The Wall (25 page)

Liev’s presence always fills the house, even when he isn’t there. Alone with my mother, at this moment, I feel a rare sensation of him receding to a great distance. She dug her nails into the skin of his face and shoved him out of the room. For the first time ever, she stood up to him, and protected me.

I reach for her hand, not wanting to speak, or do anything to disturb the moment, but hoping to let her know that I’m grateful, and I love her. She interlaces her fingers with mine, wrapping herself around my palm, and squeezes.

An intense thought seems to be hovering on her lips, struggling to fight its way into words. I wonder if this morning, seeing what Liev did to me, she at last saw through him. I wonder if she finally understands that his hands are in fact around both our throats all the time; that his beloved Amarias is a brutal, suffocating lie; that we have to escape. We could pack one suitcase and be out of there that very day. I’d be happy to lose everything we owned if she would just agree to get up, together, and walk out. It would take only a moment to make the decision. We wouldn’t even need to tell him. We could hop on a bus as if we were going on a shopping trip, with nothing but a toothbrush, and just never come back. We could go into hiding, and even if he tracked us down, he wouldn’t be able to force us to return, not if we stood up to him together.

‘Joshua?’ she says.

‘Yes,’ I say, thinking
yes, just say it, say we can go, say we can run away.
I squeeze her hand as hard as I can, willing her on.

She squeezes back. ‘I need to know. Where’s the tunnel?’

I look up, scrutinising her face. Her eyes are filled with compassion and love, but I feel as if she’s pulled back her hand and slapped me. Liev throttled me in front of her. She saw how much he relished hurting me, how far he was willing to go, but her loyalties haven’t budged. I can’t even trust her strokes and kisses. She wants information, just like him. He tried his interrogation technique, now she’s trying hers.

In this instant, I realise that she will never leave him, whatever he does to me. We will never leave Amarias.

‘Where’s the tunnel?’ she repeats ‘You have to tell me.’

I roll on to my side, towards the wall, pulling my knees up to my chest.

‘You have to tell someone, and don’t you think it’s easiest if it’s me?’

‘Is that a threat? What are you going to do to me?’

‘We have to tell the army. We don’t have a choice.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘Just tell me where it is. If you do, I can protect you.’

‘From what? From who?’

‘Tell me, Joshua.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s not mine, and everything I do just destroys things and makes everything worse for people who don’t deserve it, and I can’t live with myself if I do it again.’

‘You can’t go through that tunnel. Never again. You have to forget about the letter. Put it out of your head. These people are trying to manipulate you. They are very clever and they will do anything to get what they want. Whatever they’ve made you think, whatever they’ve done to you to get you on their side, you are just their tool, and they will crush you as soon as they’ve finished with you. That’s not going to happen. You are never going to see any of them ever again. Do you understand?’

I stare at her, not nodding or shaking my head, trying to freeze the muscles of my face into a wall of secrecy.

‘You know what my job is?’ she says. ‘Over and above anything else I’ve ever done.’

‘What?’

‘It’s keeping you safe. You’re my only child, and if anything happens to you, my life won’t be worth living.’

‘If you want to keep me safe, get me away from Liev.’

‘He feels the same as me. He just wants us all to be safe. That’s why he’s so angry about the tunnel. Nothing is more important to him than the safety of this community.’

‘Have you forgotten what he did to me? You were right here! You saw it!’

She gives a slow blink, as if her eyelids can wipe away irrelevant distractions. ‘It seems like you’ve done some stupid, dangerous things, and I can’t let that carry on. I just can’t.’

‘It’s my life,’ I say. ‘You can only decide what I do for so long. In the end it’s up to me.’

‘Maybe. But while you’re in my house, you’re my responsibility.’

‘I’m my own responsibility.’

‘A bomb could come through that tunnel today! Today!’ she says, her voice lifting to a high, strangled thread. ‘Every hour that tunnel exists is an hour that we are in mortal danger! You can’t be this stubborn! You can’t! Liev’s going crazy out there! He’s acting like he wants to kill you! You have to be sensible!’

‘If I tell you, you’ll send the army in.’

‘I don’t know what’s going to happen, but we have to tell the authorities. For the sake of ourselves and our neighbours. For all our people. We have to protect our own people.’

‘And who are our own people?’

‘All of us who live here!’

‘All of us?’

‘Yes!’

‘On both sides of The Wall?’

‘When are you going to stop this nonsense? You know perfectly well who our people are. It’s you and me and people like us. Our friends.’

‘But I have friends on the other side of The Wall. And there are people on this side of The Wall I hate. There’s someone living in this house who I hate. So who are my people? You tell me.’

‘When are you going to stop this?’

‘There’s only one person who wants to kill me, and he’s married to you. You said it yourself.’

‘What’s happened to you? How can you be so cruel and divisive? When did you become this person? I . . . I . . . I feel like I’ve lost you. You’re my only child and I . . . I’ve lost you. Who
are
you?’

Her sobs start slowly but gather momentum, until it begins to seem as if she won’t be able to stop. I pass her tissue after tissue, horrified and embarrassed, while a series of retches and convulsions pass through her body. Even the death of my father didn’t do this to her. Or if it did, she never let me see.

By the time she finishes weeping, a soggy mound of crumpled paper almost covers her feet. She blows her nose and looks at me with reddened eyes, which have shrunk back behind puffy, swollen eyelids.

‘I won’t let anything bad happen to you,’ she says, her voice snotty and moist. ‘I promise.’

‘It’s a bit late for you to say that, isn’t it?’

‘I can’t help you if you’re lying to me all the time – if you’re living in my house but sneaking around and tricking us and hiding yourself away. It’s still my job to look after you, but I can only protect you if you’re honest with me.’

I shrug.

‘And I have to know you’re on our side.’

‘Whose side? Who’s us, anyway?’

‘Just tell me where the tunnel is. You only have to tell me. It can be our secret.’

She gently rolls me towards her and leans close to my face. ‘Just whisper it once in my ear.’

I never thought tears had a scent, but I can smell them on her, wafting towards me in thick, sweet waves.

‘Our secret?’ I say.

We’re nose to nose. She nods, not flinching from my gaze, willing me to be stupid enough to trust her.

A question springs to the tip of my tongue. I want to ask her if she is dead.
Are you both dead – you and Dad?
These seven words sit behind my lips, ready to blast out, an insult for her insult, a slap for her slap.

I press my mouth close to her ear. A strand of tear-moistened hair brushes my cheek. She is utterly still, her body rigid with anticipation.

‘I have to ask you something,’ I say.

‘What?’

It’s as if I don’t even choose the question. The question chooses me, popping out of my mouth before I even know what I’m going to say. ‘Did something happen when I was born? Something bad?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When they cut me out. Were you hurt?’

A barely perceptible flinch scampers across her face, then the skin around her mouth tightens into a clenched smile. ‘Of course not. It’s a simple operation. They do it all the time.’

‘But did something go wrong?’

‘Why are you asking me this?’

‘I need to know.’

‘You mustn’t worry. Why are you – ?’

‘Liev said I damaged you.’

‘He didn’t mean it like that. You’re confused.’

‘I know what he said and I know what he meant.’

She puts a hand on my chest, above my heart. ‘You’re the only child I ever wanted,’ she says. ‘The only one.’

Another lie. Her eyes fill with tears, then empty again, as if by sheer willpower she’s sucked the liquid back into her head.

‘OK?’ she says.

I shrug.

‘You believe me.’ She phrases it more as a statement than a question, so I don’t answer.

‘Now it’s my turn,’ she says. ‘Where’s the tunnel?’

I barely have enough saliva in my mouth to form the words as I whisper, ‘The building site with the blue hoardings. Round the corner from the bakery.’

She nods and kisses me once, swiftly, on the lips. For a moment we breathe one another’s breath, as if there’s no distance at all between us. ‘I love you,’ she says. ‘Nobody’s going to hurt you.’

She slips off the bed and begins to pick up the mound of tissues at her feet, but with only two or three in her hands she stands upright, remembering there are more important things to do, and walks to the door.

‘You don’t have to go to school today,’ she says, half-turned towards me in the doorway. ‘After what happened. I’ll say you’re sick.’

‘No,’ I say, ‘I’m fine. I want to go.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Is Liev still here?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m going to school,’ I say. ‘I’d rather be at school.’

She lets out a disappointed sigh, and walks out.

Now I have to move fast. I throw the sheet back and jump out of bed. The room sways and tips, my weak, rubbery legs crumpling under my weight, slumping me downwards in a slow-motion topple on to my knees.

I take a few breaths and pull myself up, using the bedstead to support me, but part of my brain seems to think I’m still lying down, with a conflicting voice telling me I’m vertical but floating. I know I ought to get back into bed, give myself a few hours for the booms and throbs in my head to subside, but there’s too much to do, and no time to waste.

I dress as fast as I can and grab my piggy bank from the windowsill. It’s in the shape of the Empire State Building, sent by my uncle for a birthday, years ago, and is supposed to look like it’s made of bronze, but the surface has worn away at the corners to show the white plastic underneath.

I prise out the cork, pull free a couple of notes that are jammed in the opening, and coins cascade on to my desk. I shove the whole lot into my pockets – all the money I have – and walk as fast as I can to the front door, skipping breakfast, not wanting to stay a moment longer under the same roof as Liev. I sense from the feel of the house that he’s already left, but there’s nothing to be gained by checking, so I try to slip away unseen.

I’m several steps into the front garden when Mum comes after me, holding out my backpack.

‘Your schoolbag,’ she says.

‘Oh, yes. Of course,’ I reply, taking the bag, pretending I want it, pretending I’m going to school.

She kisses me and turns towards the house.

‘Bye, Mum,’ I say, regretting immediately that I didn’t kiss her back, wondering, as I walk away, if I will ever see her again.

Hot, dry air
, blown straight from the desert, tingles in my throat. A wind from the south usually leaves the car dusted with a film of sand, but our driveway is empty. Liev has gone.

I stop and breathe. Each dose of fresh oxygen, sweeping in from far away, soothes my head and steadies my balance. Every puff I exhale will be in another country by the end of the day.

There’s no time to indulge my weak legs and lingering dizziness. I break into a run, but stop myself after a few strides and revert to a brisk walk. I have to move fast, but calmly. It’s important that I don’t draw attention to myself.

The white security car glides past me. I don’t let myself catch the driver’s eye. They can’t be watching me yet. The car passes by and recedes from view. It’s too early to get suspicious, but just the idea of being followed makes it hard to walk naturally, hard to know where to look, what to do with my arms, how fast to go.

I head for the nearest chemist, stopping twice to tighten my shoelaces, using the crouch to look around me in all directions. As far as I can tell, I’m alone.

A bell over the chemist’s door chimes as I walk in, making me jump. The man at the till looks up from his paperwork, frowning. I smile, but he returns to his work without acknowledging me. The shop smells of boiled sweets and swimming pool.

I find the shelf with painkillers, a bewildering array of brands in almost identical packets showing silhouettes of body parts dotted with orange and red circles, rings of pain drawn to look like targets. The pictures remind me I still have a headache myself, but these aren’t for me.