From behind the crisps she watches Joe lay his items on the conveyer belt at the till. She makes out two bottles of wine, a large pizza and what looks like a bottle of shampoo. He must be on his own. She remembers the lack of wedding ring.
The girl on the till is smiling and trying to chat to him, but he seems oblivious.
He’s planning a pizza and wine night. Maybe a film. She tries to think what kind of film he’s going to watch. Something about spies. Something old, with car chases through arty European streets. As he hands the woman his card to pay, he looks back straight towards her. Ameliah jumps and feels a large multipack of crisps slip off the shelf next to her. The pack behind it starts to fall, causing a crisp packet avalanche on to the floor. People start to look towards her as she hides from him, her back against the shelves, breathing deeply.
A figure wearing a dark supermarket polo shirt appears from nowhere and starts to pick up the crisps.
— Are you OK?
His voice is warm and seems too low for his slight body. She looks down at his arms as he scoops up the rustling packets. The hairs on them are dark against his pale skin.
— I’ve told them the shelves need edges, you know?
Ameliah knows it’s him, even before he looks up at her and smiles an awkward smile. His eyes are dark in his lean face. The same face she remembers staring at across the park. Without his cap she can see the waves in his thick black hair. She feels her stomach getting warm as she notices the faint beginnings of a moustache.
— Sorry. I’m clumsy.
The boy stands up and starts to stack the crisp packets back on the shelf.
— No problem. Do I know you?
His eyes are the colour of dark coffee-table wood. Swirling brown as he glances at her again. She stares. The boy smiles and she notices his two front teeth are crooked. He tilts his head and she feels the urge to put her hand against his face. She fights it and instead tilts her own head, mirroring his action.
— You look familiar.
Ameliah opens her mouth to tell him she’s the girl from the park, that she saw him and he saw her, but then over his shoulder she sees Joe walk out through the exit. Her head snaps back up.
— I’ve gotta go.
The boy looks confused as she pushes past him and starts to run towards the exit, not turning round as he says his name.
— It’s me. Ryan, who’d you think? I know, Nathan just told me. I didn’t know. I dunno, you know what he’s like. Yeah. Don’t worry about it. Liam, seriously, it’s fine. Yeah, but I still shouldn’t have run off, that was stupid, look it doesn’t matter. I saw her. Yes. Today. Earlier. In her garden. Yeah. No, back garden. It’s a long story. Yo, she lives on the next street! Up from ours. OK, her nan lives on the next street. Yeah. Their garden backs on to ours. I know. What? Shut up, man. Stop saying that, seriously, you sound like Macho Man Randy Savage or something. I know, but check this, I’m meeting her tonight. Yeah. Nine o’clock. I know, two hours. Cos she told me to, I mean I want to. Look, are you listening to what I’m saying? I know. Who’s that? Is it Jason? What’s he got? Will he let you copy it? Listen, stop changing the subject. I’m meeting her tonight. I don’t know, it won’t matter, she won’t be able to see me anyway. Cos she’ll be on the other side of the fence. It doesn’t matter. I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Nathan’s waiting for his dad to call. Yeah. OK. All right, cool. What? No I’m not saying that. Because it’s disgusting. Look, I’m going. No, bye, Liam. Bye.
— You’re thirteen years old, young lady.
— I know how old I am.
— Oh, you do? That’s good, well, maybe you should spend some time thinking about what that means.
— I said I’m sorry. It’s not even that late.
— That’s not the point, Ameliah, and it is late. I didn’t know where you were.
— I know, Nan. I got distracted. I’m here now.
Nan sighs from the edge of the sofa. Her face is pale in the dark room. Streetlight through the still open curtains turns the edges of the furniture orange.
— It’s not fair, Am. You of all people should know that – anything could’ve happened.
— OK, but it didn’t.
— But it could have.
Ameliah rolls her eyes. Nan sighs.
— Am, please, don’t tell me you can’t understand what I’m saying. After your rudeness this morning, and now this? You know you’re in the wrong here.
— I get it, Nan. You’re angry. I’m sorry. Can I go now?
Nan closes her eyes.
— Give me strength.
Her eyes open.
— You should have told me. You should have let me know. My mind ran towards all sorts of horrible things.
Ameliah shrugs and looks down at the living-room carpet. Nan stands up.
— After what we’ve been through, don’t you think it was wrong not to let me know?
Ameliah feels her body tense up.
— Wrong? What about you?
She stares up at Nan. Nan frowns.
— What about me?
— You! Just letting some guy in. Who knows who he is? He could be anyone, Nan, but you’re all like, yeah, come in, can I make you breakfast? It’s so nice of you to come, say hello to the man, Ameliah, he knew your dad, Ameliah.
— That’s not what it was. I—
— He could be anyone! He turns up here, mentions Dad and we’re just supposed to welcome him in?
— You’re overreacting, love.
Nan puts her hand on Ameliah’s shoulder. Ameliah shrugs it off.
— And what about Richard?
Nan’s face straightens as she lowers her arm.
— What about him?
Ameliah shrugs.
— Who the hell is he? What the hell does he want?
— What do you mean what does he want? He wants to be my friend. He wants to—
— Your friend? Jesus, Nan, I’m not five years old.
Nan stares at Ameliah.
— You listen to me, young lady, and I mean listen. Richard is a friend who I like and who I enjoy spending time with and if I choose to spend time with him I will. My business is my business and you better remember who you’re talking to.
— Yeah, well, Mom wouldn’t like it.
Nan’s face drops. Ameliah feels her words sit at shoulder height in the air between them. Her stomach turns as she waits for Nan to explode. Her mind runs the lines she expects Nan to speak, but Nan says nothing. Her chest deflates as she looks at Ameliah then she walks out of the room.
— Psssssst. What are you doing?
The fence spoke in a voice that felt too light and warm for a fence. Ryan looked over his shoulder. The back door was fully closed. He looked at the lawn. The light from the kitchen projected a yellow rectangle on to the dark grass.
— Ryan.
The fence tried hard to whisper. Ryan started to walk towards it, glancing back at the house, checking the living-room curtains were closed. He knew Sophia and Dad were inside.
— I’m here.
He felt his face contort into a weird shape as he tried to keep his voice down.
— I can see that, dummy. Come closer.
The voice came from the crack in the corner where the fences met. Ryan couldn’t see Eve and it felt unfair that she could see him.
— I can’t see you.
He stared at the crack, his eyes trying to make out a sliver of her body.
— It’s your eyes. They take time to adjust to the light. I’ve been here for a bit.
Ryan heard her voice move and knew she was sitting down. He did the same, facing the corner like he’d been told off.
— Did you get over the fence OK?
— Yeah. Thanks for the wheelbarrow.
— That’s OK. I figured a pair of trousers was enough damage for one day.
Ryan felt himself blush. He looked down at the back of his hands. His skin looked pale against the dark of his jumper sleeve.
—
Sorry again, about earlier I mean.
Eve tapped the other side of the fence.
— Stop saying sorry. It sounds like you don’t mean it.
Ryan opened his mouth then stopped himself saying it again.
— Thanks. For helping me.
— How’s your chest?
— It’s fine.
Ryan pressed his palm against his chest and felt the dull ache.
— Was your nan OK?
— Yeah. She had no idea. We did pretty well. Is that your house?
Ryan looked back at it. The kitchen light had been left on. The living-room curtains were closed and still, a slight pink glow coming from inside. Upstairs, Dad’s window and his looked black, set into the dark bricks.
— Yeah. Kind of. That’s my room upstairs. Are you at the back too?
— Yeah. How far away from each other do you think we sleep?
Ryan looked through the gap up at the back of Eve’s nan’s house and the upstairs bedroom window. He tried to picture her standing in the window.
— I’d say about half a football pitch.
There was a pause. Then she spoke.
— That’s good to know.
— So where are your mom and dad?
— They’re back in Dublin. I’m staying with Nan for the holidays.
Ryan sat silently, brushing the thin grass with his fingers. He pictured her sitting in the same position on the other side of the wood.
— They’re getting a divorce.
Ryan felt her staring. Even though he knew she couldn’t see him fully, he could feel her eyes.
— It’s pretty rubbish.
There was a pause.
— My mom died, I mean, she’s dead. I guess it’s kind of the same thing, right?
Eve laughed. Like a quieter version of Mom.
— I’m sorry. That’s horrible, it’s just the way you said it. I didn’t mean—
Ryan felt his heart beating.
— It’s fine. I do that, say stupid stuff I mean.
Eve laughed some more.
— I know. I like it.
Ryan felt his face tingle. Eve stopped laughing.
— How did she die?
He felt his face drop. He ran through the responses he’d trained himself to give to strangers and teachers and parents of schoolmates.
— She got sick. It was a couple of years ago now.
He prayed that Eve would hear in his voice to leave it there.
— So you’re thirteen, right?
The relief at the change of subject was swiftly followed by the sinking realisation that he was a year younger. Being in the year below was a big obstacle. He considered lying then remembered that she already knew.
— Yeah. Unlucky for some.
— I can’t wait till my birthday. Fourteen sounds so much better, don’t you reckon?
Ryan leaned his head against the fence.
— Totally.
— You wanna come? On my birthday I mean? It’s on Wednesday. Have some cake?
Ryan answered without thinking.
— Yeah. Yes please. I love cake. What kind of cake?
— I don’t know. Does it matter?
— No. No it doesn’t. Oh no, I can’t.
There was a pause.
— OK. Don’t worry about it.
— No, no, I want to, it’s just that we’re leaving on this stupid caravan holiday tomorrow to please my dad and my stepmom.
— Stepmom?
— Sophia. She’s not so bad. I mean she’s not some evil witch like in fairy tales or something. It’s Nathan who’s evil.
— Who’s Nathan?
— He’s her son.
— So your stepbrother?
— Yeah.
— Oh.
— Yeah. We leave in the morning, some beach in Devon. Five days. Will Mary come over, for cake I mean?
— Yeah, I think my mom’s getting the ferry back too, but I’m not sure.
They both heard a rustling. Ryan sat up straight and looked around. He heard Eve get on to her knees.
— What was that?
— I dunno, where did it come from?
— My left.
They both jumped as the smoky-grey cat jumped up and clawed its heavy body on to the top of the fence. Eve sighed.
— Jesus!
Ryan tried to play it cool.
— It’s the cat.
— I know, Ryan. Is it yours?
Ryan looked at the cat; its dark fur made it seem even fatter than it was. Its smug eyes flashed yellow.
— Nobody knows who owns it. Everyone feeds it, that’s why it’s so fat.
— Fat cat.
— Exactly.
They both laughed. Ryan thought about women in films visiting their husbands in jail, pressing their hands together either side of the glass.
— Look at the moon.
Eve’s voice brought him back. Ryan looked up and saw the moon. It looked like someone had shaved the side off a frisbee made of pearl. He thought about saying that out loud then decided it sounded rubbish.
— Weird that there are people who’ve actually been there, don’t you think?
He could tell by her voice that she was gazing up at it. The fact that she would even think a thought like that made Ryan feel like he would happily melt into the cold lawn.
— All the time. Imagine being on the dark side of it. What that would feel like.
— Lonely.
Ryan nodded, forgetting that she couldn’t see him, as he stared up and imagined them both on the moon in NASA spacesuits, holding hands, bouncing massive slow-motion steps, laughing inside their helmets. He thought about the universe and Dad telling him how it has no edge.
— It’s massive, isn’t it?
— What is?
— Space. The universe I mean.
He stared up at the black sky, waiting for the stars to show themselves.
— And here we are, sitting in the corner of two gardens on a street on one of a whole bunch of planets.
— Yeah.
Ryan felt the warmth of sharing a thought and not having it shot down. He told himself he would happily sleep exactly where he was.
— I should go. Nan’s gonna notice I’m not in my room.
Ryan heard Eve stand up. He got to his feet. Something about the light, or maybe the slight slope of the garden, made him feel taller than normal.
— I like speaking to you, Ryan. I’m glad the universe made you show me your pants.
Her mouth was right next to the wood and he could tell she was smiling. Ryan felt an urge to try and touch her, just for a second.
— Me too, I mean speaking and the pants.
Eve laughed.
— Enjoy your trip. Bring me a shell or something.
She started to walk away.
— Wait!
Ryan reminded himself to whisper.
— Do you like music?
Eve turned back.
— What do you mean?
Ryan leaned into the corner, his face touching the wood as he spoke through the crack.
— You like music, right?
— Everybody likes music, Ryan. See you later.
She smiled then turned and walked towards her back door. Ryan watched her through the crack, the light from the kitchen outlining her body as she opened the door and stepped inside.
Ryan turned round, leaning his back against the fence. The night air felt cool as he breathed in deeply.
— I like speaking to you, Ryan.
Saying the words out loud made them concrete. He felt like he was wearing body armour as he walked back down the garden towards the house. As he reached the back door, he thought he saw the flash of something move up in his bedroom window. He stared up at the glass. The moonlight turned it into a still mirror. He told himself it was nothing as he stepped inside.
The house is quiet. Nan is in her room. The echoes of the tension from before are still floating around. Ameliah imag
ines Nan earlier, sitting waiting for her on the sofa while she was out tracking Joe, trying to stay calm, her thumbs wrestling her fingers against her palms.
She thinks about Mom. When Mom was mad, the whole house felt different. Like somebody had fed a hosepipe through the letter box and was slowly poisoning them with some kind of deadly invisible gas. Now Ameliah knows where she got it from.
She stares at the small mobile phone in her hands. The black charger lead snakes away over the side of the bed next to her towards the plug as she lies on her back on top of the duvet. She can see the small battery icon in the top right-hand corner filling and re-filling in three stages, like somebody’s pouring pixelated ink into it.
On the bedside table next to the stereo speaker, the old shell sits like a button.
Reaching out, Ameliah presses it with her finger. She feels the blood leave her fingertip as the shell refuses to give way. She makes a muffled explosion sound with her mouth, as though she’s pressed the button that launches a thousand missiles.
She moves her hand and presses play on the tape deck.
The speakers hum then, as the warm audience applause starts, she rolls back on to her back, the phone still in her hand.
She closes her eyes and listens. She remembers Dad saying that nothing is silent. That there is always some kind of sound on some level. He said that some scientists made a booth that they thought was completely soundproof, that blocked out every single external noise, but when people got in it, it was that quiet they could hear their own heart beating. So the only true silence was the space between heartbeats.
The man’s gravelly voice through the speakers cracks as he sings, like he’s almost shouting, but quietly somehow.
Ameliah pictures Dad at work, standing in front of his students, talking about science, and wonders whether they thought he was some stuffy science professor guy. They probably did. His dark wiry hair like a bonfire, his clever-clogs glasses, his pastel jackets. She wonders if they ever saw him laughing, or doing his impression of the Terminator, or yelping like a little dog when he spilled his coffee down his shirt.
The brushed drums skip into the song’s chorus. Ameliah leans over and turns the volume down. The music creeps lower. She thinks about babies inside their mothers. What the outside world must sound like. Dad was always reminding her how he and Mom played their favourite music to her before she was born. How he used to rest his headphones on either side of Mom’s tummy as she lay down reading. Ameliah pictures him smiling, pressing his cheek to his shoulder, pretending to scratch a record. DJ Foetus.
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