Page 57

III
‘Bet you weren’t expecting me,’ I say, going in.
Gretel is curled around the iron ring, head on the mildewed pillow. Slowly, she struggles up. Her eyes, as she squints at my torch beam, are bloodshot and dim.
‘Hello, Elijah.’
Her voice sounds heavy, like she’s filled herself up with dark thoughts.
Hearing it, all my excitement drains away. Near the end, Bryony was like this. I’d hoped Gretel was stronger, but you never really know how someone will handle the bad stuff until they face it. ‘Has something happened?’ I ask. ‘Are you sick?’
She laughs, a staccato burst of sound. There’s no humour in it, only misery. On the floor near her feet is a plastic bowl. Apart from a few orange smears, it’s been licked clean. Gretel’s hair has been styled since I was last here. It suits her, I think, this new look, but I’m sensitive enough not to say anything.
I’m disappointed she’s being such a mope. It’s not the right time to reveal my secret so I sit down opposite.
‘It’s cold in here,’ she murmurs. ‘It’s freezing, actually.’
‘Up there, it’s blowing a gale.’
Gretel looks at the ceiling. ‘I don’t hear anything. I can’t even tell if it’s day or night.’
‘It’s night,’ I say. ‘Just past eleven.’
She nods listlessly.
‘How’s your wrist?’ After half a minute’s silence, I add, ‘Gretel?’
‘What?’
‘How’s your wrist?’
‘Feels … hot.’
‘Really?’
‘Kind of … my whole arm feels hot. Tingly.’
‘Maybe it’s healing.’
‘Doesn’t feel like it.’
‘Did the bandage help?’
She takes a breath, wheezes it out. ‘Elijah?’
‘What?’
‘You sounded different. When you came in.’
‘I did?’
‘Like you weren’t wearing any shoes.’
Caught off guard, I nearly shine the torch at my feet, revealing myself. I’m so annoyed by her trickery that I start to get up and leave. But when I flex my toes and feel cold, uneven rock beneath them, I realize she’s right: I’m barefoot. ‘I … I must’ve left the house without them,’ I say. But how can that be?
‘Do you live close?’
My mind has gone into a tailspin. ‘Yeah. But still …’