He's After Me

Chapter THIRTY-ONE



I wake up, needing the loo, and check the time on the clock. Not yet six a.m. Quietly, I slip from between the sheets, trying not to disturb Jem. Afterwards I get a glass of water and wander over to the bedroom window to drink it. It’s still dark outside and so silent I think I can almost make out the melodic clinking of the boats in the harbour. No one is around yet.

But then as I peer down at the empty Wharfside, my forehead resting against the cool glass, a taxi draws up. I can just see the top of it from where I’m standing. Late-night clubbers, I think. Young professionals from the apartments on their way home.

The door opens, the one furthest away from the kerb, and a girl gets out. I gasp aloud. Even from this angle, I can tell it is Jude. In horror I crane to see if my father appears out of the nearside door. I catch a brief glimpse of the top of his head and jump back in a panic.

‘Jem!’ I scream. ‘Wake up! My dad’s home!’

‘What?’ He sits bolt upright, his face almost comical with sleepy confusion.

‘Dad! And Jude! They’re here!’

His expression clears and he jumps to his feet and peers down into the road. The taxi driver has got out now and he and Dad have moved round to the boot.

‘Shit!’ he says and pulls on his jeans. Frantically, I start to snatch my clothes up from the floor where I had discarded them the night before.

‘Where’s my bra?’ I say desperately. ‘I can’t find my bra!’

‘Here it is!’ Jem thrusts it into my hand. I fasten it with shaking hands and pull my sweater over it. Then I drag on my jeans.

‘My sock, I’ve lost a sock. Put the light on!’

‘No!’ hisses Jem, hopping about madly, trying to stuff his foot into his shoe. ‘They’ll see us. Put your shoes on and grab your stuff, they’ll be here in a minute.’

‘My books!’ I run into the lounge and scoop everything up from the floor where all my college work is strewn, stuffing it into my bag.

‘Quick!’ orders Jem, standing guard by the window. ‘Shoes! He’s paying the driver.’

I force my feet obediently into my boots. ‘My make-up!’ I run over to the dressing table and sweep some into my bag though it’s hard to tell in the dark what’s mine and what’s Jude’s. ‘I’ve left stuff in the bathroom!’ I cry, making a dash for it. Jem grabs me by the hand as I pass him, bringing me to a halt.

‘No!’ he shouts. ‘Leave it! There’s no time!’

‘But my wash-stuff … and my sock … !’ I’m flapping now like a headless chicken, and he yells back, ‘I’ll buy you a bloody sock!’ but that’s not what I mean.

I peer round him to see my father bending down to pick up two heavy cases. Jude has an armful of shopping bags. She rubs the back of her neck as if she’s tired from travelling, then stretches her neck backwards to look up towards the window. Immediately, Jem steps back, treading heavily on my foot.

‘Ow!’

‘Shit! She nearly saw me then! Come on!’

At the front door he shoves my coat into my hands and pushes me out into the corridor. Automatically I run to the lift and am about to press the button when Jem screeches, ‘Stairs, idiot!’ I look up to see that the indicator is glowing. Someone has pressed the button on the ground floor. Cold fear grips me as Jem grabs me by the hand and leads me to the stairs.

Together we race down five flights, our footsteps beating out a frantic, clattering rhythm that echoes back up through the otherwise silent building. I swear, as we reach ground level, I can hear the lift ping as it arrives at its destination on the top floor. Finally, we burst through the front doors into the cold desolation of the early morning. At the top of the road, the retreating lights of the taxi wink at us, then disappear from sight. Hand in hand, we tear off after it, down the empty street.