Advent
06 December 2017
It is past midnight and so before I leave I flick open the "6" door and inside is a lump of chocolate I can't really see in the dark. The back of the door says, Make A Wish! I throw the chocolate into my mouth, and I grab my coat and hat and scarf and shoes. I need those because it's cold. There's nothing in this room I actually want.
"Quickly. Come on." Mum bobs in the window like a rabbit about to run. My jeans go on over my pyjamas. When I'm ready she hugs me through the window and the hug turns into a lift and she picks me up as easy as anything and sets me down on the grass outside.
That's how easy it is to escape.
As we're running up the road a fox darts out from the bushes, pauses, stiffs its tail and shines its eyes at us. Then it's gone. Nose forward, quick. It doesn't know that we're running away too.
Mum can run for longer than I can, but she stops before I have to ask. She makes me walk away from the road, on the grass, and every time a pair of headlights slides up the road she waves me into the bushes, way back. I make myself small. Tiny. I don't even breathe.
Three cars pass. Four. Five. In between each one the world is dark again. I blink and there are patterns on the backs of my eyelids. Six cars. The seventh one stops. This whole time Mum and I haven't said a word. We don't need to. The car is streaked with dust and small. Boxy. The exact opposite of Donald's car. Mum leans down to the window and I hear her speaking.
It's warm inside the car. Because we've been running and because I'm wearing three layers and because me and Mum are squashed together in the back along with a couple of big dusty boxes. I don't see anything much of the man in front except his neck. Sometimes a thin slice of his face when he turns. He speaks like he's from Scotland. Not having a lucky night as such, are you?
I've had better, mate. I love hearing Mum talk to other people because she can do it so easily. She changes her voice. Speaks up. Smiles. She becomes one of them just long enough to fool them all. It's only when we're alone that she speaks like herself again.
With every minute that passes there is more distance between me and that house. More distance between me and Maisie and Donald. Now we must be out of the village altogether. Now it would take all night to walk back. Now it's too far to walk. I lean my head against the window and watch the lights of others cars buzz past.
Eventually the car comes to a stop. I'm half asleep but I come awake straight away. We are in a car park. Nearby, a road roars. Mum is backing me out of the car, saying, Cheers, mate. Can't thank you enough. We were desperate, I'm telling you. Nah. Nah, don't worry. Husband says he'll be here soon. Yeah. Thanks again, mate. We stand back and the car - a little bubble of warmth and noise - bumbles off towards the road.
Mum watches it go. Then she says to me. "What a good little citizen, eh? Thought he'd never leave." I hug her, fiercely. There hasn't been a moment before, but now there is. Now that the danger is gone and we are alone. She hugs me back the way she does when she's in her moods. Tight. Like I'm the only thing keeping her from floating up off the ground. For a while we just stand there in the car park. Eventually Mum stands up and takes my hand and we go inside.
I've been to service stations before. Maybe to this one. They all look the same. It's almost empty inside. A couple of fat old men playing on slot machines. The shops shuttered up. Apart from one. Burger King. Mum holds my hand and we go straight up to the counter and she orders burgers and fries and coke for both of us. She lets me pump the big handle on the ketchup dispenser. As much as I want. Maisie and Donald never take me to places like this.
The food is so greasy it makes the paper see-through. We sit in the middle of the big empty service station and eat. Mum tears into her burger like she hasn't eaten in days. Ketchup on her cheek. Watching me as she chews. She swallows. The salt and grease and bread and meat. Good food. Not good person food. "We're going to be okay," says Mum. And we are. I can just feel it.