to feel anything other than anger and annoyance towards Loe, Seven would have to go
completely
insane.
24
ALBA
It had been the longest week of her life. Not even a million lessons with Professor Nightingale could have felt longer (not that she’d care to try it to find out). Alba spun through minutes like Alice floating down the rabbit hole – Carroll’s
Wonderland
books were her favourites – drifting in a current separate to the rest of the world, things slipping by, unable to touch her. And the worst part of it was, it wasn’t over yet.
One more day!
She didn’t know how she’d manage.
Whenever she thought of Seven, Alba saw him in the dusky, night-time places of last Saturday: walking towards her under the shadows of the elms in her garden, or a flame-lit figure ahead of her in that awful sewer tunnel, his outline yellow and glowing. How he’d frozen as she’d asked him if he’d take her surfing again and she’d thought for a split-second he was going to say no, and the fast, spiralling feeling that had wound through her chest then, a rush of emotions she couldn’t quite place.
Seven had only let her surf the one memory that night, worried about getting her back to North before it got light. One memory wasn’t nearly enough. Alba wanted more. Hundreds more. She wanted to surf his entire collection, and even then it wouldn’t be enough.
She’d been to a tropical rainforest, swam naked in the azure water of its pools, while her parents and Dolly and everyone else in her house had been here, just sleeping. They might have been dreaming, but dreaming was nothing like memory-surfing. Surfing was so much
more
. It was like living moments from the most beautiful, sparkling life.
And there was the problem. Now Alba had had a taste of freedom, she couldn’t bear the thought of it being taken away.
Dolly was getting Alba ready for bed when there was a knock on the door. It opened before they could answer, Oxana stepping into the room in a cloud of too-sweet perfume and bustling silks.
‘Mistress White!’ Dolly gave a polite bow, still holding the brush she’d been using to comb through Alba’s hair.
Alba pulled her silk dressing gown tighter around her, face paling. Even though it had been a week since the night her mother had hit her, the memory of it still felt fresh. Raw. She had spent the week avoiding looking into her mother’s eyes because every time she did, there it was again: the snap of her wrist; coldness of the marble floor against her cheek; wine on her mother’s breath; the ugly look on her face as she’d said,
I’m done with you
.
For the past few days, it’d seemed Oxana was keeping to her words. Apart from dinner every night and their weekly Sunday church visit, Alba hadn’t seen her mother, and even when they were together her mother hadn’t pressed her to talk.
Now she was here in her bedroom, and there was nowhere Alba could escape to.
‘Dolly,’ Oxana said, smiling, clasping her hands in front of her. She was still wearing her dinner outfit from earlier. The long green dress skated over her curves like a dark emerald waterfall, picking out the colour of her eyes. Her blonde hair was slicked back in a sleek ponytail. ‘May I have a few moments alone with my daughter?’
‘Of course, Mistress White.’ Giving Alba an encouraging smile, Dolly squeezed her shoulder and left the room.
Alba stared down at her lap, fiddling with the tie of her dressing gown. Her stomach flipped dizzily. For one terrible moment she could barely breathe, because she truly thought her mother was about to tell her she knew what had happened last week.
That she knew about Seven.
It was strange, but the two nights Alba had shared with that weird, awkward boy from South seemed more binding than if they’d grown up together, spending years in each other’s company. She felt as though they were tethered together now. Tethered by their shared secrets, yes, and what they’d overheard between
completely
insane.
24
ALBA
It had been the longest week of her life. Not even a million lessons with Professor Nightingale could have felt longer (not that she’d care to try it to find out). Alba spun through minutes like Alice floating down the rabbit hole – Carroll’s
Wonderland
books were her favourites – drifting in a current separate to the rest of the world, things slipping by, unable to touch her. And the worst part of it was, it wasn’t over yet.
One more day!
She didn’t know how she’d manage.
Whenever she thought of Seven, Alba saw him in the dusky, night-time places of last Saturday: walking towards her under the shadows of the elms in her garden, or a flame-lit figure ahead of her in that awful sewer tunnel, his outline yellow and glowing. How he’d frozen as she’d asked him if he’d take her surfing again and she’d thought for a split-second he was going to say no, and the fast, spiralling feeling that had wound through her chest then, a rush of emotions she couldn’t quite place.
Seven had only let her surf the one memory that night, worried about getting her back to North before it got light. One memory wasn’t nearly enough. Alba wanted more. Hundreds more. She wanted to surf his entire collection, and even then it wouldn’t be enough.
She’d been to a tropical rainforest, swam naked in the azure water of its pools, while her parents and Dolly and everyone else in her house had been here, just sleeping. They might have been dreaming, but dreaming was nothing like memory-surfing. Surfing was so much
more
. It was like living moments from the most beautiful, sparkling life.
And there was the problem. Now Alba had had a taste of freedom, she couldn’t bear the thought of it being taken away.
Dolly was getting Alba ready for bed when there was a knock on the door. It opened before they could answer, Oxana stepping into the room in a cloud of too-sweet perfume and bustling silks.
‘Mistress White!’ Dolly gave a polite bow, still holding the brush she’d been using to comb through Alba’s hair.
Alba pulled her silk dressing gown tighter around her, face paling. Even though it had been a week since the night her mother had hit her, the memory of it still felt fresh. Raw. She had spent the week avoiding looking into her mother’s eyes because every time she did, there it was again: the snap of her wrist; coldness of the marble floor against her cheek; wine on her mother’s breath; the ugly look on her face as she’d said,
I’m done with you
.
For the past few days, it’d seemed Oxana was keeping to her words. Apart from dinner every night and their weekly Sunday church visit, Alba hadn’t seen her mother, and even when they were together her mother hadn’t pressed her to talk.
Now she was here in her bedroom, and there was nowhere Alba could escape to.
‘Dolly,’ Oxana said, smiling, clasping her hands in front of her. She was still wearing her dinner outfit from earlier. The long green dress skated over her curves like a dark emerald waterfall, picking out the colour of her eyes. Her blonde hair was slicked back in a sleek ponytail. ‘May I have a few moments alone with my daughter?’
‘Of course, Mistress White.’ Giving Alba an encouraging smile, Dolly squeezed her shoulder and left the room.
Alba stared down at her lap, fiddling with the tie of her dressing gown. Her stomach flipped dizzily. For one terrible moment she could barely breathe, because she truly thought her mother was about to tell her she knew what had happened last week.
That she knew about Seven.
It was strange, but the two nights Alba had shared with that weird, awkward boy from South seemed more binding than if they’d grown up together, spending years in each other’s company. She felt as though they were tethered together now. Tethered by their shared secrets, yes, and what they’d overheard between
Similar Books
