I try to straighten up, but the pain in my head’s like a weight keeping me down. So I stumble after her, lurching about like a drunk.

There are rows and rows of terraced houses, with alleyways running down the back between them. No sign of her, though, and I’m ready to give up when I see a load of paint tins in a skip by one of the alleyways. I look down the backs of the houses, and think I see a gate swinging.

It’s half off its hinges. The yard behind is in a state and the back of the house is even worse; windows broken or boarded up, slates missing from the roof. Surely, no one lives in here?

I lean on the wall opposite and stare at the house. If I stand still, my head don’t hurt so much. There’s an itch on my face. I put my fingers up to touch it, and they come away red.

Something moves at one of the windows. I can’t see what, or who, but there’s definitely someone there. Should I knock on the back door? Go round to the front? Or wait?

I’m stood there wondering what to do when the back door opens. A bloke comes out. He’s tall and skinny, the bloke from the car. He’s heading my way and he’s carrying a baseball bat.

Chapter 32: Sarah

I
 stay out of sight, at the window upstairs. It’s open a few centimetres, so I can hear what’s going on. I had to wake Vinny up, but he didn’t need much persuading to go out there – he could see how terrified I was.

‘What you doing here?’ he says. ‘Fuck off.’

‘There’s someone in there I want to talk to.’ The sound of Adam’s voice twists at my guts.

‘Yeah? Well she doesn’t want to talk to you.’

‘I’m not going,’ he says. ‘I’ll wait.’

I move a fraction so I can see. Vinny’s stopped a little way away from Adam. He’s gangly, but he looks like he means business.

Come on, Vinny. Get rid of him. Frighten him if you have to, just get rid.

‘Listen,’ he says, ‘I don’t want to get violent, but you shouldn’t go chasing girls through the streets. It’s not right.’

‘Well, perhaps she shouldn’t chuck things at people and hurt them. I only wanted to talk to her.’

I lean a little further forward. There’s blood all down his face, on the bit that was burnt. 

‘Did she do that to you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re the kid from the hospital, aren’t you? Look,’ says Vinny, ‘I dunno what’s going on, but you should just go, before there’s any more damage done.’

‘I’m not going. It’s important. It’s about her graffiti, in the tunnel. Did you know about that?’

Vinny shifts position. He’s backing off, damn him.

‘Yeah, I know.’

‘She’s put me in it. I’m up there, on the wall.’

‘You’re the one in her nightmare.’

Shut up, Vinny. Shut the fuck up.

‘What?’

‘The painting. It’s a dream she has, over and over. You’re in it. Why are you in it?’

‘I dunno, mate. That’s what I want to find out.’

The bat’s hanging down by Vinny’s side now. This is no good.

‘Wait here,’ he says, and walks back into the house. He yells up from the hallway.

‘Sarah! It’s all right. It’s just a kid.’

‘I don’t want him here. I told you to get rid of him! For God’s sake, Vinny, use the fucking baseball bat on him. Get him out of here!’

‘He just wants to talk to you … I’m not battering anyone. He’s a kid. Anyway, you got him good and proper yourself. Come down … he’s not going ’til you talk to him. Are you coming?’

He’s too soft, Vinny. I’ll have to do it myself.

I unzip my jacket and gently take Mia out of the sling and
lay her down in the drawer. She’s asleep, thank God. Then I make my way downstairs. In the kitchen I grab a knife.

Vinny’s in the doorway. Beyond him, I can see Adam, he’s come into the yard. I push past Vinny.

‘I don’t want you here,’ I tell Adam. ‘Can’t you take a hint?’

He puts his hand up to his face and I’m back in a classroom, a million years ago, when I reached across the desk. His skin was perfect then: smooth, clear, warm. Half his face still is – the other half is changed utterly. You could say disfigured. I’d say different. In my mind’s eye, I see myself touching it again, and my fingers tingle at the thought. Why am I drawn to him when he’s one of the two people on earth I’m scared of?

He stands there now, with blood on his fingers. I’ve got to get rid of him before I crumble.

‘Come on, Sarah,’ Vinny says. ‘He might be able to help you.’

It jolts me back to reality, my version of reality. 

‘Help me? Help me?’ I can hear my own voice becoming shrill. ‘You don’t know him, Vin. You don’t know what he does. He’s the Devil, Vin, the Devil. I don’t want him here. Please get him away. Please!’

The words coming out of my mouth sound wrong, even to me. I suddenly see myself as they do: wide-eyed, wild, mad, wielding a knife in my hands. Who am I kidding? I’m not going to stab him. I don’t want to hurt him – I just want him to go away.

‘Sarah?’ he says quietly.

I can’t deal with him. I can’t be here with him. I back away and stagger into the kitchen. I drop the knife on the floor and then drop down next to it, drawing my legs in towards
me, curling up. Tears are coming now. I hate this. I hate me for doing it. I don’t cry. I’m tougher than that. But I am crying and now I’ve started, I can’t stop.

I know they’ve followed me in, but I don’t look up. Neither of them comes over to me. Typical men, they don’t know what to do with a crying woman. I should have known that all along, stones and knives won’t scare a man away, but tears will.

‘I’m sorry.’ It’s Adam. ‘I’m so sorry. I never meant to upset you.’

I unwind a little, and glance up at him. He looks stricken. ‘Just go,’ I say.

‘Okay,’ he says, ‘I will. I’ll leave you alone.’ But as he turns to go, he stops again. ‘Sarah?’

‘What?’

‘My number. Is it the same? Is it New Year’s Day?’

He can hardly look at me. He’s scared too. I get the feeling he’s holding his breath.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I say and the tears well up again and I bury my head in my arms. He leaves then. I hear him blunder against the door frame, hear his steps in the yard outside.

Up above me, Mia’s woken up, her kitten’s cry building to a full-throttle scream. It cuts through my self-pity, and I unwind and get to my feet.

‘All right now?’ Vinny asks.

I can’t even begin to answer that. Adam’s gone – thank Christ he’s gone – but inside me, I know this isn’t the end. He’s found me now. My safe house isn’t safe any more.

Chapter 33: Adam

I
stumble out of the house in a daze. She don’t see numbers, but she has a nightmare, a recurring nightmare, and I’m in it. It’s unreal. It can’t happen. She must have dreamt about me before we met, that’s why she reacted how she did that first day at school. She’d already seen me in her dreams. But how?

I accept the numbers, because they’ve always been with me. I’ve grown up with them – they’re ‘normal’ to me. But she’s got some other kind of gift, a different curse, and it’s set my mind reeling. I don’t get it. It don’t make any sense.

Without thinking I head back to the tunnel. It’s still raining, and it’s dry in there. I lean against the wall opposite Sarah’s painting, then I realise how tired my legs are and sink down to the ground. I look at the wall in front of me, and my own face looks back. If this is how she’s seen me, night after night, no wonder she’s scared.

I close my eyes, but the picture stays with me. It’s there in my head, crowding in on me, and it’s not just paint – it’s
sound and taste and touch and smell. I can hear a baby crying, high-pitched and desperate. Sarah’s crying too, in a different way, she’s given up hope. All around us are the sounds of a building being destroyed, consumed by fire. The flames aren’t touching us yet, but the air is hot, unbearable. We’re trapped.

I open my eyes, scoop up a handful of gravel and throw it at the wall.

‘It’s a painting, just a fucking painting!’

I know it’s more than that, but I don’t want it to be. I don’t want any of this – the numbers, the nightmares: a terrible future getting closer every day, unstoppable. No-one should have to live like this.

I grab another handful of stones, get to my feet and go over to the painting. I grind the stones into the face, my face.

‘It’s not me. I’m not there. Fuck you! Fuck you! Fucking go away!’ The stones make no difference. The image is still there. I smash my fist into it tearing the skin off my knuckles. It’s so stupid, but what else can I do? You can’t fight the future, can you? Can you? I want to. I want to kick the future right up the arse. I want to jab my fingers in both its eyes, knee it right in the balls, slam my fist into its guts so it folds over and coughs up blood.

But all I’m doing right now is making my own hand hurt. Shit!

‘That won’t make it go away. Nothing does.’ 

I spin round.

She’s there, in the entrance to the tunnel, in the rain. How long has she been standing there? How much has she seen?

‘I don’t know what to do,’ I say, and it’s the truth. I don’t know what to do, what to say, where to go.

‘Come back with me. We should talk.’

Something terrible happens then. My mouth wobbles, and my whole face crumples and I start to cry.

I turn away. I don’t want to let her see me like this, but I can’t hide what I’m doing because it rips right through me, takes over my whole body. I crouch down with my back to her as the tears stream down my face and the snot pours out of my nose. I’m sobbing, out of control, and the noise of it fills the tunnel. I know what I look like, what I sound like, but I can’t help it. I wish I was dead. Oh God, that’s why I’m crying. I wish I was dead.

She touches my shoulder, trying to help I suppose, but I’m so ashamed. I twitch away from her, shout, ‘No!’

I hear her step away.

‘Come back to the house. When you’re ready. I’ll be there,’ she says and she leaves. I try to stop crying, so that I can listen to the sound of her footsteps, but by the time I’ve calmed down, all I can hear is the rain spattering on the ground outside.

I wipe my face with my hands and my sleeve and stand up slowly, so the blood can flow back into my legs. I feel empty, emptied out, blank.

I see the painting out of the corner of my eye and I remember how angry I was. It was minutes ago, but it feels like years. I wanted to smash the future. I still want to, but not the next minute, the next two minutes, not even the next ten minutes.

Because I’m going to walk to Sarah’s house.

She’s waiting for me.

Chapter 34: Sarah

W
hy do I ask him back? Because while I’m calming Mia down, I can’t shake off the look in his eyes when he was standing in the kitchen. He’s scared, too, see. Like me.

And besides, he knows where I live now, so he can come back any time he likes. I don’t want him just turning up. I’d rather he was here on my terms.

So I go after him, and find him where I expect, in the tunnel. But I didn’t think he’d be like that. He crumples in front of me. It tugs at my heart – this beautiful boy, cocky, aggressive, now burnt, terrified, in despair. He’s crying like a baby, like my Mia. I’ve changed since I had her – I can’t stand to hear people crying now. I know that tears can be soothed away. And part of me wants to put my arms round him, rock him till he calms down, tell him everything’s going to be all right. I put my hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs me off. Don’t blame him; I’d probably do the same. Pride, isn’t it? It’s okay. Best to let him come out of it himself.

I tell him I’ll be here waiting for him, and now I am. I
know he’ll come. I’d bet my life on it. And he does. Five minutes after I get back, he turns up at the back gate. I can see him through the kitchen window, so I go to the door.

He’s soaking wet. The rain’s washed most the blood off his face, but there’s still a bit on his forehead. You can’t really tell he’s been crying, but he feels it, the embarrassment, he can hardly look me in the eye.

‘Come in,’ I say. He walks in to the kitchen, dripping everywhere. I hand him a tea towel. ‘You can get dry with that.’

He dabs at his face, then rubs his head. 

‘Ta,’ he says.

I look back at him. Standing there, soaked to the skin, he’s shivering.

‘Do you wanna drink? Water? Coke? Cup of tea?’

‘Cup of tea. Yeah. Please.’

I potter about with the kettle and tea pot and tea bags. It’s odd doing something so normal with the two of us there.

‘Where’s your friend?’ he asks.

‘In the next room,’ I lie. Vinny’s out, delivering.

‘He’s left his bat here.’ Adam looks at the baseball bat leaning against the wall.

‘I can use that, if I have to,’ I say, then I realise how pathetic that sounds – who’s a tough little girl, then – and I smile, in spite of myself.

Adam doesn’t know if he’s allowed to smile too. The corner of his mouth twitches.