‘I know,’ I said. ‘I know! I . . . you just, you need to know how important it is for me to keep you safe, for . . .’
‘Oh, don’t be so patronising,’ said Kloe. ‘You’re my boyfriend and I love you and I know you love me, but you’re not . . . responsible for me.’
‘I am,’ I said. ‘When it comes to this stuff, I am.’
‘What stuff? Tell me what’s happening, right now. I’m not getting back in that car until you tell me exactly what’s going on. And don’t you dare leave anything out.’
Come on, kid. ‘Fess up. ‘OK,’ I said, and broke it down in as much detail as I could, telling her about the blue dog, and Freeman, and the Angel Group’s plan. I still left out the part about Tara being our daughter, and the twist in my gut told me that neglecting that aspect was definitely going to come back and bite me somewhere painful at some point, but right now I had to get her on side. Apart from needing her to agree to come . . . she was right. I owed her honesty.
So I was as honest as I could be.
‘So that’s it,’ I said. ‘That’s what’s happening. That’s why I had to come. And why we have to go. Now.’
Kloe nodded. ‘Fine.’ She laughed, and only a little bitterly. ‘You’re lucky I’m really in love with you. Like, a lot. Otherwise I’d probably have told you to get to fuck by now.’
‘Feel free,’ I said, holding out my hand. ‘Just do it on the way.’
It didn’t take long to reach the village at the edge of the forest. I stopped the car outside a small supermarket to buy some more extensive supplies, then we set off again. Kloe had calmed down, and she and Tara had even hit upon a hilarious new game that involved relentlessly taking the piss out of me for being a huge drama queen and a pretty naff driver.
It wasn’t exactly negative, as developments go.
We parked in a layby next to the forest, which definitely looked sinister. Dense and ragged, it let very little light in, even though it was a pretty bright day, and barely any sound out, just the odd rustle and squawk. Tara clearly didn’t like it and Kloe seemed far from keen, although she put on a brave face. ‘Seems nice enough,’ she said, ‘for a Blair Witch remake. Why are we here?’
‘I’m just following directions,’ I said.
‘Whose?’
‘Someone trustworthy. A friend with powers.’ It wasn’t exactly a lie.
Kloe raised her eyebrows. ‘Would it be wrong of me to say that this whole thing’s a bit . . . serial killer-ish?’
‘Hopefully nobody will have to cut their own leg off to escape from some nightmarish trap,’ said Tara, solemnly.
We both looked down at her. ‘Um,’ I said. ‘What?’
‘What kind of films do you think me and my friends watch when we have sleepovers?’ asked Tara, rolling her eyes. ‘Spoiler alert – not My Little Pony.’
Kloe and I looked at one another and cracked up. Trust a kid to defuse the tension.
And where does an eleven-year-old learn the phrase ‘spoiler alert’?
I’m so proud.
We unloaded everything and I glanced over the directions. ‘This way,’ I said, leading them down the muddy, narrow country road until we found the entrance, a path bordered by thorn bushes. There was a wooden stake hammered into the ground with an exclamation mark engraved in it, just as was indicated on the piece of paper. Quite a nice touch, I thought. Good skills, future me. ‘Here we are,’ I said. ‘Um. Well. In we go.’
The woods smelled wet and bracken-y and the floor, a fragrant carpet of dead leaves and damp bark, shifted underfoot. Kloe and Tara kept close to me. I hated the idea that I was going to leave them somewhere in the middle of this wood for over a week, and I anticipated a horrible, horrible goodbye, but I tried to put it out of my mind and concentrate on finding our safe haven. Every now and then there would be a little marker, which was reassuring. The trees were stern, ominous sentries, tall and unfriendly with rough trunks and no branches for climbing, and when they creaked it sounded like a warning. A few times the words there may be a shimmer in the forest came back to me, and I shivered and wondered what it meant, but nothing strange occurred, just a few woodland creatures scampering past. At one point a bird screeched and we all jumped and yelled in fright, but laughed it off. I half-expected laughter to sound scary and out-of-place, but it was actually light and soothing . . . until the echoes returned to us, distorted and mocking, as though the mirth had been filtered through something.
Or as though it’s not our laughter.
It’s the forest, laughing at us.
God, shut up! You’re supposed to be the hero. If you’re pissing your boxers because of a slightly spooky forest, what chance does the world have?
Thankfully Tara started a conversation about a lyric she half-remembered. ‘It’s got something to do with . . . um . . . a treehouse? And . . . the birds. Birds and bees. And maybe honey? That’s all I can remember, it’s been annoying me for ages.’
Oh thank Christ for that. Kloe and I joined in with the thinking, desperately racking our brains, even though the fragments of lyric meant absolutely nothing to me. ‘I’m sure I know it,’ said Kloe. ‘It rings half a bell.’
‘Half a bell?’ repeated Tara. That made us all laugh.
‘Maybe you can make a full bell between you,’ I said, ‘and then we can ring it.’
Unutterably lame, but you’re forgiven.
The conversation lasted until we reached the very centre of the forest. It had taken us about three-quarters of an hour and we were all knackered, but the sight of our destination gave me a lift: a clearing, dominated by a big wooden cabin. It had a chimney and actual glass in the windows, and a log pile outside, and a door with a flower carved into it. Another nice touch. It looked cute and cosy, homely, safe in the heart of the woods. I took the key from my pocket and unlocked the door, and in we went. The place had electric light that ran off a generator – I’d thoughtfully left instructions for myself detailing how it worked – and nice furniture, even pictures on the walls. Jesus. Did I actually build this? It meant that at some point in my life I developed some kind of practical skill, which was a revelation. Electrician, builder, plumber, superhero. Blimey.
You probably just thought everything into place, like telepathic Lego. You couldn’t build a house of cards.
It had a kitchen, a bathroom, a little living room with a sofa and a fireplace, and two adjoining bedrooms, one with a large bed, one with a slightly smaller one. There were a few books, which I didn’t bother examining, and I’d left clothes for Kloe. Obviously, because I knew she didn’t have time to bring any. I was starting to enjoy this a little bit, the way things were falling into place. Falling very slowly, and into a no less confusing place, but falling into place nonetheless.
We set ourselves up, putting food in cupboards – there was even a fridge – and then I built a fire, with quite a lot of help from Kloe, and we had tea and biscuits. I’d decided to stay with them tonight, just to get them settled in, and leave tomorrow morning. I managed to block off part of my brain so I wouldn’t think about tomorrow; I wanted to have one nice, quiet day with my girlfriend and my daughter. We played stupid games like Consequences and noughts and crosses, and endless rounds of Cheat and Pontoon with the pack of cards that my future self had left us, and soon it was dark and I stoked up the fire, and we cooked and ate a meal together, and told jokes and played more games. It was almost wonderful. Actually, it was wonderful. Wonderful, but also painful, because I knew I was going to have to leave them here.
Tara went to bed at about nine because she was exhausted, and Kloe and I sat on the sofa in front of the fire staring into the crackling, writhing flames. I found it hard to believe that not twenty-four hours ago I had been psychically throwing cars around and dodging grenades, and that a day before that I’d nearly been eaten by a dog the size of an elephant. It didn’t make sense. It was another wo
rld . . .
You might have killed someone last night, muttered a new voice in my head, cold and malevolent and unwelcome. More than one person, even.
I tried to justify it to myself. It had been them or me, and if I’d let them take me I wouldn’t have been able to protect my family. It balanced out. It had to. They had attacked us with guns and explosives, they hadn’t even tried to negotiate, to resolve things peacefully. Fight fire with fire and all that.
Plus, Eddie and I are both maybe-murderers now.
Yay.
Suddenly Kloe leaned over and kissed me, and all dark thoughts evaporated. Her lips were so soft and felt so good, and the heat between us started to rise, like mercury in a thermometer, rushing upwards. Neither of us said anything, we just got off the sofa and went next door to the larger bedroom.
Later, as we lay side-by-side, hot and cold and vulnerable, I kissed Kloe’s neck and whispered, ‘I love you.’
‘I love you.’ She kissed my shoulder, and my lips, and I felt her smile in the dark.
‘What are you grinning at?’ I asked.
‘Nothing.’
That was awesome. There was a new voice in my head. It talked kind of like a frat boy. In fact, I was surprised it hadn’t added the word bro on the end. You’d better just be visiting, boyo. Got no need for dude-bros in my head.
Chill, bro. It was pretty awesome.
Yeah, fair enough bro.
We lay in tranquil darkness for a while before drifting into sleep, and for the first time in what seemed like years my dreams were soft and full of light, and the memory of kisses, imprinted on my mind, kept the monsters at bay.
Chapter Twelve
I WOKE TO WAXY golden daylight beyond the window, and a feeling of perfect calmness. We’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms but rolled in opposite directions during the night, and I sat up as quietly as I could and stared at her, peaceful, her breathing soft and rhythmic.
Seriously hot.
Innit.
I was just wondering at what point this would become creepy when she woke up, blinking sleepily. ‘Morning,’ I said.
‘Morning,’ she yawned. Then she gave me a suspicious look. ‘Have you been watching me sleep?’
‘Only for a few hours.’
‘Weirdo.’
‘You’re a weirdo.’ I kissed her and the kiss lingered, all rosy and light, and then I made to get out of bed but she stopped me, wrapping her arms around my chest from behind and leaning against my shoulder.
‘Wilt thou be gone?’ she said, affecting a voice somewhere between Olivia Hussey and William Shatner. ‘It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. Believe me love, it was the nightingale.’
How could she remember all her lines? It had been so long since we’d done Romeo and Juliet, that one night when everything had spun so spectacularly out of orbit. What’s the next line?
How about that? I actually remember.
‘It was the lark,’ I replied, opting for a low Batman-esque voice, ‘the herald of the morn, no nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks lace the severing clouds of yonder east. Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay . . . and die.’
Kloe giggled, and carried on with her next bit of dialogue, word-perfect. I remembered the final line, my cue – ‘Therefore stay yet, thou need’st not be gone’ – and replied. ‘Let me be taken, let me be put to death. Come death, and welcome, Juliet wills it so. I’ll say—’
‘Nope,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Wrong. You are rubbish, and fired from acting. Entertainment industry rocked as Kloe Davies wins all the Oscars.’
‘Oh really?’ I leaned in and kissed her. The kiss, so full of joy and joking, became a hug, and the hug brought home the stinging irony of our little exchange.
‘You do know I wasn’t being serious?’ she said.
‘About the Oscar thing?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘The quoting the play thing. I wasn’t actually saying my lines from Romeo and Juliet. And you weren’t actually saying yours back. Because that would be so cheesy that the only option would be for me to pretend to kill myself, and then for you to actually kill yourself, and then for me to wake up and see that you had killed yourself, and actually kill myself, for reals.’
I stared at her as though she was speaking Swahili. ‘Sorry, Romeo and who?’
‘Dunno. Julian?’
‘Rona and Julian?’
‘Julia and Rasputin?’
‘Julie Walters’ respirator?’
‘’Bout half past ten?’
Now the laughter came, with a vengeance, and for a good minute we sat holding our sides, wet-eyed and hysterical. We were shocked into brief silence by Tara running in, still in her pyjamas, demanding to know what was going on, but as soon as Kloe and I looked at one another we started again, unable to speak, and Tara joined in. Then I remembered that we were in bed together with no clothes on and I immediately stopped laughing. ‘Tara! Go back to your room! And shut the door!’
Tara rolled her eyes and shook her head. ‘I’m not stupid, you know.’ But she turned and closed the door, and I looked at Kloe again. Her expression was as horrified as mine, but within a few seconds we were laughing again.
We breakfasted together and I washed and dressed, and at about one o’clock it was time to go. Way past time, in fact. I hugged Tara tightly first, willing myself to be strong and not cry, even though her own tears stabbed me in the heart. ‘You be good,’ I said, ‘and look after . . . Kloe. I’ll be back.’ Woops. Almost said ‘look after your mother’.
‘When?’
‘Soon,’ I said. ‘Soon. Hush them tears, cowgirl.’ I ruffled her hair, knowing how much it irritated her, and that got a giggle. I turned to Kloe. She wasn’t crying. She didn’t need to, it was all in her eyes, in the way she stood and hugged herself. I almost didn’t know how to hug her, it seemed such a perfunctory way of saying goodbye. So I just did it, and held her, and kissed her, and said I’d be back soon.
‘You’d better be. I don’t fancy being stranded in this shack any longer than necessary.’
‘Hey,’ I said. ‘This is an awesome shack.’
‘It’s all right. As shacks go.’
‘I will be back,’ I said. ‘I promise.’ I broke the embrace, and smiled like someone who knew exactly what they were doing. ‘Look after each other.’
‘We will,’ she said. Now she was crying, although it was a dignified, mature sort of crying, and Tara was standing by her, their arms around each other, mother and daughter, blissfully ignorant. I wished I could tell them.
You will soon.
This trip back to London will sort everything. And then we’ll be a family.
How can you be so sure?
Because I told me.
I headed into the forest, sniffing the damp, piny air. Chilled and fresh. I walked backwards, waving and smiling, tripped on a fallen tree branch and arse-planted spectacularly into some wet leaves, and Kloe and Tara collapsed in the doorway in a blizzard of giggles. I started trying to reclaim a bit of dignity, but then decided it was better that I looked stupid, so I made an over-the-top ‘what am I like’ face and did a silly walk until they were out of sight. I stopped and breathed deeply, calming myself, steeling myself. Off to see the wizard. ‘The wonderful wizard . . .’ I began to sing, but I couldn’t carry on. The silence was far too complete for me to break it with my tuneless burbling.
As I walked back through the woods . . . dark and deep, miles to go before I sleep . . . I could feel that nagging dread in my mind. It was everywhere. The light was sickly, the decaying leaves and wet bark dripped with menace, and I was getting steadily colder, rubbing my arms to beat back the goosebumps.
Choose your own adventure.
Time is a flat circle.
Where do I know that line from—
‘Stanly!’
It was Tara’s voice. I spun on the spot. She had emerged from behind a tree and was walking towards me, smiling. ‘Tara?’ I said. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Showing you,’ she said. She stopped and stood there, incongruous in her red pyjamas and bare feet, bright, too bright, against the muddy green tones of the wood.
‘What do you mean? Showing me what? And why aren’t you wearing shoes or a coat, you’ll get hypothermia!’
I’m sure she was dressed when I left . . .
She smiled again. ‘I can destroy things,’ she said. ‘With my thoughts.’ She closed her eyes and a huge explosion erupted in the distance behind her. I stumbled backwards a few steps, blinded by the flash and deafened by the boom that echoed through the trees. The force of the blast shook drips from the branches and sent birds hurrying skyward, squawking in distress.
‘Tara,’ I said, when I could manage words. ‘What did you do . . .’
‘That was the cabin,’ said Tara. ‘Good distance, eh? I can do better, though.’
No . . . ‘The cabin?’ I said, numbly. ‘You . . . Kloe . . .’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Tara. ‘I broke her neck beforehand. She was already dead.’
‘What . . .’
Tara smiled again, that innocent smile. ‘You knew this would happen. They told you how powerful I am.’ And then the smile was gone, and that beautiful little girl of mine looked like the most evil thing in the world. I fell to my knees, my legs gas, and Tara spoke again. ‘I’m a weapon,’ she said, her voice plunging a thousand octaves, filling up every available molecule of space. ‘The worst.’
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