Lifesaving for Beginners

until it hurts.
    ‘What do you mean?’ I try to keep a grip on my voice but it sounds shaky. Like I’m afraid.
    ‘But then again, everybody knows who you are, don’t they, Kat? Or should I say, Killian?’ His voice is lower now. Almost a whisper.
    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
    ‘I think you do.’
    ‘Don’t ring this number again.’
    ‘How’s book ten coming along, Kat?’
    I hang up. My legs shake. Everything shakes. I sit on the floor. I sit there for a long time. Thomas was right about the tiles. They are cold. I sit there until it passes. The need to phone Thomas is huge. It’s been there before but never like this.
    I sit on my hands.
    I don’t ring Minnie. She won’t be surprised. She’ll say, ‘You can’t hide forever, Kat.’ She’s said that before.
    ‘I know who you are.’ The voice was sure of itself. There was no doubt. Only conviction. I check the Caller ID. This time, the number comes up as ‘blocked’. I replace the phone on the cradle. Pull the lead out of the wall. Tuck my hands back under my legs.
    I’ve been so careful. Nobody could have been more careful than me.
    I’m sober now. An entire bottle of wine and I’m sober already. That’s bad value. I get up slowly. My legs are stiff. I hobble to the kitchen and lift the blind to look out of the window. The streetlamp gutters and in the flickering orange light I can see it’s been raining. The street is empty.
    I get into bed with my clothes on and a full face of make-up. The electric blanket is on but it takes ages to warm up. I turn the light off and the darkness advances like something solid, surrounding me on all sides.
    ‘I know who you are.’ I believed him when he said it. He sounds like someone who knows things. He sounds like someone who knows everything.
    I sit up and switch on the light.
    I open my laptop. Press the button. Open the document. There it is again. The blank screen. Page one of one.
    It was difficult to see. The dark was thick. Penetrating. Darker couldn’t even make out shadows. Outlines. Nothing. It was the kind of dark that suggested it may never be light again.
    This time I don’t read it before I press Delete.
    Delete.
    Delete.
    Delete.

 
    Faith says, ‘No, Milo. You can’t come to Ireland with me. You just can’t.’ She’s organising her clothes into piles on her bed. She says she’s only going for two days but from all the piles of clothes you’d think she was going for two weeks. Her dress is on the top of the ‘to be washed’ pile. Faith calls it her all-weather dress because you can wear it in spring, summer, autumn and winter. She never goes anywhere without it.
    I say, ‘Why can’t I come?’
    Faith says, ‘Because . . . well, there’s school for a start.’
    ‘I won’t be missing much. And I can catch up when I get back. And besides, I’m doing really well in all my subjects.’ This is not exactly true. We did fractions last week. I got seven-and-a-half out of ten. Dividing an apple tart into sixteen bits is harder than you’d think.
    Faith takes her favourite jeans out of the wardrobe.
    I say, ‘You can’t take those. They’re too big on you now.’
    Faith says, ‘I’ll wear a belt.’ She folds them. Mam ironed our clothes, but Faith says folding is just as good.
    I say, ‘I’m not going to Dad’s.’
    ‘You don’t have to. Dad’s coming here.’
    ‘He can’t. The baby might come when he’s not there.’
    ‘The baby’s not due till the end of December, for God’s sake.’ Adults have an answer for everything.
    ‘When are you going?’
    ‘I’ve booked a flight for the day after tomorrow.’ She tousles my hair. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’
    ‘That’s a lot of clothes for two days.’
    Faith smiles. ‘It’s Ireland. You never know what the weather’s going to do.’
    ‘I don’t want you to go to Ireland.’
    ‘Nothing bad is going to happen to me, I promise.’
    Mam promised too, but I don’t say that to Faith.
    ‘Your birth mother mightn’t live at that address anymore. Maybe she moved.’
    ‘I have to go, Milo. I’ve explained why.’
    When I was a kid, I could make myself cry. If I wanted to go somewhere. Or I wanted a chocolate mint Cornetto, which happens to be my favourite type of Cornetto. Damo says it’s weird to like mint, on account of it being a green. His mam put a mint leaf into a salad once. Damo hates salad.
    I can’t make myself cry now. And even if I could, I don’t think it