“Come on! It’s going to be so good, you know it is.”
When I first suggested that we do this, Abdi said, “No way.” I knew he would refuse at first. He’s afraid to do naughty things. I said, “Look, it’s not like we’re going to do anything really bad. It’s just a trip out to see something very cool. Come on! Don’t be so boring!”
It was hard not to tell him about my prognosis, but I stuck to my guns because if I’d told him, I wouldn’t have been able to make our outing into the experience that I wanted it to be, which was a proper rite of passage. It would have changed everything and made it all sad and weird, and I would have felt self-conscious. So I had to rely on other methods of persuasion, but I’m pretty good at that. I got to him in the end.
“Okay,” he said finally. “Okay, okay, okay!” He got out of bed and pulled his clothes and shoes on, jogging around unsteadily on one foot as he did. He remembered to be quiet.
I put on my backpack—which I filled up before the party—and tried not to buckle under the weight of it. Abdi offered to carry it, but I said no because the contents were a secret. I beckoned him to follow me downstairs. The house was dark everywhere. My parents were completely peaceful.
We slipped into the porch and I opened the front door. I’d been practicing opening and closing it without making a sound, and I managed it perfectly. I gestured to Abdi to follow me carefully around the edge of the driveway so we didn’t crunch the gravel.
When we were off the property and a decent distance away down the street, I felt amped up. I wanted Abdi to feel the same way, but he said, “What if your parents notice we’re gone?”
“They won’t!” I said. I was pretty sure of that. That’s why I chose tonight to ask to have Abdi for a sleepover. Both my parents sleep deeply after they’ve had a drink.
The only small problem was that it had got much colder than earlier, and I forgot we might need coats. Our breath misted.
It was also creepier than I thought it would be. The streets were empty apart from a fox that stood panting in the shadow underneath a hedge. Head down, ears flat, it had almost no fur, and its skin looked rough and raw.
“I think it’s dying,” I said to Abdi.
We kept to the other side of the street. A hurt animal can lash out.
I felt good about how brave I was being. The only thing that wasn’t right was Abdi. I felt like he should be chatting and getting into the spirit of things with me, but he was very quiet, and I was worried he might bolt back home at any second.
“It’s going to be worth it, I promise,” I said to him.
“What if the police stop us?”
“Why would you even think that? Come on.”
He looked strange, sort of sick, and for a minute I felt a little bit sympathetic, because I felt scared, too, if I’m honest, but I wasn’t ready to give this up.
We cut down the hill, away from the creepy dark streets to the harborside, almost running because it was so steep, and then walked along the path at the edge of the water. The boats moored in the floating harbor looked cool lit up in the dark. All the multicolored lights were reflected on the surface of the water. Abdi looked around a lot and I reckoned he was starting to like it more.
We left the waterside near the big modern apartment buildings with balconies and headed toward College Green. On the green, the golden stone of Bristol Cathedral was lit with floodlights, but the stained-glass windows were dark, like big blank portals to somewhere else.
In the middle of the green a group of lads were sitting on the benches watching some others do skateboard tricks. They were playing music and had cans of drink.
“Come on,” Abdi said when I stopped to watch. He tugged on my sleeve. He pulled his hood up and kept his face turned away from them, as if he was afraid of them seeing him.
“What?” I said. I wanted to feel brave, not hospital get-offered-a-crappy-sticker brave, but real-life brave, so I didn’t move. I stood and watched the skateboarders.
“Let’s move on,” Abdi said.
“They’re not going to hurt us!” I said.
“It’s different if you’re black,” he said, or I thought that’s what he said. It was hard to hear because he kept his face turned away from them and tugged my sleeve again. I thought he was overreacting.
“Get off!” I didn’t mean to say it so loudly.
Some of the lads turned to look at us.
“What are you staring at?” one of them said.
“Nothing,” Abdi said. He started to walk away.
I stood my ground. This night was about being brave.
“What you looking at, kid?” The lad got up. He had long hair, wore low-rise jeans, and held a can of drink in his hand.
“Leave him alone,” one of the others said.
The lad carried on walking slowly toward me.
“What are you, like twelve years old?” he said when he got close. His face was sweaty. He took a long drink of his beer. “Go home, kid.”
My heart was beating, hard and fast, but I stayed still until he got even closer. I was daring myself to. He leaned over me.
“Noah!” Abdi shouted.
The lad got his face right up close to mine.
“Boo!” he said and his beery spit flecked my face.
I screamed and Abdi grabbed me and pulled me away and we ran away from them as fast as we could. They were laughing.
We pounded down the steps beside the cathedral, and we didn’t stop until a doorway set into a wall offered us a shadowy place to catch our breath.
It’s not easy to push back thoughts of Emma, but the call from Sofia Mahad helps. I ask Woodley to arrange for somebody to go and fetch the iPad. I want to hear the recording she’s talking about, but I also want to see any other communications Abdi may have made via the device.
Face-to-face with Fraser, I request an underwater team to search for both the missing phone and the backpack.
“Prioritize,” she tells me when I explain that there are two locations I want to search. “The budget hasn’t miraculously increased. All-powerful as I am, I can’t pull off loaves and fishes with the department’s money.”
I decide that the phone’s probably more important, because it might tell us something about the boys’ communications. I’m beginning to think that if there was foul play, the motive lies in what passed between these two lads. Fraser signs it off.
Woodley and I take a trip to the boys’ school.
Medes College occupies a tight city center site, and it takes us ten minutes to find a parking spot. While we wait for the headmistress to free up some time for us, I read a display in the foyer, which informs me that the school will nurture my child as an individual, as well as offering state-of-the-art facilities.