by Lou Morgan
She closed the door behind her as she stepped back inside, drawing her towel more closely around her. “Hello?”
There was no answer.
“Dad?”
Still nothing.
Of course it wasn’t her dad. Hadn’t she just listened to him saying he’d be home late?
“Hello?” She took a step to her right, out of the kitchen and into the hallway that ran the length of the apartment. She could see her footprints on the wooden floor – small puddles in the shape of her feet from the bathroom down to the kitchen door. Other than that, the hallway looked like it should. Like it always did. Empty.
“‘Weird lights’. Yeah, right,” she said. But as she turned back towards the kitchen, out of the corner of her eye she saw the door to her dad’s bedroom at the end of the hall swing open a little.
“Dad? Are you home?” Even as she took a step down the hallway towards the open door, she knew it was a pointless thing to say because if he answered, either way, he was home. And if he didn’t, then he wasn’t. Or something like that.
There was no answer from behind the door.
“Dad?”
She was almost at the door, reaching a hand out for it.
Above her, the lights started to flicker.
“Dad? Is that you?”
Her heart was pounding so hard that she could feel it in her throat as her fingers pressed against the wood of the door, pushing it all the way open. In the hallway, the lights were flickering wildly, casting distorted shadows of her hand, twisting it into claws gouging into the wood.
The door swung open with a creak.
Nothing.
There was nobody there. The room was empty – the bed as neatly made as always, the chair in front of the window perfectly straight. The door on to the balcony was ajar, and a breeze ruffled the curtains.
In the hallway, the lights shone as brightly and steadily as ever, reflecting in her rapidly drying footprints.
Alone in the middle of the room, Izzy blew out a long, relieved breath and brushed her hair back from her face. “I have got to get some more sleep.”
It was the pressure. Of course it was. The pressure of the exams, of keeping up with classwork and revision exercises. Of keeping up with everyone else, even out of school. The pressure of just being Izzy – good student, good friend, good person … all of that. But it was all she had. She was never going to be an Antigone Price. It looked like everything just came so easily to Tigs. But then, wasn’t that what she was used to? It was the thing that still kept Izzy in awe of her – she just expected things … and then she got them. Designer handbag? Got one. Every gadget known to mankind? Yep. Guaranteed success in the exams, and a ticket to the best future money could buy? Well, maybe she needed a little help with that, but somehow she was still making it happen, wasn’t she?
Izzy, on the other hand? Not quite the same deal. But it was fine, she thought, padding back down the hall to the kitchen. After all, would she really want to be Tigs? The image of her balancing on the arm of the chair, desperately trying to attract Grey’s attention, flickered through Izzy’s mind. No. When it really came down to it, she wouldn’t.
In the kitchen, she picked a clean mug off the counter and reached for the coffee machine and then paused, her hand halfway there. “You know what? Maybe not,” she said to nobody in particular, and instead, she flicked on the kettle and dropped a bag of jasmine tea into the bottom of her mug, shaking her head as she emptied the whole jug of freshly brewed coffee straight into the sink. “No more caffeine for you, Izzy. Not tonight. Or, you know, ever again.”
As she carried her mug back up the hallway to her bedroom, she looked straight ahead, forcing herself to ignore the shadow that flashed along the balcony. She was tired. And, after all, it was just another trick of the light.
Chapter Five
Izzy’s grandmother had always said that everything looks better after a good night’s sleep, which had struck Izzy as fairly ironic, given that Grandma Whedon actually died in her sleep. But despite the bright sunshine and the blue sky, there seemed to be a quiet grey fog following Izzy around this morning. It had been there since the night of Juliet’s party, two days ago. She’d put it down to post-exam jitters to begin with; to the release of all the stress. She’d had a quiet couple of days – reading, watching endless television and not doing a lot else.
She had hardly even seen her dad – his work project had more or less taken over his life. His big department presentation was coming up soon, and he’d barely been home long enough to change, never mind pack a bag for the trip. If he was around for more than a couple of minutes at the start or the end of the day she was lucky – or unlucky, seeing as he crashed through the apartment like a tornado, knocking stuff over and scattering ties and paperwork in his wake. Mentally picturing herself buried under a paperslide long before the cleaner came round, Izzy gathered up all the folders and reports and whatever-else, and dumped them on the desk in his study, then closed the door on the whole lot. She’d had quite enough of seeing piles of notes scattered about the place – even a ringbinder was enough to give her revision flashbacks.
Perhaps, she thought, as she poured granola in the vague direction of her bowl and spilled a good portion of it, the key bit of Grandma Whedon’s philosophy was that it needed to be a good night’s sleep, with the emphasis on ‘good’. Picking up cereal clusters and raisins and tossing them back into her bowl, Izzy yawned. When was the last time she’d woken up feeling like she had actually had a good night’s sleep, anyway? It hadn’t been last night, that was for sure. She tossed a raisin up in the air, trying to catch it in her mouth. It missed. No, last night’s sleep had – like the night before, and the night before that as far as she could remember – been rubbish. A restless sleep punctuated by dark, unpleasant dreams that left her feeling unsettled and even more tired than she had been when she’d closed her eyes.
It wasn’t even as if she could remember what the dreams were about, either. It was just that she knew they’d been bad. Sliding on to the seat at the breakfast bar, she poked at her cereal with her spoon. There had been … running. She’d been scared, she remembered that much. There had been broken glass that crunched under her feet, and a shadow that followed her wherever she went. There had been the sound of something soft hitting something solid, over and over again. There had been a scream – just one, sharp and short.
It was all uncomfortably familiar, like déjà vu. But they were only dreams.
The sudden thought of the shadowy figure she’d seen – or thought she’d seen – in Juliet’s house made her shiver. That had not been a dream – that had been real enough, whatever the others said.
Maybe that would explain last night’s dreams, and why she was sleeping so badly. And before then? It didn’t take a genius (or Noah) to figure out that the exams had taken their toll. Mrs Alderman might have meant her comment about ‘taking things seriously’ as gentle encouragement, but for days all Izzy had heard in her head was, “They’re going to kick you out.”
She chewed her granola thoughtfully. She still remembered that first trip to Clerkenwell. The interview with the head who’d looked over her school reports and frowned, even when her dad had explained everything in excruciating detail. She had hoped they might cut her a little slack once they heard how her mother had decided that she’d rather take that job in Hong Kong than stay with her family after all… But no. That was not The Clerkenwell Way. At Clerkenwell, it didn’t matter whether your dog was run over, your father died, your house flooded or you caught Ebola. Or all of the above. You still turned in your work on time and it had better be worth at least an A minus. And that was making allowances.
Shaking her head, she slipped her empty breakfast bowl into the sink. She scooped her keys off the worktop and checked her phone. There were five texts from Tigs, each sent a minute apart. All of them said exactly the same thing: Waiting. Where are you? They were supposed to meet downstairs at 10:30am, and Izzy was p
recisely one minute late. Which meant that Tigs had started to get impatient a good four minutes early.
Naturally, that couldn’t be her fault…
The original plan had been to go to one of the big department stores at the far end of Oxford Street. Juliet had her birthday money to spend, and Tigs was “feeling the need for a new bag” – a need she felt several times a year. Juliet suggested Selfridges; Tigs snorted and said, “Selfridges is dead to me. Dead.” So Selfridges was out.
The new plan saw them getting on the Tube to Bond Street station so they could carry on arguing somewhere closer to the shops, at least.
Kara trailed quietly behind. It had been a surprise to see her standing with the others, especially after her vanishing act, but she met Izzy’s gaze and shrugged as though she’d read her mind.
“What can I say? I might as well enjoy the summer, right?”
“Are you OK?”
“Not really. I mean … I messed up, didn’t I?”
“Maybe it’s not so bad. There’s always resits, right?” Izzy tried to sound upbeat.
“Yeah. Resits. You ever heard of those at Clerkenwell?” Although she was smiling, Kara’s voice was flat.
“They’ll understand.” Izzy knew that was unlikely but she couldn’t think what else to say.
“Maybe.” Kara didn’t sound like she believed it either. Instead, she smoothed her hand over her hair – cropped shorter than ever now school had finished. “Can we just … not talk about it?”
“Sure. Whatever you want.” Izzy felt sorry for Kara, but a tiny part of her wondered whether Kara deserved it. After all, she’d been offered the pills, just like the rest of them. She just hadn’t wanted it badly enough, had she? Izzy pushed the thought aside.
“Aren’t we waiting for Mia?” she called to the others, who were already heading down the steps into Barbican Tube station.
Juliet shook her head. “She’s not coming. Something about Dom…?”
“Since when has Mia wanted to stay in with her brother more than come shopping?”
“Maybe they’ve got some kind of thing going on. Who can tidy their room the fastest, or who can work out the square root of a million and forty-three point whatever quickest. You know what they’re like… Hey! That’s my lipstick!” Juliet suddenly yelped at Tigs, who had opened her bag to get her Oyster card.
“It’s so not,” Tigs said dismissively.
“It is! I’ve been looking for that for ages!”
Tigs and Juliet swept through the ticket barriers, dressed in their matching skinny jeans and vintage band T-shirts – and still bickering. Kara followed and Izzy was just about to follow, too, when a wave of dizziness threatened to knock her sideways. Still clutching her Oyster card, she swayed as the station spun around her.
The others showed no sign of noticing and carried on towards the stairs down to the trains. They’d realize sooner or later.
Probably.
Still reeling, Izzy stepped back from the ticket barrier and leaned against the tiled wall.
Just breathe, she told herself. In and out. In and out. You’re just tired…
She was. She was tired. But even that wasn’t quite enough to explain the advert on the wall across from her.
Izzy had passed that poster every time she’d been through the station in the last few months. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d seen it – so many that she didn’t really even see it any more. It was just there.
Now, however, she was looking at it. Really looking at it.
It was wrong.
It should have been a picture of a group of people on a train. Smiling, having a cup of coffee, reading a book, pointing at the scenery.
It still kind of was. There were still people sitting on a train, smiling, laughing, having a cup of coffee … but their faces had changed. They were more pointed – sharper. Their teeth were sharper. There were dark hollows under their eyes … eyes which suddenly seemed to be looking right at her.
“Get a grip, Iz. Just tired, just tired, get a grip…” she muttered to herself.
And then one of the people blinked.
“Izzy? Are you coming?” Juliet was leaning back over the barrier, calling to her. Tigs and Kara stood a few steps behind. Tigs was playing with her phone.
“I’m…” Izzy closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She was fine.
She opened her eyes; looked at the poster.
It had changed again.
The people had all moved. Now, they were in a line, as though they were pressed against a window and looking out on to the ticket hall. Looking out at her.
Their faces twisted into grotesque smiles and then began to melt.
“I… I…” Izzy gulped helplessly at the air, at the poster, at the ticket hall. At everyone.
“You all right, love?” One of the station staff leaned out of the ticket window – and to Izzy’s horror, his face began to twist and melt, too, his eyes sinking into deep hollows.
Horrified, she tore her gaze away from him, not able to do anything more than whimper, and looked towards Juliet. Only to see the same twisted grin on her face, too.
“Seriously. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Tigs was unhappy about the change of plan. It showed.
Most of what happened after the others had come back for her was a blur. Someone had sat her down – one of the ticket staff, she assumed – and opened the barrier for the others to come back through. Izzy remembered Juliet crouching in front of her, talking. At least, her mouth was moving but Izzy couldn’t hear anything beyond a faint ringing in her ears.
Her friends had got her back home, somehow, and had sat her down on the sofa and were now looking concerned. Or at least Juliet and Kara were. Tigs was mostly looking pissed-off.
“I’m going to get you something to drink,” said Kara.
“A green tea would be good,” said Izzy. “Thanks.”
Kara disappeared into the kitchen. There was a clatter of cupboard doors opening and closing, and the sound of the kettle being switched on.
Izzy shook her head. “I don’t know what happened. It was just … the poster. The faces…” She tailed off. Neither of them got it.
“Faces?” Tigs crossed her arms.
“I can’t explain it.”
“Try. Because this little therapy session is not the way my day’s supposed to be going.”
“I’m tired, I guess.” Izzy rubbed her eyes. “Not sleeping.”
“You, too?” Juliet asked. They both looked at her. “I thought maybe it was just me. The exams and that. I feel like I’ve not slept for weeks.”
“Me, too – exactly the same!” said Izzy.
“And if I actually do get to sleep, it doesn’t seem to matter how long it’s for, I don’t feel any better.”
“Yes!” Izzy nodded at Juliet. So she wasn’t the only one…
“God. Why don’t you just take a sleeping pill if you’re having that much trouble?” Tigs shook her head as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “It’s what they’re for.”
“Not all of us have a chemist’s shop in our bathroom cupboard, Tigs. And besides, those things are bad for you – you’re not supposed to take them unless you have to.”
“And I do. Like when I need my beauty sleep.” Tigs smiled sweetly. “You two could do with some of that.”
“Back off, Tigs. I’m not in the mood,” Izzy snapped.
Tigs frowned. “Wow. Seriously – I’ll give you some of the Maternal’s sleeping pills. Your need is clearly greater…”
“I don’t want any more pills, Tigs! Would you just leave it?” Izzy ran her hands through her hair, pulling it back. Her heart was pounding hard against her ribs again. She could feel her pulse beating in her neck.
“All right!” Tigs held up her hands and took a step back. “No need to be so psychotic about it.”
“I’m not. I just… What?” Izzy stopped.
“I don’t like being shouted at.”
“I wasn’t!”
“Uh…” Juliet cut in, “sorry, Izzy, but you were.”
“Oh.”
She hadn’t been shouting, had she? She didn’t think she had. She certainly hadn’t meant to… But the two of them were standing over her and looking like she’d grown another couple of heads, so she must have done something. Sighing, Izzy tried to make peace.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t feel so great. Tell Kara not to bother with the tea, OK? You guys go – maybe I’ll catch up with you later?”
“You’re not coming?” Juliet asked. Tigs was already stalking towards the door, barking for Kara.
“I think I’m just going to go back to bed,” Izzy said with a shrug.
“If you’re sure…”
“Definitely. And thanks, by the way. For bringing me home.”
And just like that, they were gone, leaving Izzy alone in the apartment.
She leaned her forehead against the door as she locked it behind them. She wouldn’t normally bother – after all, there were only two other flats on the landing and anyone else coming up had to be buzzed into the lift lobby by the porter. But somehow, today, it felt like the door needed to be locked. The same went for the windows, despite the rising heat. She went from room to room, yanking the curtains closed against the sun … but somehow that only made it worse. The whole apartment felt too hot, too claustrophobic and too empty at the same time. It was suffocating.
“Nope,” she said to nobody in particular. “Just no.” She couldn’t stay there, no matter how much she wanted to.
Grabbing her bag, she unlocked the door again and stepped out on to the landing.
Ten minutes later, Izzy was in the middle of the Barbican Centre, handing over the money for a large cappuccino from the coffee bar in the main foyer. Even though it was a big space, with different levels and balconies filled with comfortable cushioned benches or tables and chairs, it was buzzing with life. People were coming and going, on their way in or out. Some were heading to the box office to buy tickets for the cinema or the theatre. There were a bunch of kids with their teacher, obviously on their last class trip before they broke up for the summer, too. There were people moving in and out of the restaurant, browsing the bookshop and heading into the library. It was just what she’d needed. To be around people, but not actually with them.