I resist the urge to peek through the car’s windows and move Rebecca’s bouquet to my other hand. At least I have something to present my mother with when she answers the door; it might help alleviate her shock in seeing me in the great outdoors. Taking a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders and stroll up the path. I want to show her that I really am alright and that I’m not as crazy as everyone thought.
I’m almost at the door when I hear voices inside. They’re muffled, but I can make out my mother. Her visitor is clearly male, although he’s less distinct. I wrinkle my nose. Despite the early hour, McIntyre must be here. For a moment, I’m frozen to the spot. Good grief; she really must be having an affair with him. Coming on the heels of my encounter with Margaret and Rebecca, this isn’t something I want to know about. And I don’t want the moment my mum realises I’ve overcome my agoraphobia to be spoiled by an awkward witness. So, instead of ringing the doorbell, I press myself against the wall where I can’t be seen. I realise it’s ridiculous – a grown woman playing hide-and-seek – but I want this just to be about my mum and me. It occurs to me that he must be on the verge of leaving, which means it’s possible that he spent the night. That’s information I definitely don’t need to know.
The door rattles as it opens. I hear someone step outside and my mother’s voice. ‘Well, it was lovely to meet you, Mr Malpeter. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.’
I frown. Not only is it not Henry McIntyre, there’s an edge of tension in her voice that I rarely hear – and it doesn’t sound like irritation at an unwanted salesman. Rather, it’s an emotion I’m very well versed in: my mother is scared.
‘Oh, that’s no problem at all, Mrs Lydon. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.’
I stop breathing. It’s the Mayor, here in real life. He’s found me. I press harder against the pebbledash, ignoring the pain on my skin. I didn’t bring the backpack with me; this time all I have to defend myself and my mother with is a bunch of stupid flowers. Margaret Thomson has already proved how useless they are as a weapon. I don’t even have a phone to call Rawlins and ask for help.
I hear the Mayor’s heavy footsteps crunch along the path. I’m desperate to peer round and see what he’s doing and whether my mother is safe. I know it’s broad daylight but I wouldn’t put anything past the Mayor. Unfortunately, I dare not look in case I reveal myself.
‘Bye!’ I hear my mother call from inside the house.
There’s the sound of the front door closing and a moment of interminable silence, followed eventually by the beep of a car being unlocked. Maybe everything will be alright – except the Mayor is about to drive right past me. All he needs to do is glance to his left and he’ll see me.
Panic-stricken, I peel myself away from the safety of the wall just as the engine roars into life. I make it round the corner and into the back garden. Panting, I rush round to the back door and thump on it with my fist. There’s no answer so I thump again and again. When there’s no response, I push the handle down, edging inside just as something black and heavy flies towards my face. There’s a flash of pain while, curiously, my ears prickle again.
Chapter Seventeen
You trade in your reality for a role. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask.
Jim Morrison
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My head doesn’t hurt and, when I touch it gingerly with my fingertips, there’s no bump or tenderness. All the same, something doesn’t feel right. I can’t put my finger on it; I simply have a deep-seated feeling of wrongness. I also have no idea where I am.
It’s a tiny room with one door and one small window. There’s nothing else inside. My limbs are heavy and sluggish as I edge over to the window to peer out, and I’m shocked when I immediately recognise the Dreamlands’ vista. I rub my eyes and double-check. Not waking up in the forest as I normally do adds to my sense of unease.
I twist round, scanning the area as best I can. The window is so small that it’s difficult to get a proper look but I seem to be very high up. I stare down at the narrow streets below. Then I suddenly realise where I am – inside the fairy-tale castle at the edge of the town. No wonder I’m gazing down from such lofty heights.
I try the door; it’s locked. I tug at it several times but it doesn’t budge. Frowning, I step backwards. Why won’t the damn thing open?
Worried about what’s happening in the real world with my mum, I look up at the ceiling, willing myself to wake up. There’s a strange pressure inside my head but nothing happens. I try again. The pressure increases but I’m still stuck in the same room.
My gut squirms. I need to get out of here but the window is too small – and too high – to crawl through. I shove my shoulder against the door and try again to break it open. When that doesn’t work, I kick it. I’m so focused on my desperate attempts to escape that I almost don’t hear the person on the other side.
‘Who’s there?’
I pause, suddenly afraid that this is another of the Mayor’s henchmen – or henchwomen. I cup my hand over my mouth and try to disguise my voice. ‘I’m trapped!’ I call back.
‘Are you a Traveller?’ The voice is cautious but I recognise it and relax.