oui?'
'Oui.'
'Pourquoi est tu... no, sorry - Pourquoi etes-vous la?
'Ici,' put in Mrs Harries helpfully.
'Je ne sais pas' chorused the children of Rawbone.
Blankly.
'Vraiment?' I asked them.
'Non, nous n'avons pas recu des instructions'
'QuoiT
'Les instructions. Nous attendons.'
'Sorry - what? I mean...? Just tell me, OK... Er...
Dites-moi! Dites-moi!'
'Nous ne comprenons pas. Nous ne comprenons pas' The children repeated.
'But surely... Sorry, hang on. Mais, vraiment, vous doits..'
A chair scraped back. One of the kids, Peter, stood there. Staring at me. 'We don't know,' he said.
The other chairs were pushed back, toppling over, one after the other. The children stood. Suddenly angry. Very angry. 'We don't know,' they cried. Not in unison. Not together. Not chanting. Just a babble.
A confused, furious babble. Aimed at me.
Oh my god.
It was like trying to stand up in icy, horizontal rain. A blast that shook me. The sheer cold - at first it was like a wall in front of my eyes, then I felt it wrap around me like a wet towel... cold and sharp... the worst ice cream headache ever. Then it squeezed.
Behind me, Mrs Harries moaned and fell to the floor. 'Children! Stop it,' she cried out.
What are you doing?' I shouted. 'Please! What are you doing?'
The shouting cacophony continued. I tried to shut my eyes, but I was blind - all I could see were colours dancing and jiggling and then I started to feel my feet giving way.
Each word stabbed at my head.
We! Don't! Know! Leave! Us! Alone!'
I was on the floor. I knew that. My senses jumping around. The floor smelt just like every old wooden floor - polish and plimsolls.
'Leave! Us! Alone!'
I slept.
G w e n
I pushed Anwen back through the village. It seemed cold and empty, even for Rawbone. I could hear Anwen stirring and murmuring. Like she was having a bad dream. After a few steps... oh, you know how when you're walking home alone late at night, and you suddenly become convinced that you're being followed? That there is something behind you, just out of the corner of your eye? Something that means you harm? It was that feeling. The rain had pooled into a mist, a mist that pressed in on the streets, turning the houses into ghosts.
I was utterly alone. The feelings washed over me.
Emotions, wave after wave of them - of fear, of anger, of loneliness and confusion and despair. I could hear Anwen crying and I lifted her out of her pram. 'Oh, baby,' I said, hugging her close. 'You feel it too, don't you? Come on, little miss, it'll be OK.' Her crying got louder and louder. Echoing off the wet stone walls.
A curtain twitched distantly.
It was Sasha. She stood there in her front room, looking at me holding my baby. She didn't offer to help, or even acknowledge me. She just watched.
Like she was sheltering from the storm.
I didn't care. I left the pram, grabbed Anwen, and ran to Sasha's door, hammering on it. She'd bloody let me in.
I sat in her living room. It was plain but comfortable.
Like she'd been to a sale at Furniture World a few years ago. A throw stretched over a fuzzy peach sofa. Dusty candles sat on coffee tables next to teddy bears. There were old dried flowers and a comfy rug that needed hoovering.
I held Anwen to me until she stopped crying.
Somehow, holding her near made me feel better.
Sasha brought out two cups of tea. Her mug had a penguin, mine had a panda. The tea was weak and grey. She settled down opposite me. Angry.
'What was that?' I asked. 'What was going on outside?'
'Happens,' she shrugs. 'Sometimes. Folks know to stay clear of it.'
'That wasn't rain or mist. That was...' I tried to explain. But I just couldn't. My thoughts were little mice being stood on. Another mystery in Rawbone that no one spoke about.
'Yeah. Whatever.' Sasha's shrug was heavy, guarded. 'We know better than to be out in it. You can feel it coming so you get out of the way. When you've been here long enough, you'll know.' She flicked through a magazine,
'Oui.'
'Pourquoi est tu... no, sorry - Pourquoi etes-vous la?
'Ici,' put in Mrs Harries helpfully.
'Je ne sais pas' chorused the children of Rawbone.
Blankly.
'Vraiment?' I asked them.
'Non, nous n'avons pas recu des instructions'
'QuoiT
'Les instructions. Nous attendons.'
'Sorry - what? I mean...? Just tell me, OK... Er...
Dites-moi! Dites-moi!'
'Nous ne comprenons pas. Nous ne comprenons pas' The children repeated.
'But surely... Sorry, hang on. Mais, vraiment, vous doits..'
A chair scraped back. One of the kids, Peter, stood there. Staring at me. 'We don't know,' he said.
The other chairs were pushed back, toppling over, one after the other. The children stood. Suddenly angry. Very angry. 'We don't know,' they cried. Not in unison. Not together. Not chanting. Just a babble.
A confused, furious babble. Aimed at me.
Oh my god.
It was like trying to stand up in icy, horizontal rain. A blast that shook me. The sheer cold - at first it was like a wall in front of my eyes, then I felt it wrap around me like a wet towel... cold and sharp... the worst ice cream headache ever. Then it squeezed.
Behind me, Mrs Harries moaned and fell to the floor. 'Children! Stop it,' she cried out.
What are you doing?' I shouted. 'Please! What are you doing?'
The shouting cacophony continued. I tried to shut my eyes, but I was blind - all I could see were colours dancing and jiggling and then I started to feel my feet giving way.
Each word stabbed at my head.
We! Don't! Know! Leave! Us! Alone!'
I was on the floor. I knew that. My senses jumping around. The floor smelt just like every old wooden floor - polish and plimsolls.
'Leave! Us! Alone!'
I slept.
G w e n
I pushed Anwen back through the village. It seemed cold and empty, even for Rawbone. I could hear Anwen stirring and murmuring. Like she was having a bad dream. After a few steps... oh, you know how when you're walking home alone late at night, and you suddenly become convinced that you're being followed? That there is something behind you, just out of the corner of your eye? Something that means you harm? It was that feeling. The rain had pooled into a mist, a mist that pressed in on the streets, turning the houses into ghosts.
I was utterly alone. The feelings washed over me.
Emotions, wave after wave of them - of fear, of anger, of loneliness and confusion and despair. I could hear Anwen crying and I lifted her out of her pram. 'Oh, baby,' I said, hugging her close. 'You feel it too, don't you? Come on, little miss, it'll be OK.' Her crying got louder and louder. Echoing off the wet stone walls.
A curtain twitched distantly.
It was Sasha. She stood there in her front room, looking at me holding my baby. She didn't offer to help, or even acknowledge me. She just watched.
Like she was sheltering from the storm.
I didn't care. I left the pram, grabbed Anwen, and ran to Sasha's door, hammering on it. She'd bloody let me in.
I sat in her living room. It was plain but comfortable.
Like she'd been to a sale at Furniture World a few years ago. A throw stretched over a fuzzy peach sofa. Dusty candles sat on coffee tables next to teddy bears. There were old dried flowers and a comfy rug that needed hoovering.
I held Anwen to me until she stopped crying.
Somehow, holding her near made me feel better.
Sasha brought out two cups of tea. Her mug had a penguin, mine had a panda. The tea was weak and grey. She settled down opposite me. Angry.
'What was that?' I asked. 'What was going on outside?'
'Happens,' she shrugs. 'Sometimes. Folks know to stay clear of it.'
'That wasn't rain or mist. That was...' I tried to explain. But I just couldn't. My thoughts were little mice being stood on. Another mystery in Rawbone that no one spoke about.
'Yeah. Whatever.' Sasha's shrug was heavy, guarded. 'We know better than to be out in it. You can feel it coming so you get out of the way. When you've been here long enough, you'll know.' She flicked through a magazine,
Similar Books
